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Chapter Text

Valaena

From as young as I can remember, my mother always told me I had failed my sole purpose in life. She would cast her hardened lavender eyes towards my mismatched purple ones, run her soft hands down the soft curve of my face, tuck away the seemingly untamable silver waves, and sigh with hardly concealed disappointment before looking away. She had never fully explained her reasoning for her tender resignation and soft, unending disappointment at my existence. My older uncles, Aegon and Aemond, however, never had the same problem with me. Their taunts followed me down the halls, echoing off the rough red stone walls; sneers mocking my strange eyes and unnaturally willowy frame, gibes towards my brothers and their rumored dubious parentage, but the worst insults came when Aegon found me alone. Alone, Aegon is free to hunt me down, cornering me so that I have to listen to his true thoughts, his cruel words about my failings not as a girl but as a Targaryen. As if it mattered that my egg did not hatch in cradle, Helaena and Aemond’s had not, Rhaenys had not, and Daemon’s had not. Yet Helaena bonded Dreamfyre, the fourth largest tamed dragon alive, Rhaenys claimed Meleys, the Red Queen, the swiftest dragon yet, and Daemon rides the battle-hardened Blood Wyrm, Caraxes.

The dragon eggs in recent generations had been failing to hatch, the maesters had told me, it was nothing against my blood or my claim as a Targaryen. Father told me not to fret, my time as a dragon rider would come when the gods deemed it time. So, when I became old enough to venture into the Dragon Pit with my older brothers to see the unclaimed dragons, I could barely contain my excitement, but when I had been barred from exiting the Keep due to my mother forbidding me from entering the Dragon Pit, Father had come to find me. His soft words coaxed me out of the small crevasse I had shoved my small frame into: “My sweet daughter, the fiercest dragon riders claimed the untamable.” That night, the whole Keep could hear my parents as they fought.

Even still, with my mother’s barely concealed dislike and my uncles' taunts, I had the love and support of my father and the friendship of Helaena whom I often sought out after a run-in with her brothers. Helaena was a quiet girl who loved her dragon and the peculiarities of small creatures, as such it made it easy to sit in her presence as no words needed to be said; where we could simply enjoy each other in silence.

My brothers, Jacaerys and Lucerys, faced worse; all the love of our mother and father did not change the fact that the entire court whispered about their parentage. Years of horrific, treasonous rumors followed them as they grew up. Everywhere they went, whispers followed, spats of ‘bastard’ chased their heels, and when my mother became pregnant with her fourth child, whispers arose of what the child would look like; would it share the Targaryen features of my mother and father, or would they share the dark features of my brothers. To the court and my mother’s half-brothers, it did not matter that both Jacaerys and Lucerys bonded their dragons, Vermax and Arrax, that hatched in cradle and when the dragons were large flew over King's Landing officially and publicly declaring them the Heir to the Iron Throne after our mother and the Heir to Driftmark after our father, Laenor. To the people, it only mattered that my older brothers had honey eyes, brawny builds, and dark hair, forgetting that our paternal grandmother, Rhaenys, also has dark hair.

It was these rumors that followed us to our aunt’s funeral at the Smoking Sea, home of our father’s line since the Doom of Valyria. Our father’s sister, Laena Velaryon, had met her end during her second childbirth, choosing to meet the gods through dragon breath rather than on her back in the birthing bed. Vhagar, Aunt Laena’s bonded dragon, had done the honors of giving her a Targaryen death; a simple dracarys, and Aunt Laena was no more. I doubted there was even a body left to be placed in the massive stone sarcophagus that the maesters said the final rites over.

Childbirth was always a danger for Targaryen and Velaryon women. More than most ended in the death of both the mother and the baby, with many of these deaths having been caused by a deformed dragon-like child ripping the mother apart during her labors. To me, it was a wonder that the women in my life chose to bear so many children when the risk never outweighed the reward, at least in my opinion. I had been told little about the births that ended in such disaster, only that this was our price to pay to have such powerful bonds with our dragons, and without the dragons, House Targaryen was nothing. It never seemed fair that the women should bear the brunt of this burden while our male counterparts faced no repercussions for their dragon bonds.

The funeral was a dreary affair and my first. Mother had ordered the servants to dress us in our finest house colors of black and red, and as such, I had been fitted in a dress of the deepest black I had ever seen, the skirt moved when I did revealing dark red undertones, it was lovely and matched what my older brothers wore. My mother’s half-siblings, however, chose not to honor their Targaryen side, the side that had given them their power and dragons, instead donning their mother’s colors of green and white, a familiar sight but not a welcome one.

Daemon, my mother’s uncle, stood next to his in-laws, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys, his twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena, stood in front of him. While Daemon wore Targaryen colors, his daughters and in-laws honored their mother’s maiden house of Velaryon in the colors of sea green and light blue. Together, they watched with misty eyes as Vaemond Velaryon spoke in High Valyrian over the coffin one final time as the maesters of High Tide pushed the coffin into the sea to rest eternally with the ancestors of their mighty house. After everyone had had their moment with the dead, everyone moved inside, hoping to escape the chill of the air and the haunting presence of the resting dead as they greeted the newest member.

It was my first visit to Driftmark, the home of my father, and while I was excited to see what the Keep had to offer, I was hesitant. While everyone seemed to relax in the comfort of the stone walls, eager to catch up and possibly even forge alliances with distant relatives and powerful househeads, I didn’t find the inside of the Keep doing much more than putting me on edge. The tall, dark stone walls seemed to have a constant wetness to them that infected the stiff and moldy air, the ancient walls mimicked a constant echo of a strange rumble that could have been a number of things: ocean surge, thunder, or dragons perching on the crumbling stone walls. Driftmark’s unsettling presence made it easy to spot glimpses of monsters in the shadows, hiding in corridors and in the rafters, hanging above or lurking around the somber festivities. It made me all the happier that Luce would inherit the Keep and not me, as I did not ever want to permanently live in the haunted halls of this dreadful Keep. Alas, I was a curious child, and no shadow monster could stop me from exploring this new space, however, I did not want to go alone, just in case a shadow monster did indeed snatch me up. Jacaerys and Lucerys were speaking to our cousins, Baela and Rhaena, and judging by everyone’s blushing cheeks, I did not want to interrupt them and face getting cooties. Usually, Mother would have me directly by her side, as I tended to get myself into situations a princess should never have even dreamed of getting into, but with the arrival of my newest and youngest brother, Joffrey, I had been assigned to others for safekeeping. As the unwanted child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, I had a few more perks than my two brothers who were currently under the watchful gaze of several servants and knights, one such being that I had no knights in command of my wellbeing and only two servants in charge of making sure I didn’t cause a fuss. Two servants were currently flirting with whatever lord was giving them the slightest bit of attention, which made it incredibly easy to slip away from their semi-watchful eyes.  Gliding past the layered skirts of noble ladies and the puffy, ugly trousers of the Lords, I scoured the large room in search of Helaena. The young princess was only a few years my elder, but I rather thought she enjoyed my presence as she always made space for me whenever I came knocking; although her fondness might have simply been because we were the only two girls in the Keep aside from the Nobles children, but if Helaena was anything like me, she found them most annoying. Ducking beneath a servant who held a tray of fishy-smelling food, I spotted the princess, eager to convince her to wander the halls in search of mysteries, I almost didn’t notice Aegon standing next to her, sneering at everyone and everything. His presence made me pause, surely, he wouldn’t make a fuss about me in a room full of family and nobles, but if I asked Helaena to join me, he would insist on tagging along, and alone with only Helaena and me, he could do and say whatever he pleased.

Scowling, I turned away from my friend. Aegon was the worst, I hated him and his stupid mom, they always got in the way of Helaena and I’s friendship. Angry, I wandered away from the whispering looks of the strange nobles and judgmental remarks from my family and slipped into the darkest hall.

While the Keep as a whole was dreadfully scary, I couldn’t help but marvel at the architecture as I slinked further down the hall and further away from the abysmal conversations. The stones were so large that it only made sense that a giant had placed them, the doors so tall that it made me question if this Keep was even for humans and not the giants that it must have been made by. As my hands ran over the rough stones, passing over ridges and grooves, the stones left a slimy dampness on the soft pads, perks of living so close to the ocean and not having enough staff to keep everything spotless like at the Red Keep. Some of the older and less traveled halls at Dragonstone had the same dampness to them.

Driftmark was terribly old, just like Dragonstone and the Red Keep. As my hand wandered over the ancient stones, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering, curious about the history these walls could tell if only it had a mouth to speak. My ancestors had walked these halls for generations, battles had been won in these halls, evident by the few spear gouges in the otherwise soft stone. It made me wonder if I had a relative somewhere in the past who faced the same hardships I faced. If there was someone deep in the past who too followed this wall as they escaped their family and the never-ending politics.

Entranced by the wild fantasies and curiosity at the thought that there was someone who shared in my troubles, even if it was in the long past, I almost missed the strange, sudden pattern in the stones. The pattern was softer than the large, gravelly stones, a small, intricate design that at its center had a small loose stone. There was no torch next to the design, so I couldn’t quite make out what the symbol was, prodding at the small loose stone, something clicked, followed by a soft grinding noise, and the stones next to the pattern slowly pulled away from the wall, revealing a dark hallway that led down.

A gust of cool, damp air rushed past, moving the escaped loose waves slightly. While this was exactly what I had been looking for, a strange feeling washed over me as I moved to step into the uncovered hall. I thought that maybe I should leave this for next time, when I had Helaena or my brothers at my side. Yes, that would be best. Turning away from the door, ready to make a quick escape back to the festivities, I almost smacked right into Aemond, his cool blue eyes watching me with mild interest.

“What has the princess gotten herself into this time?” His cool voice washed over me, causing goosebumps to rise on my arms. He was trying to frighten me with his silent act, but I knew he was not going to do anything to harm me, physically. Aemond and I had some sort of strange arrangement. Unlike his brother, when Aemond picked on me, he left certain touchy subjects out of his taunts, and he only seemed to spit cruel things when his brother was around. When our paths had crossed accidentally in the Red Keep, he was cold, yes, but not cruel; he didn’t speak much and allowed me to exist in peace and quiet when we were alone. But when Aegon would seek him out, the ruse would be up, and the cruel taunts would begin.

Seeing as Aegon was nowhere in sight, I knew Aemond was also trying to find reprieve from our family and perhaps might join me as I went into the depths of Driftmark. “Hello, Aemond,” I whispered, trying to calm my racing heart at the thought of an adult coming out of the shadows, ready to punish me for being where I shouldn’t. “I think I found a secret passage!”

“I can see that.” His voice was nonchalant, but I could see his eyes light up as he inspected the passage and its cobwebs.

“Want to explore it with me?” Aemond cast a glance at me, finishing his inspection of the crumbled stairs that we could see descending into the dark.

“You just didn’t want to go down there alone.” He gestured to the dark passage with his green-covered arm, a reminder that his true loyalties were to his mother, not to House Targaryen. Memories of Mother’s warnings flooded my mind about how Alicent’s children were not to be trusted, but in my experience only, Aegon was not to be trusted, and well, Aemond when Aegon was around. Shrugging noncommittally, Aemond sighed with vague annoyance. “I suppose it would be more fun than playing nice with your boring brothers.” With that, he stepped through the door, only looking back once to make sure I was following.

The few times Aemond and I had been alone together, it had never been for long. Either Aegon would come along to disturb the peace and throw hurtful things at me, or my brothers would come looking for me on orders of our parents. It was a known fact that if I was out of sight for too long, mischief and mayhem tended to find me. Aemond was two years older than I, a year younger than Helaena. Despite the age gap between us, I had found that I shared the same mental capabilities as him. We both preferred the quiet and solitude, but when others were around, we blended into what they were doing. For him it was being an ass, for me it was whatever my brothers were doing so long as my mother wasn’t watching. Our understanding of each other went deeper than our liking for peace, as both of our dragon eggs had not hatched, and neither of us had claimed one, and although we never spoke of it, it was one line of taunting he never crossed. Whenever I came across him or he came across me, I wondered if he felt the same tentative bond towards me. I was too afraid to ask, but I liked to think the understanding was mutual.

I had always thought that just like me, there was an underlying sadness to him, and that perhaps it was because he lacked a dragon bond, that he too felt the emptiness in his mind. Jacaerys once explained that the bond between a dragon and rider was a real thing, that he could feel Vermax in his mind, and they could both convey their wants and needs to each other. I had always thought not having a dragon made him just as sad as it made me, if not more, as I knew he was required to attend the Dragon Pit with his siblings. When I had asked Father why Aemond could go, and I could not, he had only shaken his head and looked at Mother with slight disappointment and told me, “Dragon riders need to be comfortable around dragons if they are to claim one.” Even such, I was not allowed to attend the lessons with Jacaerys and Lucerys, for a reason unknown, as the years went on became more and more unfair. Being as I was not allowed near the unclaimed dragons, the only ones I had ever interacted with were Syrax, my mother’s golden dragon, and sometimes Vermax and Arrax when our family was supposed to show that we were the ‘Blood of the Dragon and Old Valyria.’ I wondered if Aemond had faced the same rules with his siblings’ dragons, Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, and little Tessarion.

“Where do you think this leads?” I asked, filling the silence of the tight space. My voice echoed off the stones surrounding us for a second before fading, shrinking back at the noise I cringed in fear that someone at the top of the steps might hear, but no other sound came aside from Aemond and I’s footfalls. His only answer was shushing me.

I couldn’t see anything aside from the dim light of the opening glinting off Aemond’s white hair, but as we went deeper into the small tunnel, I could see less and less of him. The damp wall was my only guide the deeper into the Keep we went, but even that was not enough to stop me from occasionally tripping on the loose or uneven step. With each misstep, Aemond faded further and further away from me, and soon my heart was pounding in my throat as he disappeared in front of me completely.

“Aemond?” I whispered, stopping to listen for any sound he might make as he moved away from me, only there were no sounds, not even his footfalls as he traveled down. Calling his name again, I took a small step deeper, maybe it would be best if I turned around, especially if he had left me alone. Only as I looked back to see how far I had made it from the door, the light was so dim and far away, I didn’t know if it was better to continue or turn back. Trying one more time, I spoke into the void, “Aemond, I can’t see anything.” Nothing. “Are you still there?” Despite the quietness of my voice, it still sounded too harsh in the small space.

Before I could turn around to run back, a hand grabbed mine and pulled me forward, causing me to stumble on the steps and into Aemond’s chest. “I’m here, now be quiet.” Shoving me out of his chest, he held fast to my hand, his harsh voice was so at odds with his caring gesture as he led me deeper into the tunnel.

Several times when I lagged, he would yank me forward, carefully make sure I hadn’t fallen, then continue; the tunnel seemed to be never-ending. Until it did, rather suddenly, I might add. The stairs came to an abrupt end at a sharp turn, the turn led to another immediate turn in the opposite direction before opening up into a large cavern and cave mouth. The mouth of the cave revealed sandy hills and tall, sparse grasses, lit only by the light of the moon.

Mother was going to be furious about my disappearance when I came back to the festivities, but now was not the time to worry about her wrath. Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to turn back, especially since Aemond had yet to release my hand. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, urging me to explore more, to go further to see all that this abandoned space had to offer. I was known for doing this in the Red Keep and the occasional times we ventured to Dragonstone, to find hidden passages and tunnels, oftentimes I would show them to my brothers, but most of the time I kept the knowledge to myself.

“Vhagar is out there,” Aemond reverently whispered, looking through the cave mouth at the beast of a dragon that lay in the dunes, so large I would have mistaken her for another one of the large sandy hills that dotted the beach.

Aemond moved to get closer to her, pulling me along with him, but I pulled back, feet digging into the sand. “I don’t think that is a good idea.” Peaking around Aemond’s larger form at the slumbering beast.

“Don’t tell me you are scared, Valaena? It’s merely a dragon.” He taunted, before pulling me once more, almost like he was scared to do this alone.

Scoffing, I dug my heels into the sand further, white sand got in my shoes, spotting the hem of my black dress, and tried to pull my hand from his, no longer grateful for the reassuring comfort I previously thought it was for. “Of course, I’m scared!” I nearly screeched. “That’s Vhagar! She’s going to eat us for a snack, mistaking us as Dornish soldiers!” Tugging again, I got him to turn and look at me, finally ceasing his movement toward the dragon. “No way, Aemond, I chose my little life.”

His eyes hardened, and he dropped my hand, no longer pulling me to a certain doom that was shaped like a slumbering giant, a giant that had killed its previous rider, even if it was consensual, there was no way I was going to test my luck and took a menacing step towards me. “Your life is not little, little niece. You are a princess and a Targaryen, for gods’ sake! For once, act like it.” He snapped at me, sounding annoyed at my accidental pity party.

Scoffing, I made a face at him, “’ A Targaryen princess with no dragon is no better than a brothel worker!’” I quoted his brother’s words back at me. I hadn’t taken the words to heart; they were true in the smallest sense. Without a dragon, I was nothing more than a card to be traded for whatever my mother needed at the time.

Aemond rolled his eyes, “Aegon talks out of his ass, ignore him.” Aemond turned to look at the sleeping beast, “This is your time to prove them all wrong and claim a dragon.” He shook his head, “Not just a dragon. The dragon! Vhagar the Queen of Dragons.” Turning, he looked back at me, a slight madness in his eyes, “Imagine your mother’s pride when she wakes up to you with the Queen of Dragons under your command.”

I couldn’t lie, it was tempting, but then Rhaena’s face popped up in my mind; she had just lost her mother, this was her mother’s dragon, and she had the right to try and claim it before Aemond and I tried. “Aemond, that would be wrong of us, Vhagar is already claimed, she belongs to Rhaena.”

He shook his head, the slight madness still in his eyes, “Not officially.” Looking back at the slumbering beast, he let his head drop. “But fine, we shall see if Rhaena has the balls to claim such a dragon; if not, I will stake my claim.” With a remorseful sigh, he cast one last glance at the beast before turning back to the cave entrance. “Let’s get back before the King’s Guard has a hernia at our disappearances.”

The first trek into the tunnel was silent, he didn’t reach for my hand to lead me back to the secret door and he didn’t strike up any conversations. It was exactly what I was expecting, but still, it bugged me. I was itching to get to know my quiet mysterious uncle.

“Why does your brother hate me and my brothers?” Cringing at my choice for a silence breaker, I continued on, “We are family and Mother says, ‘Family is supposed to tolerate each other.’”

Aemond scoffed, “Your mother sure does tolerate you.” The harsh, but true words echoed off the walls, chasing me up the steps. Aemond was silent for a long moment after, and I was not eager to try and fill the silence again. “We are family in the loosest sense, your mother is my half-sister, but we did not grow up together.” He paused again before continuing for Aegon’s sake, “And Aegon’s 'hate,' as you call it, is tolerance. I have seen him try to have servants killed for breathing wrong around him.”

It was strange to me that he was technically my mother’s half-brother and that Aegon, Helaena, and little Daeron were her half-siblings and while we lived in the same Keep, they were not close Alicent did an excellent job at turning her sons against their elder sister. “Oh,” Was my only response as I thought off all the cruel things Aegon has said and done to me. “That is not very nice of him.” I finally say.

“Princess, you’ll find that not many Targaryens are nice.” The young prince scoffed at my nativity.

“That’s not true. Helaena is nice, and so are my brothers and you. Aegon is the only mean one.”

I could see Aemond shake his head, “There are more Targaryens in the world than just us.”

Silence once again stretched between us, the door’s light was now looming closer, “What is it like not having a dragon?” The question was out before I could even think of a kinder way to say it, or actually think not to ask the prince such a touchy subject.

At this question, Aemond did have a reaction other than a scoff, a visceral one. He stopped his tireless march up the stairs and whirled on me, facing away from the light. I could only make out the shadows of his form, but still, he seemed to grow as tall as the giants that placed the stones of this Keep. “Wouldn’t you know, little princess? Being dragon-less as well?” He took a step towards me, and I shrank back, “At least I have the courage to approach Vhagar, something you are too much of a coward to do.” His words were meant to slice, but I had heard more or less the same from his brother and my mother my whole life.

“I know what it is like for me, but not you.” I paused, trying to relieve some of the tension from his form and find the right words. “Mother won’t let me into the Dragon Pit; that is why I have a fear of them.” At this, his body released some of the tension, and he turned back around, resuming his pace up the steps.

“It can be unbearable.” He said at last. “Aegon and even little Daeron can be relentless with their teasing, and poor Helaena tries to stop them, but she can barely get a sentence out without becoming distracted by something Dreamfyre has done.” He pauses as if he has revealed too much about his family dynamic and his relationship with his siblings.

Not wanting him to stop talking, I share with him, “Sometimes Jace and Luce can be mean about their dragons, too. Mother thinks I am worthless and says as much because I don’t have a dragon. She says I am a disgrace to my Targaryen features.” I reached out to touch his arm to get him to slow down for what I wanted to say next. “I think they think of us as other, not quite Targaryen, and not quite commonfolk, but if we let it get to us, then we are proving them right.” His arm tensed before he shook me off, once again resuming his pace, only this time slightly faster, like she was done with me as a whole.

“You are awfully wise for a child.” He replied thoughtfully before leaving me in the darkness.

~

Driftmark was rather large, and I had not been shown to my chambers before the funeral started; as such, I was found late at night wandering the halls, lost out of my wits by a frantic guard. As he whisked me to my mother’s chambers, I couldn’t help but notice the other guards and servants running the halls, some with tears in their eyes, others with looks of determination on their faces. When the guard reached my mother’s chambers, he did not bother to knock only opened the door and deposited me at my mother’s feet. As I looked to face her, I realized she was not the only one in her room, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys were also there, along with Prince Daemon, everyone had a somber look on their face, and Rhaenys had tears in her eyes.

Before I could ask any questions, my mother scooped me into her arms in a brutal hug. She rarely showed me affection, “Where were you?” She cried as she clutched me, before releasing me to set me in a chair so she could question me, Daemon rounded the chair, standing behind my mother as she looked at me. Confused I shrugged my shoulders. “Now is not the time to be coy Valaena!” She shouted harshly at me, causing me to flinch slightly.

Daemon put a hand on my mother’s shoulder and moved her out of the way before crouching in front of me. “Something has happened, and your disappearance scared your mother.” His words were soft, but firm as he vaguely explained why everyone was in a fuss. With their eyes on me, I wanted to disappear into the soft velvet of the chair, but I couldn’t.

“I went exploring,” I whispered timidly, ready for them to yell and scold me.

Daemon nodded, and my mother scoffed, but Rhaenys held her hand offering comfort as they both looked at me, one with hard unrelenting eyes, the other with the care my mother’s eyes should have held. “Were you alone?” Daemon asked drawing my eyes from my mother and grandmother.

I knew they would be angry if I told them I had run off with Aemond, but they would also be angry if I said I was alone. It was a lose-lose situation, and as such, I wanted to remain silent but knew that would also end poorly, so instead I diverted. “What happened?”

Daemon sighed ready to ask me the question more firmly, but surprisingly Corlys spoke, “Perhaps you should tell the girl, she is frightened enough, a little light could be helpful.”

My mother scoffed and turned away, a hand on her chest as she looked away from me. Rhaenys left my mother, moving Daemon out of the way as she settled on the floor in front of me. “Something has happened to your father.” She stated, and my heart sank. The guards in full armor with swords out in the halls, and the maids and servants frantically search the halls and rooms, something bad had happened.

I nodded slowly, “Your father was killed hours ago, and we don’t know who has done it.” Rhaenys sniffled, closing her eyes briefly as she regained her composure. “That is why you need to tell us who you were with and if you saw anything out of the ordinary.” My grandmother had just lost both her children in the span of a week, her heir and only son hours ago, and still she held fast and strong.

“I was exploring and found a secret tunnel,” I started my mother turned to listen rolling her eyes at what I said, it was something I did quite a lot. “And when I was about to go through it Aemond came around the corner.”

Daemon, this time, scoffed angrily, standing up to move next to my mother. “So as your father was being murdered, you were with the Green Prince Aemond doing gods know what?” He scolded me.

“Now don’t be crass, she is a child.” Rhaenys scolded her son-in-law. “Exploring is all you did, child?”

Confused as to what they were asking, I nodded, “The passage led to a beach, and then we went back, and he left me, and I got lost, and then a guard took me here.” My father was dead, one of the few people in my life who actually loved and supported me was gone, and they wanted to know what I was doing. “I didn’t kill him.” I cried. “I love my father!” My cries turned into sobs, and when my mother didn’t reach out to comfort me, my grandmother wrapped me in her arms, in an embrace that was filled with more love and attention than my mother had ever given me.

“We know you did not kill your father,” she soothed me, petting my hair back, “We just needed to be sure you were safe and didn’t see anyone suspicious.” Rhaenys pulled back to look at me, wiping my tears from my cheeks with her thumbs. The woman who was more of a mother to me than my own, kissed my cheeks before helping me out of the chair, “Now why don’t you go to bed while we sort this out, sweet girl.” With that, she called in a guard from the doors and sent me with him to bed.

My mother did not look at me, nor did she wish me goodnight as my grandmother did.

Sleep did not find me easy and when it did, my dreams were not pleasant, hosting images of fire, scales, and blood.

Chapter Text

Valaena

I was awoken not by the maids who came to dress me for the day, but by the sunrise. The pinks and blues and oranges of the rising sun cast through my open window, bathing my room in their brilliance. The colors danced around the room as the sun continued its path across the sky, illuminating the darkest reaches of the large chambers, highlighting the empty spaces unfilled by the wayward chair, stray book stand, or even an ill-placed desk. As the sun rose, waking me from my uneasy slumber, it showed me one of the last kindnesses I would see in a long time, for a shadow was flying away in the sunset, a medium-sized dragon escaping into its golden rays. A dragon I could place as my father’s, Sea Smoke had escaped the island of death and politics, and

I hoped I would never see the grey and blue dragon ever again, for at least one of us needed to live to see the next chapter.

The remainder of the day was passed in tense company. Mother had requested we be together during the busiest times of the day, showing a grieving, unified front. But even I could see the lies in her tears, could see the over-familiarity of Daemon’s hand on my mother’s shoulder, and most dangerous of all, I could see the suspicion in the eyes of Alicent and her sons.

If my brothers had observed the same as I, they said nothing; they played their part as grieving sons and accepted the condolences that should have been given to Baela and Rhaena for the loss of their mother. And as night descended upon Driftmark, I was sent back to my room, a room which was no longer bathed in the brilliance of morning light, but rather rested in the pale light of the full moon and the growing darkness.

A somber place indeed .

Once again sleep did not come easy, flashes and memories of Father invaded my mind every time I closed my eyes. Eventually, I gave up altogether, if sleep did not want to come then I would not beg it, no matter how heavy my eyes felt, no matter how fuzzy my mind became.

That was how I ended up by my window, on the massive bay seating, watching the clouds pass lazily by, imagining that I was out there on dragon back dancing through the white whisps.

It was almost like I had imagined it, a dragon came into view, the largest living one, Vhagar soaring into view as she hauled her massive body into the air with her scarred wings. If I hadn’t seen the tiny figure on her back, I would have assumed that she, too, was making her escape, flying back to whatever land she saw as home, perhaps even back to Old Valyria, no longer tied to be near her rider. But I did see the tiny figure clutching onto her back, strapped to her saddle, I did hear the whoops of joy and the cries of terror, and the weight in my chest turned to lead, pulling me down to the depths of my soul as I felt the absence of my dragon bond.

Rhaena had claimed her mother’s dragon, and the joy I felt for her was coated in the bitter taste of jealousy. She had not done anything I could not do in theory; she had just done it because I had stopped Aemond from taking what was rightfully hers.

Sleep found me watching Vhagar dance across the starless skies.

~

It wasn’t until much later that I was awoken, the massive crick in my neck easily forgotten due to the commotion in the halls. Dread pulled in my gut as the worst filled my mind. I would not survive another death; this Keep truly was haunted by something evil. Rushing to the massive door, I wrenched it open to see guards and maids hustling to the Great Room where the previous funeral festivities had taken place. The two guards who were supposed to be guarding my rooms were nowhere to be found, which meant something was happening or perhaps had already happened. I found myself running the halls alongside the maids, eager to see what the commotion was about and hoping to calm the fear racing through my veins.

Nothing could have prepared me for the scene that I stepped into in the Great Room. It appeared not only were the guards gathered, but also my entire family. Elbowing my way into the room, I tried to find my mother and brothers, but the Queen’s voice stopped me, or rather her wails of pain. Had the queen been attacked? I was not her biggest fan, but she, alongside the king and my mother, was the most guarded person in the whole Keep. My mother’s voice, strong, silencing the wails of the queen, short, rebutting whatever the queen had said.

Pushing forward, I tried to get to the center of the ring of nobles, guards, and maesters, eager to see what had stirred up such tensions so late into the night, that demanded the presence of not only the Queen’s Guard and the King’s Guard, but also Uncle Daemon.

The King’s voice echoed off the halls of the tightly filled room, “We are family!” I had not heard him speak so loudly in, well, ever. So the fight was about family, had my brothers run into Aemond and Aegon? Had they not all been sent to bed as I had? “Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it!” Perhaps this was about Vhagar and Rhaena?

Alicent spoke next, ignoring the king’s demands, “That is insufficient.” She spoke directly to the king, whose cane gave away his position in the room. I had finally made it to where my mother held my brothers tight to her side. Rhaena and Baela here held tight in our grandmother’s embrace, in between Lord Corlys and the room, the twins had tear stains running down their faces. Princess Rhaenys, noticing me, shuffled so that I was standing beside her, protecting me from whatever was occurring in the room. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, my King. ‘Goodwill’ cannot make him whole.” The Queen pleaded with her husband, her words ringing out to the crowd, causing my mother to hug her sons closer.

“I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye.” King Viserys began, desperate for his second wife to understand his powers as King did not extend into miraculous healing, only for Alicent to interrupt.

“No, because it has been taken.”

“What would you have me do?” The anger and desperation between the two pulled sharp, nearly splitting when Alicent answered the King’s rhetorical question.

“There is a debt to be paid.” Her voice was soft yet harsh, causing the room to tense, waiting for what the Queen would demand in retribution. “I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.”

Mother pulled in a sharp breath of air, from where I stood with Princess Rhaenys, I could see her shoulders tense as she drew her sons impossibly closer as if she could absorb them and save them from the Queen’s wrath. Rhaenys and Corlys stepped closer to their grandsons as if they could protect the future heir of the Iron Throne and the new Heir to Driftmark. They had lost their daughter and their son; they would not lose their grandsons.

Outside, several dragons roared, the harsh beating of wings sounded, echoing through the open windows, the beasts echoing their riders’ emotions.

“My dear wife –,” King Viserys began once again, trying to placate his young wife.

“He is your son, Viserys.” Her voice broke at that. “Your blood.” Alicent pleaded, tears welling in her eyes at the reluctance of her husband to seek justice for their son, but Viserys was my mother’s father first, and her children, my siblings, would always come before Alicent’s children. She knew, my mother knew, hell, the room knew it, but it had never been demonstrated so publicly before.

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment.” Viserys' voice was final, eager to end this public display. The king turned for the room, dismissing the issue as a whole.

Only Alicent was not done. “If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will.” Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.” The room shifted; gasps broke out at the queen’s defiance of the king’s orders.

Lucerys gasped, “Mother.” Burying his face in her chest, fearful of the loss of his eye. Stepping out of Rhaenys' grip, I grabbed Luce, I would not let the Queen hurt him. If I had to run away with him so that he would be safe while we waited for Arrax to be big enough to defend him, I would.

“Alicent.” The King sighed, tired of this, but sensing the tension and loyalties in the room. Even if the King favored his daughter, he would not allow Alicent to face humiliation.

“He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son.” It was there that I saw the king’s resignation, his defeat at the strong-willed queen who may not have liked her children but would defend them like the fire drakes of Sothoryos.

Aemond, who faced away from me and my family the whole debacle, a maester crouched in front of him, pushed the maester away, readying to say something that defied either his father or his mother. Before he could speak, my mother raised her voice, seeing the king’s defeat but not Aemond’s. “Allow me to negotiate with the Queen and King in private, so that my son, the Heir to Driftmark, the very Keep we all stand in now, might remain unharmed.” The room tensed, Lucerys pulled out of my grip to hang off our mother. “Allow me this, my Queen.” And then my mother did something I had never seen her do before in my life, she bowed her head slightly to the Queen in a sign of defeat and respect.

The room quieted as Alicent acknowledged my mother’s request and the trio moved into a small room that Corlys showed them, offering privacy to the royals so that they might speak without being overheard. Before they all gathered in the small room, the King looked at the nobles who had witnessed his family’s hatred for each other and ordered everyone out so that the family might recover in peace. Slowly, everyone shuffled out, leaving only Alicent’s two eldest sons, my older brothers, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys, Baela and Rhaena, and me.

At such a late hour and with tensions so high, time passed as if it were stuck in molasses. Hours could have gone by by the time the Queen walked out of the room, mother trailing after her, and then finally the king. Out of the three, only the Queen looked pleased with the result. Mother and the King hung their heads in slight defeat, but even still with the look of defeat in Mother's posture, her eyes burned bright with fire. I knew this look, my brothers knew this look, let the Queen think she had won, the look said for in reality mother had played her. Jacaerys, Lucerys, and I’s shoulders loosened at the look, the fear washing out of our child bodies as we prepared for what the punishment would be for Lucerys defending Baela and Rhaena from Aemond.

The king’s voice was tired, “Desecrating a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms is a crime punishable by death for anyone outside of this family, but as family matters to me and I hold the Queen’s leash, Lucerys will remain whole.” At this statement, the Queen bristled, but Viserys continued as if her movement had not been noted. “As such, a different punishment must be declared so that the Targaryen line might continue for future generations as one force held together by the love of family.” A heavy silence filled the room, a silence that caused a ghost of a smile to grace the lips of the Queen, just before her sharp eyes connected with mine. Oh gods, this was going to be bad. Gripping Luce’s arm, I prepared for what was going to come next.

“Princess Valaena, only daughter and third-born child of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the true and rightful Heir to the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, it has been decided by all members that you will face the brunt of this punishment for your older brother, second-son and second-born of Rhaenyra, Heir to Driftmark and the High Tides.” Both my brothers stiffened, and Baela and Rhaena stepped closer as if they could defend me from what was going to come next. “It is with a heavy heart and in the means of the continuation of this great and mighty House that I sentence you to 10 years of banishment from the Seven Kingdoms and Westeros. On your 20th name day, you will make the journey to the Red Keep, where this whole matter will be forgotten. Upon your return, you will resume your duties to the Kingdoms as Princess.”

The room went up in a roar, my brothers and cousins tried to defend me, to make the king see the insanity of the decree, that the punishment was a death sentence, Lucerys even offered up his eye to try and sway the king to rethink this.

King Viserys hung his head and continued ignoring the cries from part of his family, “Should the princess be seen on the lands of the Seven Kingdoms, a warrant and bounty for her head shall be placed. Should Princess Valaena seek the help of any Lords of the Seven Kingdoms, their heads too shall be bountied.” A mournful silence filled the air. “Do you understand, my dear?” The King spoke directly to me.

But I didn’t understand. How could my mother do this? We had just lost our father, and now she was sending me away to a land unknown to me, a land I was expected to die in. Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Looking past the King, I found my mother’s dry eyes on me, “I understand.” The words were harsh and final, and understanding that I was worthless to my mother, that perhaps the only thing, the only person that was keeping me alive was my father, my father who was not dead.

“You will have two days upon returning to Kings Landing to prepare, you shall take nothing but what you can carry.” Another pause, “And for your remaining time in Driftmark you shall be confined to your chambers. These are the terms set and agreed upon by Queen Alicent, Princess Rhaenyra, and me, King Viserys.”

The rooms tilted, blurring, as the King and Queen left the room. Aegon, who wore a smirk, followed after, but not before he passed me and whispered one last taunt, “Be glad, Valaena, your life now has a purpose.” Jacaerys went to tackle the older boy, but Corlys’s firm hand on his shoulder restrained the prince.

The words meant nothing to me. I should have never left my rooms, I should have never allowed them to see me, then perhaps I would not have been in this situation. Mother would never allow her sons to be injured; there could have been another outcome, but my presence gave the Queen ammunition.

Rhaenys pulled my mother to a corner of the room. Their harsh whispers were drowned out by the chaos that broke out between my brothers who were too late in defending me.

“You bastard!” Jace shouted at Aemond, who sat still on the chair the Maester had left him in. An ice pack rested on his right eye, which, when he turned, I could see was weeping blood. Another wave of confusion washed over me. What had happened? How had this happened?

“If you had let Rhaena claim Vhagar instead of sneaking off in the middle of the night and stealing her birthright, then none of this would have happened! Lucerys may have taken your eye, but you have taken Valaena’s life.”

Rhaena stepped forward to grip my hand as another wave of confusion washed over me, only this one was mixed with nausea. “He claimed Vhagar?” The question rang out over the room, silencing not only Mother's and Rhaenys' whispers but also the shouts being exchanged between the two princes. Looking towards my older cousin, she squeezed my hand in confirmation, but I couldn’t believe it. Stepping out of her grip towards Aemond, I pointed at him, something lit in my gut, something dark and malicious, something that craved fire and blood. “You claimed Vhagar?” I shouted at the prince, whom I thought shared an understanding with me. He could do nothing but hold the weeping wound that would surely scar, and search for words. “How. Dare. You.” I screeched, the emptiness I had always felt filled with a craving for retribution; this boy, this prince, had started a chain of events that would lead to my death in an unknown land.

I didn’t notice that I was about to strangle the boy until Corlys, ever the peacekeeper, grabbed me, hauling me into his arms by my waist, and carried me away, but I wasn’t done. “How could you!?” I screamed at the boy I thought understood me, that I thought, despite our differences, he would not betray me.

My grandfather carried me all the way to my borrowed room, the room he had assigned to me when our boat had made dock on his shores. By the time we reached the doors, my two guards were stationed as if they had never left, and I had lost all my fight, the sleepless nights mixed with sudden betrayal crashing into me. He gently set me on the bed and knelt before me. His dark eyes searched my face, sorrow etching into his features before he began to speak.

“I pleaded with your father to bring you to Driftmark, pleaded that when Baela and Rhaena were here that you come as well. A reprieve from your family, a place where you could feel love. But your mother always denied Rhaenys and me, we should have known. And now my son is dead, the murderer is lost in the sea, and you have been wrongfully punished for a crime you have not committed.” He hung his head at his admission. “The hand you have been dealt by the gods is cruel, but there is a way that you can come out on top, princess.” I sniffled. The reality of my circumstances had been known across my family, and they had tried to help me, but my mother refused. “Live, fight, survive.” He declared. Looking at me, willing the words into reality. “When you return, Driftmark will be here for you, Rhaenys and I will be here for you.” He stood, ready to make his exit, but paused one last time at the doors, turning to look at me, he gave me a soft smile, “Do not let this break you, do not let them break you, you are stronger than you think, Valaena.” With that, he left the doors clicking softly behind him, signaling that my punishment had truly begun.

That I would no longer be free. But had I ever truly been free?

Chapter Text

Valaena

We left for Kings Landing the next morning at first light. Syrax’s roar and Caraxes’s screech woke me seconds before the soft, firm knocks at my door. Before I could answer, the door opened, revealing two maids. Neither looked at me as they began gathering my clothes, packing them into the small chest I had brought with me for my aunt’s funeral, the funeral that had turned into a disaster.

The maids worked silently, and once everything was packed, they began helping me, dressing me in a soft black dress before tightly braiding my hair so that the sea winds would not let loose the waves. They did not speak, nor did I. Tasks completed, they opened the doors for the guards to come and collect me as if I were a criminal. The guards escorted me down the halls to the boat that would take me to King's Landing. Everyone but little baby Joffrey and I would take to the skies on dragonback, reaching the Red Keep hours before I would in the ship. Giving them plenty of time to discuss my banishment, hopefully, they would help me prepare, but I doubt it.

Corlys’s words echoed in my mind. How could my mother hate me so? Did she have something planned for me, or was I just an annoyance in her eyes? I suppose it didn’t matter much anymore, as she had sent me away.

~

I prepared as best as I could for my banishment. My brothers came to wake me early in the morning, claiming that there were not enough hours in the day to teach me everything they could, but they would try their best.

They dragged me to a private training room, where swords, daggers, and small throwing weapons hung on every surface. My brothers claimed I was too small and dainty to hold a sword with much accuracy, so they focused on the small daggers and throwing items. They showed me the basics of what they had been taught in the Dragon Pit, how to stand, the proper technique to throw the daggers, and the basics of hand-to-hand combat. By the time lunch rolled around, everyone was sweating, worry lined everyone’s brows, and fear chased away my hunger, eager to learn as much as they had to offer.

By the end of the day, I could throw daggers with startling grace, but not much force. My brothers gave me ways I could strengthen my arms and core to make the daggers stick where I aimed before they were called away by servants to attend dinner and I was sent back to my chambers.

Left to my thoughts, I couldn’t help but worry. I was too small, I was too frail, and I was too young to truly be able to live in Essos. I didn’t even speak much of the languages there. My mother was throwing me into a viper’s pit and hoping I didn’t charm the beasts.

Despite how hard I had worked all day, my limbs couldn’t rest; I needed to move. Hauling back the massive tapestry on my wall, I searched for the loose stone that, once moved, would reveal a small lever. The lever hissed with misuse but still revealed the small hidden passage, a passage that would lead me to wherever I wanted to go in the Keep.

Brushing away the cobwebs, I traced the route to Helaena’s room. She would know what to say to me, perhaps she had even dreamed of something that would help me survive, that would help me come out of this alive and whole. As I reached the lever that would open her chambers, I heard a voice. It took me a second to figure out who was speaking to the young princess. “There is nothing that can be done. Valaena is leaving.” The angry feminine voice snapped at Helaena; the angry voice belonged to the Queen. I knew Alicent frequented her only daughter’s room nearly as much as I did, but rarely did we run into each other, and seeing as I was supposed to be locked away in my room, I imagined I would not be a welcome sight, especially coming from a hidden doorway. 

“You have invited Death into this kingdom.” The hissing tone of Helaena’s voice retorted to her mother, the voice I had come to know as her dreamer’s voice. Not many people in the Keep believed Helaena to be a Dragon Dreamer, but I listened closely and watched even closer. Much of what the princess said came to be, in some sort of way.

The Queen scoffed at her daughter, “Hush your nonsense, sweet daughter. And see the gift I have brought to our family.”

“ The gift. ” I mimicked the Queen turning from the room. If Mother had been right about one thing, it was the vileness of the Queen and her sons. I still could not wrap my mind around Aemond and his betrayal. I get the pain and emptiness he felt, but we had agreed that Rhaena would get the first right and he the second.

Mother’s pride, he had said to me. Perhaps he wished to please his mother as much as I yearned for it. Could I really blame him for taking the opportunity to be something great, to be a true Targaryen and have a dragon at his beck and call? Deep in my heart, I could understand him, I could sympathize with his rash decision, but on the surface, I could not look behind the hatred, the anger, and the betrayal. His decision, his actions might have cost me my life.

The Red Keep had several concealed rooms, passages, and tunnels. So many that I wondered if I had not found them all. It was in one of the hidden stairwells I had recently discovered that I found myself heading to, I had yet to explore where the stairs led, and now was no better time to look than any. Shoving away the rotting wooden board to reveal the stairs, I scoffed. How could such large portions of the Keep have been forgotten? It angered me, but most things angered me today.

The stairs wound around a central thick stone, small windows dotted the outside wall, and no rooms were planned. The stairs only wound upward seemingly unending. Mayhap this was the tall spiral that I could never find the door to, that no maester knew how to get into. There was a bulge at the top of the skinny tower, if I remember correctly. My steps quickened, eager to see if there was a room that awaited me. A forgotten room, for a banished princess. My foolish mind whispered that I could just hide here for ten years, but I knew ten years of hearing my family grow and live without me would kill me, and that Essos had a better chance of survival with sanity.

The stairs ended in an opening, revealing a rather large room. The room was furnished with dusty chairs, littered with old books, and even had an ancient wooden desk shoved against the rounded wall. Peeling paint marked the smooth walls, depictions of dragons dancing above peaked mountains, and a sprawling city. People of every likeness sat upon mighty dragons, dragons of strange appearance breathed fire of every color, and situated just above the dead in High Valyrian script read “Old Valyria before The Doom.”

Walking the circular room, I traced the walls, careful not to chip the peeling paint. Under large, important-looking dragons, read long-forgotten House names that no longer existed. Houses from the time of Valyria. I had not heard of several of these houses, seemingly forgotten from our history, erased to make room for Targaryen legends of might and greatness, but as I circled the room, reading the ancient script, I struggled to find the Targaryen name.

It wasn’t until I shoved the solid wooden desk that I revealed the depiction of House Targaryen. Our dragons were smaller and less fierce than the others, our riders with their white hair and piercing purple eyes lacked the dark Valyrian Steel armor. It was strange, as I had never seen such a lackluster depiction of our house. It was no wonder this room and been abandoned and forgotten, actually, it was a wonder that it had not been destroyed altogether.

Opening the drawers of the desk I found mountains of parchment, all written in High Valyrian, several were labeled History, Bloodlines, and The Doom. Most were eaten by the mice that had claimed this room and the bugs that burrowed deep in the darkness, but what was here was incredible. If the maesters had this we might bring back what was lost to our house, the ancient ways long forgotten.

I spent several hours in that room that night, reading what I could, absorbing as much information as my ten-year-old brain could comprehend. Focusing mainly on Old Valyria and its greatness, the dragons, and the ancient ways riders bonded the mighty beasts. The papers spoke of blood rituals that bonded dragons so firmly to their rider that spoken words could be mentally passed from bond to bond, bonds where dragons could enhance the rider’s physical abilities and lifespans. It was incredible and so unimaginable, especially from what Jacaerys had told me of his bond with Vermax.

How could this have been forgotten? My silent question was answered with a recount of Princess Aerea and her bonded dragon Balerion. How after she claimed Balerion, the maesters had shown her the ritual at the orders of the King, her father, and demanded she take the dragon to Old Valyria and perform it. The paper mentioned how she was missing for over a week, and when she returned, she was in a sorry state, and Balerion was injured beyond the maester's repair. 

Princess Aerea was kept alive through arctic and cruel means, pushed to her breaking point so that the maesters could see what was growing in the young princess, to see what was devouring her from the inside out. Despite the means to keep her alive after only a week, the princess succumbed to the creature, which then burst from her body looking for a new host. The creature was killed, but not before it was recognized as a firewyrm larva, a creature that now inhabited the once vibrant city of Valyria.

As for Balerion he never fully recovered from whatever creature he fought, the wounds never scared over, constantly leaking deep black dragon blood. The dragon riders speculated that there was a battle going on in the beast, that something had slithered into the dragon’s wounds. 

I remember the stories of when King Viserys had claimed the once great conquering dragon, it only had enough strength to circle Kings Landing thrice before it subcommand to its injuries, even though the maesters had claimed the beast died of old age, not one could look past the massive wounds.

After the death of Aerea, the rituals had been locked away in the King’s office, never to be tired again and as generations of dragon riders came to pass the bonds steadily became weaker and weaker, the dragons harder and harder to control.

Setting the papers down, I couldn’t help but imagine the riders of Valyria, the fiercest of us all, and their dragon bonds so powerful that beast and rider became one. We claim to be mighty, but in reality, we are a shadow, a glimpse of what we once were. We were frauds clinging to power, and with the dragons’ clutches failing to hatch, our house was declining.

~

I made my way back to my room after rereading the dragon bonding rituals. Aerea may have failed, but I wondered if it was still possible. I was being sent to Essos in a day’s time, and Essos was the land of Valyria. Ten years was a long time, perhaps I would venture there and see what the land held.

For the first time in three days, sleep came easily, but as I settled into the sweet darkness, I became trapped. Images of fire scored my mind, screams echoed all around, but as the sights and sounds became overbearing, they began to fade, revealing the open sky. The wind rushed past my ears, tangling my hair behind me as I soared through the clouds. I was no longer Valaena Targaryen, but a dragon beating my mighty black wings in the open air, catching drafts of wind. Banking, diving, and hunting in the expansive forests that lay beyond the ashes of Valyria, hidden by the vast mountain ranges that separated the rest of the continent from the Doom. Roaring, vibrant red and gold flames spilled past my mouth, warming the air I flew into.

My massive body dove towards the earth, my black wings tucked tight to my scarred body as I stalked a mighty, massive beast of legend. Descending upon the creature, my wings snapped out, catching the air and hoisting my body before it could slam into the ground, my talons grabbed the beast, spearing it with my sharp grip. The creature thrashed further, impaling itself, before finally going limp.

I was startled awake, the dream lingering on in my mind, images of cloudless blue skies, and the victory of a large catch striking pride in my chest, but pride did not belong to me. 

Sudden harsh knocks chased away anything that lingered on from the dream, the emotions fading to the back of my mind as I remembered my reality. The sun had not yet risen, but golden hues touched the horizon outside my window, signaling that it would soon rise. Thanks to my exploration last night, I had not gotten nearly enough sleep.

After a second bout of knocking, my doors swung open, revealing Daemon. He cast his eyes around my single-chambered room, taking in the small step that led to my bathing area, the large window that was open allowing the scent of the sea to wash into my room with every gust of wind, the small seating area, and finally the single step up to where my bed sat.

“No time to waste, princess.” Clapping his hands, he moved aside to allow two maids into the room where they pulled out a tunic and pants and left, leaving me to dress myself. “No maids for the banished,” Daemon said matter-of-factly, before turning to give me privacy as I dressed.

“We have a lot to do before tomorrow, hurry, hurry.”

Dressed, Daemon led me out of my room and to the private training room Jace and Luce had shown me the previous day. The room was nearly the same as we had left it, weapons scattered about, but the hard stone floors were covered with soft straw and feathered mats.

“These mats will help you practice hand-to-hand without hurting you too much,” Daemon said, entering the room as if he owned it.

“Jace and Luce already showed me how to fight,” I said to my uncle.

He tsked, “They are boys; still learning themselves. You need an experienced teacher if you are to survive.” Daemon dressed in loose clothing, bent down to position the mats as he thought best, before signaling me to join him, still crouched.

“The first and most important thing I or anyone could teach you is that you are weak.” He paused, letting the truth sink in. I knew I was weak; I knew others knew I was weak, but hearing it out loud was chilling, especially when it could mean life or death to me now. “It’s not a bad thing, it’s just something you need to always be aware of, especially in a situation you can’t escape from. Which leads us to the second most important thing: if you can get out of a fight, do so, even if you win, you still could be injured, and an injured girl is no different than a dead girl.” The mats were soft beneath the silk slippers of my shoes, so at odds with what was transpiring between my uncle and me.

Daemon’s deep purple eyes watched as the information sunk in, watched as I came to terms with the cards I had been given. “Alright,” He said gently, his hands falling on my shoulders so he could maneuver me, “Show me what your brothers taught you.”

As it turned out my brothers had done a decent job of teaching me the basics. No matter how fast I picked up on what Daemon was showing me, he still refused to allow a break, claiming there were no breaks in the real world. When my muscles began to shake, my hair stuck to my forehead with sweat and my head was swimming did he finally allow the maids to enter the room with a meager lunch. As they plated pieces of bread and cheese, Daemon stepped out.

With shaky hands, I shoved as much food in my mouth as my cheeks would allow. Scarfing down enough to make up for missing breakfast, but still, the empty aching feeling in my stomach would not go away. No matter how much bread paired with cheese the servants allowed me to eat or how much water I downed, the feeling refused to fade. As I finished the final slice, Daemon walked back into the room carrying a large box.

“Valaena, no one can know I am giving this to you.” He moved to where I sat on the soft mats, kneeling down to eye level, “Do you understand?”

Nodding slowly, Daemon opened the box to reveal an outfit. “I had this made the night I heard of your banishment. It should fit you perfectly. The material has some give, which will help when you grow.” Pulling out the long-sleeved tunic, he laid it next to me, before putting the matching pants down so we could see the whole outfit. “It won’t fit you forever. My hope was that it would last a year or two before you outgrew it. After that, you should have found someplace to lay low until Viserys calls you home.”

My hands skimmed the material, it was rough on the outside, but soft on the inside. “It’s made of the strongest fabric; it won’t stop you from getting impaled, but it should lessen a blow.” Daemon sighed, looking disappointed that this was all he could do for me, but it was more than I had expected from anyone, especially after my mother basically called for my death.

“There is one more thing.” From his loose pants pockets, he pulled out several thin blades, and from the stack, he pulled two out to show me. The steel was darker than what the guards used, matching only Dark Sister, Princess Visenya’s sword, which she used in the conquest that now belonged to Daemon. Etched into the two daggers were words in Valyrian, Fire and Blood, the words of our house. “These two are Valyrian Steel. They can and will cut through anything. Do not lose them.”

“Just like Dark Sister,” I spoke in awe. There were only a few people left in the whole world who knew how to craft Valyrian Steel weapons, and even fewer who owned the steel to forge with. Pulling the tunic tight, he revealed several slits in the fabric, just large enough to hide the blades in their folds, and sheathed the two daggers and nodded.

“When your mother was young, I had a necklace made for her. The steel was Valyrian, she still wears it today.” A soft smile graced his face as he imagined the necklace. “She said the same thing when I gifted it to her.” A soft pause followed as Daemon remembered the past, long before she had married my father, long before Jacaerys had been born, and even longer before I had come into the world kicking and screaming.

“The others are simple steel; strong enough, but not as sharp.” He fitted them into the rest of the slits that were both in the tunic and pants. “Now let’s see if you are any good at throwing them.”

Grinning, we both stood as I aimed for the target, striking the center, but not hard enough for the blade to stick. “Impressive aim, but again, you are weak. Did your brothers show you how to use them in close combat?”

The following hours were spent with Daemon showing me how to gut someone, along with how to get out of holds, in case someone grabbed me before I could use ‘my greatest strength’ and flee. Daemon called it as good as it was going to get as the sun dipped below the horizon, declaring that I needed to get as much sleep as possible before sunrise. He helped me carry the outfit and daggers to my room before caressing my head and stalking down the dimly lit halls.

~

Aemond

In my twelve years of life, I had never been more annoyed. Valaena and her family had taken off suddenly the morning after I had claimed Vhagar, and everything went to hell, leaving me no time to seek her out and explain what had occurred deep in the under tunnels of Driftmark. Mother tried to convince Father to stay in the blasted Keep until the young princess set out for her banishment, but King Viserys would have none of it. It was one of the few times the King had a backbone and said no to his wife. 

The King was furious that he had to bestow a punishment upon his only daughter’s daughter, to appease his wife’s desperation for justice for my missing eye and permanently disfigured face. In his rage, he had ordered the servants to pack everyone’s things and set out for King's Landing that evening, arguing with Alicent that he would not miss the young princess’s sendoff. Mother, of course, was angry and delayed as much as possible for as long as possible. No amount of reasoning would make her understand that a stolen eye and a scar were a small price to pay for the Queen of the Dragons, especially in the coming inheritance war that was brewing under Otto’s skin. But Queen Alicent wouldn’t hear reason, too furious with her former best friend and their broken friendship.

That evening, as the sun set, we set sail for the Black Water Bay, Vhagar flying diligently overhead; her mighty scarred wing having no trouble filling the sails with wind, propelling the ship to sail faster, as if she could feel my urgency at returning home. 

I had been sent below deck where a maester could keep watch on my still leaking wound for signs of infection, but even I could only handle so much poking and prodding by an old man. As the moon reached its peak and the maester fell asleep, I escaped above to the deck. Vhagar was circling over the ship, gliding downwards until her feet dipped into the cold waters before pushing her body back into the air, her wing tips splashing the deck with a salt mist. Watching the beast, I could only wonder if she was worth the cost.

How could you? How her small frame had produced such a harsh sentence, filling the room with a tension I had never known before; how her voice had spat such venom and anger into three words I would never know, but even still the three words echoed in my mind in time with the beast’s wings. 

Yes, I had claimed Vhagar, the Queen of the Dragons, Queen Visenya’s very own dragon she used to conquer and hold Westeros with, but at what cost? I had lost my eye, I had lost the looks I would grow into, but I had also lost something deep within myself, a hole I thought Vhagar would fill, and she did for a brief second.

Leaning against the railing, I watched Vhagar reach for the skies before she slowly descended to touch the ocean before heaving herself back into the clouds. The salty ocean spray stung my cheek, and I knew it would have negative healing effects, but the pain was better than the strange, dull emptiness I felt in my chest, weighing down into my gut. 

Was this what guilt felt like? It wasn’t my fault that Valaena had been chosen to carry out her brother’s punishment. It wasn’t my fault that her family treated her as expendable. I had never felt this way after restlessly teasing the princess in the halls of the Red Keep, but she had never reacted to my taunts. 

In the Great Hall of Driftmark, she had no reaction to her punishment, nothing but a tense frame. No tears welled in her eyes, her tense body didn’t shake with her impending doom, but the second she heard that I had claimed Vhagar, she reacted. Her quaking, disbelieving question at my crime, at my betrayal of our tentative friendship, if that was even what the strange stretching bond between us was. He claimed Vhagar?” Then I felt the strange bond snap, recoiling into my body like a blow.

“Shame that Vhagar’s new rider is so deformed.” The harsh voice spoke from behind me. “Good for taking it from our whore of a half-sister, but such a shame what little Lucerys did to your face in response.” Tensing, I felt as Aegon came up beside me to watch the dragon with passive attention.

When I didn’t return act on his remarks, Aegon scoffed, moving from leaning over the railing to leaning on it, facing my undamaged side. “From this side, you still look normal.” Tilting his head, he tsked, “Turn for me, brother. Let me see the damage done.”

I did not. My remaining eye was fixated on the horizon. Aegon may have been three years my senior, but he did not act it. As the first surviving son of King Viserys, he received special attention which has made him dull. He was a lousy swordsman, an even lousier fighter, he lacked the princely manners expected of him, and he was far behind in our High Valyria lessons. How he communicated with his golden beast I was unsure.

Sensing my displeasure, Aegon continued, “Come now, brother.” Reaching out a hand to turn me forcefully, I looked at him and grabbed his hand. “Ah, there he is, Aemond, “The One-Eyed.” Now you only need the reputation to match it.” Chuckling, he stepped out of my grasp. “A fierce reputation might be the only thing that saves you when it comes time for Mother to marry you off.” He scoffed at the thought, “Imagine your bride-to-be sees your deformed face and all and runs screaming out of the Great Sept. You need a reputation that keeps her in her place.”

I didn’t bother a reply. As the second son I knew I would be married off to the most advantageous lady, which was nothing new, but would a Lord say no to a marriage between me and their daughter based on my looks, would my status as a prince not be enough to save me from loneliness? What did I care about it anyway?

“Shame about the Princess Valaena. I knew you two had something going on.” Aegon sniggered, still trying to get a rise out of me. “Of all the bastards Rhaenyra produced, I was most fond of her.” A pause. “She would have been beautiful, too bad she is all but dead.”

“She could live.” The words were out before I could stop them. It was just the opening he was looking for.

Aegon snorted, turning his back on the ocean and leaning against the railing, “She could whore herself out, like mother like daughter, right? Or she could find a job, but that seems unlikely; maybe she won’t even make it to Essos. If we are lucky, this whole ordeal will be over before it even begins because her ship sinks and she will drown at sea.” Aegon slapped me on the back, “All more likely than her surviving to see her twenty birthday and returning to the people who sent her away.” Gripping my shoulders, Aegon leaned into my now scarred right side, “And we have you to thank for it all.” Turning so I could see him, Aegon grinned, “Have a good night, dear brother.”

As Aegon disappeared to his quarters below deck, I hung my head low, no longer caring to watch my dragon circle the night sky. And we have you to thank for it all. Aegon perhaps had spoken no truer words in his whole life.

~

We made landing at the Black Water Bay, Vhagar’s roar over the city and her menacing massive shadow announcing our arrival. With the beast back in the main royal family’s grasp, she would make a nest wherever she pleased, as the Dragon Pit had grown too small for her massive, aged form. Valaena had a single full day remaining before she was to leave this land, out of this very dock, and return in a decade. Viserys went to his daughter before checking on his duties, leaving Mother and Otto to them. Something he would soon, one day regret. I was taken by the maesters to their workshop where they could do a more satisfactory cleaning and inspection of the wound. Even as they peeled the scabbed cloth covering my missing eye, I could not feel the pain as I knew Valaena was in the Keep, and reachable by some means.

After the old men had placed a new bandage over my eye, I left, heading straight for the princess’s room. Her room was somewhat further away from the others, pushed down the back of a long hall. Helaena had offered the chambers next to hers when Rhaenyra had moved her children back to the Red Keep at the signs of King Viserys' failing health, but Rhaenyra had declined, claiming Valaena liked her space. Of course, as the years went on, it became obvious Rhaenyra did not enjoy the presence of her only daughter and thus had her roomed far away from her and consequently the others.

As I approached her room, I noticed the guards were not there. Either having abandoned their posts or being called to other pressing matters, leaving the princes unattended, while strange, it made it easier to get into the room. But as the doors swung open, I understood their absence tied into the princess’s.

I waited in her room all day, eagerly listening for sounds coming down the halls, and somewhat looking around her room. I had never been in them before, but I expected them to be similar to Helaena’s; however, they were not. Where Helaena had several chambers for each of her needs, Valaena only had one long room. Nearest the window that overlooked the ocean was a small copper tub, a changing curtain, and a vanity. Down a step was a sitting room where there was only enough room for two small chairs, a love seat, and a table, pushed against the wall facing the door; there was a chaise. Up a step was her bed, while as large as the others, it lacked the pillows and blankets Helaena had; hell, even my bed was more furnished.

It all felt wrong. Even with the few personal touches, such as a doll resting here or there and the books, nothing felt loved or even used. The dolls were placed aesthetically on the chairs and shelves, not as if she had been hastily left after she had played with them, but uniformly. The books lay on every surface, the tables, shelves, even the floor had books on them, they seemed more used than the dolls, but it didn’t make sense. They were thick tombs, mostly written in High Valyria and in the languages of Essos that even I didn’t know. What was a princess of the age of ten doing with such books?

When she returned, I would have to ask her, but only after I had explained everything. I wanted her to know I gave Rhaena time to claim the beast, but she had not. I did not betray her. But Valaena never came, and as the sun began to set, I knew I had to see my mother so she could inspect the maester's job at cleaning and bandaging my eye before she could set herself off to bed.

~

Valaena

Morning came faster than I had wanted it to. Its implications, however, came slowly. By the time the hard, lifeless knock pounded against my locked door, the sun had fully risen above the horizon, bathing my room in the morning golden glow. I had already changed into the thick outfit Daemon had given me, the daggers all snugly placed in their sheaths, the two Valyrian Steel ones in easy reaching distance, and one on each side. I had pulled out an old woolen cloak and a loose shirt and pants over the outfit so that no one would know I was entering banishment armed, as I wasn’t sure it was allowed. I had hoped that Aemond would try to sneak into my rooms at night since I knew Helaena and the Queen were back, but he did not come, and perhaps I was better for it.

The door opened after a series of clicks, revealing Daemon. He was dressed in full armor, Dark Sister strapped to his side and a curved jewel-incrusted dagger was held in his hand. “Come, Valaena. It’s time.” His eyes raked over me, taking in what I was wearing, before he nodded in approval spotting the thick leather outfit, he had gifted me peeking out from under the loose white overshirt.

It did not escape me that I would soon outgrow the layer of protection and be left vulnerable. I knew before that happened that I needed to find somewhere safe where I could live. I would need to find a job and develop a skill that would keep me alive long enough to return. Before he turned to lead me to my fate, he crouched, his metal armor clinking against itself with the movement, and grabbed my small, shaking hand. Gripping my hand, he willed it to stop shaking, forcing me to look into his steely gaze and willing his strength into me so that I could and would survive at any cost. “This dagger is special, not only because it is Valyrian Steel, but because it was forged when Valyria ruled the land, sea, and skies, and because it wields our future on it.” He placed the cool steel into my hand, “I hope you have bled it before you come back to us.”

With one final look, he rose and led me to my future.

The halls of the Red Keep were empty despite the early morning air and the golden light bathing the eastern stones. As Daemon turned corners and led me downstairs, we ran into few guards, and even fewer servants; it was as if they had been ordered away. A reminder that I was no longer one of the people they were sworn to protect, that until I returned in ten years, I was no better than the Commonfolk begging at the gates.

I wouldn’t let it get to me, I couldn’t. If I fell to my knees now and begged, screamed, and cried, I would accomplish nothing other than making a fool of myself. I would leave a lasting impression of the spoiled princess everyone thought I was. So, I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and walked as Daemon did when he knew he was in trouble, with a swagger in my steps that said no one can touch me.

A small boat was waiting for me, docked and digging uselessly against the dingy wooden deck. I had thought I would set sail on the main port of the Black Waters, but no, Daemon had led me to the small private dock hidden against the large bluffs of the ocean and the endless walls of the keep. It was the dock, Jace, Luce, and I had swum from only this past summer, jumping from the end of the splintered wood into the warm, seemingly endless waters. I supposed I would be sailing into the endless today, sailing East until the small wooden boat bumped against land.

The captain of the small sea boat was a sun-weathered older man. His leathered face was wrinkled beyond the point of telling his age, but easily broken by the gentle smile he offered Daemon and me as we walked towards him. Knowing the circumstances of our meeting, he began untying the ropes holding the boat to the dock, the large, patched triangle sail moving aimlessly in the soft breeze.

“Will no one else see me off?” I asked, stalling the inevitable, but also hoping Jace and Luce would also come out to say goodbye.

Daemon shook his head, not stalling his strides to the boat, “No one else, princess.” He turned back towards where I trailed after him, seeing the unshed tears I refused to let loose. “Remember who you are.” He was harsh with his words. “Remember what you are.” He moved to stand in front of me, leaving no room for me to go but backward. I stood my ground. His large hand came towards me, finger pointed, and he touched right above my heart, pressing against my clothing and skin. “You are a Targaryen, and Targaryens are survivors.” The rays of the sun bent around his armor, casting his front in a shadow, making his armor darker and him more menacing. “I will see you in ten years. Head high, Princess.”

Daemon led me to the ship, helping me board with a hand, “Don’t let them see your fear.” He had barely stepped away before the captain of the small vessel let the sail catch air and push us away from the dock.

Standing from the bow of the boat, I watched my home get smaller, I watched as Daemon turned into a small speck until all I could see was the Red Keep standing tall at the end of the peninsula where it watched King’s Landing with a keen eye, until even the Keep turned into a speck in the far distance.

I didn’t move from the spot for hours, my gaze turned westward. Until a roar sounded in the distance. As if the universe hated me, the massive figure of Vhagar filled the skies. Her battle-torn wings stretched endlessly as she glided towards the waking city, coming back after a night of hunting. The anger that had hardened my insides spread, casting my once soft heart in a hate-filled layer so thick a sword would not pierce it.

I vowed, watching Vhagar wake the city with her mighty sounds, that the next time I saw the Red Keep, I would be a Targaryen worthy of my name. I would survive, and I would make them remember the girl they had turned their backs on.

Chapter Text

Valaena

The long days at sea had not done me any favors. I reeked of the fish Captain Seaworth caught for our meals, the sun had been unkind to my pale skin, turning the pearly white flesh to a harsh red that peeled and burned something fierce, and worst of all was the rolling in my stomach. I could hardly keep anything down, and it didn’t help that all our meals were mostly undercooked sea creatures. Seaworth did not care for my discomfort. When I voiced it, he would only smile at my red, pouting face and say, “I would get used to the sting” or “Soon your skin will adapt to the harsh ways of the sun.” The older man took pleasure in pointing out the light dotting of freckles that began showing across my nose and cheeks, claiming, “That I adapted fast.”

During our long days and cold nights at sea, Captain Seaworth rarely spoke unless it was to tease me or point out something peculiar in the waves, and he always stayed in his corner, giving me plenty of room to move about the small vessel, especially when the rolling in my gut demanded an outlet. With my head over the railing, emptying the contents of my stomach, I spent the first leg of our voyage. Eventually, and much to my dismay, Seaworth was correct, and I did, slowly, adapt to the gentle undulations of the waves and the pungent scents of body odor mixing with rotting fish.

By day three, I reached the point of extreme boredom. My eyes would fixate on something in the far distance and watch it as we slowly sailed away, or my eyes would blur watching the old man tie his knots and cast his nets. My staring bothered the old man enough so that he started teaching me what he was doing and why. Starting with the basics he showed me the knots every sailor knew, using in nets and on fishing hooks, he would show me the proper way to cast a net into the deep waters, and when the sunset and we could no longer follow its east to west pattern, he would point out the stars that would guide us eastward. With nothing else to do, my hands aimlessly tied his daily knots, my arms grew heavy from casting the nets as far as I could, and my eyes blurred with exhaustion as I looked to the stars for guidance. When the captain was satisfied with my quick learning, he began to teach me how to properly sail. The ropes that held the mast sail, how to tell the direction of the wind, and where and when the waters would turn from calm to rapid.

As we worked to move the ship, it did not escape my mind that I was helping the man travel faster toward my ill-fated banishment, but at least I would go into Essos knowing something. The more comfortable he became with me, the more I became with him, and soon he was telling stories of his past, from the raging storms he survived to the mighty and mythical creatures he encountered. He told me of the warm waters of Sothoryos where giant sea serpents slithered under the waves unbeknownst to sailors until too late, and how he had barely escaped with his life after his first and last encounter with such a creature. Closer to the shores of the southern continent, he recounted the small, feathered dragons that flew in flocks like birds, their colors so vibrant against the blue of the sky and the green of the vast jungles. It didn’t matter if his stories were embellished or complete lies; I was grateful for his kindness and willingness to keep me entertained.

Eventually, our time came to an end. Sometime during the second week of travel, Seaworth heaved a great sigh catching my attention as I finished tying a knot and wrapping up the loose ropes, “We’ll be reaching port soon.” He sounded sad that our time was coming to an end. I nodded already missing the old man and the soft sway of the boat and open skies. It finally made sense to me why Corlys had never claimed a dragon, saying the seas were enough for him.

“Yer, uh, Uncle Prince Daemon gave me a coin purse for you to have once we reach Braavos. Spend it wisely, princess.” Patting his chest pocket, he nodded before looking back at me. “Don’t let them know who yer are. It’ll only cause more trouble than it’s worth.”

The rest of our time together was spent in silence, neither of us knowing what to say to the other, and as his boat bumped against the port in Braavos, our time together officially ended. The port hand secured the vessel, took down the man’s name, and then looked to me only for the captain to hand him a second pouch of coins. As we stepped off the boat, my hand in his, he gave it a final squeeze, “Remember who yer are, remember what yer are.” And then he was gone, and I was alone.

The docks of Braavos were much like those of King's Landing. Traveling merchants loaded and unloaded their wares onto large carts, where they would be shipped off to the buyer. Small colorful vendor stands lined nearly every building, pushing the streets tighter, and an array of items lined their wooden tables. Children ran amok between the legs of adults, chasing each other, giggles escaping their mouths. They didn’t seem to mind that their clothes were rags, and their cheeks were stained with dirt. A handful of children would swarm a single vendor, distracting him or her as one or two grabbed the food or valuable gems laid out, leaving the vendors to chase them or call the guards, but by the time either could catch the thieves, the kids would have dispersed and disappeared. A well-oiled system, I fear, I would soon be a part of.

Adapt . Take notice and remember. Daemon’s voice filtered through my mind. I couldn’t just stand around like a fool, I needed to get going, to find shelter, food, and water. But the sights, sounds, and scents were so overwhelming. The brightly patterned painted and tiled buildings blurred with the small solid fabrics of the tents and awnings. The mix of Braavosi, other Low Valyrian variants, and the Common Tongue was overwhelming for my ears. How was I supposed to find anything when several languages were being spoken at once? But worst were the scents. Freshly baked bread, mixed with the sweet scents of fruits and flowers, mixed with the ever-present pungent odor of sweating bodies and rotting fish.

As I walked by the vendors, eager to leave the ports, owners eyed me suspiciously, watching my hands and tense body language, interpreting it as if I were a thief and not a scared girl. My hood hung low over my eyes and hair, hiding my lineage, but my short frame marked me as a child, worse, an unaccompanied child.

As I made my way deeper into the large Free City, I couldn’t help but notice the large amounts of people. People from everywhere, not just Essos. Dark-skinned people of Sothoryos walked the streets in groups, their arms full of traded goods and instruments. Copper-skinned Dothraki paraded down the streets in large groups, their dark hair braided down their back, facial hair tied in knots revealing menacing scowls, and their massive plains horses stomping on the dirt and gravel paths, kicking up dust. Dust that children ran through, using it as a cover for their pickpocketing and thievery. I made sure to stay clear of the Dothraki; something about the chained women and men in their company did not sit well with me, even if I was technically in a Free City.

Everyone eyed the streetwalkers; the ones drawing attention were met with cautious eyes and tense greetings, but the ones who simply passed by, head forward, were mostly ignored. That’s what I wanted, to be ignored at least until I found shelter; food and water would come after a safe place to sleep. Making sure the jewel-incrusted Valyrian Steel dagger Daemon had gifted me was hidden behind the dark cloak’s folds, I set my path.

It didn’t work, it seemed only adults could be ignored when they walked with purpose. As a child with a child frame, I was met with curiosity. Adults took me in, confused by my clean appearance, but smelly scent. To them, I was a mystery, not quite a street urchin, but not quite a respected member of society either. Children in the shadowed alleys eyed me suspiciously, questions lingering in their weary gaze and pinched faces. Perhaps getting in their good graces would lead me to a safe place. Surely if these children were out on the streets, they would know it better than someone who just lived here, but before I could approach them, something grabbed the back of my hood and yanked it back. My silver waves were braided on top of my head, but were now exposed to the stares of everyone. My wide, frantic purple eyes caught the attention of several seedy-looking men and the pitying looks of the exotic-looking women on the street corners.

“Just as I thought!” The man who yanked my hood back exclaimed. His large hand landed on my shoulder, turning me to face him, his grip unyielding, “I have a place with food and shelter for girls with features like yours.” He paused, grinning at my uncertainty. “If you need shelter, of course.” He played at my uncertainty, taking it as debating going with him when it actually was how to extract myself from all this attention. The hunger in his yellow bloodshot eyes told me everything I needed to know about who and what this man was: a flesh trader. “Come now, don’t be shy.” Glancing passed the man, I tried to catch the eyes of the children hidden in the dark alleys, but they had all shrunken back.

Stepping away from the man, I tried to shake his hand from my shoulder, “No, thank you.”

His grip tightened, not wanting to let me go, “A Westeros accent?” He sneered, “You might just be the real deal, huh?” Yanking back from him, I escaped his touch. His foul breath followed my escape. “If you ever change your mind, come find me!” He shouted after me as I ran down the street, drawing my hood back up. The man reminded me of one of the men my grandsire had ordered put to death for crimes I was not allowed to hear of, but if I had to guess, they were both in the same occupation.

As I ran down the streets, I could hear people whispering after me.

What’s a little lady like you doing out here?

A Targaryen lookalike.

Haven’t seen one of those in a while.

Poor girl.

It wasn’t until I fell into an alley that I allowed my heart to stop its frantic beating. What had I gotten myself into? How could I have allowed this to happen to me? Why hadn’t I just asked Captain Seaworth to take me in as an apprentice?

I had no food, no water, no shelter, I was not safe, and I was alone. The foolish thoughts and vows I had made depended on my survival.  A survival that was not set in stone, in fact, I knew everyone would think me dead.

So lost in my racing thoughts, I failed to notice a figure creep up on me, “Smart choice, girl.” The figure spoke in a loose accent, snapping me to attention. The figure moved toward me, reaching me and then sitting across me in the narrow alley I had collapsed into. As he moved to sit across from me, he removed his hood, revealing that he was a boy, hardly older than myself. His bright blue eyes searched my trembling form as I scanned his solid one. He had tanned skin hidden beneath a thick layer of dirt, much like the rest of the street children, a solid frame that was filled out, so he wasn’t starving by any means, and he looked friendly, suspiciously friendly. “I’m Brusco,” He thrust his hand towards me in a gesture of friendship.

Hesitantly, my hand wrapped around his, “Val.” As he shook my hand, he pulled me in, catching me off guard, causing me to fall into him.

“You don’t belong here, do you, Val?” His strange handshake caught me off guard, but his observation even more so.

Pushing my hood back, I revealed my features, scoffing, “Was I thought obvious?”

Cringing, the boy nodded. “Comically obvious.” Releasing my hand, Brusco allowed me to regather myself on the opposite wall. “Don’t worry, though, I can help you fit in.”

“I don’t want your help.” I spat before thinking.

“Need and want are two different things. You’re going to have to separate them if you want to survive.” Glaring, I looked at the boy, who in return cast a carefree, crooked smile at me. While his teeth may not have been the cleanest, he was doing better than the others I had seen.

“So what? You help me and I what…?”

He shrugged, “Help however you can. You intrigue me, Val. Plus, I would hate to see a flesh trader snatch you up, being a princess and all.”

“I am not a princess!” I sputtered at him, crossing my arms.

He mimicked me, down to my overly rigid posture and accent.

Point taken.

“Fine.”

He grinned, standing to his full height, and he offered me his hand, which I ignored in favor of standing on my own. “Lesson One, complete! Never take a stranger’s hand when you don’t know their entire intentions.” He was as tall as Lucerys but seemed kinder somehow. Like, even with the weight of his own survival weighing on his shoulders, he found a way to live with it and see the most out of like. “Come along, Val.” He began walking down the alley away from the main street I had just escaped. Looking back once, the smile still on his face, “Lesson Two involves mud. Lots and lots of mud.”

It appeared the dirty look of the typical street kids was not accidental, but rather a strategic play to keep the eyes of skin and flesh traders away. Dirty kids are less desirable kids. The dirtier the better. Brusco said, smearing more mud on his face and clothing once he found an acceptable puddle with mud at the bottom. I didn’t want to know where the water had come from to wet the dirt, but judging from the cracked dry ground, it hadn’t rained in a long, long while.

“Come on, princess, don’t be shy.” Brusco teased, rubbing more mud across his cheeks.

Scowling at him I grabbed a handful of mud trying not to cringe at the stench and began smearing it on the long over shirt. I had taken my cloak off, discarding it away from the mud, but still in reach should another kid try and take it from me, but seeing as it was mid-summer it was unlikely anyone would want a wool cloak.

“Hair next,” the boy ordered. Pouting, I made little effort to coat my white hair, which was now unbraided. “It’s a dead giveaway and a target.” Brusco rationed, seeing as I was only coating the tips. “No one but Targaryen bastards are in Essos. Once word gets out about your departure from Westeros, people will be looking for you.”

With a sigh, I placed my former self in a box, buried her, and then began lathering mud in my hair like it was shampoo. If my mother could see me now, no better than the commonfolk they forget about in their powerplays.

Raking my hands through the strands, I made sure everything was coated. Mud matted to the thick strands, already hardening in the harsh rays of the sun. The ties that previously held my hair struggled to hold heavy mud off the back of my neck. Brusco watched my struggle with a thin look. “You are either going to have to chop it or find a simple braid, something more Braavosi than whatever royal style it was in.” Giving it a quick single braid down my back, Brusco nodded in approval.

Pleased at our filth, Brusco led me back to the busy city centers, eager to begin our next lessons. As we traveled, he proudly pointed out how no one gave us a second look and most moved out of our way, smelling us before they could see us, proving his point that the mud was working. A fact I hated.

“Lesson Three,” he sounded once we reached a new market. “Know your limitations or know where to escape!” With that, he charged into the crowd, tailing after him was nearly impossible as he expertly slid between patrons of the market. Unfortunately, I understood what he was going to do while he was doing it. The boy approached a bread stand, his quick hands grabbed a loaf of bread that was not in view of the harsh-looking woman running the stand. Tucking the bread in his pants, he grinned at the seller, who shooed him away as he made an obvious gesture of trying to steal one before he returned to me triumphant. Dragging me into the alley we had come in, he grinned, pulling the warm bread from his pants.

“You stole that!” I pointed at the bread, accusing him, eyes wide with fear, a guard would track us down for the offense.

“Nuh-uh.” He mumbled around a large, exaggerated bit of bread. Choking it down, he sighs contentedly. “Stealing means you got caught, which I didn’t.” Breaking the bread in half, he handed the smaller piece to me. “I won’t let you get caught, don’t worry.”

Won’t let me get caught? How could he possibly guarantee that!?

“Your turn.” Making a face, I waved him away. Not confident in my ability to lie, cheat, and steal. “Sounds like you aren’t that hungry.” Right on cue, my stomach growled, not satisfied with the small piece of bread. Looking at the larger piece of bread, I gave Brusco a look.

“Thieves don’t share.”

“I thought you said you were a thief.”

“No, I said I don’t steal.”

“Same difference.”

“Not really.” He said it matter-of-factly, shutting down my entire argument. “Your turn.”

“I’m not ready.”

“You’ll never be ready if you don’t go now.” He said a mournful look crossed his face before his carefree smile returned. Then he pushed me into the crowd.

Stumbling a few steps, I bumped into several paying patrons. Mumbling apologies, I moved deeper into the crowd away from where I had drawn too much attention, and further away from Brusco. This was crazy, I couldn’t steal from anyone, especially not these people! Thieves who got caught lost their right hand. I couldn’t lose my hand, I needed it! But then my stomach grumbled.

Hanging near the edges of the crowds where I would draw the least amount of attention, I searched for my victim. I wanted a place where foot traffic picked up and people bumped against each other in their rush. Scouring the market, I found the perfect spot.

A large woman in a red over-dress and white undercoat stood proudly over her cart of artisan cheese wheels and red cherry apples. Her low-cut dress drew in men, who fell into her trap and bought entire wheels of cheese and a basket of apples to go with it. She was currently leaning against the far side of her cart, letting her chest hang out for the three men who were entranced, leaving the backside of her cart unattended.

My first day of banishment, and I was already a criminal. What would ten years do to me?  Would I even recognize myself?

Will you be alive to care? A voice whispered at the back of my mind, spurring me on.

Before I dared to steal from the imposing woman, I needed more of a distraction, especially for the first time. I would not leave this to fate. While I may not be the most graceful person in Braavos, I was quite the phantom in the Red Keep. Channeling my light feet, I slipped into the crowd, bumping and tripping people as I rushed in and out of their paths. On my exit route, I passed by the woman’s stand, snatching a basket of apples and managing to toss half a wheel of cheese on top. It was more food than I could eat in a sitting, but it would last a while, and if I managed to find Brusco, I might earn my keep under his guidance.

Scamping into the alley closest, I caught my breath and peeked around the corner. No one had noticed the woman was missing anything and people were still recovering from their collisions. Street children swarmed them, grabbing the fallen items and scampering back to their dark corners.

“Well done, my young pupil,” Brusco appeared out of nowhere at my side. “I hadn’t taught you Less Four yet, but it appears you mastered it on your own. The art of distraction!” He paused, looking confused for a second. “I guess that means we can move on to Lesson Five.”

Snatching the basket of goodies from my arms he led me deeper into the alley then down several other small walkways, dodging stray hands and the skeptical looks of adults. He slowed just outside a ruined building before he started to climb the fallen, scattered stones to get inside.

“This is where we will meet if we ever get separated.” He declared, placing the basket on the single small table. “Dig in.” He spoke mouth full of cheese, bread, and an apple slice.

Grinning, I did as he did, only with more refinement. Pulling a simple dagger from my underclothes, I cut the apple and cheese into bite-sized pieces and began munching on them. Brusco scoffed at the act, “You might be on your way to a street urchin, princess. But you are still a princess.” Laughing, he threw a piece of bread at me, and I couldn’t help but feel with Brusco everything was going to be okay.

~

And everything was okay.

Over the past two years, Brusco and I had found our rhythm. No fight was too big, no lesson too hard, no plan too dangerous. We were a well-oiled two-man machine, wreaking havoc on the citizens of Braavos from the shadows. Every day was a game of survival, and every day we beat it, moving on to the next level. The streets became our playground, the markets our life source, and we became each other’s lifeline. No one was safe from our sticky fingers, no vendor, no traveler, no guard.

Life was good and we had enough. I had enough. While Brusco thrived on the challenge of taking more, finding something more valuable, I focused on the necessities, food, water, coins, creating a stash in the fallen building we had claimed as our own just in case something went wrong, and we needed to lay low for a few weeks.

We had even opened our doors to other children, small, recently orphaned boys and girls were in and out for our guidance. We did for them what Brusco did for me, and while none of them stayed for long, finding other groups to be a part of, I was happy I was helping those like me.

My life became Braavos and the cities near, my past life forgotten, buried deep in my mind. Braavosi came easy, and I had even started picking up on the other languages; the languages of the Free Cities came easy as they were all variants of Low Valyrian, my High Valyrian excelled as Brusco and I ventured into wealthier parts of the city, and when times were stale, I practiced Dothraki, as they usually had wares from the other side of the continent. And after two years, the woes of my past life faded into the deepest parts of my mind, shoved to the back by the daily adventures and the rush of adrenaline that every day flushed through my body.

Brusco kept finding things to teach me, continuing the never-ending list of Lessons. Eventually, when I began going out on my own, I would come back with lessons of my own to share with Brusco. I enjoyed the rush of learning new things and eventually surpassed Brusco, who was content with his ways as they had served him well all along. Impersonating people became a hobby, learning to walk as they did, look as they did, and eventually speak, as it turned out to have a lucrative outcome.

We were moving up in our little world. Or so that’s how it felt.

Wanted. Dead or Alive. Raven-Haired Boy. Aged 14. Reward 5,000 Irons.

Wanted. Dead or Alive. White-Haired Girl. Aged 12. Reward 5,000 Irons.

The posters painted with our likeness were plastered all over the city, hammered into the wooden posts, circling through the markets, and passing through the hands of citizens and travelers. We had not been careful enough; we had gotten reckless and careless, and Brusco was taking it personally.

He was taller now, basically a tower next to my smaller frame. “You must have messed up!” He shouted at me, pacing the open room. “Led them back to us when you were out testing your mimicking thing.” He nodded, allowing his reality to become truth.

“Brusco. I was careful. I -” I tried to defend myself, but he wouldn’t have it.

Interrupting me, “Obviously not careful enough!” He sneered down at me. “What were you thinking, stealing those fruits from the Westeroi trader?” He paused his pacing, stepping closer, invading my space, but I wouldn’t give him an inch. “Missing home, princess.” He spat the title at me.

In our two years of knowing each other, he had never spoken to me like this, never tried to intimidate me as if he were my superior. He refused to listen to me, claiming my recklessness was souring the room.

“I knew keeping you around was a mistake!” He finally shouted at me. The words hung in the air between us. His face dropped at the words, instantly regretting them, but it was too late.

I took a step back. “Val.” He pleaded. “I…That’s not what I meant.”

Nodding, “I know.” I reached for him; a calming gesture passed between family. “We have enough to lie low for a few weeks. Let’s just wait this out?” I asked him.

“No. I…I can fix this.” Nodding, he stepped out of my grasp, turning from me. “I’ll take care of this.” His voice was soft and remorseful.

“There is nothing that can be done right now. We can take care of it in the morning.”

“Just stay here, Val, until I come back.” He snapped at me. His moods recently had been all over the place. One second, he was the Brusco I knew; the next, he was violent, angry even, but never, never had he turned his violence and anger on me. With that, he climbed out of the fallen house, stalking out into the night. The offending posters he had brought back with him crumpled and disregarded on the floor. Taunting me, reminding me that I was not safe, and I might never be safe again.

~

Brusco didn’t return that night. Or the next morning. Or that afternoon. So, when the sun began its descent, I went against Brusco’s orders to stay hidden and left the house in search of him. Sticking to rooftops and dark corners, I searched from the richer parts of the city to the slums, but there were no signs of him.

No signs until I heard the cheers and jaunts of a crowd. Sliding down the side of a building I joined the large crowd making its way towards a city center. The open space was filled with people of all social standing, everyone was cheering. Vendors were passing out rotten fruit to everyone who went by them.

Elbowing my way to the center of the crowd to see what was going on, I found Brusco.

Tied to a post, covered in blood, rotten fruit, and lifeless. His shirt was torn open, revealing deep-cut wounds caused by the discarded whip at the base of the post. His blue eyes were staring off into the distance, searching as if for what came after this, searching for a world where he didn’t have to fight every day just to live in a world that didn’t want him. His lanky limbs were drawn taut under the weight of his own body, and blood dribbled down to the cobbles where it formed a stream of red.

The crowd threw his wanted posters at his lifeless body, gold, silver, and iron coins bounced off his body in a mocking gesture.

Mocking. These merchants were mocking the body of a boy. A boy who had only seen 14 years. A boy who was only trying to survive in the world they had created.

The deep anger, the fury that I had nearly smothered out these past two years, flared back to life. Burning brighter, hotter than it had all those years ago when Aemond had betrayed me, when my mother showed her favoritism, when Alicent traded my life for my brother’s eye. As the flame burned and spread, it spared nothing, spared no idea or longing for what I wanted to become in Braavos, leaving behind only the shell of the banished princess I was. The banished princess I refused to allow to be my story, my legacy in this gods forgotten world.

And suddenly I was anything but okay.

Suddenly, I was a flame, burning for blood.

Chapter Text

Valaena

“Who are you, girl?”

“No one.”

~

The One-Eyed

The maesters visited me every day. Poking and prodding the wound to no end. Relaying the same information they had that fateful night at Driftmark, my eye was gone, and there was no chance it would ever heal; only today, there was more news of my mangled face.

“My Queen, there is a matter of the dead eye.” The old man spoke reverently to the queen. “We need to dig out the remainder of the organ before it starts to rot.” The maesters hands shook as he reached for the poppy tea on the table, which I now know was intended for me.

My mother cursed Rhaenyra for her sons deeds before allowing the maester to will the tea into my mouth. Alicent’s soft hands found my arm, gripping the soft fabric of the tunic as if she were the one about to undergo surgery, as if she was the one suffering. The water slid down my throat, leaving a dull numbness in its wake, before it pulled me into the darkness allowing the maesters to do what they needed to do.

When I awoke the next day, my face ached. A constant pouncing in my socket pushing against my skull, but it would not keep me down, for news of the young princess had made its way back to King's Landing. The letter was short, relaying only the important information: “The exiled princess had made it to Essos, touching down in Braavos, where she had found temporary shelter with other street children.”

Notes came nearly every week following that. The King had sent spies to keep an eye on the princess, his seemingly favored grandchild. It was a surprise when he allowed her to be sentenced to such a fate, but now knowing she had an arsenal of spies keeping her safe, I understood. Valaena would not be alone, even if she thought she was; the Red Keep was watching her, ensuring her survival and well-being. The news relaxed me to some degree. I may not be able to physically see and protect the princess, but my father’s best spies were ensuring her life and her future return. I didn’t even want to imagine what would happen after her banishment; she would return no longer a girl but a woman. A princess of the Seven Kingdoms with a line of eager suitors waiting to reintroduce her to life as a royal.

A scowl pulled at my cut, tugging the stitches harshly, but I couldn’t help it. Valaena would be mine when she came back. Under my protection, as it seemed, her family, her own mother, could not care for her well-being.

~

And letters kept coming for over two years. I never failed to read each of them, surprised to hear how Valaena had chosen to survive. Aegon couldn’t have been more wrong. She had not wound up in a flesh house, nor had she sunk at sea, or been killed by a strange thing. She had made a life for herself and the young boy, a life of stealing, yes, but she had survived.

But then everything changed. Approaching the end of her second year of banishment, the spies reported wanted posters for Valaena and her companion, posters where they did not care if either of them were alive or dead to claim the reward.

When Viserys heard of this he called Alicent to his chambers, their argument could be heard from down the halls. The King wanted the safe return of his granddaughter, and the Queen still wanted justice in full.

The next day, her friend was killed, publicly.

And she disappeared.       

Chapter Text

Valaena

The sun trickled through the canopy above, casting leafy shadows across the mossy ground as a gentle breeze swept through the forest. White, fluffy clouds lazily sailed across the never-ending blue sky, causing the occasional patch of shadows as they blocked the blindingly warm rays of the midday sun. Why we had given up the serenity of nature for our stone buildings and rigid rules, I would never understand. The sleek warmth at my back rumbled in agreement, content to spend her days lounging on the forest floor, basking in the sun like a great lizard or in the skies hunting the large beasts that called the Painted Mountains their home.

I had somehow managed to find a paradise in this wretched world, one I wished I had found sooner, wished I could have spent more time exploring the vast territory the dragon at my back claimed as her home, but alas, today marked the final days of my ten-year banishment. With my twenty-first day fast approaching, a declaration from the Seven Kingdoms would make its way across the Narrow Sea to the shores of Essos, where it would spread like wildfire until it reached the small villages at the base of the mountains. The peacefulness of the large rustling trees, the cool breeze that chased away the scents of sulfur billowing from the ruins of Old Valyria, nor the warm, soft mossy ground, not even the purring power at my back could change that simple fact.

It soured my mood.

I had yearned for that stupid piece of paper for years, hoping, praying to whatever gods were listening that it would come sooner, that it would save me from the endless fight for survival, from the years of ruinous torture, that it would save me from becoming something I didn’t recognize. I would fantasies about the words, dream about what it would say, how it would claim me as the Targaryen Princess my mother had never wanted, how it would say I was missed and loved, how it would hope for my swift safe return, back into the arms of my family where they would protect me as they always should have. I would dream of the declaration and wake up disappointed.

More than likely, the blasted decree would wash up on the shores of Essos, perhaps even near Braavos, where I had been dumped, in the hands of some drunk sailor who lived off the drama and mistakes of the Royals. The declaration from the King of Westeros, my grandsire, would most likely list the terms of my banishment, and my wrongdoings before it got to the point where it would welcome me back. No, demand me back. It would order my swift return to the ports of Black Water Bay, where I would be collected by some royal guards and delivered to the gates of the Red Keep, where I would be expected to walk back into the gaping jaws of the supposed House of the Dragon. My family would probably not welcome me back with open arms, or tears in their eyes, nor would there be pretty words of apologies whispered into my ears as they hugged me.

Rather, I imagined they would not be there at all, too busy fighting for power on Dragonstone through pretty words sent on Ravens. News of their succession issues and sides had spread to even my isolated neck of the woods. I remembered the tensions from when I was a child, but now Aegon was grown, a man old enough to challenge my mother for the Iron Throne, no matter that Viserys still held Rhaenyra as his heir. I wondered if they already had my future planned out, as the scorned only daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, there were duties I was expected to complete in a somewhat timely manner, and my banishment had gotten in the way of the strict timeline. Duties that would be all the more important to complete, especially with tensions rising between the half-siblings. I was probably already engaged to some sniveling lord with an army too big for him to know what to do with it, let alone how to properly command it.

I scoffed at the thoughts, I doubted they believed I had survived at all. After all, Alicent and my mother had handed me a death sentence in disguise. The silly thoughts my younger self had conjured about them, wishing they missed me as much as I missed them. Moments of weakness, lapses in judgment, especially considering the situations when my thoughts would draw back to the life I had, to the family that had sent me away to begin with. A trickle of annoyance shifted through my mind, down the bond I now and forever shared with the looming beast at my back. Shifting my eyes from the dancing shadows, I glanced at the massive dragon. Steam curled around her mouth and nose as she heaved a great huff, further warming the surrounding air. Her crimson eyes were closed, as she rested during the hottest hours of the day under the canopy of the ancient forest, but she was still very much awake, tuned into my own thoughts as if it were her personal entertainment.

At least we were both in agreement when it came to family and their backward ways. But unlike the dragon, I had not killed mine and scattered their bones across my territory as a warning. Nestling further into the beast at my back, the distant villagers lovingly called Black Death for her infamous killings and battles, I huffed at the memory of her dramatics, remembering the massive bones I occasionally stumbled across during my hunts. Shaking my head, I pushed further into her black metallic scales as a chilling breeze pushed through the forest, whistling harshly as it passed through the bark of the trees. The villagers avoided this part of the woods, declaring it haunted in part because of the sounds the wind makes when it dances through, like ghosts screaming, but also because they knew Black Death, which I had simplified to Morghul, resided somewhere in this half of the mountain range.

~

The Meeting

It was by luck alone that I had stumbled upon her den high in the Painted Mountains, overlooking the lush valley below just north of the destroyed Old Valyria. I knew of the rumors circulating about a great beast that hunted in the southern mountains, but no one had seen the creature in decades. Knew that I was taking a risk when I decided to escape into her territory, running from the Faceless Men who restlessly hunted me due to my deceit. I was flipping a coin, deciding who I would rather be slain by: a beast that had not been seen in ages, or a guild of assassins who would take the utmost pleasure in slowly peeling back my skin until I cried out to the gods who had long abandoned me. It really wasn’t much of a choice, actually; I much preferred my chances with the unknown beast than the assassins who could be anyone and anywhere. So, I followed the bones and carcasses of unknown creatures until I found her. Nestled in the open mouth of a cave, surrounded by bones, taking cover from the pounding storm and needle-like stings of the harsh rain. I thought I was doomed for sure the second I saw her; a void black dragon, larger than any creature I had ever seen, rivaling the size of Vhagar, crimson eyes trained on my drenched, weary frame. Dragons are notoriously territorial, and I was trespassing. But she let me wait out the storm, on the far side of the cave mouth, rumbling when I ventured too close, and when morning came, she didn’t eat me.

From there, a tentative avoidance was established. During the day, we ventured our own ways, hunting, scouting, doing whatever we needed to do, but at night we returned to the massive cave, which I had discovered was not natural, but rather she had dug out on her own and settled in for the night. Days, turned into weeks, weeks into months, and by the time a year rolled around, I had managed not to piss her off to the point of burning me alive. I stuck by her side, trailing after her as she moved through the trees with expert prowess, not slowed down by her mountainous size, leaving me only when she took to the skies with easy beats of her scarred wings. During those times, I would watch her, the gnawing pit in my stomach filled with wonder and jealousy at her freedom. Her metallic scales would catch the light, chasing away the void-like colors of her hide, turning her iridescent as she maneuvered through the clouds, casting endless shadows on the lands and valleys below.

We began using the same section of the river to chase away the scorching summer heat and to wash away the soot from the strange, raging ash storms that came from out of Old Valyria. I thought that would be the extent of our relationship, until one day she brought back a piece of her kill, laying it in the corner she had let me claim. After that, our relationship built until one day something came over me. I had found her resting in the sun, basking like a cold-blooded lizard. She watched me, her garnet eyes tracking my movements as I approached her, my hand raised tentatively, and touched her. When she didn’t bite me in half, I began climbing, and she moved to flatten the parts of her she could, allowing me easier access. Barely seated, she stood, allowing me no time to figure out where I was supposed to sit, what I was supposed to hold on to, before stretching her mighty wings and taking off.

It was unlike anything I had ever done. The rush in my veins as my heart pumped faster than it ever had before. As my eyes took in the fading landscape below. With a mighty shout, I allowed the dragon to carry me wherever she wished, and if she wished to unseat me and watch me fall to my death, I would die happy, I would die a dragon rider.

Morghul had taken me over Old Valyria, where she circled allowing me to see the ancient home of my people. Lava still spilled from the Fourteen Flames, flooring the land with red and orange fire, burying the evidence that the greatest empire that has ever existed used to sit at the heart of the volcanic chain.

From what I remember of my lessons, the Valyrian Freehold had fallen to the Doom. The land turned against the people, and the bellies of volcanoes were mined for precious metals filled with magma, melting the miners and burying the wealth of the ancient cities. The magma rose to the surface, pushing lava violently into the skies, raining down upon the temples, castles, homes, and dens of the dragons. The land turned barren, with wild creatures from deep within the earth rising to the surface to claim what was left.

So, when Morghul began descending towards the ashy surface, panic welled in my soul, the vivid memory of Aerea Targaryen’s demise flashing in my mind. She landed with a massive thud, clawing at the ground, anchoring her massive, clawed wings into the steaming ground before she gave a great shake, flinging me from my precarious position between her deadly sharp spines to the side and where I slid down her wing and onto the hot ground.

Screams echoed off the fourteen flames, once massive pillars of the Valyrian Freehold, now only mere hills, drowning in their own pyroclastic output. Screeches of firewyrms drew closer, their rumbling shook the earth.

“You beast!” I screamed at the dragon, who looked at me expectantly. “You are going to get us killed!” She only flicked her spined tail, creating a small cloud of ash that I choked on.

Every time I tried to climb back on her, she would shake me off, pivot until we were eye to eye, and heave a great puff. My mind raced with what she could possibly want.

The firewyrms drew closer, staved off only by the growls of Morghul when they ventured too close. But they were growing in numbers, and soon, her growls were not going to be enough to keep them at bay. I was going to end up just like Aerea, infested with larvae screaming in pain as they feasted on my insides until they burst from my belly in search of another host. And Morghul, the vapid beast, was going to end up just like Balerion, wounded eternally until she eventually succumbed to her wounds. Only neither of us would be found for centuries, I had nowhere to return to for help, and this dragon was completely wild.

What was I thinking befriending a wild, untamable beast?

My sweet daughter, the fiercest dragon riders, claimed the untamable. My father’s voice echoed in my mind, quelling the rising panic that was threatening to drown me.

The words of the ancient ritual I had found in the forgotten tower of the Red Keep came to mind, the words blurry with age, but once I started, cutting my forearm with the jewel-incrusted dagger I always kept on my person, something took over my body. Possessing me, helping me through the ritual as I cut into the dragon, who had stilled, allowing me to do what needed to be done. When it was done, the force that had taken over my physical body left me, leaving me confused about whether the ritual had worked and concerned about the giant, leaking wound running the length of my forearm.

“I was unsure if that would work.” A feminine voice entered my mind, speaking in High Valyrian. “I wondered if the Old Gods still watched over their favored city, even as it lay in ruins.” The dragon huffed and looked at me as I stared at it in bewilderment.

It talked. In my mind.

“What did you think would happen after the Bonding?” Morghul asked incredulously down the bond I could feel occupying the back of my mind. “The firewyrms' approach. Come now, Little One. I would like to not become infested with their slimy young.” She said, annoyed at my stupidity.

The she-dragon shook off the ashes that had fluttered onto her scales before lying flat, just as she had hours ago, allowing me to climb upon her back. Stunned, I did as the beast commanded me, sliding between the duller spines spread just far enough to allow me to sit.

What in the Seven Halls had just happened? Stunned, I sat in silence as Morghul heaved us into the air, blasting the ground we had just vacated with a fiery breath of unnaturally red flames, singing the firewyrms that tried to latch on to her as she took flight, and flew back to her valley.

Landing at the mouth of the cave, I slide off the back of the dragon, my dragon.

“Morghul,” She appeased. “Death. I shall take the name.”

Spinning, I faced the mighty dragon. “Yeah! Death!” I shouted at her. “Fitting, as you almost got us both killed!”

She huffed, slinking into her cave, amusement that was not my own entering my mind, entering down the bond that stretched into a void, inking me to her, before something closed the void closing me off from her mind.

“Not fair,” I yelled, chasing after her.

~

Morghul huffed at the rapid thoughts of my family and my doomed return. “Oh, quit your huffing, you mother hen,” I spoke aloud to the dragon, letting the High Valyrian roll off my tongue, forgoing speaking through our bond. Pushing off her body, sensing that she was about to move and possibly crush me, just to get my useless thoughts to cease. “I have a plan.”

She huffed in disagreement, opening her eyes to watch me move closer to her face. Her face, along with the rest of her body, was slender, with long, sharp horns pulled from her face starting small just below her eye, lengthening in size as they neared the back of her head. Under her chin, going the length of her neck, were spines, protecting the vulnerable soft tissue of her throat. Scars littered her lean, muscular body. Where scars had been forcefully ripped off in a battle, small, tightly packed lighter scales replaced the once midnight black ones, as she healed. Soon the smaller scales would drop, replaced with harder, more impermeable ones, but until then, marks of her wounds shone like beacons against her hide.

Running my hand up her neck, I rested it on her jaw. She dwarfed me, of course, but was still attuned to my small touches, allowing me the weird comforts she knew I needed after being deprived of anyone and everything for a decade. “If anything was to go wrong, you would be the first to know and swoop in for the rescue.”

“ I would rather not have to rescue you. ” Her retort went ignored as I looked into her crimson eyes, eyes that matched the brutal color of her flames. Before Morghul I had never been this close to a dragon, it made me wonder if all dragon’s eyes matched their fire, if it was a window into their soul.

My she-dragon pushed from where she lounged, her mighty form stirring the air and pushing my waist-length hair unbound behind my shoulder. She gave me no time to move out of her way before she stalked deeper into the woods, clawed wing tips of her front limbs digging into the soft dirt, flinging it back at me on purpose. She ambled down a well-worn path toward the sound of the deep, lazy river that passed several times through her territory before emptying into The Summer Sea. Not only did I have to dodge the large clumps of dirt and mud, but also her sharp underbelly as she walked over me. The scales and spines on her underside flared purposely as if trying to nick me. She would never actually stick me hard enough to do serious damage, just get close enough to remind me that there were two people in this strange relationship, and if she wanted to, she could end me.

Which was unlikely due to our bond.  

I had asked her several times if she was around for the Doom and if she knew if other Bonds were like ours or even had another rider. But she never answered, never told me if she had always been a wild dragon or if long ago, she was from a clutch, sired by tame dragons that had escaped the Doom, that had fled into the mountains, seeking refuge from the endless streams of magma, ash, and gases. Judging from the large bones of her family, I would guess she was not a tamed dragon, but an unpredictable beast that had acted out of instinct and anger as she claimed the cast lands as her own, leaving no one and nothing in her wake as she reigned over the southern Painted Mountains. I had once even asked if there were other dragons in the mountains. She had snorted, asking if I was so eager to rid myself of her. I let the subject go, seeing as it was a touchy one.

Following her to the deep river, trying to tame my hair as it moved wildly in the breeze. “Morgie.” I teased her after her, knowing she hated the nickname and had grown fond of her menacing name, Death. I recalled the small puff to her chest, her ego actively inflating, when I told her the mountain villagers called her Black Death, and that is where I got her name from. “Don’t ignore me.”

By the time I had caught up with her, she was slashing into the lazy river, her body pushing waves of freshwater onto the shore. Waiting for the waves to calm and for her to settle into the cool waters, I walked towards the edge of the water, removing my shoes and rolling up my pants, I placed my feet into the water. As she sank deeper into the water, steam clouded over her as she released the heat building in her chest. “What would you have me do?” I questioned the all-knowing dragon who sulked in the waters like a child throwing a tantrum. “Have me fly in on your back and allow you to destroy everything and everyone?”

A deep shiver of approval, but no words. She was actively trying to ignore me without closing the bond between us. Something we only did when we didn’t want the other to know what we were doing, what we were feeling, something we rarely did. “Of course, that is what you would want.” Lying back on the soggy ground, I let the dampness soak my clothes, cooling me off. 

Eyes open, I watched the clouds as they made their way across the sky. I didn’t know she had moved into the water, throwing her left wing out of the water, pushing a tidal wave of water toward me until it was too late, and I was skittering out of the way as the second wave washed up on shore, right where I was lounging.

Sputtering I looked at the beast, who was already watching me, eyes brighter with amusement. “Oops.” Was all she said before sinking her head under the water.

No better than a dog on a hot day. I thought, allowing it to echo down the bond to the submerged dragon. She shot her head out of the water, spraying water into the air, accusing eyes aimed at me as I wrung out my shirt. The rainbow she created over her head caused the edge of her threat to dull.

“Watch yourself, you need me to take you out of these mountains.” Eyes on the water, she stalked something in its depths, something that ventured too close. Lunging, she snapped her teeth around something, a massive eel-like fish. “Unless you have found a different way to make it back to Westeros, in a timely manner. Without me.” She asked, inhaling the now-dead fish.

She was right, my whole plan did hinge on her cooperation. Without her, it would take me weeks, perhaps even months, just to travel through the plains and get out of the mountains; I scoffed at the thought, hiking into it had taken me nearly a year, and I didn’t want to do it again. Her protection during my journey through cities and even during my crossing of the Narrow Sea eased something in my mind and hers. Knowing that the Faceless men were still actively hunting me and would until I died or outlived the assassin order, which was an entirely unlikely occurrence.  Her speed and fire-breathing might mean life or death for me before I even reach the shores of Westeros.

We sat in silence for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, long enough that my clothes dried, and Morghul’s body stopped steaming as she remained in the cool mountain river. Lying back in the soft grasses and mosses, I let myself take a piece of the silence, of the peace, before I would thrust myself back into the hands of my family, back into their game of thrones, and back into political upheaval. The bond between us hummed with our unshared thoughts, neither of us brave enough to bring the reality of our situation to light.

Chapter Text

The One-Eyed

Had today been like any other, I would have woken before the sun, rising before the servants began their chores for the day, had the night before been especially long I might have had to kick out a whore who had been unlucky enough to share my sheets for the night, before I would ride out to find where Vhagar had chosen to rest for the night. Together, the beast and I would circle the city, casting a menacing shadow over the waking city, reminding the citizens what and who protected their red stone buildings and cobbled streets from unknown threats to the realm. 

When the sun fully crested over the far horizon, I would make my return to the Red Keep. Where I would bathe, washing away the scents of dragon, the scents that my mother despised so, before poring over the papers documenting the woes and challenges of the Seven Kingdoms. The papers would list everything a future king would need to know, which is why when they first started appearing in my chambers years ago, I demanded they be sent to Aegon. Only to find out he was a drunk, and I would be taking over his political duties, and he would remain the figurehead.

The papers would list everything our spies and knights thought important enough to report, from movements and meetings of my realm-loved half-sister, Rhaenyra to the petty squabbles of the Lords across the kingdom, occasionally I would receive a report of my youngest brother and his strange behaviors and his dragon which was reaching a size large enough to be ridden, on those days I looked forward to the financial reports, trading records, and betrothal records that would grace my desk.

Ever since I started taking over Aegon’s duties, I would wait for a small raven scroll; a scroll that would either detail a sighting of the long-lost Princess Valaena Targaryen proving my gut feeling that she had not succumbed to the harsh cities of Essos, but rather found a safe place to wait out her banishment or a scroll that would detail a positive ID on a body revealing, much to everyone else’s thoughts, that the Princess died. But no scroll arrived, no matter how far and wide I demanded the spies in Essos search for her. 

Every day as I poured over the reports, a small, timid knock would sound at my door, a servant dressed in the typical uniform of a white bonnet and apron and brown underdress would open the door, informing me that breakfast was being served before scurrying out of my dimly lit room.

The two guards stationed eternally at my outer doors would nod their heads in acknowledgment before trailing after me like the good dogs they were, as I navigated the inner halls of the Red Keep that would lead me to the small, intimate room where breakfast was served daily. 

The first meal of the day would be placed on a long table, piled high with pastries, fruits, meats, and breads, and served with wine or water. Mother would be sitting to the right of the empty chair at the head of the table, Aegon on her right, followed by my sweet sister Helaena and her children, who scattered down the table picking and pestering the nanny who followed them around obediently, rarely speaking to anyone outside of the small twins. I claimed the seat to the left of the King’s seat, immediately across from my mother, should anything be said of importance that she would wish me to look further into.

Mother would hold the pretense of a nice meal with her supposedly beloved children, speaking softly about her duties of the day, when she would go to the Sept, and how the King was fairing. Her hand would press against her soft green velvet dress, fidgeting with her Seven-Pointed Star, a signal of her faith to the Seven New Gods, when no one would offer their deeds of the day. Silence would fall, Mother giving up on prying into her children’s lives, or so she would have us assume, before she would call over her Lady Maid. 

The Lady Maid would hand the Queen a small, neatly folded envelope, which the Queen would then hand to me. The envelope would contain a small piece of paper, detailing the names, ranks, and houses of several ladies of court that had caught the Queen’s eye the previous day, sometimes listing names of ladies much younger than I, but from houses with advantageous positions of power. I would ignore the letter, favoring burning it rather than pursuing a weak, sniveling lady of the court handpicked by my own mother. 

Otto would stroll in around the end of breakfast, picking off the table before sitting to my left, choosing to ignore that the seat was for Daeron.

Daeron, my youngest brother, was a fickle boy. A boy three years my junior who portrayed the perfect, gentle, passive third prince. A boy who was skilled at playing the ways of court, a gentleman to the ladies, but there was something not right about him. Something dark and malicious lurked beneath his eyes, infecting his soul. Something I wished I could not recognize, nor relate to, something I would have ignored if it weren’t for the rumors surrounding the youngest princes. 

When his servants had started going missing, gone without a trace, rumors began that there was not something right with his mind, that there was an evil infecting his thoughts. He was a sweet boy until he was not. 

When these rumors reached my ears, I informed Mother of my opinion on the matter, and she agreed, not bothering to defend her youngest son. In the dark of night, he had been shipped, alongside his small dragon, Tessarion, to Oldtown, where Ser Gwayne, my mother’s brother, would train him to be a knight. It was Gwayne’s letters that would occasionally reach my desk, his increasing worries for the prince, his rapidly changing moods, and the fact that the she-dragon Tessarion was growing into a fierce dragon whose moods rivaled the young prince’s.

Otto would relay what the Small Council had discussed the day before to Aegon, a meeting I had attended in my older brother’s place, before pulling me away for the next meeting. They had gotten repetitive recently; the only topic of interest was the possibility of Valaena’s return and what it could mean for the Black, referring to the subjects and houses loyal to my half-sister’s claim to the Iron Throne. The council members would chase their tails, worry dizzying their minds at the implication of Valaena’s age and her possibility of marrying a strong house with an army that would rival the one Otto had been building in secret to support Aegon’s claim to the Iron Throne.

However, today was not like the days before. The repetitive nature of the days had been interrupted by the anticipated arrival of the once-banished princess. King Viserys had released a decree three days before, declaring that Princess Valaena return to King's Landing immediately. It had been posted around the kingdom, sent across the seas, in hopes that one might stumble upon the lost princess. 

Since that day, servants rushed around the halls, carrying new silken sheets and cloths of varying colors, mostly in the Targaryen house colors, but some had been furnished in the soft greens and folds of my mother’s house; the king even had some made in the memory of the young princess’s favorite colors, purple and blue. Each new fabric had the Targaryen sigil of the three-headed dragon. 

Fresh flowers were placed in every room, removing the scents of still water and dust, and in the busiest rooms, the scent of the King’s rot. The bright flowers littered halls, sitting rooms, and doorways and were even intertwined on the pillars of the Great Room, where new candles were also being placed in the chandeliers. Worn rugs were removed for cleaning, and new brightly woven rugs replaced them, their hand-woven colors showcasing various histories such as The Doom, Aegon the First and his sister-wives conquering the Seven Kingdoms; in honor of the Queen’s religion, the sigil of the Seven was even displayed although pushed into the corner almost out of sight and drowned out by the might Targaryen history.

Fine clothes were laid in my rooms; an array of tunics all bearing the house of the dragon’s seal and lacking entirely the Queen’s maiden house colors. It was no secret that the Queen’s children favored her house colors, wearing daily the greens of Oldtown rather than the red and blacks of the Targaryens. 

It was startling to see the new outfits, detailed in such fine silks the black was nearing a void, the reds mimicking the flow of blood, and the golden interlace was stunning, but so wholly different from what I would typically wear, even in honor so the princess, few believed to still breath. Leaving the new clothes on the chair, I donned my typical deep green and black leathers, the dark colors bring out the bright silver of the Targaryen hair and the purple of my single eye.

The Small Council had called another meeting of the day, the growing panic of the Princess dimming as we approached half a week of no notice of the young girl. Swinging open my door to stalk towards the council room, I was annoyed to see a guard standing there, hand half raised, ready to knock on my door. His too-shiny silver armor caught the light with every nervous fidget, causing the light to shift, nearly blinding my one good working eye.

Growling, I snapped at the man, “What could you possibly want?” Stepping into the hall so I could shut the door behind me, cutting off the direct rays of light from his clunky armor.

“Prince Aemond,” The knight greeted me, hesitantly bowed, not taking his eyes off mine, smart man. “The King has called for a family assembly and sent guards to find each of the royal children and escort them to the Great Hall.” Sighing at the disruption, knowing the Small Council would also be delayed for this, and thus pushing my schedule even later than usual.

The guard led me to the Great Hall, the Small Council was already there, lined against the wall, as well as the rest of my family. Otto resided at the end of the Iron Throne where King Viserys sat, not very menacingly. Queen Alicent, stood on her father’s right, Aegon next to her, a cup still in his hand. Helaena was on the left side of the throne, her children nowhere in sight, leaving me to take the space next to her.

“Now that everyone is gathered,” my father heaved, his golden mask slipped slightly revealing a thin slip of rotting skin. “I have news of the Princess Valaena.” Attention perked, I shifted my weight glancing at the Lords of the Small Council who all tensed, prepared for a death announcement or worse she had been spotted, alive.

“As you all know,” A heave, followed by a wet cough, “Valaena valiantly took a punishment meant for Lucerys, Heir to High Tide, for the mutilation of my son, Prince Aemond.” Eyes shifted to glance at me, I ignored them and their prickly stares. “But three days ago, her sentence came to an end; after ten long years, she is welcome home.” 

Another wet cough, a maester stepped forward but was stopped by Otto. “News of the Princess has been few and far between over the past years, but rumors are circulating that she has been seen boarding a ship headed for our ports.” Mother tensed, gripping Aegon’s sleeve tightly as the king spoke. “Rhaenyra and Daemon have been informed. They ride from Dragonstone for the Red Keep as we speak, along with Rhaenyra’s children, Prince Jacaerys, Prince Lucerys, and Prince Joffrey.” 

The King paused, looking to his wife, who dutifully avoided his gaze. “I have also sent for Gwayne and Daeron.” The queen tensed further at the news that her brother and youngest child would soon be in the Keep. “I know there was bad blood between us, be we are family, and I will not allow it to continue. We are family, and we will act as a family.” His words lacked the threat that was needed for Aegon to hear and obey, sounding more like an exasperated old man who had outlived his time.
The words brought forth a memory from a lifetime ago: ‘We are family, and Mother says family is supposed to tolerate each other.’ The soft, naïve words of Valaena filled my head, her childlike outlook mimicking that of the king, showing how little the King knew of the schemes happening behind his back at the order of his Hand.

Much to my displeasure and our mothers, Aegon had something to say about the impending return of our half-sister and her children, “It shall be nice to see our nephews, imagine how strong they have gotten since we last saw them.”

Alicent’s eyes flashed at the comment, no doubt memories of the fateful night I lost my eye flashing through her mind as they did my mind. “Rhaenyra and her family will be welcome guests.” She loudly scolded and informed the room. “They arrive on dragon back, have the Master of the Dragon Pit prepare for a handful of more dragons.” The Queen ordered the room full of Lords before releasing Aegon to collect Helaena. Together, the Queen and the Princess left arm in arm, the green queen’s shoulders tense as she pulled their airy princess away from the politics that were no doubt about to erupt in the room.

Watching as the Queen and Princess left, the King heaved a wet sigh. “I do not suppose the Queen will reconnect with her childhood friend this visit, Otto.” He addressed the hand directly as the Maesters peeled him from the Iron Throne, ready to escort him back to his chambers, where he would be riddled full of poppy water.

Otto scowled at the mention of the Queen’s past friendship, “They are grown women.” Was all he stated before catching my eye and those of the other Lords, before stalking out of the smaller doors on the side of the large Hall, with a small bow towards the King, who waved him off.

Aegon followed after me, his steps unmeasured and careless as he sipped his nearly empty glass. “You must be thrilled, brother.” He finally spoke, words filling the hall. “Princess Valaena managed to survive after all.” I didn’t react even if I was thrilled. Aegon had a tendency of taking things others wanted and destroying them just for a reaction. I had stopped sharing with my brother years ago.

“The only thing left to know is if her years away damaged her beyond repair.” He brushed in front of me, purposely knocking my shoulder as he moved to walk backward. “Although I suppose if she came back damaged, no lord would want her.” He gave a thoughtful look at my face, his heavy purple eyes tracing over my eyepatch down the scar that ran from my brow to mid-cheek, “She might just be a perfect fit for the One-Eyed Prince. Perhaps Mother will slip her name in the ever-growing list of the fine ladies of court.”

His sneering comments were easy enough to ignore; after ten years of the same petty jabs about my scar and supposed deformities, they had become rather dull and boring. I had prettier things on my mind than his taunts and teasing. Mainly, where the princess vanished off to when she escaped the eyes of the spies, and more importantly, why she would willingly board a vessel back to the open arms of the family who threw her out.

My failed reaction to my brother’s jests only pushed him deeper, his craving for a reaction worsening over the years as I learned to ignore him nearly entirely. Whereas I wondered the where and why of her survival, Aegon questioned how she had managed to last so long without the protection of her family and our influence, for it was not an unknown fact that the Free and Unfree Cities of Essos had no love for the Targaryen dynasty. “I wonder if her cunt remains untouched.” He spoke suddenly, causing me to tense, scowling at my older brother. Such things said aloud spread rumors, rumors that might get her sent away again.

 Although admittedly, the thought had briefly crossed my mind. Had she used her body to survive? Offered it out in exchange for money or shelter? Conditions might have been severe, but were they severe enough to force the steadfast princess to abandon her pride? The hunger in my stomach fed my possessiveness over her; to me, it didn’t matter if she had given up her maidenhood. It simply meant I would only have to work twice as hard to remove every memory of them from her mind, from her body. A task I looked forward to. It didn’t matter to me if she came back with a vengeance, hating my guts, I would have her, past be damned.

My lips gave a slight twitch at the thought of the princess in my possession. Aegon took this as a sign his words were getting under my skin and continued on. “No woman survives alone without giving something up, and with only one useful thing to give...” Aegon trailed off thoughtfully, smirking at whatever he conjured in his mind.

“Is this all you wish to discuss, brother?” My bored voice echoed over his, “I have duties to attend to, and I am sure Mother would love help setting up for Daeron’s arrival.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, tossing his empty cup at some poor serving girl who was trying to scuttle away. “All work with you.” He grasped my shoulders, pulling me to a stop. Looking me in the eye, he smirked at how tense I was. “Live a little, brother. Loosen up, find a good tight cunt to fuck before the Princess has you blue-balled for the rest of your life.” His eyes darted over my shoulders to where the servant girl was making her escape. “I know I will.” With that, he patted my shoulders one last time before stalking after the girl, who had already made it to the company of other servants.

With Aegon gone, I sharply turned a corner. I had matters to attend to, especially in the wake of the return of Princess Valaena.

~

Her room in the Red Keep hadn’t been touched in a decade, as per the order of my mother. No doubt, a gesture meant to be cruel toward Rhaenyra, a reminder that her only daughter had been sent away to die at such a young age. An age when the two had been friends, before Otto and King Viserys had arranged for my mother to marry Viserys, stripping her childhood from her and pushing her best friend away. Had the roles been reversed and Helaena had been the one sent away, my mother would not have survived, for the Queen and the Heir were different when it came to their children. With the Queen favoring her innocent daughter and the Heir favoring her bastard sons.

Dust layered the floors, leaving imprints on the rugs that had been removed for washing. With every step, a small cloud of dust rose, leaving behind footprints on the floor. Dolls and dragon figurines lined the shelves alongside several books written in High Valyrian. Books that would seem too dense for a child to read, but Valaena had always been a fast learner, stealing books from the library in all manner of languages, claiming that she wanted to be able to talk to everyone she met, a smirk crossed my features at the memory.

It was not the first time I had been in this room since her banishment, but it would be the last. The last time I entered this room, dust coated every surface, the last time the furniture would be covered with thin sheets to keep the leather and fabrics clean, the last time it would be empty; for the next time I entered, Valaena would be in here.

Fingers grazing the soft dust that lines the books, I wondered what she would look like, and not for the first time. I had spent more time than I wish to admit, even to myself, about what I hoped she would look like. Her shy smiles would turn purposeful, her round cheeks would grow to a delicate point, and her silver waves would lengthen, brushing past her hips, swaying with her movements. And her body, gods, her body. Gone was her child’s body, her strange willowy frame and awkward movements, replaced with soft, plushy skin that filled out her breasts and hips; skin that was grabbable, kissable, lickable.

Groaning at the thought, I moved away from her sitting room to throw open the large window. Would she even remember me, or the tentative friendship that I refused to forget despite the long years and harsh last words that separated us? The window overlooked Blackwater Bay, the winds coming from the east carried hints of saltwater, flushing out the stale scents that lingered in her room. For her sake, I hoped she remembered me, as I had no intention of letting her go once she was back within my sight.

A soft knock sounded from the door; a timid-looking maid stood hands full of cleaning supplies. Several other maids stood behind the small girl, all carrying various things from sheets to books, even dresses. “My Prince,” The maid spoke, bowing her head respectfully. The other maids followed suit, “Forgive our intrusion, but the King has ordered us to clean this room.” Nodding at the timid woman, I stepped around them, leaving the room with only the thoughts of the princess on my mind.

Chapter Text

The One-Eyed

It had been over a fucking week since the king had lifted Valaena’s banishment and four days since news of her survival had come to light. I knew sailing the Narrow Sea took time, but things at the Keep were becoming unbearable. Had the King just ordered me to fly to Essos and retrieve the princess, I would have, but Mother had forbidden me from asking.

Rhaenyra and her hoard of children had arrived two days ago, along with Daemon and his two daughters upon dragonback, as the King had said. The Blood Wyrm’s unusually nasally screech, followed by Syrax’s roar, announced them before the bannermen could reach the chambers where Otto was holding court with the Queen at his side. Upon hearing the gods damned beasts, Alicent had raised her hand to her forehead as if mentally fortifying herself for their welcome and invasion of her home. Otto had just thrown open the windows and watched the smaller dragons circle over the city, slowly descending near the Dragon Pit.

I had followed, more guard than prince, as Mother and Otto went to greet Rhaenyra and her mismatched family, Aegon nowhere to be found. The large company shared awkward formal greetings with the Queen and Hand, before stating they were exhausted from travel and wished to rest. Mother stared at Rhaenyra, who was running a hand protectively over her swollen belly, as if trying to find the friend she once had long ago, before her eyes and heart steeled and she ordered some guards to lead the guests to their given wing.

As the greetings went on, I remained at my mother’s side, taking in the bastard sons of my sister. No longer were they the lanky boys of my past with their curly dark hair brushing their narrow shoulders; now stood men. Their shoulders were broad, dark hair still curled only shorter now brushing their ears, and they had filled out. Muscles ticked along Jacaerys’s jaw as he watched me with sharp eyes as I took in his company. Aside from the two older princes stood the Ladies Baela and Rhaena, dressed in their father’s house colors, but choosing to wear more black than red, a clear statement that in the oncoming civil war, they had already chosen their sides. It was no surprise, word had arrived months ago at the ladies’ betrothals to the princes, after a failed attempt at peace on Rhaenyra’s side when she offered Jacaerys' hand to Helaena years ago. 

I avoided interactions with the company, choosing to remain to my scheduled task,s which filled most of my day. However, during meals when we all gathered in tense silence, I watched them as they watched us.

Each held their cards tightly to their chest, speaking only to each other and doing their best not to provoke Aegon or Daeron, who had arrived only the day before. While the Princes easily deflected or ignored Aegon and Daeron’s jabs about their dubious parentage, the ladies Baela and Rhaena struggled, faces twisting in rage, but still they remained silent. Allowing the Princes of the Red Keep to say and do as they wished, so long as no bodily harm was threatened. The youngest Joffrey, who was a few years younger than Daeron, stayed by his mother’s side, a young counselor in the making, as he whispered in her ear as they strode down the halls. 

Despite the near-constant jabs towards our nephews, it was no hidden fact that Aegon and Daeron could not hold against them should a fight turn physical, which is how I ended up getting roped into spending my limited free time at my brother’s sides, rather their backs as I did not wish to interact with them any more than I wanted to interact with our nephews. With my presence, Aegon and Daeron grew bolder, confident that I should be able to hold my own against them when they pestered a fight to break out.

But the youthful nagging and the silent non-responses were growing tiring. So, for the first time, I spoke to my nephews and brothers, “Instead of your words, brothers, why not spar together?” Jacaerys and Luceyrs’ eyes snapped to me, surprised to actually hear me speak rather than silently watch my idiotic brothers’ backs. “A battle of wit is so boring these days, especially when the recipients refuse to participate.” The jab, disguised as a jest, pulled Daeron’s attention, however, Aegon was wise enough to know his opponents.

Daeron, despite his age, had grown into a decent swordsman, but he lacked restraint, focusing more on brute strength rather than technique, something our nephews had seen when they walked into the training ground, only minutes before, and saw him wildly swinging his sword at Ser Cole. They were dressed in fighting leathers, obviously hoping to get some training in, but at the sight of us occupying the grounds, they made their silent exit or tried to. Daeron could not let them go without saying something, reeling them back in with a few sharp, well-placed jabs. Daeron walked away from his fight with Ser Cole abruptly, causing Cole to curse and pull his blade before it cut the young prince, while Daeron moved to stand closer to me. Aegon soon followed his younger brother, and soon I found myself having to watch over my idiotic brothers as they failed to get a rise out of the strong men.

“I’ll take you up on that.” Jacaerys finally spoke, looking intrigued at the opportunity to wipe the floor with my older brother, who had been saying something indecent about Valaena, something that almost had me attacking him. Aegon tilted his head, eyes moving to find mine as if to see if I would stick up for him, but my face remained passive, emotionless. It was no secret that Aegon had slacked on his training and that I had hyper-fixated on it, wishing to be able to best Daemon should a time come when I needed to.

Daemon was the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms, a fact that was known but rarely contested. When Rhaenyra had moved her family out of the Red Keep to Dragonstone after Valaena’s banishment, Daemon was the one who picked up their training. Ser Christon Cole had done his best with training Aegon and me over the years, but I had soon surpassed him. Using our training time to bait him into defenses that he had no way of escaping unscathed. The fight was obviously unfair, favoring Rhaenyra’s boys unless I stepped in, which I was tempted not to do, as I was interested to see my brothers’ asses get handed to them.

“Come now, nephews, learn to take a jest.” Aegon’s silken voice stretched between us, filling the small training courtyard. “No need for violence.” A vile smile fully stretched across his face, contorting his features into a deranged look that had many servants fearing for their lives.

Jacaerys nodded, looking down before casting his brown eyes back to my older brother, a slight smirk crossing his lips that was wholly his mother’s. “I understand if you’re scared.” He waited for the blow to land, “I’ll go easy on you, I promise.” His voice was deep, soft as if he was stating nothing but the truth. His patience was almost unbelievable, a trait that was not usually associated with Targaryens or Velaryons.

Aegon made to launch himself at Jacaerys, ensuring a fight broke out that he would not win, could not win, only to be saved by Ser Cole stepping in his path. “The Queen has requested your presence, princes.” As the knight of the Queen’s guard spoke, he tilted his head toward the walls surrounding the courtyard where spectators might watch the melee happening below. Leaning over the stone walls, watching with mild amusement was Daemon.

Smirking, the king’s brother opened his grinning mouth, “The King has requested all of your presence in the Great Hall.” His voice boomed with authority over the courtyard. With a nod to his stepsons, he disappeared from sight, Cole shook his head, annoyed at the antics of the knight.

~

The room was filled with court lords and ladies, all dressed in their house colors and wearing a nauseating amount of perfume. The nobles had gathered a week ago, swarming to the Red Keep in the off chance they would be able to catch a fleeting glance at the princess when she made her return. Lords brought their sons with them, débuting them to court in the off chance one of them should catch the eye of the marriage-aged princess and secure a tie to the House of the Dragon. Rhaenyra and Daemon had been seen making small talk with several of those lords, no doubt getting a feel for their strength and usefulness for the upcoming succession battle.

The King was holding court in the freshly decorated room, the slightly wilted flowers doing little to hide the stench of his rotting body. I wondered if his insides had been replaced by the infection, that perhaps the only thing keeping him alive was sheer will and whatever strange poultices the maesters poured down his throat. Perhaps when Valaena showed up, his heart would seize with joy and shock, and he would keel over. A smirk crossed my otherwise emotionless features. Viserys was not only my King but also the man who sired me, but he was the furthest thing from a father figure. Not that it mattered anymore, as Otto was counting down the days until he took his last breath and shoved Aegon onto the Iron Throne before Rhaenyra could muster her armies and fight for it. 

The King addressed the crowded room, speaking through wet coughs and great heaves of breath as he tried to resolve the petty issues of the lesser house, completely ignoring the peasants who squabbled over land disputes and missing cattle.

I stood rigidly behind my mother, half listening to the woes of the kingdom, half watching as Aegon fiddled with the loose strings of his clothing. The King had mandated our attendance at each court gathering, hoping that Valaena would choose then to appear, so that we might all welcome her back into the family as one. Of course, she did not, and it only raised tensions between our families, as Aegon cast hateful looks towards Rhaenyra, who dutifully listened to her father and ignored her younger brother. Rhaenyra’s sons and husband, Daemon, did what they could to block the princess from view, but there was only so much they could move without causing a commotion.

The King could only speak for so long before his voice would fail, and Otto would take over the court, listening and answering for the King. When the room was empty, the maesters would assist the king back to his chambers, where they would fill him with enough poppy water to kill a small child.

  “A shame she did not show up.” Aegon sneered to no one in particular, his voice reaching across the parted aisle to our half-sister’s family. “I rather hoped she would make an entrance today. Kept us waiting long enough. Perhaps her ship sank, or the supposed sighting was just some escaped Blackfire.” Aegon turned so that he could fully face Valaena’s family. “What do you think, Jacaerys?” He asked our oldest nephew, fishing for a fight.

Rhaenyra ignored his comments, shuffling her family out the massive doors after her father. Quiet words were whispered between the family as they walked shoulder to shoulder out of sight.

“Aegon,” Mother pleaded. “Try to be reasonable.” Was all she said before exiting the room through different doors.

“Is it so bad that I worry about my sweet niece?” The sarcasm rolled off his tongue more naturally than our mother language, High Valyrian.

I needed to get out of this Keep before I strangled him.

~

I had left the Keep on foot, planning to stalk through the city’s busy streets until I reached the edge and began my search for Vhagar. The sky was clear, few clouds dotted the skies; it would have been a perfect day for flying. A perfect day for going east, across the Narrow Sea in search of a ship that had the princess on it. But I could not, as I spotted the two other dragons dancing in the sky, Meleys, the Red Queen, and Sea Smoke nipped at each other, blasting radiant rays of fire in the other’s direction before taking off and racing to some unknown location. Taking Vhagar to the skies with them playing so roughly would cause a scene, one that might end in the death of a dragon. Even if that would help Otto’s cause further, I could not be the one to start the war, I would not be the one.

The sun had not fully set when I strolled toward the ports on the Blackwater. Several small and large vessels, bearing the flags of kingdoms near and far, unloaded their merchandise. Carrying with them not only their sweet and valuable goods but also the rancid scents of rotting fish and body odor, not even the nearly constant gentle breeze could wash away the pungent smell that lingered near the fishermen and seamen. The Gold Cloaks were also stationed on the ports and had been since Princess Valaena had been demanded home. Their watchful eyes hoped to catch the princess and escort her to the Red Keep, but through all the commotion, I doubt they would see her, especially if she did not want to be seen.

Few vendors remained lining the wide streets, most having closed shop after the morning rush and afternoon market. The only ones remaining were smaller extensions of the larger stores they were stationed out of, and even they were packing up their goods, hoping to avoid not only the sticky fingers of the street children but also the more dangerous thieves that prowled the city at night. While I was not interested in the lives of the commonfolk, I was less interested in returning to the comforts of the Keep.

Which is how I found myself walking the emptying streets. The thin cloak was thrown low over my face, not for warmth but for amenity. The dark fabric covered the prominent eyepatch and the majority of the scar that accompanied it, stopping just below the end of the scar at mid-cheek. A simple, but sharp sword hung on my hip in easy gripping reach, warding off the figures watching in the shadows of the alleys I passed. While I craved to release the tension radiating from my shoulders and jaw, a fight would only cause the Gold Cloaks and city guard to break it up, and I couldn’t allow my family to know I was walking the streets of the city they presided over.

I couldn’t be sure exactly how long I wandered, mindlessly following the movements of the crowds that gathered after sunset, but it had to have been hours. The streets had remained empty for a short time before the seedier creatures who called Kings Landing home made their appearance. Men and women alike lurched drunkenly from bar to bar, tavern to tavern. Sometimes stopping to snog in an alley with a stranger or beau of the night, other times veering into the open doors of a brothel and the waiting hands of a whore.

I had moved from the streets to perch on the roof of a building overlooking a large center. Taverns had their doors and windows open; musicians played heart music on the edge of the growing crowd, pushing the drunks to toss coins into their pouches in exchange for a jaunty tone. They were so full of life, the commonfolk. So eager to drink themselves sick, gamble themselves poor, and fuck themselves senseless. How they had managed to stay alive, wake up when the sun crests, and work was a strange wonder.

The true wonder was how we had anyone left to rule over, as the fourth fight of the night broke out. Two men began swinging at each other, only for one of them to draw a poorly crafted knife and stick it into their opponent. As one of them went down, the crowd would cheer, a city guard would pull the injured man from the fray, and the celebration would go on. What they were celebrating, I was unsure; their meager lives hardly called for such joyous times.

Crouched on the rooftop, I could easily see over the city, see the dotting of lights where other festivals were going on. I could also see the folks who wished to be unseen. Those that stalked the alleys, hunting for prizes only they knew of. It was one of these shadows that caught my attention.

The figure was cloaked, as most were. Only instead of the thin dark fabric that was common for the mid-summer heat and humidity, this individual wore a thick woolen cloak. The hood hung so low that I could only make out the delicate point of the feminine chin. The clothes beneath the cloak only showed in sparse, jerky movements, as the individual spun and pranced out of the way of oncomers. The shirt might have once been white, but now was dirtied with countless stains, what could have been spilled food, vomit, and body sweat coated the small slices barely visible in the dim light. The pants were easily three sizes too big, tied to the thin waist with a short, thick rope, commonly used in sailing. But the strangest of all was the expensive, well-worn fitted leather boots. How the person could have afforded the boots, but not a clean shirt, or pants the proper size, was strange.

The figure had at least one small steel dagger strapped to their body. The small things glinted with their movement, purposefully shown in the larger crowds as a warning. I wondered if they could wield it properly. Their outfit said poor and untrained, but their movements spoke of an entirely different story. Light steps, rapid movements, and well-timed, well-trained, cautious glances.

The strange, mismatched individual caught my attention as they glided through the throng of people I had been numbly watching. Their left arm clutched protectively to their chest, and the other rested loosely over their dagger, ready to attack should someone try something. The figure moved swiftly out of the growing crowd, sweeping away into a dim alley.

Following from the connected rooftops, I watched with fascination as the individual jumped for the hanging clothes that had been left out to dry overnight. With every captured piece of clothing, they would reach deep into their cloak and remove a small circular item, placing it on the window from which the clothing line originated. Payment for the stolen goods.

Their arms were filled with every item of clothing a person could need. By the time they reached the end of the long, narrow passage, they had an entirely new outfit. Enthralled, I watched them slip into an even narrower alley that dead-ended. The slanted walls of the buildings hid them from view as they chucked off their old clothes and slipped on the newer, cleaner ones. The alley grew quiet as the last of the old clothes were thrown out into the street, and I waited with bated breath for the figure to reemerge. Crouched low, ready to spring into movement so that I might continue to stalk them from the rafters.

But I waited and waited, and nothing emerged; no movement sounded. Confused, I made to move, find a better advantage spot, only to freeze when I felt the cool steel of a blade touching the thin, sensitive flesh of my throat.

I hadn’t heard anyone approach, hadn’t sensed anyone close in on me, too focused on the individual, their strange movements, and their hidden identity.

“Can I help you?” The accented feminine voice purred in my ear, warming the shell of my ear and sending a rush through my blood.

~

Valaena

My throat burned as I heaved over the edge of the ship once again. The captain had long since stopped asking if I needed anything and suggesting that I remove the dark wool cloak that hung lower over my eyes, covering me from prying eyes and overheating my feverish skin. Only accepting the fact that this would be a very long voyage for me after I had flashed a small dagger a little too close for comfort to his favorite appendage. After he had received the violent message, he and the rest of the crew had left me to heave on the side of the deck, giving me ample space to lose my stomach and a wide berth when they had to access whatever ropes or tarps I was blocking with my sweat-slick body.

When the rolling in my stomach resided, allowing me to slump to the hard wooden deck, I cursed the gods, the damn woolen cloak, my Targaryen features, and the guild of Faceless Men. This sickness had to be my true punishment for something the gods had found me guilty of. My stomach rumbled, forcing me to stand over the railing once more as I heaved into the ocean.

Watching as the water lapped against the boat, I thought of what I was leaving behind. The quiet sanctuary high in the foreboding Painted Mountains, and that easy routine I had painstakingly carved throughout the day to match my bonded beasts.

The boat crashed against a larger wave, and I gripped the rail for balance, causing my whole left arm to sting. The new massive slice running from mid-palm to my elbow was courtesy of a Faceless Man I had run into in Braavos. I knew they would be on the hunt for me still, but I had not expected nearly every member to be roaming the streets wearing the faces of merchants, beggars, and nobles, all on the lookout for me. It appears they did not take it lightly when an acolyte steals off into the darkness of night with their forbidden knowledge tucked away in her mind.

The wound had only stopped bleeding a day or so ago. Leaving me lightheaded and near the point of unconsciousness, as I boarded the vessel. I had bribed them into taking me across the Narrow Sea to Blackwater Bay’s port. They had agreed to the detour only after I flashed two iridescent black dragon scales and promised a third after a safe docking at the Seven Kingdoms’ capital city’s port.

Dragon scales were incredibly rare in Essos; most had been raided from the old cities and strongholds centuries ago. They were considered more valuable than gold and coveted among the higher-class citizens. So, when a stranger in a black cloak with hidden features approached the ship, bleeding profusely from a hidden wound, flashing three iridescent dragon scales in payment for an immediate departure to Westeros, they had agreed almost immediately, leaving behind half their merchandise for the crew who was not aboard to watch over until they return.

After the run-in with a single Faceless Man, I was eager to leave the Free City as soon as possible, especially since I feared the dagger that had cut me was poisoned. My sense had dulled, nearly cutting me completely off from my connection to Morghul, whom I could only reach the following days through strong emotions and focused single words. The cut had also made me uncharacteristically seasick, but most pressing of all, was that the wound refused to close for nearly three days, spilling an alarming amount of blood even though the dressing I had stolen from the sailors. When it finally did close, the scab was thin, the slightest movements breaking the seal, infection was miraculously avoided, probably thanks to the cleansing sting of saltwater and the strange green, gooey substance the crew had left at my side when I did pass out.

Today marked our fifth day on the Sea, and the fifth day since my banishment had been lifted. Nasua still lingered in my mind, but I hadn’t thrown up in a few hours, something I was taking as a good sign. Back against the railing of the ship, I watched the crew work from under the heavy hood of my cloak. With half the sailors missing, they had been busting their asses throughout the journey. I nearly felt bad that I had rushed them from their port, but then my arm would pulse uncomfortably, a sign I hoped meant it was healing, and I would no longer feel sorry for them. Plus, I was paying them handsomely enough that they could all retire and have enough for their grandchildren to live comfortably on.  

Noticing my eyes on them, several of the sailors shifted uncomfortably, scared I might attack them for even acknowledging I was there. The daggers I had carried and kept for ten years had shrunk as I grew, turning from daggers much too large for my small hands to handle properly, to perfectly fitted weapons I enjoyed wielding in my calloused hands. Regrettably, I had lost more than a few of them over the years, stuck in the bodies of people who had not gone down after the blade sank into their fleshy skin, and I was forced to retreat without them. Out of the ten I had started with, I had four remaining, but I still held on to the two Valyrian Steel daggers, using them not as throwing knives as the other were intended, but for close combat. Most importantly, the jewel-incrusted dagger still remained in my possession. I had bled it over the years, but it mostly remained hidden in Morghul’s cave or under whatever I was wearing.

Unfortunately, the leathers Daemon had gifted me along with the dagger I had long outgrown. After two years of eating well with Brusco, puberty hit, and I lost the shape to fit into the child’s clothes. Fortunately, they had sold for a decent price, and I hadn’t had to discard them.

The clothes I wore now, under the too-thick cloak, were sloppily made and hanging on by a thread. During my flight over the plains, I had stolen them from a simple farm’s hanging line, leaving behind a few gold coins in their absence. Morghul had quite the fanatic followers, with cults and believers of some old religion hoping to win favor with the beast of the mountains, offering tribute with outlandish gifts and gold. Strange, since a beast could do little with the wares of mortals. After Morghul had accepted my presence, I more than happily took over her growing wealth, bringing it with me when I had to venture to small mountain villages, and now, as I crossed the sea, I carried a hefty pouch. For loyalty was not won, it was bought, as I had learned long ago watching court politics.

The captain wearily approached my slumped form, stopping a healthy distance away, clearing his throat so as not to startle me, but then said nothing, glancing behind me.

“What?” I growled in Braavosi, my voice gravely from sickness, which had helped hide my gender from him and the crew.

He didn’t look at me, eyes fixed on something in the distance. Pushing to my feet, my tired body nearly swaying into the man next to me, I cast my eyes to where the captain had cast his mystified gaze. At the sight, my body tensed, dread filtered in my blood, and pushed through the wild pumps of my heart, as I watched two dragons soar carelessly over the approaching land. Even as I had been living with one for the past years, it was strange to see the beasts that were tied to my family. The dragons that had given my family their power, the dragons that had given the Targaryens their legends, culture, and history.

I hadn’t seen the dragons of my family in over a decade, but I could easily recognize these ones. Anyone in King’s Landing could, seven hells, anyone on the continent could recognize at least one of them. Even at this distance, where the King's Landing was only just coming into sight, Meraxes’ red scales glinted off the midday sun, her crown of spines circling her head, creating a menacing sight, giving her the nickname the Red Queen. She swooped and danced in the sky, chasing and racing away from the second, slightly smaller dragon.

The second beast was one I had hoped to never see again, for the last time I saw him, he was flying off into the distance. I had imagined that he would find peace outside of this wretched family and never return. But even as the light blue scales that resembled the ocean’s fog faded in and out of the morning glow, there was no mistaking which beast played so easily with Meraxes, Sea Smoke, my father’s dragon.

Scoffing, I turned from the sight of the beasts, anger pushing through the dread at the sight of my father’s dragon, “I assume you were going to tell me we would make landfall soon?” He nodded distractedly, still watching the dragons dance in the sky, brazenly touching the clouds before dipping down to tussle with each other playfully before catching the air and disappearing back above the clouds. “That was a rather fast voyage,” I stated monotonously, pushing my back against the rails, away from the sight of the dragons as if it could make them disappear, as if I could force the tightness in my chest to vanish.

He dipped his gaze to me then, trying to peek under the hood that remained securely over my light features, “We had a tailwind and a hefty motive.” He pointedly said, mentioning without outright saying, I better pay up. He looked back into the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of my family’s power before moving away and shouting orders that prepared us for docking.

My stomach rolled, not at the motion of the sea, but at the thought of being so close to the ones who had turned me away and sent me to die. Careful not to jostle my arm, I slipped out a dagger, flipping it in my good hand. The repetitive muscle memory of tossing the evenly balanced blade nearly took my mind off the anger swelling in my soul, off the fear that I had tried to bury deep in my heart and mind for ten long years.

Resentment that was not my own swelled into my mind. Morghul had not left the bond alone since I had left her sight. Usually, anger was her chosen emotion to force onto me, which I had expected as she nearly roasted me when she left me slightly disoriented in some farmer's field nearly an hour’s walk from the closest town. Luckily, I had found a traveling merchant willing to take pity on a lost girl and hitch a ride to Braavos, where the summer markets were starting to begin. Morghul was furious that I had removed her from the plan until I was ready to show my cards. Furious that I chose to wait to reveal her to the world when I had promised her fire and blood, but as my fear and anxiety bushed against the strained bond, I felt her slight change. The beginnings of her understanding. In her own twisted way, she knew that I needed this, that until I was ready, she would remain out of sight, but not out of mind.

Which, despite her constant whining, I was grateful. After the Faceless Man’s dagger cut my skin, the bond between us had dimmed, nearly fading completely from my mind. I had worried for days that it was permanently destroyed, that I would not long be able to communicate with the one thing in this world that fully accepted me for who I was, broken pieces, carved soul, and all. As the wound slowly stopped bleeding and began healing, she came back, still dimmed but coherent, and livid. It took me half a day to realize the fuzziness was only the aching distance stretching between us and not from any lingering effects of the poison that caused the unsettling tautness.

During the days I had been cut off from her, rivaled my worst days with the Faceless Men when they carved their magic into bones, beat their training into my body, and forced their beliefs upon my mind. I had grown used to the magical abilities the bond provided, the enhanced reflexes, advanced healing, heightened sense, and boosted physical abilities; without them, I felt dull, lifeless, and stuck. I will admit, the cruel, extensive training of the Faceless Men paired nicely with the magic of the bond. Combined, the training and enhanced abilities had saved my life more than I cared to admit, but had also turned me into nearly an unstoppable hybrid of flesh and magic. A monster that was ready to be unleashed, but only on my terms.

In the coming days, weeks, and years, I was going to need the unstoppable monster if I planned on surviving my family.

I am Princess Valaena Targaryen . I chanted in my head, reminding myself. I am Valaena Targaryen only daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. I am Princess Valaena Targaryen, and they can’t hurt me anymore. The mantra that I had used countless times over the years to survive the horrors of the flesh, used to retreat into my own mind to wait out whatever was occurring, it had since turned into a constant, quiet chant in the back of my mind.

Still flipping the dagger paced the small space I had carved out for myself on the vessel, the words spinning in my mind. With every hard thunk of the small blade’s hilt landing in my hand, I made the words a reality.

I am Princess Valaena Targaryen, and they can’t hurt them anymore. They can’t hurt me anymore.

Chapter Text

Valaena

The captain was right. We made landfall just after the sun touched the horizon, giving the crew just enough light to safely port. Before the boat could finish docking, I fished the scales from my hidden pockets. Moving slowly so as not to startle the crew members, I hand each a scale. It was egregiously more than I had agreed to give them, but Morghul had just gone through a molt, and I had more than enough to spare, especially since I wouldn’t be able to use them once we made landfall. Plus, if I only gave the captain the scales, I knew the sailors would never get their fair share.

“For your discretion,” I whispered to each sailor as I slid the shards of dragon scales into their hands. Their eyes went wide as they realized each was getting one, not just a cut. “They are near worthless in Esteros, best keep them hidden.” The proximity required to slip the payment into the hands of the crew without the captain noticing anything allowed the shorter of the men to glance under my hood. Their dark eyes locked onto my pale, dual-colored purple irises before they slid to the loose white hair I had painstakingly braided before the Faceless Man attacked, rendering my left hand temporarily useless. I watched as their eyes would widen in recognition and awe that the lost Westrossi princess was aboard their vessel, had been for a week, and was paying for their silence in dragon scales. It wouldn’t take an idiot to know what that meant.

After passing out the promised payment, I went back to the corner I had declared mine and watched as the port drew closer, listening as the shouting grew louder. The moment the boat touched wood, bouncing gently against the solid surface, I slipped away, leaving nothing behind save for a few splatters of blood that had escaped my bandaged wound and the unsavory scent of vomit.

Guards in overly polished metal armor and golden cloaks watched the harbor from every direction. Their sharp gazes fixated on carrier vessels and the passengers exiting them, watching, no doubt, for me. Too bad those vessels keep extensive records and require identification. The heavily armored guards were easy enough to slip by my woolen cloak, easily concealing my features and my rancid stench warding them off when they paced too close.

The moral of the interactions was, I needed to find a bath.

Even at dusk, the city was alive. Vendors tucked away against stone buildings sold their remaining goods. Their tables displayed everything and anything someone could want. Fresh fish straight from the harbor, still streaming bread from mid-day bakes, freshly sliced slabs of meat, and barrels of wine, mead, and water periodically dotted the streets, wafting the scents of food into the air. Merchants in vibrant clothes waved in the carrier vessels, pulling in the richer folk with their sales and persuasive arguments that they had the best gifts for ladies. They were not wrong; noblemen flocked to them, drawn in by their sweet words, captured by the bright gems and jewels, swayed by the long chains of gold, silver, and bronze, and swindled by the street children who lingered too close to the heavy, low-hanging pockets.

I was fortunate enough that King’s Landing resembled Braavos, even if it was in the smallest details. Large roads lead to the main city centers, each large road has some sort of small alley that would split off, connecting the inner parts, creating a maze of webs, all of which eventually would lead to some center. However, it was impossible to get lost in their web so long as the towering spires of the Red Keep were visible. King’s Landing and Braavos were also similar in how they treated the more menacing-looking folk. Careful not to look twice and risk drawing the attention of those brandishing sharp steel and dark eyes under the heavy cloaks. Vendors and streetwalkers knew who was out there to spend money and who was out looking for a fight. While I was neither, my hooded figure and dagger placed me in the latter group, which was for the best.

Back to the Red Keep, I headed deeper into the fray. My wandering eyes clocking those who drifted too close, while also keeping an eye out for private bathhouses. Bathhouses were common in Braavos; people from all regions would come to bathe in their pools, the deep, warm water a luxury everyone could afford. I couldn’t remember if King’s Landing had any bathhouses, but the people had to bathe somehow. A strong gust of wind from the Bay caught my nose, and I cringed; perhaps they did not have to bathe.

Aside from a bath, I needed new clothes. The current ones hanging off my body were several sizes too big, and the stench would never wash off them. Unsalvageable to the point where they would do more good burning in a fire than being passed on to some unlucky kid on the street. The cloak was several layers too thick for the sweltering summer humidity and heat. Even as the sun set, bugs flew through the air, thriving on the moisture in the air, and the building radiated the sun’s rays, creating a viscous cycle of constant warmth.   

Head down, I tried my best to find what I was looking for, only to be assaulted by the smells and noise. I was used to certain scents from living in Braavos, but here things were different. Here things felt dirtier, here the people felt dirtier. But it was the language that nearly did me in. The sharp, easily separated words of High and Low Valyrian were nowhere to be found. The rolling, congested sentences of the Common Tongue were used in Westeros. A language I had only used in passing a few times the first year or so in my banishment, until I got the hang of Braavosi. The Common Tongue was mind-numbingly startling. Trying to remember the phrases and conjugations from my childhood caused a dull headache to form against my temples. The words hurt so much that I moved from the safe, crowded streets to the darker, narrower alleys.

Bath, I just needed a bath, and then I could get my head on straight. Morghul’s amusement at my struggle flooded through the growing panic. I wanted to tell the blasted beast to fuck off, but the distance had rendered our bond to simple words and emotions. A tragedy, truly.

But the distance caused more than just a tight bond, it caused unending tension throughout my body. Red scratch marks had appeared this morning, caused by my right hand brutalizing my already injured arm, in an attempt to scratch the pressure from my muscles.

Scowling at the loose cobblestone, I looked up only to find a sign swinging from two pins sticking out from a wall. The sign had a simple picture of a tub and bubbles escaping, which could only mean one thing: a bathhouse.

The sandy stone building might have been nice a few decades ago, but today it was a miracle from the gods that it remained standing. Dark mold climbed up the walls, infesting the once-solid stone, eating it down to a paste when touched. The woman at the front looked seconds from death, her face sagged with age, rings of wrinkles plastered over her neck, and the papery skin peaking from under her quarter-length sleeves on the loose dress was blotched with bruises from simply bumping into things. But she had a welcoming smile, and that was all I needed before ducking through the tilted door.

“Hello?” I tried, but the words felt unfamiliar.

The woman’s face turned towards me, revealing her milky eyes. Perfect, if she couldn’t see, then I had less to worry about. “Hello, dearie. What can I help you with?” Her voice was airy as if it was a struggle to speak so many words at once. She took a deep breath, refilling her lungs, then made a face. “Ah, never mind.”

I couldn’t help but cringe. “Yes, a bath.” A pause while I searched for the word. “Please.”

She smiled at my embarrassment, “I’ll have my son fill the tub.” She sniffed again, “And bring the good soaps.” She shuffled to the back room, murmuring lowly to who I assumed was her son, before coming back. “It will only be a moment.” We sat in comfortable silence while her son and perhaps her husband lugged basins of steaming water out of the back room and up the stairs.

When the tub had filled, the son disappeared again, but the older man came to the woman. Kissing her on the forehead, he smiled down at her before glancing at me with a suspicious look on his face. Fishing through my coins, the jingling catching the attention of the woman, I held up three gold pieces. They were not official coinage of Westeros, but gold was gold. The man’s eyes widened.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear.” The woman huffed, “The way you smell, we are doing the kingdom a favor.” She smiled in my direction. Her husband looked down at her in shock, scared I would tuck away the life-altering money. “Follow me.” She said, shuffling out of the grasp of her husband, as I followed, I laid the coins on the counter for the man to collect when his wife’s sensitive ears were not listening.

The woman led me through her house, turned bathhouse, guiding me up the stairs to a private room. “We can launder your clothes while you bathe if you would like?” She offered kindly, looking in my general direction.

Pushing my hood back, the loose hair moving in front of my face, I gave the cloak a sniff and nearly gagged. “Only fire can clean this.”

She smiled, “I’ll have something brought to you.” Then she stepped closer to me, hands reaching toward my voice. The creaking floor signaled to the woman I had moved away. “Don’t be shy, I need your measurements.” The woman held her hands out, trying to grasp onto me, slowly, I let her.

Her warm, calloused hands were gentle as they touched me. Figuring out my size through strange holds and movements, before she stepped out of my stench. “We won’t have a perfect match, but I have some spare items from when my daughter lived here.” At the mention of her daughter, the woman smiled wistfully.

Jealousy shot through my heart.

“Thank you.”

“Would you mind if I touched your face?” The woman asked suddenly, her hands tucked away in her apron, showing she was okay if I refused. “It is how I see who I am talking to.”

“Umm.” I hesitated. “I suppose.” Leaning down, the woman gently touched my face, starting at my hairline, before tracing inward, then back.

“Gorgeous.” Patting my cheek, she pulled away. “Looking for a husband?” Her question shocked a snort out of me. Not even slightly. “My son is quite the catch and very devoted.”

Laughing, I stepped away from the woman who was playing matchmaker. I had seen her son briefly; he was a lanky man, probably nearing his early thirties. “I am not.”

“Gah!” She exclaimed, “Alright, I’ll get those clothes. You bathe.”

I watched as the woman stepped out, closing the door behind her. The solid wooden door locked from the inside, which I hastily snapped into place, before stripping out of my clothes.

Chucking off the cloak, I breathed in the fresh air. The heavy wool was suffocating and trapped my body heat, forcing it to mix with the sun’s unforgiving rays. My pants went next. In a past life of theirs, they might have been a solid brown color, but now they were stained with substances I did not want to be familiar with ever again. I struggled with the shirt; the bandage I had wrapped around my left arm had scabbed to the wound. 

Breathing deeply, I contemplated sticking my arm in the water to loosen the dried blood, but instead, I just ripped it off. Blood rushed to the surface, eager to spill and re-scab. It was for the best, I told myself as blood softly hit the floor with a patter. Shucking off the shirt, I moved to the tub. It was a simple wooden basin large enough to fit my whole body. The water steamed off the surface, and even though it was only half filled, I was thrilled. Hot water and a clean body, and I would be a new person.

Dunking into the water, a pleasant shiver wracked through my bones as the warmth spread to my bones. In the dim light of the room, I watched as the dirt flaked off my skin, turning the water a muddy color. I used the homemade soaps to scrub my skin and matted hair, doing what I could to tame the wild, unleashed silver locks. 

The water had run cold a while ago, and I had stopped scrubbing my skin when the heat left, deciding it was the cleanest I would get. I had used the whole bar of scentless soap, and my once dirt-patched skin was back to its sun-kissed glow. My hair, once knotted beyond belief, caked with mud and sweat, was now loose, down my back and shining with its signature Targaryen radiance. I had carefully washed and inspected the slow-healing, ill-placed wound on my hand and arm. Any closer to the center of my forearm and they would have nicked something that can’t be unnicked.

Standing from the water, I allowed the beads of water to slowly drip from my skin before patting dry with the well-worn but decently clean towel the woman had provided.. Grinning at how clean I felt, I got out of the tub to look in the small mirror resting near the single lantern and a small dark window. 

The mirror was splotched and cracked, and the light was too dim to truly see anything, but I could look and look, I did. Holding the mirror, I examined my features. Features I had never seen. My soft cheeks had sharpened, my single deep purple eye had somehow gotten darker, and my light lavender eye had gotten lighter. While it might just be a trick of the light, I sighed, placing the mirror back down, having seen enough. This would draw more attention when I decided to return to the Red Keep.

Bastard eyes. Confused girl. Ugly woman. Aegon’s voice floated through my mind. I had seen enough of myself indeed. Moving from the dark corner, I kicked the stained, reeking clothes out of my way before unlocking the door and peeking it open, looking for the clothes the older woman had said she would bring up. I hadn’t heard her come to the door, but there at the base of the large door was a stack of clothes. Looking around, I snatched them from the ground and retreated into my room.

Eager not to be naked, I pulled the loose shirt over my head. The shirt in its glory days might have been a startling white, but after years of wear, it was now a dull light brown, patches of stains marred it, and it reached to mid-thigh, but it did not stink, which was all that mattered to me. The pants were another story; whereas the shirt was big, the pants were massive. Easily three sizes too big, in men’s measurements. The waist could have fit another person. Stomping over to my discarded clothes, I shuffled through them, pushing aside my weapons and purse, and grabbed the thick rope I stole from the ship and had been using to tie my dagger to my hip. 

As I tied the pants to my hips, I reminded myself that soon I would have a wardrobe tailored to my exact measurements and would be suffocating in corsets and uncomfortable but fashionable fabrics.

It was obvious the daughter was not my size, but it didn’t matter as everything smelled freshly laundered and I could make it work. All in all, I felt like a new person. The only problem was the cloak: as in there was not one. The woman might not have known I was wearing one, or perhaps they did not have an extra, or the likelier explanation was that the summer’s sweltering heat would ward any sane person from wearing one.

With a sad look, I picked up the woolen cloak I had hoped to burn. Throwing it over my shoulders, I made to pull my hood up when the door swung open.

Whirling around, my eyes connected with the son’s. His brown eyes widened in shock as he took in my features. His eyes darted between my eyes and hair with wild shock, before something clicked in his mind and he slammed the door shut as he exited the room, a lock sounding after him.

Well fuck.

“Father!” I heard the man yell to his parents. “It’s her! The Princess!” The boy’s frantic footfalls sounded down the stairs as he went to tell his parents who he had just locked away in their bathing room.

Growling, I looked around for anything sharp that might wedge the door open, but there was nothing save for my daggers, which were too small to have any leverage. I had seen the parchment rolls nailed into the stone walls, lining nearly every street; there was a bounty for my immediate return to the Red Keep and a hefty prize for the lucky commonfolk who delivered me there. The king, it seemed, would spare no expense when it came to my safe and immediate return to the Keep.

Kill , Morghul’s unhelpful voice slithered into my mind.

Rolling my eyes, I glanced at the small window. It didn’t have a latch because it was not supposed to open, and I was on the second story. I was not ready to meet with my family, there were a few things I wanted to do first. So, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Wrapping my good hand in the old clothes, I could hear arguing below, the father against his son, the mother against them both.

“We could sell this place!” The son argued to his father, “Move to the country away from here.”

The father heaved a great breath, “And do what? Your mother would not be able to make it!”

“You know what is coming! We have to get out of here!” The son yelled, “Her presence is just the beginning.”

“I am not going anywhere; this is my home.” The woman said, leaving little room for arguing. “Now go let that poor woman out.” No one moved. “Right now, Linus!” She yelled, demanding her son listen.

“Mother,” The son pleaded.

The window shattered easily under the force of my hand going through it. Everyone paused downstairs.

“Sounds like she is getting away, anyway.” The elderly woman said proudly. Hurried footsteps ran from the inn. Through the window, I could see the son, Linus, racing away from the house, probably to fetch a guard.

Pushing away the small shards with the old shirt, I crawled out the window. There was no ledge to balance on; it was just a free fall to the ground, unless I somehow managed to grab onto the sign. Scowling at my cut hand, I decided a small two-story fall would be better than accidentally tearing my hand further.

Holding my breath, I let myself drop, twisting in the air so that I could land and roll off the impact. Only for the roll to not go as smoothly as I was hoping, as the ground slammed into my feet, causing a sloppy roll that I mostly felt in my hips and lower back. Awesome, I thought to myself as I stood and rubbed the spots that would be incredibly sore tomorrow.

Morghul’s amusement at the whole situation tickled the back of my mind. Gods, that creature was getting on my nerves. Like she would be doing any better. She would have burned the whole city to ashes by now. Snorting at the image of Morghul’s destruction, I found my footing. The Keep’s lights shone to the north, showing my path south. Hobbling away from the rotting bathhouse, I cursed the greed of the son as my hip pooped unpleasantly. Leave it to me to injure myself, not even a day into my raid of King’s Landing.

Everything is fine. I grumbled to myself, counting the good things that had already come to me. I am clean. I don’t reek of the ocean or body odor, and I had gotten rid of my vomit-soaked shirt. There was no need to give in to the violent urges Morghul was supplying to my tired mind. No need to go back to that stupid son and slay him for the mild inconvenience of a sore hip that would heal after a good night’s rest.

Shutting Morghul out, leaving only a slit for her to talk to me should she have something actually useful to say, I tried to clear my mind, but couldn’t. My wet hair stuck uncomfortably to my back, tangling under the thick cloak every time I moved. I hadn’t had time to secure it in a braid before making my epic escape. If it knotted beyond the point of untangling, I might just go back and kill that idiot Linus.

For nearly ten years, I had managed to protect the silver stands from unnecessary cuts, much to my mentor and captors at the Temple of Black and White’s dismay. Short of holding me down while I kicked, screamed, and fought back to the point of accidentally killing an acolyte once, cutting my hair was impossible and reserved for the worst punishments. The length symbolized my endurance and perseverance through the trials and tribulations of the decade-long banishment. It was the story of not only my survival but proof that I had made it and would continue to despite whatever was thrown at me. Cutting it for something as silly as a rat nest would feel like a betrayal of what I had endured. Besides, short hair never suited me.

The sun had set fully behind the western side of the city while I bathed, leaving parts of the city drenched in darkness. Dim lights led the way to the city centers, where the musicians drew people in and the taverns kept them in place with a pitcher in one hand and a lady in the other as they danced across the rough cobbled stones. The single-minded folk aching for a release as they pranced arm in arm with their friends to the lively centers, aided in my disappearance, allowing me to slip into an empty, narrow alley that stretched between two dark buildings. Trash lined the ground, puddles of what liquid lingered in the deep grooves of the grout, and piles of rotting food and dead animals warded off others from using the walkway. It would do nicely for cover as I fished my hair out of the cloak and braided it into a simple crown. Few people walked past the entrance; those who did were too focused on the music to peek into the darkness.

Slipping out of the alley, I followed the crowd, looking for a little bird that would lead me to its master. Every city had one. A figure in the shadows that saw everything, heard everything, knew everything. It was this person I needed to find before I was carted off behind the looming walls of the Red Keep. Drawing closer to the center, I held my injured hand close, careful not to bump it against the filth-covered dancers. Infection was not something I needed, especially since the wound was already slow to heal.

As much as I wanted to enjoy the music of my home, a pint of mead and a good time would have to wait. Dancing through the crowds, memories of the seasonal festivals Braavos was known for shot through my mind, waves of nostalgia making my feet stumble slightly as a rowdy couple twirled past. Brusco had always insisted we attend each and every festival, saying there was no time like the present, and he wasn’t wrong. The present and festivities had been ripped away from both of us too soon, too young. 

Shoving the memories away, I focused on the shadows of the watchful eyes, taking in who was here and didn’t belong. I had no doubt that the figure behind those eyes and ears already knew of my arrival; it was only a matter of finding the little bird that was stationed to me and convincing them to bring me back to their master.

Stalking from alley to alley, city center to city center, I failed to catch who was trailing me. I could feel the watchful eyes on my figure, but no matter how sharp my eyes were, I couldn’t see them. The nightly walk did have its perks, even if I couldn’t track down the little birds, women had left their clothes hanging overnight to dry and air out in the slightly cooler air. Clothes that would fit me much better than the sacks I currently had roped to my figure. Selectively picking items of clothes enough for a single outfit, I felt it.

The eyes, not the same as the flittering of the birds, but sharper, more focused. The hair on the back of my neck was the first indicator that I had a new stalker. That my movements were not just being monitored but tracked. Clutching the new clothes in my bad hand, I loosened my form, uncut hand hanging near my concealed blades, letting the single steel shine in the dim light, the only warning I would give the figure watching from the rooftops I had caught with a quick side glance. Their eyes on me would not help me find the eyes of this city; as such, they needed to be blinded.

Keeping my movements unbothered, uncaring, I played the prey to their predator, allowing them to stalk me deeper into the city, further from the prying eyes of commonfolk. My moment came when a small crack between buildings appeared around a tight corner. Two buildings, through years of neglect, had slumped against each other, supporting the weight of the heavy ancient stones used to erect the long line of townhouses and small shops, creating a curtain of darkness.

Filtering into the small alley, I was pleased to see that it was also a dead end. Pushing deeper into the crack, making sure that the figure stalking my movements could not see, I chucked off the clothes I was drowning in, pulling on the tighter ones, I didn’t need this person to have anything extra to grab onto should push come to shove. 

The waistband of the new pants was flush against my skin, allowing me to tuck an extra dagger into it; the rest went into my trusty leather boots I had gotten for a pretty penny from a cobbler in a small town just at the mountain’s front. Now all I had to do was figure out a way to get out of the alley and behind them.

The buildings each had a door, the furthest one was locked tightly; smart considering folks like me wandered the night. The second, however, was not, unsurprisingly, since the inside of the building was in complete disrepair. The wood was rough against my calloused hands as I showed the door open, it let out the faintest squeak of protest before opening enough to let me through. I didn’t bother to close it as I made my way through the building into the alley on the far side, far enough that I hoped it would put me behind the cloaked figure squatting on a nearby rooftop.

Slipping through a broken window overlooking a row of shabby tent houses, I stood on the edge of the sill and hoisted myself onto the roof. My arms screamed in protest at my weight, my hand cracking open to allow a sliver of blood to seep into the fresh bandage. Once I got into the Keep, I would need to stitch up the long slice if I truly wanted it to ever heal.

Crouched low, I scanned the buildings, hoping to catch the figure still propped where I had left them. A wave of disappointment flooded my body when I couldn’t find them, the night growing darker as a cloud covered the brilliant rays of moonlight. Jumping to a different roof, my eyes snagged the figure. Squatted pensively on a ledge, eyes trained on the narrow alley, watching for movement that would not come.

Gotcha.

Judging by the crouched height, it was a man. The dark cloak was finely tailored to the man, perfectly fitting him over his broad shoulders. The fabric was darker than what could be made by the simple seamstresses, the dye having to have been imported from the south since Westeros black tended to fade quickly into dark grey, such as the cloak I was currently wearing. Both of these facts told me that this was no ordinary stalker; either I was being hunted by a top-notch mercenary or some noble had slipped past their guards and out of their stone walls for a night out.

Either way, they did not sense my approach until it was too late. Daggers poised, I lunged at the figure, holding him still with a knife to the throat and one to the ribs, just in case he got any fancy ideas.

“Can I help you?” My voice rang softly against the shell of his ear. I couldn’t see who I had caught in my trap, but the way his body only slightly tensed at the hold, it had to be some fool. He moved slightly, trying to find purchase off his thin ledge, but I was at his back, and I was not going anywhere. His back pressed into me further, his warmth sinking into my chilled body, as he tried to look at me from the corner of his eye.

He was broad and tall, I nearly had to strain to keep in his place as I figured out what to do. My lack of foresight at this moment holding us at a stalemate.

“Not particularly.” He finally answered. His voice touched something in my mind. Familiar yet not.

He shuffled again, hand moving slowly to the dagger he had tucked away. Pushing the blade at his neck deeper, causing a small swell of blood to bloom, he moved his hand away, understanding that I was the one in charge.

“Why were you following me?”

“You intrigued me.” He clipped, more annoyed than angry at his situation.

He tried to move again, pressing the dagger further into his own skin without me having to add any more pressure, “Move again and you won’t like the consequences.” I could hear the slight accent in my own voice compared to this man’s. “You aren’t a mercenary,” I stated matter-of-factly. He tensed but didn’t move, heading my threat. “Too finely dressed to be commonfolk.” The dagger I had poised at his ribs moved to feel his cloak, the cut in my hand protesting at even the slightest of my movements. “So, tell me, why has a noble such as yourself snuck from your high walls to stalk from the roofs?”

He hummed, the deep sound reverberating into my chest that was not flush against his. “To end up in precarious situations such as this one, my lady.” The sarcasm dripped from his tongue.

My lady . He had said, not Milady. A noble who resided in the Red Keep then, not some lordling from the other kingdoms. Growling, I realized I could not kill this man.  A dead noble would cause trouble, especially one who resided in the Red Keep under the watchful protection of the King himself.

“Who are you?” The question was out before I could stop it, my intrigue beating my self-preservation. 

The man scoffed at my question as if I were a fool. “A slight Essos accent,” he started instead of answering my question. “If I had to guess, I would say Braavosi.” Something soured in my stomach at the guess. “Delicate feminine hands,” he caught the hand at his ribs, tugging me forward, making me lose my balance, as he switched our positions. The dagger at his neck was swatted away, cutting only a small line across his neck as he slammed me into the ground. “Makes me wonder who is under the hood myself.” My injured hand released the dagger, the pressure of his hold slicing deeper into the cut, causing me to slightly wince.

I cursed myself for letting his honeyed words distract me. I knew better, I was better than this. I had the scars to prove it.

“Shall I look and see?” He sneered down at me, my hood somehow managing to stay low, concealing who I was.

I could see him now. All fury and hard angles under his black hood. The deep scar that ran the length of his left side, cutting through his eye down to his cheek. The jagged line partially covered by an eyepatch.

Aemond Targaryen.

Anger surged, mine mixing with Morghul’s, who had shredded the flimsy barrier I had put between us at the sight of the prince who had been the catalyst for my banishment. “Kill!” She hissed, her warmth spreading down the bond, filling my soul with flames I could not release, no matter how my body yearned to be able to.

  Bucking, I tried to loosen his grip, but his hips pressed into mine, his hand held my injured one, pressing what felt like his whole weight into it, leaving me gasping. But not nearly as defenseless as he hoped. I still had one hand and a lethally sharp dagger clenched in it. As his free hand went to unhood me, my dagger was back at his neck, the wound I had already carved open dripping blood onto my chest.

“Try me.” I snarled. Only to realize my mistake, the harsh, lethal words had not left my lips in the Common Tongue but in High Valyrian. A language only the dragon riders of Old Valyria spoke, only the families of Targaryen and Velaryon knew.

Surprise lit his eyes, ignoring the threat to his throat, he threw back my hood, revealing my eyes and hair to him. “Valaena.” He whispered like a prayer. Like he couldn’t believe I was here now. Well, neither could I. Of all the people who could have been stalking me, it had to be him. The gods sure knew how to play a joke.

“Aemond.” I snarled back, so at odds with his revenant words.

Still pinned, he took me in. His lilac eyes danced between mine as if he didn’t know where to look first. Confusion marred his face, lining his brows at the sight of my tanned skin and freckles, something no Targaryen had as they had never spent more time than necessary in the sun’s rays. As his eyes flickered back to mine, the confusion wiped away. There was no mistaking my eyes for anyone else’s, one deep violet, the other a lavender. As he inspected him, I did the same to him.

The years had changed both of us. His eye never healed that much was the obvious part, but behind that, I could see the youth we once shared had been wiped away. Where his soft features once were, now only hard lines, sharp angles, and dangerous intent. Her hair had grown straightening over the years as he grew, just past his shoulders, peaking out behind his hood. His small, lean frame had filled out, now packed with hard muscle, muscle I could feel tensing against mine as he pinned me to the hard surface of the flat roof.

“Get off,” I demanded, bucking my hips once more, not enjoying our close proximity or how it was making me feel. It had been literally years since I felt the warmth of another human against my skin. It was so at odds with the heat Morghul typically produced, all heat and steam, nothing close to the soft radiating warmth Aemond’s body pushed into mine at every point he touched me.

Aemond, unaware of the emotions rising behind my eyes, pressed in further. Our stomachs, now flushed with something that felt far too intimate for family, hatefully reunited. “Are you going to try and gut me?” His soft words fanned against my cheeks, pushing more of his warmth against me. His tone was teasing, but also not; he was assessing me like the threat he now perceived me as. Good.

“Not if you are fast enough.” I snarled at him, telling the truth. This was the boy who had catalyzed my banishment, the fool who had broken my trust the first chance I offered it to him in a tentative truce.

My rebuttal earned me a grin, but he did remove himself from me, pushing to sit on his heels instead of standing, which left me to crawl out from under him.

Scrambling to my feet, I tried not to let my humiliation show as I looked down at him. Kneeling, he looked up at me with an expressionless face. His single eye hardened as mine did as the seconds passed between us. Whatever we once had between us, I had long thrown to the wind, realizing trust was what got me sent away. Never again would I make that fatal mistake. Just because I had survived it once did not mean I would make it out the second time, especially with a guild of face-changing assassins lying in wait to skin me alive.

I had no doubt he had also forgotten what had spanned between us, all those long years ago. Perhaps even trading it for some fair, docile, submissive lady of the court. His eyes watched me, face blank as I stood over him for only a second before he rose to his feet, blocking my exit off the roof, unless I wanted to jump from another two-story building within the same night.

By the gods, I mumbled to myself, accidentally pushing it to Morghul, who snarled at me for my slight appreciation for the prince. No longer were we the same lanky height, as he now towered over me, at least a full head taller. Something dark whispered to edge closer to him, to test if I even came up to his chin. His once skinny arms now pushed, constrained against his tightly fitted riding tunic. His once strangely long legs were now proportioned nicely to his size.

He was a menacing sight to behold in his well-fitted forest green riding leathers and black cover cloak. 

Moment ruined. 

Riding leathers meant to tamper away the harsh winds of the sky as he rode the old hag Vhagar. The old beast still lived then and was well enough to fly. The green meant that he stood not with the house that gave him the power to ride dragons, but with the whiny house of his mother and the treacherous Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. 

Scoffing at his blatant admission of loyalty, I glanced behind him, scanning for an escape route. There were still things I needed to do before the sun crested the horizon before I would dare step foot on the red stones of the Red Keep.

As if reading my mind, Aemond stepped in front of the path I was planning to escape through. “I don’t think so.” His arms rose slightly, hands tensing, readying for a fight that I was going to put up. “The Keep has become much too crowded upon your expected arrival. I should like to see some Lords return home, which means you are coming with me.”

The threat was as blatant as the sun’s rays were warm. He was taking me back to the Keep, even if it meant he had to fight me every step of the way. There was no way I would be able to continue my plans for the night; the Ghost behind the eyes and ears of the city would not make themselves known, not when I had the second son of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower hunting me through the shadows. But was I truly ready to see my blood relatives in the Keep, the lords and ladies who had traveled days across the Seven Kingdoms, who had all come to stare, ogle, and question my survival?

Something unpleasant closed in on my skin, pressing loosely against my mind. Something that felt too much like the walls of a cage began its slow capture upon my existence as I stared at Aemond and the decisive choice he had made for me.

“Take all the time you need to decide how to move forward, princess, but come sunrise, you will be in that castle.” He stated as if declaring the sun rose in the East and set in the West.

Glancing behind me, I noted the two-story drop back to the cobbled street below. I had made that jump once tonight already, and it cost me a sore hip. Tilting my head to the side, I let a small smile loosen my lips. “Indeed, I might.” But his attention was no longer on my eyes, trying to read what remained unspoken behind their walls, but on my hand. The hand that was now throbbing something fierce and steadily dripping red aside my boots.

“That is fresh,” Aemond stated the obvious.

Something childish nearly took over my mind as the urge to call him a name entered my mind, but I held it in, blaming Morghul, who watched the scene unfold with greedy attention, hoping this interaction who push my decision to call her to me in all her glorious rage. But no, this was something I could easily handle without having to reel in a strangely bloodthirsty ancient beast.

Rolling my eyes, I focused back on my escape plan. Aemond was right, come sunrise, I would be at the Gates of the Keep, but on my terms. Knocking my fallen dagger onto the top of my boots, I kicked it up, catching it with my blood-slicked hand. The blade was not one I cared about, a simple steel that could be manufactured across the world. Tilting my head, I looked at the prince, then launched the blade faster than he could dodge. The tip grazed his cheek, pushing back and cutting through his hood as it soared through the air, now lost to me, but having made a wonderful point.

“Aww,” I cooed at the prince who touched the blood leaking from the small cut along his cheekbone, just outside his mangled scar, before he glanced at the red marring his slender pale fingers, “That looks fresh.”

He snarled, reaching for me, but I was faster and already had a plan. Jumping back from him, I stood on the very edge of the roof. With one last look at the lunging prince, I flipped off the roof and truly disappeared into the shadows. His curses followed me as they echoed off the stone walls as I faded into the shadows.

Grinning, I couldn’t help but think, I might just enjoy my time here. At least until it had to come to an end.

Chapter Text

Valaena

Spite was the only thing keeping me from the Red Keep. Aemond's threatening words echo in my mind, stoking the fire, lighting the already blazing stubbornness. Come sunrise, you will be in that castle, I mimicked under my breath with an eye roll. Scoffing at his failed determination, I took a hearty swig of watered-down ale and watched the sun make its slow ascent over the short buildings lining the water's edge.

The tavern I had sauntered into nearly two hours ago had long since emptied. The drunk patrons escaped the early morning rays as they stumbled home to nurse hangovers and start their day, but not I. As they cleared out, I hunkered down, finding an eastern-facing window and table where I could kick my feet up and watch the brilliant rays journey across the near cloudless sky. 

Feet kicked up, I did just that. The watery wine the barkeep had plucked down in front of me nearly an hour ago, stating 'the barrel would go bad' and 'was looking to rid himself of the near soured ale,' did little to rid the traces of anxiety clouding my thoughts, nor let me forget this was my first sunrise in nearly a decade in Westeros.

I would have to enter the Keep; that much was a given, but how I was unsure. I could simply walk up to the barred and guarded gates, wave my name around, and hope they believed me, or I could go back to the docks, pretend I had just arrived, and allow some lucky guard to escort me home, the thoughts of a promotion hamming into his thick skull with every step closer to the castle he brought me. I didn't like either, and I couldn't think of anything else aside from sneaking in through the sewers, which was disgusting.

With a sigh, I finished the last of the ale, flipped a gold coin in the emptied cup, and stood. The sun had passed the horizon, my point to Aemond was made. Now I would have to face not only him but my entire bloodline. What joy that brought me.

The sight of Melyes yesterday dancing just outside the city's limits brought me some relief. The last words of Rhaenys's husband, Corlys, brought me some comfort; if all went wrong, I would have a place at Driftmark, at least until Luce came of age and took lordship of the Keep.

Well, that was plan C. If all went wrong, I would flee back to my secluded paradise hidden in the slopes and valleys of the Painted Mountains. There, I would happily live out my life until old age took me, or Morghul grew agitated enough with me and decided to eat me. Not that that was likely due to the strange and mostly mysterious bond stretching between us.

Being so close to the ocean, mist sprinkled the air, water catching on the gusts of wind carrying the salty spray to the shore, where it ever so slowly dampened nearly everything. The grooves worn into the well-worn stones were filled with a thin layer of water and algae. The buildings, once solid, were now held together with plastered boards pushing the bending wood upright. Looming behind the city, falling in on itself, were the glistening spires of the Red Keep. Shoulders back, ale humming through my veins, I began the slow walk towards them.

The massive gates were far closer than I had hoped they would be. People lined them, waiting for their chance to speak to their king with the hopes of rectifying some dispute or gaining favor. Carts stuffed full of livestock, loaded with vegetables, and laden with jewels and gems waited with several of the commonfolk and lower nobility. Gifts for the already wealthy, more trinkets to be forgotten on shelves or stuffed in overflowing pockets, given with the hopes of winning small favors for the king and his court. These people would never be anything more than ants to those that resided within the red stones, their problems nothing more than slightly bothersome flies circling an abandoned feast. But still, every day, people would come hoping that their gift, their problem, warranted an audience with the court. Excuses poised, ready for when the guards inevitably would turn them away, stating their problems would sully the king's ears before snatching away valuable items and turning the peasants away with cruel laughs.

It all disgusted me. Their cruelty was a disease, and the cause of infection stemmed from the minuscule amounts of power the king or queen had bestowed upon them in order to protect and serve the needs of the people. The needs that were obviously not being met to the degree required by the citizens.

"Now piss off, hag!" A guard sneered down at an old woman. Her shoulders had caved in over the years, her back bent from years of hard work, and in her worn hand hung a single silver chain that the guard had locked his meaty grip on.

The woman's hands shook as she gripped the chain, a small plea, I could not hear, murmured to the guard. The man encased in silver, my house sigil seared into the polished steel of his armor, sneered down at the frail woman, his hand reaching back ready to shove her to the ground. 

But I was faster.

Charging past the line of folks content to watch a man bully a woman old enough to be their great-grandmother, I shouted at the guard, catching his attention. His gaze shifted from the old woman and her chain to me, deciding what was worth more, his job or the pricy jewelry he would pawn off later. Pushing my cloak away, revealing my glinting daggers, I snarled at the man, "Touch her and your life is forfeit." My good hand escaped from under the cloak, a single finger raised menacingly at the guard.

He released the woman and her chain, smart. But then it fell to the sword loosely hanging at his side, stupid. Grinning, I sped up, knowing I could reach him before he had the blade fully drawn. 

And reach him I did, knocking his blade hand away, I used my momentum to pin him to the rough stones surrounding the castle's wall; a knee pressed against his armored gut, pinning him, and a dagger at the small slip of unprotected flesh as his shoulder. All before he could even utter a cry for help.

The man snarled at me, bucking in an attempt to get me off. Even with only one foot keeping me in place, I wasn't going anywhere. "Do you get off," I lowered my knee to his family jewels and pressed in harder, causing him to grunt, eyes widening in pain, "taking from the elderly?" I whispered in his ear, purring as if we were lovers.  

The guard tried to headbutt me, but I dodged it, leaning back far enough that he could see my manic grin. He may not be enjoying this, but I sure was. The man's eyes left mine for a brief second, searching for his fellow guards, but they were too busy with their lines to notice the slight disturbance I was causing.

"Oh, they can't help you now."

He seemed to take that as a challenge, as he screamed like a baby for his friends. "Help!"

The other guards startled to attention, taking in the pinned guard and my small figure holding a wicked dagger against their fellow guard's soft flesh. Jumping from their posts, as one, they drew their swords and approached, ready to skewer me should they have to.

I listened to their approach, their clanky armor a dead giveaway to their position.

"Which is your sword hand?" I questioned uncaring to the small army marching toward me, bringing the guard’s attention back to me, the real threat. He didn't answer, fear and defiance dancing in his eyes. "If you don't answer, you'll lose both." I rectified my head tilting to the side ever so slightly. His eyes widened, fear encasing them at my matter-of-fact tone.

"L-left!" He lied.

Smirking, I sliced his right arm, cutting deep, ensuring tendons were severed, and bone was scraped; it would never heal properly enough to hold a sword well enough to wield.

"Be glad you get to keep your pathetic life." I snarled, listening as the other guards shouted for backup.

His scream of pain mixed with the alarms, the other guards shouted to the inner courtyard, signaling for the gates to open. A mighty creak, followed by pounding of hoofs and armored boots, as guards on foot and horseback flooded the small space outside the courtyard. The commonfolk who had stayed to watch the scene fled; their goods clutched tightly in their hands as they made for cover.

A bald man on a white horse, whom I vaguely recognized, approached, his sword raised threateningly. "Step away from the guard." He ordered, voice filling the space.

Leaning in one last time, just to push these men further past their limit, I held the eyes of the bald man as I whispered parting words to the guard, "I hope you learned something." Grinning, I turned fully toward the bald man, allowing the guard to drop, knowing he couldn't draw a dagger in retaliation. Hands raised, knife now reddened with the coward's blood, I looked at the man. His cape was white and gold, a symbol of status, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, if I remembered correctly. He would do, no further promotion than that.

"Drop the dagger." He demanded.

I didn't.

"In the name of King Viserys, drop that weapon or face the consequences." He yelled, his face reddening at my open defiance. I was already facing to consequences of my life, so no, I won’t drop the dagger. 

My bandaged hand lowered from above my head, reaching for my hood, the man tensed, readying for whatever I was about to do, but then went utterly still as the cloak's hood was thrown from my head, revealing a startling sight not only to him, but to the other unsure guards situated around him.

"But I'm rather attached to it, good ser." Raising my eyes to the Lord Commander, I smiled fearlessly. He cursed foully as his eyes took in mine, as they traced the messy braided bun of silver-white hair. Sheathing his longsword, he dismounted his white horse, ordering his men to put away their weapons, and with more flourish than I anticipated, the guard bowed low, his right hand clenched in a fist as he slammed it against his chest.

"Princess Valaena," the words rattled off the walls, slowly sinking into the ears and minds of the onlookers before gasps broke out. "Welcome home."

The Lord Commander glanced back at the closest man and jerked his head, signaling him, before he returned his attention back to me, the crying guard at my feet almost completely forgotten.

He approached me cautiously, half his attention on the still-drawn blade, "Ser Harrold." He introduces himself. The name resurfaced a memory. This was my mother's guard when she was at King's Landing and the King's personal guard when she was not. He was also the fool who kept promoting Ser Cole, even as a child, I knew that man reeked of bad blood.

"Yes, I recall." Shoulders back, head high, Ser Harrold and I studied each other. I was an enigma, and thanks to the whining man behind me, a threat he would have to welcome into the Keep. "He threatened an old lady," I explained, taking a step back from the man while also looking down at him.

Clearing his throat, he glanced back at me, checking my face for any signs of remorse, and found none. "Barrick, get Reynolds to the maesters and get him cleaned up." Ser Harrold ordered with a sign. A shaking guard, Barrick, danced past me cautiously before hauling Reynolds to his feet and dragging him through the looming gates, whispering encouraging words to him as they went to the healers. "Princess, if you'll follow me." The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard extended a hand towards me, which I gladly accepted.

And into the jaws of the beast, I went.

~

Ser Harrold wasted no time leading me into the gates of the Red Keep, eager to get me out of the commonfolk's sight after my bloody display. He and the other gold cloaks hung close to my side, but far enough away that if I decided to pull the dagger, I had hidden behind my cloak again, they would have enough room to get out of the way. The guards surrounding me in a spearhead shape kept their eyes forward, locked on their commander's bright white and gold uniform as they led me through the courtyard filled with servants and lesser nobles and into the actual Keep. I saw the man whose hand I had sliced in the corner of the courtyard, a maester having come to him to inspect the wound that would scar and forever disable the guard. His beady eyes followed the procession until they locked on mine. The threatening glint only beckoned forth the hidden insanity, the bloodlust that began festering in me years ago.

Let him come, let him try me. It whispered like a prayer.

The guards did not slow down as they pressed into the Keep, walking over the blood-red rug that was rolled over the steps, a tongue leading into the belly of the beast. The hurried pace denied the memories that tried to push forward, allowing only slivers to awaken behind my eyes. Of the late nights when my brothers and I got into trouble for exploring too late or of my obvious trailing after Aemond during the day when our paths happened to cross, he would always ignore me, but his pace would slow ever so slightly so that I might keep up with his longer legs. My eyes traced the uneven stone walls where hidden doorways lay in wait, eager for the cobwebs that lined them to be flushed out and for soft feet to creep through them once more.

Inside, the guards tightened their formation, closing in on me, blocking the stares of the nobles who were passing through. I was herded into a small room just past the grand staircase that led to the royal chambers. The room had two small sitting chairs, no windows, and only one entrance. Two guards entered with me, one stationed at the door and the other at my side as I perched on the sitting chair facing the door. Ser Harrold remained outside the shut door, enclosing me with the two nervous and fidgeting guards.

I wasn't sure what I was waiting for, or rather, who I was waiting for. Perhaps it would be my mother, come to inspect me, ensuring I was who I claimed to be. Perhaps the King would come to see me first, although I had heard of his declining health and doubted, he spent much time outside the Great Room and his chambers. A small voice offered that it could be Aemond coming, to do something I wasn't sure especially after my stunt with him last night.

What I wasn't expecting were the harsh murmuring voices outside the door, before a strong female voice uttered her final demand, and the door opened, revealing Queen Alicent. Her presence snapped the two guards to attention, both slightly bowing respectfully, even though I doubted the Queen would even acknowledge them. And I was right, her eyes immediately found mine, pinning me in place with her harsh and aged gaze, before traveling the length of my body. Inspecting me, searching for any sign that I was not who I claimed to be, but there was no mistaking my eyes. No Targaryen, true or bastard, had been born with my two-colored eyes.

A slight frown of disgust marred her face as she took in my tunic and pants, so at odds with what women were expected to wear, especially noble women. Her nose wrinkled at my scent, the night running through the dirt-covered commonfolk having rubbed against me, washing away the decently clean scents of homemade soap. I couldn't help but find some sort of joy in her displeasure towards me. If only I had come back reeking of fish, vomit, and body odor and covered in various substances.

Her face had grown somewhat pinched with age and having to deal with the Targaryen way of life. Despite her skin remaining nearly flawless I could see the loss of her youthfulness; wrinkles touched her forehead and around her eyes. I wondered if my mother had lost her grace as well if she was also hiding behind ridged posture and a sense of importance like Alicent was.

Gracefully rising from my spot on the small, cushioned chair, I met the Queen's stare, refusing to bow or offer any sort of decorum that was required of my position. Back straight I waited for the Green Queen to do something. I could see the debate behind her eyes, she had not expected me to survive and now I was back another pawn in my mother's game, another obstacle in the way to her eldest son's rise to power.

But instead of throwing me back on the streets and declaring me an impostor, her hawklike eyes scanned me once more, noting all the specks of dirt and grim lingering on my body. "You'll need a bath before you are to be presented to the King." She sniffed the air, her nose scrunching as she caught a whiff of something unpleasant. "And clean clothes." 

Queen Alicent stepped to the side, allowing just enough space to allow an older servant to peek into the room. The woman bowed her head politely before looking into my eyes. "Margery will lead you to your room, where you will bathe. My dear Helaena has offered to share her wardrobe until the seamstress has time to fit you." The queen paused. "I understand if you would find peasant clothes more comfortable, but I cannot allow that to be worn in the Keep."

Her words were meant to jab, but I was honestly sick of the ill-fitting, itchy clothes I kept having to steal from the peasants. Queen Alicent gave me one last harsh look before leaving me with an army of maids. Brushing off her harsh comments, I looked to the maids, there were so many I could hardly see the guards encircling them. 

It was no hidden fact that maids were the eyes and ears of any house; they heard everything, saw everything, and were no doubt spies for the queen, eager to report my every word and movement to her.

"If you'll follow me, princess." The older woman, Margery, requested. "I've already sent for a warm bath in your chambers and some scented oils." The woman did not wait for me to follow; instead just turned and expected it, the other maids parting like she was their Messiah. Margery kept talking as she walked, leading the way to my old room. "If you should need anything, please let me know. Should I not be around, one of them," She waved a hand carelessly to the other maids who watched me with awe, "will be. We are all here for your comfort." Margery paused at the base of the stairs, looking back at me, waiting for some haughty demand I was sure she was used to.

"A warm bath sounds wonderful. Thank you, Margery." Stepping to the older lady, I linked our arms, an act of sincerity.

Margery looked down, confused at my action, before glancing back at me. Her eyes squinted suspiciously before she offered me a shy smile. She allowed me to grasp her arm until a gaggle of lesser noble women of the court rounded a corner, upon their stares, she slid her arm from mine and stepped in front of me as if she could block their view of me. They, however, did not even glance at the maids.

The rest of the way to my room, Margery spoke to me in a hushed voice, updating me on the tedious trends of court, such as the fashion the court ladies wore and what flowers were currently in bloom in the gardens. She filled the silence as I listened quietly, tucking away the small details in the back of my mind. I could feel Morghul watching quietly as she too took in the Great Castle of Kings Landing.

Eventually, we made our way to the long hall that had been designated for the unwed princesses of court. Helaena and I used to share this long hall, but now that she had married her brother Aegon II while I was away, the entire wing was empty save for my room. My door was the furthest down, guarded by nothing save a thick wooden door painted with silly swirls of red, orange, and yellow; done by the hands of a young princess who wanted nothing more than to be an artist. How the times had changed.

Margery grasped one door and hauled it open, revealing my childhood room. Everything remained as I remembered, pieces of me that were long dead sat on shelves, books I had been too young to fully understand leaned against walls, sat on tables, and were discarded on the floor near my bed. The carpets had been recently dusted or perhaps changed; I couldn't quite remember what they had looked like. The sheets on my bed had been changed to a brilliant white, the pillows fluffed, and the windows were open, allowing the soft sea breeze in to replace the stale scent that still lingered in the air after years of disuse.

The room was arranged in three main sections, and while they were not walled off, there were some factors of division. My bed lay furthest away from the windows, up three steps, and situated in the smallest part of the room. A large tapestry hung on the far wall depicting some battle on dragons' back, two nightstands were situated on either side of the massive feather bed, and a long end chest stuffed with extra pillows and blankets sat at the end of the bed.

The doors to my room opened to the largest part of the room. The sitting area was carefully crafted for small gatherings of women, several velvet and clothed chairs encircled a small dark wooden table where books and small trinkets were laid, a leather couch which had two small red blankets draped over the back was placed on the far side of the room with a small round polished stone table accompanying it and finally, a black settee was pushed against the wall closest to the doors of the room. Several small pillows of varying shapes, sizes, and fluffiness were scattered across each piece of furniture, and a large topless chest was stuffed with extra blankets and furs for long, cool night talks.

In the final part of my room, closest to the two tall open windows overlooking Blackwater Bay, was the bathing and dressing area. In the center of the area, looking directly out the window, was a large steaming copper tub. A dressing curtain was pushed into the farthest corner of the room, which could extend to cut off the small area from the rest of the room, and next to the window was the wardrobe full of underclothes. Old dresses and riding clothes were in a separate wardrobe in the other corner, where a warped mirror also stood. Finally, in this area of the room, a large vanity was placed. The mirror and several drawers were ready and stuffed full of supplies a princess of the realm might need.

Margery followed me into my room, moving to the steaming tub where she placed her hand in to check the temperature. The maid glanced around the room, making sure everything was in place before pulling a stool to the side of the copper tub. "A bath, milady." Not a question but a reminder of what the queen had ordered.

The other maids scattered about the room, picking at trinkets, pretending to do work. Two approached me, their deft and small hands reaching for the laces of the cloak, but I grasped their hands with my slightly shaky ones. We both looked at our clasped hands, her mousy brown eyes tracing the small scars nicking my tanned skin, before I dropped her hands and tucked mine back into the safe folds of my cloak. "I can do this myself," I said softly to the woman who tried to undress me. "I'll call for you should I need help." No one moved, unsure if I was dismissing them.

Clearing my throat, I shifted uncomfortably, "Thank you."

They understood that. Several maids fled the room, linking arms with their friends once they crossed into the hall, their heads bent as they whispered to each other. "Of course, Princess." Margery stood from her place at the side of the tub, "If you need anything, I will be just outside." The older maid wiped her hands on her apron, casting a look at the few maids who remained, unsure if they needed to leave as well. "When you are done, I shall take you to the Great Hall." A slight curtsy, and then the massive doors clicked into place.

Alone at last.

Chapter Text

Valaena

As much as the Queen meant the bath to be an insult, it was heavenly. The warm water washed away the remained grit that clung to my skin, the oils washed away the sticky scents of outside clinging to my body, and the scrubs and sharp metal tools allowed me to clean places I hadn't in ages. My fingernail beds had never looked so good.

I had forgotten how much I missed the soft, fragrant scents of expensive oils. The almond, vanilla, and coconut scents brought me back to the fresh markets of Essos. The citrus and flowery scents reminded me of the orchids and flower meadows of the plains, and the earthy pine reminded me vaguely of the mountains where Morghul had decided not to eat me. The bath water had been mixed with milk, leaving my skin feeling softer than it should be, paired with the finishing moisturizers. I felt like a newborn.

Sighing at the forgotten luxuries of my past, I grasped the underdress Margery had left out for me. The fabric was pure cotton, light and breathable in the stifling summer heat. Tossing it to the side, pointily avoiding my reflection in the warped mirror I had not covered, I reached for the fluffy towel. My wet hair dripped cold water down my back, tapping quietly on the worn stones at my feet as droplets rolled down my skin, as I patted dry.

Reaching to dress myself in the heavenly soft slip, my eyes grazed over the mirror. Even warped, I could make out my shape. Indeed, I had grown into a woman, my breasts were a soft curve, my hips wide, fit for marriage and childbirth. I could hear the maesters whispering about it now, could see my mother hearing proposals for my hand, scoffing. I pushed the thoughts from my mind. I would never allow myself to fall into such a fate. It wasn't my changed body that made me look away with disgust, but the long scars that marred my skin and the memories that were attached to them.

Shifting from the mirror and what it showed me, I shoved the knee-length slip over my arms and down my body before reaching for the wardrobe next to the changing curtain. Ripping the drawers open, I shuffled through them looking for something to wear for when I was presented to the King and the greedy eyes of my family and the court. There were a few pieces of white and black underclothes, too large and flimsy to be useful at the moment. Scoffing, I moved to the other wardroom and found a single dress inside. This must be what the Queen wanted me to wear. Out of spite, I almost slammed the thin doors closed, but then I would be nearly naked in front of the court. With a sigh, I removed it from the rack and threw it over a chair to inspect it. The dress was black, intricate, colorful designs stretched across the bodice, wrapping around the back to paint the corset strings before flowing down the skirt. The sleeves were long enough to cover my entire arms, and my hands, should I want them to, and it had a modest straight neckline that wrapped around my collarbones, shoulders, and upper back.

Kicking my old clothes away, I fished out my daggers. I knew I wouldn't be able to strap them all to my body, but that didn't mean I would leave them in the open for some servant to find and gossip about. Not that it mattered, I was sure the whole Keep now knew I had slight violent tendencies thanks to my entrance. I could probably fit a small dagger against each forearm, hidden by the billowing sleeves that draped to the ground, mixing with the short train and another two on each ankle, easier access than my thighs, as I would have to fight the heavy fabric to reach them should I need to.

I managed to get the dress on with only a few choice words, the daggers strapped to their respective spots save for my left hand which ached something fierce after having to bend to tighten the back laces. A small nook where a stone was loose above one of my nightstands now housed my extra gold, the jewel-encrusted dagger, and my remaining dragon scales, the beams arching over the ceiling hid the few daggers I could not fasten to my body. It would have to do for now.

"Princess, the Great Hall has started its gatherings, and the Queen is awaiting your arrival." Margery sounded through the door, her muffled voice startling me.

Glancing at the red beading from the long cut, I cursed. The blasted thing would never heal if I continued to break the scab and use it. "One second!" I shouted to the woman at the door. Ripping open the vanity to find something to bandage the damned wound.

A few moments later, another knock sounded, and I still had not found anything that would absorb the blood that was dripping onto the floor. "Just come in, damn it!" I yelled at her in frustration.

She hesitated for a second, sensing my mood, before the door edged open, revealing the stoned-faced maid. She took in the open drawers, spilled contents, and then me. I was shuffling through the wardrobes now, contemplating ripping the silk shirts.

"What are you doing?" She asked exasperated.

Turning, my loose, damp hair whipped in front of me, which I batted away. "I have a cut and need a bandage," I stated.

"Oh, let me see this wee thing. I might have something for it." As she searched the deep pocket sewn into her uniform, I went to the chairs in the middle of my room. Margery pulled out a long strip of fabric and knelt in front of me. "Where's the cut?"

Pulling back the left sleeve I showed her the wee cut that was seeping red into the black dress. She stared at it for a second, taking in the broken skin running from palm to forearm, before looking at me her eyes wide. "Did you just do this?" She accused.

Scoffing, I snatched the fabric from her grip and got to work stopping the bleeding. "No, it happened a few days ago." If she thought this was bad, gods, wait until she found out about everything else that marred my skin. 

"And it's still bleeding?" She asked, concerned as she slapped my sloppy hand away to wrap my arm properly for the first time since the Faceless Man tried to kill me.

"It's probably from the poison." I offered with a lopsided smile, thinking it was kind of funny. Margery, however, did not find it funny, not even slightly.

"Poison!" She gasped. Hands stilling as they finished tying off the once-white fabric. "Good gods! I'll send for the maesters." Her hand reached towards my forehead to check for a temperature that had broken days ago.

Swatting her hand away I stood, letting the long sleeve cover the bandage. "Nonsense. I have a family to see." She looked at me incredulously. "Margery, there was no poison I was joking." Grasping her hands in mine I held them as I helped her to her feet. Which only caused her to take notice of my hard, calloused, and notably scarred hands.

She stepped away from me, eyeing me suspiciously as she put the obvious pieces together. "Right. I'll lead you."

Great. Rolling my eyes at her suspicion and the small offer of information she could report back to the queen, I followed the plump woman to my door. Only for her to pause and look back at me. "We actually need to do something with your hair." Critical eyes cast over me, "And you don't have the dress laced up properly."

Huffing a laugh, I stepped away from her. "Darn, I tried." She did not care at all for my humor at the moment.

"Not hard enough." Margery opened the door again and called for another maid to enter. She gave the maid orders, and they set to work fixing what I failed to do. Margery got to work securing the dress for me, pulling the strings against me to the point where I could hardly breathe. Judging by the joyful glint in her eye, she looked forward to suffocating royals every day. The action brought her some sort of twisted joy.

The other maid, once Margery was done, got to work on drying my hair. The room fell into silence as she ran the soft bristled brush gently through my long hair, the waves already starting to cause her issues.

"Margery," I asked the woman who was watching the other maid, her eyes met mine in the vanity mirror. "Tell me what to expect." Vulnerability seeped into my voice, most for show, the rest caused by the anxiety eating me away.

Margery's eyes softened a bit before she found her resolve, and they hardened again. "I'm not exactly sure, it's not every day a princess is reintroduced to court." I looked away, understanding that this was the only truthful answer she could give me. "But." She began recapturing my eyes, "If you can take a poisoned cut running up your arm, I doubt it will be anything you can't handle." The words reassured me, steeling my own resolve, as Morghul rumbled in my mind a reminder that I was not alone.

The woman brushing my hair paused, "Nearly all the Targaryens and Velaryons are at court!" She said excitedly, not seeing Margery's silent order to shut up. "I've never seen so many dragons before! And the King," She continued, braiding two small strands of hair behind my head, allowing my face to be seen unobstructed. "I've never seen him so many times, and I've worked here for five years. He has been on the Iron Throne every day, watching the doors, waiting for you."

Tying the hair back, she placed the brush back on the vanity before sprinkling some oils in her hand and running it through my hair. "I wasn't here when you were ... uh ... sent away, but I imagine it is going to be just like when you were here." Patting my shoulders, signaling she was done, she stepped back to allow me to stand, still unaware of Margery's glare. "You have nothing to worry about, everyone will surely be happy to see you."

"Alright, that's enough." Margery shooed the young woman away. "We need to go."

Margery led me and the other maid to the door, peeling it open to reveal two other guards. One guard looked familiar the other didn't. The unfamiliar one's eyes passed over Margery's form before lingering on the younger maid's. The maid slumped her shoulders, her head dropping into a submissive posture at the intense stare of the young guard. Peculiar .

Shifting in front of the maid causing his gaze to leave the maid, I looked at him. Suspicion unhidden in my gaze. "Forgive me," turning to the maid behind me, "I did not ask your name."

The maid looked up, her view of the guard blocked by me, "Elina, your highness." She gave a curtsy but did not raise her eyes again.
"Elina, you shall be my Lady Maid." I declared turning back to the guard who was eyeing her hungrily. "Under my protection." The words were a threat to the guard who looked down and then back to the other guard who was watching the scene unfold. "Margery, dear could you make that happen." The older woman nodded curtly, before grabbing Elina and steering her away.

The strangely familiar guard had dark hair, honeyed eyes, tanned skin, and a stern face. His armor was polished to perfection, not a single dent marring its surface, and he did not wear a helmet, nor did he carry one.

"Princess Valaena." He bowed halfheartedly, "I am Ser Cole, the Queen sent me to escort you to the Great Hall." He didn't hold out his arm like any gentleman would, but rather pivoted and began walking in the direction of the Great Hall, not waiting to see if I would follow him.

Rolling my eyes, I set a leisurely pace and followed him. The knight waited impatiently at every corner, his eyes tracing my slow pace as I caught up with him. "Keep up, my lady, we have been waiting for your arrival for days now." His tone made it sound like it was my fault I had been sent away, banished by his Queen. The man turned again, leaving me to walk behind him, gods, how I wished to unsheathe a dagger and bury it in his spine. I might have been a little tired and feeling impulsive, and his attitude was not helping, nor were Morghul's violent tendencies radiating in my mind.

A calming breath entered my lungs, and I trailed after the haughty man. Been waiting for days. I scoffed; I had been waiting for years. A few days wouldn't kill them. As we marched towards the Great Hall, dress swishing behind me, we passed several maids all of whom stopped to stare, soft whispers leaving their lips as they bowed and scurried off no doubt to tell the others of the lost princess they had spotted in the corridors; like they hadn't been lingering near my room on purpose.

Eventually, the massive open doors of the Great Hall came into view; guards littered the halls, standing guard against seemingly nothing. Nobles trickled in and out of the open doors, their house colors loudly adorning their figures as they gossiped about some poor lady who had had the misfortune of wearing the same dress to court twice. Rolling my eyes as we passed them, I caught up with Ser Cole, who had slowed down to make it seem like I had been trailing him the whole time.

The doors of the Great Hall had been repainted recently, if the shiny paint was any indicator. A more stylish, artistic depiction of Balerion, Vhagar, Mexeras, and their respective riders conquering the Seven Kingdoms was painted on the massive wooden doors. The line of lords and ladies waiting to make their troubles known to the King moved aside as Ser Christian led me into the large doorway. He walked with me for two steps into the massive, crowded room before slipping away and scurrying into the crowd, leaving me to walk the expanse toward the king by myself. Coward, I wanted to snarl at the man, I now remembered as the Queen's Guard, who had been ordered to retrieve Luceyrs's eye.

Gathering my wits, I squared my shoulders and began the slow walk towards the Iron Throne. A path had already been cleared straight to the throne, where King Viserys sat hunched over on the welded swords, one arm planted on the armrest as he leaned his weight on it. He was different from what I remember, older, teetering on the edge of life and death. Half his face was covered in a gold mask, he was breathing out of his mouth, teeth rotting where they sat, his almost bald head shone with grease. He looked more dead than alive.

The second Ser Cole pranced away from me, making his way to the Queen at the front of the room, the room fell into a hush. The man at the front of the room, currently speaking to the King, was ushered away, leaving no one in my path to the Iron Throne. I could feel everyone's stares seeping into my body, reaching possessively for my soul, as they gazed at the lost princess. I refused to look at them, my eyes solely focused on the King as I made my way towards him. The soft silk shoes Margery had left me, claiming my boots would be outlandish for court, padded softly on the rough stones, echoing around the room. Or maybe the echo was my heart, pounding in time with my steps announcing to the room, to the city, the kingdom that I am alive.

Time ceased as I passed the watchful eyes of my family. Their gazes tracked my every movement as I found the first steps of the Iron Throne. My mother and brothers stood firmly on the right side of me, facing the throne, Alicent and her family on the left. Their eyes penetrated into my soul, carving deeper into my stone heart. Pausing at the bottom of the steps, I glanced at the King, my grandsire, and he smiled down at me, or at least I think he did. His black and yellow teeth were exposed to the midday light, sparsely spread out in his rotting mouth. Taking the gesture of goodwill as an invitation, I began the ascent to where he sat high above the crowd on his seat of swords.

I heard the room suck in a harsh breath as I dared go closer to the King, the guards' hands falling to their swords as they eyed me suspiciously, but as I reached the old man, he held out his hand, his only hand I realized, toward me. Grabbing it, I held in the wince as my fingers curled around his soft, sagging skin and kissed his hand. My gesture of goodwill. Pulling back, I smiled at the old man, fond memories overtaking the bad ones.

Hand still grasped in his, he turned away from me, shouting past me to the room, "My granddaughter has returned home!" His weak voice carried easily through the silent room. "A feast shall be held in honor of her safe return! May we rejoice and hear talks of her adventures while we celebrate in a day's time." When he finished, the room erupted into cheers, and I finally looked away from the decaying King. My eyes caught my family's through the roar of the crowd, they stood stock still, backs straight as they inspected me as if they could look into my soul and find what had kept me alive against all odds. Withholding the shutter building at the base of my spine, my eyes slide from theirs, moving across the aisle that acted as an ocean, passing the bored faces of Alicent’s eldest son, and the distant Helanea before connecting with the single eye of Aemond Targaryen.

His one eye pierced into mine, holding my gaze as I began the descent from the throne. It cut through my skin, reaching into my chest to hold my soul captive, so intense that I had no choice but to look away. I'll take it he did not enjoy my disappearing act last night.

My foot fumbled as it reached for the next step, only to find that I had reached the bottom of the cascading melted swords. Glancing back up, I looked back to my family, and then to Aemond, who still watched me with a predator gaze, not sure what to do or where to go. Was I free to escape and return to my room, or was I expected to meld back into court life immediately?

Lingering at the base of the throne, eyes of the court still plastered to me, I hesitated for the briefest second debating on joining the family that had traded my life for the second son or escaping the room altogether. Before I could make the decision, two figures broke off from opposite sides of the aisle, racing toward me. Daemon strode forward on confident, long legs, easily eating the distances stretching between my kin and me. At the same time Daemon broke away, Aemond did as well, shaking off his mother's arm as he raced my mother's new husband toward their prize. Me. A race and a battle between uncle and nephew, to see who would reach and taint the lost princess first.

Daemon won; his hand reached mine, snatching it up before Aemond could cross the last few steps. A devious grin stretched across Daemon's face towards his younger counterpart, uncaring of the scene they were making in front of the court. Aemond tilted his head, acknowledging his defeat but also promising to get back for the slight snub. Daemon dragged me away from the center of the room's attention and into the grasp of my family, his tight grip cutting through the thick bandages Margery had wrapped around my wound.

I did not want to be the new chew toy or tugging rope between the obvious rivalry of uncle and nephew.

My throbbing wrist was released from Daemon, who looked at the tight and thick bandage with curious and concerned eyes. I would need to see a maester to get it stitched at this point. The damned scab would have no time to heal if I kept using the hand and being manhandled.

Encircled by kin for the first time in a decade, a sense of false comfort surrounded me. The distant but familiar scent of my mother's warm embers and dragon filled my nose, the powerful stances of my brothers' at my side blocked the room and their prying eyes, and my cousins, now step-siblings Baela and Rhaena, Daemon's children from his second marriage to Laena, were side by side, a wall behind my mother. They were a well-practiced unified front, and now I stood in the middle of it, awkwardly hidden from the world as they all waited with bated breath for the King to dismiss everyone.

Daemon stood at my back, guarding us all from the horde of nobles frothing at the mouth to get my family's attention. While I had missed the marriage between my mother and her uncle, it was no secret that they always had special places in each other's hearts, and with my father's untimely death, it was only a matter of time before they united in marriage.

As if he could sense me thinking about him, Daemon's warm hand seared through the fabric covering my shoulder, resting heavily as he leaned in to whisper to me. "Glad you survived."

Rolling the shoulder he had so carelessly placed his hand on, I leaned back slightly, making eye contact with the man whose gifts had saved my life more than once. "Me too."

At my soft admission, Rhaenyra tensed, her shoulders tightening ever so slightly as if the words were a physical attack on her. Jacaerys at my side cast a side glance at me, his dark eyes scanning me once as if I presented an imminent danger to the woman who birthed us.

A completely united front once again. I wanted to scoff at the notion, at the obvious distrust wafting throughout the stale room.

Chapter Text

Valaena

The King ended court early, turning away the dwindling crowd at the doors of the Great Room, due to my joyous arrival. Before the Great Room could completely empty, my mother was leading the charge towards a hall in the front of the room. With my brothers boxing me in, I remained at the center of our strange troop, and no amount of elbowing would break their formation as they moved with purpose to a small room where we could all speak in private.

My youngest brother, Joffrey, broke away, moving ahead to open a single door, ushering us all in before he closed it behind him. Only after the door was secured, did everyone break rank around me and scatter around the room to lean on walls and sit on the plump leather furniture. Surprisingly, my mother stayed close to me, turning to face me as she traced her eyes over my figure. Her eyes glazed over with emotion as she took in my woman’s body that had formed without her guidance, my hair that was in waves down my back, pinned out of my face by two simple, long braids that met at the back of my head. As she inspected me, the room fell silent, allowing us this short moment to see each other. She had aged, that much was obvious, the years of politics and responsibilities adding slight lines to her face, despite the weathering years, her belly swelled with child. I couldn’t help but glance at Deamon, who sat in the chair closest to the closed doors, his hand casually resting on Dark Sister’s hilt as he grinned at me.

My mother’s hand drew me back to her as she tentatively touched my shoulder and tugged me into her body, a hug. Unsure what to do as her arms squeezed me, her head buried in my neck as she allowed herself this single moment of weakness and relief that I had returned alive and seemingly in one piece. My arms loosely found themselves around her as well, I was sure it looked just as awkward as it felt. She finally pulled away after a moment longer, her hands holding me in place, “I am glad you have returned healthy, my daughter.”

My face remained emotionless. Glad I was home to be another pawn in her games. I corrected her in my mind.

Stepping out of her grip, I stumbled into the embrace Lucerys pulled me into. His massive frame engulfed me in a hug that felt more motherly than my own mother's. “I am so sorry.” He whispered against my head that now only came up to his chin. His hand cupped the back of my head, holding me into him, pulling comfort from my living, breathing, warm body.

He had grown, in fact, all my brothers had grown. Now all taller than me, they made quite the legion at our mother’s side. I had no words for my brother, for the brother I had been forced to take the punishment for. A punishment that I was still not exactly sure how it came about between my brothers, step-sisters, and uncle. Even as logic said I should be the angriest at Lucerys, I could not find it in myself to hate him. We had only been children then.

Feeling my tense frame, Lucerys pulled back. An uncomfortable look crossed his face as he allowed me my space. Jacaerys made to pull me into an embrace next, but I put my hand up to stop him. Everyone froze at the movement, not expecting me to be so aloof in what they anticipated to be an emotional reunion.

“If everyone hugs and apologizes to me, we will be here all day, and I am sure we all have things to do.”

Daemon snorted, catching that I was not only implying their royal duties but my own plans, “What could you possibly have to do so early in your return?”

Turning to Daemon, I grinned, “Important things.” Refusing to elaborate, I poked the dragon in the room. “Tell me of the tensions.” Spinning, I sat in the single chair that faced the door. No one answered me, casting glances between each other as they silently debated whether I should be immediately welcomed into the folds of their tight-knit circle. “I have been gone for ten years; I need to know what I am walking into so that I might survive for another ten years.”

Daemon leaned forward on his chair, his hand falling away from Dark Sister so that he could rest his elbows on his knees in a predatory posture, trying and failing to intimidate me. My mother moved closer to him, standing at his side as she glanced at her children around the room. Sensing the change in atmosphere, they all moved to find spots. Baela and Rhaena sat on the only couch, Jacaerys and Lucerys moving to cover their backs, and Joffrey remained by the door, listening to us and the movements outside.

“My claim to the Iron Throne is being contested.” Rhaenyra heaved before looking at her two eldest sons. “As well as Jacaerys as my heir and Lucerys as Heir to Driftmark.”

Nodding, I shuffled forward, mimicking Daemon’s posture. “Alicent wants Aegon on the throne,” I stated. Tilting my head, I stared at Daemon. If the reputation I had heard snippets of in Braavos, then he should have taken care of this threat already. “Why haven’t you taken care of this?”

Jacaerys and Lucerys tensed at the direct question to their stepfather. “A war between dragons never has a winner.” My mother answered before Daemon could respond. “And I do not wish for my reign to start with Kinslayer defining my ascension.”

“How noble.” Tsking, I stood to pace, the dress constricting my movements.

Rhaena, the quiet presence, spoke, “Our dragons are not experienced enough to fight Vhagar should battle come between us.”

“Is Rhaenys not with you?” Between Caraxes and Meleys, Vhagar should be all but dust. If Morghul was to join, then it would be no question, but now was not the time to reveal my cards.

“We did not bring you here to plan our battles,” Daemon spoke, ignoring my questioning. Fine should he not want my help then I won’t offer it. “Tell us of Essos.”

At this everyone perked up, save me. Moving back to my chair I slumped into it, letting the predatory pretenses fall. “Oh, it was boring. Nothing really to tell.” Waving my hand dismissively, I sat forward again. “If we aren’t here to plan, I should think duty calls.”

“Not yet.” Daemon watched me, not falling for my aloof behavior. “What happened to your hand?” Everyone glanced at the white covering on my hand. “The truth, and we shall let this all go.” Rhaenyra looked at her husband as if saying she was not going to let any of it go.

“An unfortunate run-in with a few old friends,” I answer as honestly as I want to.

“And are these friends going to make their way here?”

Gods, I hoped not.

Shrugging, I stood, clasping my hands together, “If that is all, I have much to think about, considering the rising tensions and all.”

Daemon snorted, but let me go to the door. My brothers and mother, however, were not as pleased with the conversation as Daemon and I were. Jace and Luce pushed off their chairs, ready to stop should our mother order it, Joffrey glancing toward her as well.

“Have you nothing else to say?” My mother’s accusing voice followed me to the door. Accusing as if I had been the one to choose how I turned out. She was the catalyst in my creation.

“Have you nothing else to say, Mother,” I replied, my tone even but scathing. Joffrey moved to the side, his eyes understanding, but also conflicted. I understood his confusion. He had been young when I was sent away, I doubted he had many memories of me, but I was still family, and by gods were my brothers loyal to that.

My mother said nothing to my question, huffing a laugh I ripped the door open and escaped the stifling room. Moving away from the Great Room, I found a small, familiar nook to cram myself in before feeling for the small button. Lowering my hand to a child’s height, I felt desperatly for the button, eager to escape. This was too much right now; they were too much.

Something gave in the softened stone, a small hiss, and then I was stepping into darkness.

~

The One-Eyed

The king had called everyone to court again, something lightened his usual stumbling steps up the Iron Throne. At my side, Mother refused to speak, her face frozen as she ran through her thoughts silently. Rhaenyra and her horde of kin followed her into the Throne Room as they did every day, finding their assigned spots at her side before gazing at the King with unobstructed attention. Rhaenyra stepped away to help our father up the steps.

Otto slid next to his daughter, a deep scowl marring his face as he watched King Viserys' eldest child impede on his usual duties. Rhaenyra had been causing him all sorts of trouble, keeping him away from the king's ear and intruding on the small council, where they had no choice but to cease their planning for the coup. My half-sister was doing everything she could in the few days at Kings Landing to remind the Keep she was the Heir, and she was not going anywhere. Her antics and slights against Otto would have been faintly amusing to watch, had it not been impacting my mother.

In fact, I might have told him of my run-in with Valaena last night if I hadn’t thought it would have impacted my mother. Instead, I kept that small fact to myself. She would have to appear today, even if she had so childishly ignored my warning and demand to be in the Keep by sunrise. She didn’t have a choice; I wouldn’t give her one if she didn’t make her appearance today.

“They will be gone soon, mother.” My soft words reached her ear causing her to turn to face me, her eyes softening as she grabbed my arm, before her brows furrowed together once more at the sight of my scar and eyepatch. They would have to be gone soon. Once Valaena was in their grasp again they would sweep in and steal her away to Dragonstone.

Patting my arm like she was ensuring I was real, she gripped my green tunic, “I would not be so sure, my dearest son.” Her words were so final, as if she were the one keeping something from me. Before I could inquire what she meant by that, the nobles started filling the room, marching in with false confidence, eager to have their petty squabbles heard by the king.

Alicent kept glancing towards the doors of the Great Room. Her green eyes searched the faces of each lesser noble and higher-ranking commonfolk who walked through the massive double doors. Each passing second caused her to tense further, to the point she was nearly cowering behind my body. Something she had not done in years, so I held fast to her arm, offering whatever comfort I could.

I lost track of time, eyes glazing over, as the king heaved out decrees and orders to those who were actually paying attention. Usually, Otto took care of these dealings, but ever since the decree that Valaena was to return home, he had made the effort to peel himself from his bed and hobble up the iron steps if only to catch a glimpse of his long-lost granddaughter. Hours could have passed, and I would be none the wiser, lost in my own thoughts, when suddenly my mother’s nails dug past the thick leather of my sleeves, and a hush fell over the crowd.

That’s when I saw her. No longer in the stolen peasant clothes, hidden under the shadows of a cloak. In the light, she was everything I thought she would be. The dress adorning her body was black, tight at the bodice before flaring out ever so slightly at her hips. Long sleeves covered her arms, hiding the wound I knew was festering against her left arm. The dress’s high neckline hid her skin from view, but I knew tanned flesh was hidden under the layers of fabric. An abstract dragon was embroidered on the front of the bodice, golden details shimmering in the midday light, with her sure steps towards the Throne. The beast started at her chest, breathing fire down her arm, the body and tail curling around her hips before trailing down her back. Her hair was loose, the long silver waves tamed only by two braided back strands intertwined down the back of her head.

Out of the darkness and in the light, she looked like an Old Valyrian goddess reborn in the flesh. Shoulders squared, head tilted up in defiance to those that dared gaze upon her, eyes locked on the rotting figure of the king. She passed her family without a glance, solely focused on her purpose of greeting the King and ridding the taste of ill will from the room. At the base of the iron monstrosity, she paused for a second, waiting for a signal of what to do next. She had not been in a formal setting in a decade; looking at her now, I would not have guessed it if not for that slight hesitation.

Viserys smiled down at her, showcasing his rotting teeth, but Valaena didn’t flinch, only took it as her sign to march up the steps. Bold indeed. The guards tensed, waiting for her to do something unspeakable to her grandsire, the king, but she only kissed his extended hand.

Kissing his rotting hand, she bowed, revealing the rest of the embroidery. Red, orange, and gold met at the base of her spine, following a single thick black stitch before flaring out in what looked like dragon fire. It was truly magnificent. Helaena usually embroidered Aegon and I’s clothes with our dragons. I wondered if she had gotten her hands on the dress.

Glancing at my sister, I tried to gauge her reaction to Valaena's dress, but there was nothing, not pride or happiness, just blankness. Helaena was unusually good at hiding her emotions. After years of strange ramblings, Mother had finally managed to quell the outlandish stories and dreams.

“My granddaughter has returned home!” The King tried to shout to the room, his voice scratched and weak from disuse, but nonetheless it carried through the room, pulling me from studying at Helaena. “A feast tomorrow shall be held in honor of her safe return! May we hear the tales of her adventures while we dine tomorrow, a family whole again!” I nearly scoffed. A family whole again, like we had ever been one to begin with.

At his declaration Valaena turned from the King and began her descent from the Iron Throne, her head bent slightly as she dodged the sharp sword edges that poked through the other swords. She held her skirt in one hand to avoid tripping on it, revealing a flash of tanned skin and a wicked-looking dagger strapped to her ankle.

Of course, she would be armed. After last night’s display, I wouldn’t put it past the Princess to have several blades attached to her at this very moment. It’s not like the guards could strip search a princess of the realm like they could a lord, well, not without causing an uproar.

I wouldn’t mind strip-searching her for her precious daggers. The memory of her holding one to my throat just hours ago surfaced, the pressure of it against my lifeblood, and her haughty attitude, thinking she had the upper hand. I stifled a groan, coming back to, only to find I had captured Valaena’s gaze. Something passed between us before she looked away.

The grin that overtook my face stretched the taunt skin of my cheek. If the princess wanted to forget that last night had happened, wanted me to forget that I had seen her slinking around the city with a strange purpose, strapped to the nines with daggers, and more combat understanding than any princess should have, then she was sorely mistaken.

Reaching the base of the throne, a look of uncertainty crossed her face as she glanced at her family, then towards me, rather past me to the Queen at my side, and before I knew what I was doing, I had dropped my mother’s arm and was moving towards the princess. Before I could reach her, Daemon grabbed her hand, pulling her towards her family, the family that had caused the uncertainty that she was trying so hard to hide. As her new father dragged her into the clutches of her family, closing her in where no one could see her, she looked back, offering me a sheepish smile with her red-lined lips revealing her straight white teeth.

Have it be that way then, Daemon .

Turning back to my family, I found both my brothers watching me with sly, knowing smiles on their lips. “Better luck next time, brother,” Daeron said as I took my spot next to our mother again, her hand coming back to rest on my arm. I kept my focus on the King as he tied up the last few pressing issues, issues that he would delegate to Otto once out of sight of the court. As the King declared the proceedings finished for the day and hobbled down the steep steps, Otto turned to dismiss his daughter.

Queen Alicent rested pleasantly on my arm, her nails hidden in her curled fist, as she watched her childhood friend leave the room surrounded by her close-knit family. Only after the last of my half-sister’s family was out of sight did she turn to look at me, her questioning gaze spinning the gears behind her dull hazel eyes. Her eyes were not the only ones that watched me; Otto’s eyes tracked Valaena as she was ushered out of the room, before trailing back to me. A knowing look crossed his bearded face as he plotted how to get ahead of the Black before they utilized Valaena and her blood to their military advantage.

“Come dear, Helaena.” He said quietly to my sister, offering her an arm to lead her from the emptying room. “I have a feast to plan.” His words were dull, annoyed by the fact that he had little to no time to plan, prep, and execute the lavish royal welcome festivities the King had demanded.

Aegon and Daeron were out of the room before Otto could place any responsibility on their shoulders, chasing the tail of some poor young lady. Soon to be another victim of the young princes’ and their insatiable feminine appetites. The power-hungry lords had miscalculated when they allowed their unspoiled, naïve daughters to court; it was not the young princes’ attention they would catch, securing them a high-ranking position in court, but rather the devious sons of Viserys who would destroy their reputations and chances at a noble husband.

“Come, Mother,” Patting her hand, I led her through the parted crowd. She led me to her private chambers, chambers that I nor the King had ever seen the inside of; the only space she was allowed to be fully hers. She escaped my arm at the door, allowing the two queen’s guards who were always present to open them before slipping in. Her shoulder’s tense, eyes distant as she worried what the princess’s return might mean for the future of our fractured family.

“Call if you need anything.” She gave a noncommittal nod before signaling for her doors to be shut. The dismissal soured the air as the guards shuffled uncertainly at my presence.

With a grunt, I turned away from my mother’s door, heading for the shadow-shrouded corners of the Queen’s wing. There were more hidden passages than I had expected when I first started looking for them nearly ten years ago, invisible to the eye but not to a delicate touch. Small, indented stones gave away their positions, and when pushed, the soft hissing of gears, pulleys, and ropes would sound before a small opening would appear, leading into the dark.

I had seen Valaena find them with ease when she thought she was alone, which was more than not. She would wander the castle in the darkest hours of the night, her guards nowhere in sight. The soft padding of her bare feet would silence her steps as she drifted down the halls, her face blank, eyes wide, reflecting the dancing flames of lanterns, her fingers tracing feather-light patterns on the stones, searching for the small markers. I had watched her find the one I was heading towards. Had watched her silently stalk the halls into the Queen’s private wing before melding into the shadows.

The passage that opened was slim, a crack in the wall no more than a few inches wide. Slim enough, I had to turn to shuffle through into the void darkness beyond. Over the years, I had used this passage frequently, memorizing paths to various sections of the castle. Ensuring I was the only soul who knew of its existence, on the off chance I had to make a quick escape, but that was not my goal this evening. Tonight, I used it to plunge deeper into the red stone beast toward a certain princess’s room.

There was a large single loose stone incorporated into the mosaic artfully grouted onto the princess’s otherwise solid floor. Pushing open the loose stone, I heaved myself into her room before sliding the stone back in place. Grinning, I took in her still empty room, despite no candles being lit, the open curtains allowed enough of the fading rays of the sun to illuminate the darker corners of her small room.

Scanning the room, I took in the items that had been moved or touched. But nothing seemed too out of place, books remained against the desks and shelves, dolls remained untouched, and everything was as it had been. She had brought with her no bags, no trinkets, no chests filled with exotic Braavosi clothes, nothing save for the few daggers she had artfully wielded last night as she threatened my life. I had no doubt she had at least one or two strapped on her body, hiding beneath the fold of fabric wrapping around her body, but did she have more? Surely, she had some small mementos she had grown attached to in her decade-long banishment; something other than the wickedly sharp, dark blades. It was only a matter of finding them.

Upon a quick scan, I could only see a few out-of-place items, sure chairs and seats had been moved, the maids perhaps making room for themselves in the rather small room, but other than that, the only glaringly used space was her bathing section. The still-wet copper bathing basin she had used to tidy and clean herself in before she had been presented to the court. The tub faintly smelled of sweet scents, the almonds, and vanilla nearly washed out by the sea’s salt mist sweeping through the open window. Several damp towels had been carelessly thrown into the tub, giving the area a semblance of cleanness. So, she had cleaned up after herself, and the maids had yet to come clean, interesting. The clothes she had attacked me in were in a pile near the fireplace as if Valaena was still considering burning them to rid herself permanently of the oversized woolen garments. Her vanity drawers and wardrobe doors were thrown open, and the clothes and items in them shuffled around as if she had been searching for something.

Glancing away from the chaos, my eyes landed on the crooked nightstand on the left side of her bed. I might have looked over its slight displacement had it not been for the other meticulously placed items in her elevated sleeping area. Why had she moved it? What purpose did it have other than holding sleeping tonics and nightwear?

The short, dark wooden dresser had been moved away from the bed, nearly out of reach, it tilted away from the bed, folding the deep red rug underneath so that it had a crease. Moving to stand closer to the out-of-place furniture I inspected the wall. The fading orange light did little to lighten my inspection. The stones were gritted together seamlessly, rough in some places, but nothing truly out of place for a castle built centuries ago.

Pushing the heavy wooden stand away, I ran my hand over the walls, feeling for the out-of-place stone. A grin overtook my face as I felt the sandy texture under a loose stone. Shoving the dresser back in place, I stood on it for a better vantage and began shimming the stone from its place. It slid out with ease, revealing a dark hole running deep into the wall. Tossing the sandy stone on her bed, I watched it bounce once, throwing the gritty texture all over her unrumpled bed. Not giving in to the doubt lying hidden in the depths of my mind any power, I reached my hand into the dark hole, feeling for what Valaena had brought back with her. Feeling for the items she cared so much for, she felt the need to hide them.

Cold metal touched my fingertips first, grabbing the metal, I was surprised to see a Valyrian Steel dagger shining back at me. Its decorated jewel-encrusted handle fit into my hand perfectly as I held it, inspecting the High Valyrian words etched into it “The Long Night will Come.” The blade was well taken care of, having been polished and sharpened recently. Tossing the dagger on the opposite side of the bed, I reached my hand back into the hole.

The heavy leather bags tied together, I pulled out next, didn’t surprise me. The clinking of coins told me everything I needed to know about what lay in them, but curiosity overtook me. The knot took a few seconds to untie, the strange weave knotting every time I thought I was close to loosening it, but eventually, I got it. The first pouch was filled with gold and silver coins, the markings belonging to various cities around Essos. The second bag was filled with precious stones. Blues, purples, reds, and greens stared at me in the fading light. The large stones, some cut, others rough, were fit for a royal stash, fit for the finest jewelry found on the finest ladies. I could understand her stashing away gold and silver, but gems this size? Where could she have gotten them? How could she have held onto them for so long? And why did she feel the need to bring them with her when the King’s coffers would see her live a luxurious, long life?

The last bag was lighter. Much lighter. Strange considering it was just as full as the previous two bags. Twisting it open, I almost assumed there was nothing in the bag as the light caught nothing. Moving from the nightstand toward the window, I tried to catch the light on the contents of the leather bag, but nothing reflected back. With long fingers, I fished out the slim, sharp contents. Shock wouldn’t properly describe how I felt pulling out of the near void like black scales. The veins running the surface of the scales that didn’t swallow the light reflected back strange iridescent patterns.

Shock, then surprise, flashed through me. Dragon scales. Dumping the bag out on the low center table, I shuffled the scales out, counting over ten. The shards were larger than my hand, meaning they had to have belonged to a full-grown beast. The question now was, what beast? No dragons in the pit matched this strange shade; hell, even what was left of Balerion, enshrined in the Great Hall, was nowhere near this inky of a black. The three wild dragons on Dragonstone didn’t match; not that I thought Valaena would be stupid enough to approach their dens to rob them of their sheddings.

The only logical answer to the scales was that she had found an ancient dragon den in Essos, one that had survived hundreds of years of neglect and robbers. She had been in the land of our people; it would make sense if she went searching for remnants of our family’s past. Viserys’s spy had lost track of her; perhaps she had slipped his watchful gaze and traveled south. But then there was the illogical answer clawing at the back of my mind; that there was one wild dragon unknown to the world. One dragon that was out there waiting for her to claim it. One massive dragon, judging by the size of the scales.

Lighting candles as the sun dipped nearly completely away, I moved back to the hole, only to pull out two more Valyrian steel daggers. Twin blades, one etched with “Fire,” the other with “Blood.”

Tossing everything in a pile, my mind turned. She had no reason to come back. No loyalty pulling her to return to her family, no love lost between her mother and brothers, nothing. She had the gold and jewels to live comfortably without anyone breathing down her neck, no responsibility pushing her from her life. The longer I stared at the small horde of treasure, the more interesting and mysterious the princess became. 

Chapter Text

Valaena

As much as the people had changed, the tunnels remained more or less the same. Dark, musty, and full of creepy crawling bugs I’d rather not acknowledge. Hand against the rough, slightly damp stones, I followed memory towards the small, long-abandoned servant’s quarters deep in the castle. If I had to guess, this was what remained of the overflow quarters from when my family had scores of members running amok in the Keep and needed the staff to keep their needs and interests met. The dark corridor was sealed off decades ago, when the mighty House Targaryen had nearly cut itself in half fighting the numerous unrealized Targaryen bastards in the Blackfyre rebellions, leaving the windowless inner halls to fall prey to the rats and pests of the shadows.

I happened now to be one of those pests, as I rummaged through the rotting wooden chests and wardrobes that had been left behind in the haste of moving. I hoped the chest stuffed full had been left on purpose in the haste of moving and in the promise of new wardrobes and not because my past ancestors had sealed off the wing cutting off the servants from their belongings, but as I looked around noticing the small personal trinkets, I knew it was best to not dwell on the past.

Beds were made, dust-covered, chewed-through sheets still pulled tight against the thin mattresses, cloaks remained hung on the wooden pegs near the doors hiding crawling bugs, and small personal items littered desks and dressers. Spiderwebs and cobwebs hung in the corners, some actively holding large white spiders, others long torn and forgotten, beetles skittered across the floors, and rats squeaked in the darkest and, thankfully, furthest corners from me; all of which proved no one had inhabited or graced this small wing in ages. 

It amazed me that there were still so many hidden and forgotten rooms, halls, and towers. Forgotten due to time and lack of resources to maintain such a vast and grand castle, but it worked in my favor now, so who was I to complain? 

As a child, I had been mostly left to my own devices so long as I didn’t cause trouble, as such I had rediscovered much of the castle, keeping most of the secrets of the Keep to myself and sharing very little with my brothers for fear their royal guards would tell my mother.

Places like old servants’ quarters, such as this one, hosted an array of decently inconspicuous town clothes, even if they were several decades out of fashion, a small kitchen with a wood-burning stove, and several small fully furnished rooms, which I was hoping I would never need to sleep in. All in all, if everything was to go sideways, as I was expecting it to, I had somewhere to hide out and wait for Morghul to make the great rescue I knew she was eager to make.

Morghul grumbled in my mind at my admission that I thought everything would go sideways. Like she would let things get that far, at the first sign of danger, she had made it very clear she would swoop in on a blaze of fiery glory and save the day.

Pulling a simple brown dress from a sealed chest, I inspected it for holes or lingering bugs that might have slipped through any cracks in the old wood. Content that there would be no surprises, I made to relieve myself of the tight dress. Margery had done a wonderful job of locking me into the gorgeous death trap, unfortunately, the beautifully detailed dress would not live to see another day. Flipping a knife from my ankle I slit the smooth fabric, cutting myself free. The second the dress split, a rush of dusty air filled my lungs as I took in my first full breath of the day, then promptly coughed as the particles tickled the back of my throat. I knew the dress was tight, but I hadn’t realized how much.

As the dress slipped free from my body, the black fabric dirtying on the dusty floor, I donned the plain dress. The servant's dress was made from a coarse fabric, the texture similar to what a sack of potatoes might be shipped in. It was a simple brown number that did little for my figure but fit well enough; the hem brushed the tops of my feet, the sleeves touched just past my elbows, the left sleeve grazed my freshly, but sloppily sealed wound, and the neckline showed minimal cleavage. While the dress might have been out of date for the royals who prowled through the halls, in the city, this would be a typical look, or I hoped. I remember the blind woman wearing something similar, but she might have had it for years.

Grabbing my discarded dress from the floor, I moved through the rooms searching for a cloak that might have been left behind and a sturdy pair of shoes to replace the silk slippers I had been forced to wear. Nearing frustration, I entered the second-to-last room, batting away spiders and webs as I entered, I hoisted the lamp light to see what the room held. In the corner, there was a grey cloak hanging from a peg, and just under it was a pair of brown boots.

The gods were on my side.

~

The boots squeaked. The gods once again made it very clear they didn’t particularly like my attitude or overall existence, as each step sounded down the dimly lit alley, alerting the pests of my presence.

The boots made it impossible for any sort of sleuthing around, and I wasn’t about to take them off just so I could slink through the shadows unseen. So, I gave up on trying to stay hidden in favor of altering my gait for a more relaxed, common step, allowing the hood of the borrowed cloak to do all the hiding. The sun had long set, grey storm clouds blocked the stars and moon’s glow, and the air was thick with moisture, a promise of a gathering storm hanging in the air.

The dim alley I meandered down was lit only by the few and far between street lanterns, half missing wicks to light, the other half’s melted wax nearly drowning out the small flames. Rowdy taverns dotted the streets, their patrons immune to the telltale signs of the oncoming storm, and their lights doing more to light my path than anything else.

Sure, I was out hunting the idiot, Linus, who had alerted the gold cloaks of my presence and locked me in the small room with almost no options for escape, but I was out for other reasons. Reasons that Aemond had kept me from achieving just last night. Reasons that would, hopefully, keep me in the know as I traversed the kingdom as it sank deeper into hell.

Every city had one. A figure in the shadows listening and watching everything. Every kingdom had a person watching and waiting for things to evolve into chaos. A person who the ears and eyes reported back to in exchange for protection. Brusco and I had been that person for a few months before he died, and I was lured into the House of Black and White. It was that person and their little whispers I truly hunted tonight.

Giving up the presence of hiding in the shadows thanks to the boots, I swaggered down the streets, playing the part of a drunken woman returning home from a night of nefarious business, business the gods of the Seven would no doubt cast a curse upon. Their worshippers were numerous throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Worshipped before men in robes, claiming to have their ears. 

I scoffed, false idols if anyone were to ask me, not that they would. If the Faceless Men had taught me anything in their brutal classrooms, it was that there was one god, or rather, there was only one god that mattered. A merciless deity that slithered into each religion, that invaded the hearts and minds of everyone. A god that was everywhere, infecting the smallest creatures and the most powerful. For It, there was no being too large, no man too important; everyone would fall before It at some point. There was no escaping Them, only begging for more time. And I was not in the business of dealing out more time.

Palming the slim dagger on my right wrist, I unsheathed it, testing the weight even though I knew it was perfectly balanced. The little dagger was light, fitted perfectly to my palm, and excellent for throwing several yards with deadly accuracy. Perfect for near and far targets. Grinning at the familiar weight and the encroaching darkness, I eyed the small bathhouse. A single candle was lit on a windowsill, illuminating the rotting wooden sign. 

My boots should have announced my presence before the creaking door could open fully. The old woman was not at the front desk; rather, her son was. Leaning on his hand, balanced against it as he dozed without a care in the world. Kicking the door closed, the slam woke the man, who fumbled to stand straight.

“What can I do for a weary traveler.” The man asked as if reading from a script as he took in my cloaked figure, trying and failing to peer beneath the thick hood.

“I heard a rumor,” I tsked, my voice tilting up slightly at the statement.

His eyes lit up with intrigue at my feminine voice, ignoring the danger that was woven through it. “What kind of rumor?” He added a slight sultry tone, trying to play the part of a bachelor, but failing miserably.

I tilted my head, the movement ever so noticeable thanks to the massive cloak. “One about a lost princess and the idiot who tried to sell her out.” The man recoiled. His mind slowly worked out who I was.

“Princess Valaena.” He breathed a look of confusion, crossing his face, nearly taking out the awe.

“ Princess ,” I hummed the word in agreement. “Correct me if I am wrong, it has been so long since I have been at court, but does the title carry weight? Does it not?”

“I suppose so, milady.” He stammered.

“More weight than, say, a Lord,” I paused, looking at him under the cloak, violet-shaded eyes glowing. “Or perhaps a guard?”

He nodded, “More weight than a Lord, but no more than a prince.” He tilted his head, thinking, “Well, maybe not more than a prince.” Sexist prick. “Is there something I can help you with, Princess?” He once again tried with the sultry tone, as if I had come back for him.

Humming, I stepped closer, leaning a hip against the counter, “Yes, I do believe there is something you can help me with.” I purred, allowing him to peer under the hood. Allowed him to catch the wolfish grin reflecting off the dim flickering candlelight.

Linus’s hand inched closer to me on the counter, reaching for me. The light dagger was out of my hand in an instant, finding the soft flesh of his hand and sinking past it into the splintering wood. With the same hand, I reached over the counter, grabbed the loose fabric shirt, and nearly pulled Linus over the counter, his pierced hand the only thing anchoring him from falling.

“Gods!” He cried out in pain, “You stabbed me!” He shouted at me, words trembling at the intrusion to his flesh, casting his dirt brown eyes on my pale face. “You’re insane!”

“No, Linus.” I tsked, shaking my head, the movement allowing the hood to fall to my shoulders. “We just went over this. I’m a princess. A princess who believes trust should be more powerful than fear.”

The man trembled; anger mixed with pain, which mixed with indignation. Ripping the dagger from his hand, blood welled, staining the already filthy, rotting wood. Pushing him away, I brought the dagger to my face, inspecting the red stain that rolled down the sharp steel, staining the silver. “Obviously fear is stronger of the two,” I mulled over my words, “At least in the beginning, but trust,” I pause, looking up from the dagger, “Trust builds loyalty, fear builds hatred.”

Linus clenched his hand to his chest, pushing off the floor, he backed away from me, once again putting the counter between us, as if I hadn’t already proved I could haul him over it. “What do you want?” He spat.

Ignoring his tone, I tilted my head, placing the dagger between us. “I wanted trust.” He eyed the dagger, contemplating leaping for it before looking back at me. “But I understand that is a lot to ask for, so instead I’ll ask for something simpler. I’m looking for someone.” My finger traced the blade between us, pushing the red back and forth, the blood staining my scarred finger.

Linus watched with fascination as I played with his blood on my dagger. His eyes traced the skin, following it up my arm to my face. Something dark clouded his eyes as he saw me. Saw who I was under the title the realm had placed on my shoulders, saw under the purple eyes, and silver hair. “What are you?”

“I deal in debts, Linus.” Ignoring him, I continued on, “The debts I usually call in result in, well, death, but for you, I’m willing to make an exception.” Licking the red stain on my finger, I pull away from the counter, giving him my back and an opportunity to take the dagger. “Again, I am looking for someone. They have a thousand ears and a thousand eyes. They see and hear everything, they know everything.” A faint scrape, and I know Linus has failed my test. “Even now, Linus, we are not alone.”

“Good.” He snarled from behind me, “I want a witness to your insanity so the world will know I have put down a monster.” The air charged as he cocked his arm back to throw the dagger. As he let the blade loose, I sidestepped, dancing away from the sharp tip with impossible speed. We both watched the dagger sink into the rotting walls, landing with a solid thunk. “Impossible.” He breathed at my speed.

Turning, I faced him, “Fear makes people rash, rashness leads to stupidity.” Pulling another dagger from behind the cloak, I grinned mockingly and placed it back on the counter where the twin blade had once sat. “I have information for the head to those eyes and ears.”

Linus’s body trembled as his body shook, fear clouded his eyes as he looked from me to the clean dagger I had presented between us. “Please.” He begged. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

A sad weary smile stretched my face, “I know, but like I said Linus, we aren’t alone.”

Horror overtook his features as I vaulted the counter, snatched the dagger, and plunged it into him.

~

The hidden stone door that opened to my room came into view just as the sun was about to peak over the horizon. I had been caught at the beginning of the summer storm I had sensed approaching, the light rain touching me just as I escaped into the Keep. 

The servant’s dress I had had to discard in the old servants’ quarters, as it was heavy and sticky with the drying blood of the Innkeeper’s son. My first offering to Death in Westeros. His face had been preserved as the god demanded and left to forever stain the hidden walls of the Keep. The dress I had put on was large; it sagged down my shoulders, pulled at my feet, and refused to stay in place. Not that it mattered, as I didn’t plan on meeting or seeing anyone this late at night, or early in the morning.

Shouldering open the heavy stone door, I groaned with exhaustion. My second night back would be filled with just as little sleep as my first night, it seemed. I knew I could only go on for so long without having a proper night's rest, but I had still yet to fortify the room, and I knew sleep would have to come after that. Batting away the cobwebs that clung to my body, I wiped them on the tapestry that blocked the hidden door from the rest of the room and cursed at the heavy feeling weighing down my body. Heaving the door closed, I stepped the rest of the way into my room.

And locked eyes with Aemond.

Son of a bitch. Literally.

Cold air touched my shoulders reminding me of the loose dress. Wrapping my arms around my chest not only to hold up the dress, but to block the specks of red that I feared still dotted my skin, my chest, arms, and face.

Great timing, Aemond, really.

Frozen in place, I took him in, contemplating just pushing the door back open and escaping into the passageways until daylight crested the city. He was sitting facing the tapestry, almost like he knew about the hidden door behind the heavy woven fabric. In his long fingers, spinning too and from was one of Morghul’s scales. 

Oh fuck.  

Glancing at where the scales had been hidden, I found the stone removed, the dagger on my bed, and the rest of Morghul’s scales scattered throughout the room. He had been pacing and inspecting each individual scale.  

“What are you doing here, Aemond?” Squaring my shoulders, I relaxed my face, refusing to reveal he had caught me off guard.

Moving away from the tapestry, I shuffled along the far wall until I reached a small basin of water the maids left for hand washing. Dunking a stray cloth, one hand still wrapped around the dress holding it up, I used the other the scrub at where I thought speckles of blood might be.

I could feel the prince’s eye watching my every move, his silent, still body poised as it tracked me until finally, he hummed, unfolded his legs, but remained sitting, “It seems the Lost Princess Valaena has secrets.” His deep voice rumbled across the room, filling it. His deft fingers paused their searching on the scale and placed it gently on the small sitting table next to his chair, as he gave me his full attention.

Rolling my eyes at his absurdity, “Everyone has secrets, Uncle.” I used his familiar relations like a blade, cutting whatever familiarity might still be lingering between us. Refusing to meet his eye, knowing more questions would be waiting for me, I opened the wardrobe doors, knowing that I had scattered their contents across the room, making it only that much harder for me to find something to wear that would allow me the use of both hands.

“You know, Uncle, this is quite scandalous.” Finally finding a simple linen shirt and trousers, I made to go behind the dressing curtain. Eager to rid my body of the dress and be somewhat presentable in front of a man. Kicking the dress that easily slipped from my shoulders out from behind the small dressing curtain, I shoved the off-white shirt over my head. It was loose, but the ties at the neck held it in place, and a quick, simple tuck in the front of the brown trousers kept the shirt in place. It was no doubt supposed to be an undershirt for leathers so they wouldn’t chafe, but it would do the job while I waited for Elina to put me in a death trap of a dress for the day.

As I rounded the curtain, ready to face Aemond, I found him standing just beyond the dressing curtain, the too-large servant's dress in his hands. He pulled the fabric through his hands, looking for any clues as to what I had been doing. Fortunately, he wouldn’t find anything incriminating on that dress. The fabric slipped effortlessly through his long fingers as he skimmed every fold, searching for evidence he would not find.

“Where would a princess find a servant's dress? Let alone one that has been out of date for nearly two decades?” Looking up from the massive dress, his violet eye caught mine, flickering between both the strange-colored eyes as he gauged my reaction to the question. I watched as his eye briefly cast to my hairline before trailing back to my eyes. The dress in question, clutched in his now unmoving hands, seemed forgotten by his wandering fingers.

Not letting his staggering height intimidate me, I went to snatch the dress from his hands, only for him to jerk it slightly out of reach, drawing me closer to him. “From her secret servant dress stash.” I haughtily replied, my hands falling to rest on my hips. This close to him, I had to look up slightly to speak to him, not letting whatever feelings stirred in my chest dictate anything, I snatched the dress, pulling it slightly. He held on for a second before allowing me to take it from him. A clear sign to show that he had the upper hand.

Scoffing at his stupid power play, I moved away from him, daring to give him my back now that the dress was back in my possession. Crossing the small room to the sitting area, I tossed the canvas dress over the back of one of the velvet chairs and began collecting the valuable scales he had scattered around the room, rather carelessly, I might add.

Leave it to him to create a mess in my room.

With all the scales in hand, I moved back toward the bed, where he had discarded the Valyrian Steel daggers. The large stone that had been hiding my things had been tossed on the bed, leaving a trail of dirt and loose pebbles across the blankets.

Glancing back at him, the displeasure written all over my face, I found him in the same spot by the dressing curtain, a slight smirk on his lips as he watched me move throughout my room. It was only then that I noticed he was in the same green tunic and black leather pants from yesterday’s gathering, his hair still braided back from his face, showing off his eyepatch and the wicked scar that raced down his face. “Seven Hells, Aemond!”

Thrusting open a small side drawer in the nightstand, I tossed the scales in it along with the daggers I had strapped to my body. Aemond watched with rampant attention as I pulled the five daggers from my body and offhandedly placed them in the drawer. A clear sign from me that I did not think of him as a threat.

“Don’t tell me you have been here all night.” Stepping away from my bed, I moved back to the small sitting area and plopped down in one of the leather chairs that had a similar chair just across from it. Gesturing to it, Aemond didn’t move. If he had been here all night there was no doubt, he had things he wanted to discuss, whether I was willing to share was another issue.

Aemond didn’t move from his spot until I had settled into my chair, pulling the soft-knit blanket over my lap and scooting in until I was comfortable. “You obviously have been,” I stated, feeling like I was talking to myself. “How long did it take you to find my things?” Sighing, I let my hands find warmth under the warming blanket.

At the question, he finally moved, the smirk seemingly plastered on his face as he slid into the chair across from me. He didn’t relax as I had into mine, rather choosing to sit on the edge of the cushion, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward to inspect me further. “Not long. The disturbed table gave everything away.” He gave me a look that basically said, ‘Do better.’

He had not found everything, but enough. I fought the temptation to glance at the wooden rafters where several daggers flinted in the candlelight and rays of the rising sun. “Noted. I’ll do better next time.” The jest was met with silence. Typical. “Although I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting visitors in my bed chamber.” Sighing, I somehow sank deeper into the chair as the cushion swallowed me in a net of comfort. “I assume you have questions, or you would have left before I returned.”

Folding my hands over my lap, out of the covers, I waited, but Aemond, proving himself a man of few words, only watched for a second before he leaned back in his own chair, still not settled, but pretending to be. “You have blood in your hair.”

Well great. Morghul rumbled down the bond at my carelessness, the bond feeling slightly less strained. That damned beast! She was moving closer, or maybe the poison had weakened me beyond what I had initially thought. Obviously, the intensity of the castle had only multiplied in my absence.

Licking my finger, I scrubbed at my hair line hoping to remove some of the blood, not even trying to deny his observation, as a few wispy strands caught my eye and indeed were stained red. I would have to call for a bath before doing anything tomorrow, or rather today. Not that I was complaining baths were amazing.

He watched me with animal intensity as I licked my fingers and scrubbed the flecks of blood off my skin, “Care to share whose blood that is?”

Resigning to having someone’s blood on me, I dropped my hand, letting it once again weigh heavily in my lap, “Not particularly.”

“Perhaps it was the guard whose hand you permanently damaged last morning? Go back to finish the job?”

Grinning, I picked my nails, my eyes never leaving his form, “Heard about that, did you?”

“The whole Keep heard about it. Quite the entrance to make, princess.”

“I thought so too.” I hummed happily, remembering the severed tendons, ligaments, and scraped bone of that prick. “He deserved it.”

Aemond’s amusement dropped. “What did he do to deserve the loss of his sword hand?” He didn’t accuse me, rather simply asked as if the mutilation of guards by the royals was as common as a maid whispering gossip in the halls.

I shrugged, “Guards should have honor, and I found him lacking.” Waving my hand to dismiss the topic, I moved past it. “I’m sure you have other questions, especially since you snooped through my things.”  

He looked at me deeply before sighing and actually relaxing into his chair. Of course, neither of us was actually relaxed, both poised to attack at the slightest inkling of the other’s malicious intentions. I’ll admit it was nice to be feared by Aemond, especially due to his ruthless reputation.

Aemond slowly slid a scale out of his pocket, letting it hit the sun’s early morning rays. “Indeed, I do have many questions, especially relating to this.” He tilted it in the light, the black giving way to a multitude of colors, “It doesn’t match any dragons in the pit, or the wild dragons on Dragonstone.”

“Well, that has a simple explanation.” He looked away from the scale. “That is because it doesn’t belong to any of them.”

“Find yourself a beast, did you?” His head tilted slightly, intrigue overtaking him as he looked at me, looked through me as if searching for the hardened part that belonged to a dragon. Unfortunately for him, every part of me had been hardened long before Morghul came into play, so the piece that he was looking for was simply a small brick in the vast walls encasing me.

If only he knew the beasts I had encountered. “Hmm, maybe I did. What was it you once said to me?” Tilting my head, I searched for his words, “Perhaps it was something along the lines of ‘not wanting to be a disappointment anymore.’” The words hit their mark, skinning into him, his eye glossing over as he remembered the words he had said, the night he had spoken them to me. 

Waving my hand mindlessly, I swatted the memory away and gave him a false answer. “I found an old den near Old Valyria.” The nonchalant words held a glimmer of truth. Yes, I had found an old den, but no, it was not uninhabited. “Dragon scales are worth more than gold in Essos,” I added another truth to my story, burying the half omission, “It’s how I bought passage back here.”

He nodded, the golden rays sharpening his features. “Bought passage back here.” He parroted the words. “Why would you come back? I saw your treasury, you have enough to live a lavish life outside of this family. Why come back into the nest of vipers?”

Not a question I had thought he would ask. “I heard there was a war brewing. A war for the Iron Throne and the people stuck beneath it.”

“And what side do you find yourself on?” He gave no hint that my answer intrigued him, only saw it for the truth that it was.

I shrugged, breaking the tension, and gave a fake yawn. “The day is young, Aemond, and I am but one person. What does it matter what side I fancy myself on?”

The words hung between us, but I would not break them, would not change them. Let the ears of the Keep hear what I have to say. Standing Aemond looked around the room one last time, catching the mess he had made on my bed, his smirk widened, before he moved towards the doors. “Until next time, dear Valaena.” Before I could protest his leaving through my very public doors, he had thrown them open, startling the guards positioned outside. With a smirk, he turned, bowing toward me before sauntering down the hall. The guards looked inside, curiosity peek when they saw me sitting on the chair, not a hair out of place.

“Something I can help you with?” I snapped. The doors shut soundly behind the harsh words. Finally, alone exhaustion settled over my shoulders. Not caring to move from the chair, as my bed was covered in dirt, I allowed my eyes to drift shut, giving my body the pretense of sleep.

~

The One-Eyed

Valaena had picked up several unsavory traits. Traits that could only lead to rumors far more devious than her dubious parentage. From the too-large servant’s dress, the hastily washed flecks of blood that had coated her hairline and stained her silver locks, to the slight tilt of the Braavosi accent that sometimes slipped past her lips, tripping up her carefully calculated Common Tongue words.

Her half-truths and blatant lies were honey to my ears, a teasing to my predatory instincts. She was setting up a hunt, intentionally or not, and it was one I couldn’t deny myself.

“Dragon scales are worth more than gold in Essos.” She brazenly admitted. Judging by the sheer amount I found, she was richer than any man in that damned land. “It’s how I bought passage back here.” A truth followed by several half-truths her delicious honeyed tongue had offered me.

The scales were not the most intriguing part of her though, that was her reason for coming home. She had washed up on the polluted shores of Westeros not to reclaim her title as Princess, not to reap the benefits of her status, but because she heard of the war brewing between my brother and her mother. Even still she had not come to claim a side, to offer support but for reason she might not even know herself.

“The day is young, Aemond, and I am but one person. What does it matter what side I fancy myself on?” She had said, had spoken to the walls that listened with rapped attention, refusing to choose a side, choosing instead to belittle herself when she obviously had more skills than she would let on.

A final question scratched at my mind, begging to be set free. “What had happened during your banishment?” A question of her obvious change. Gone was the girl who craved praise, gone was the princess who looked to her mother for approval. In her place was a woman who answered to no man, no king, no god. A woman who followed nothing but her own mind and wants. A woman who would be a danger not only to herself but to anyone, anything she placed a target on.

A woman whom the men of this court would stop at nothing to control and tame.

Chapter Text

Valaena

My eyes couldn’t have been closed for more than a few minutes before a loud knock startled me from my dozing, the doors burst open a second later. An army of maids flooded past the doors, sweeping to each corner of the room as they tidied up invisible messes and cast confused looks at the daggers scattered across the bed, the open hole in the wall, and the stone that left the wall with a giant hole. Sighing, I sank deeper into the chair, letting them do whatever they had to while I pretended no one was in the room.

Margery only let me ignore the maids for a second before something soft came down on my head, startling me from my comfort. “Up, My Lady.” She ordered. “We have a long day ahead of us.” The old lady crooned, tugging the blanket, clutched in my hands, off my lap. The warmth evaporated the second the thick fabric was gone.

Groaning, I stood from the chair. Goosebumps rose up my bare arms as the chill ate at my body. Maids snickered at something I probably wouldn’t care about. “I’m going to need a bath.” My voice traveled in the room, not sure exactly who I was supposed to order to draw me one. More giggles followed that. Popping my back with a. quick twist, my brows furrowed.

“Oh, I bet.” A maid whispered from somewhere near my bed. Margery threw a throw pillow at the maid. A blush crossed Elina’s cheeks as she refused to meet my gaze, pretending to be busy herself fluffing out a deep scarlet dress in her arms.

“I feel like I should know what that was supposed to mean.”

Margery scoffed, “You think? One day back, and the castle is already a buzz with rumors about you!” The old lady scolded me.

“What kind of rumors?” I questioned hesitantly. Only one day, but I knew I had done several things worthy of rumors.

“Prince Aemond was seen leaving your room early this morning.” A maid supplied, a blush reaching her cheeks at the admission.

A snicker, then a different maid added, “In the same clothes from yesterday!” She giggled at the implication. The maids watched my reaction, hoping for anything to confirm or deny what they were insinuating.

A laugh burst from my throat, the sound coming from deep in my chest as I doubled over, turning hysterical. I felt my face flush at the stupid rumor. Bending over I sucked in a breath. “That is what all this fuss is about?”

Margery gently smacked my arm with a pillow. “It is a serious accusation, Princess!” She hissed.

“A serious accusation with no merit!” I wiped a pretend tear from my cheek,

“So, the prince was not here last night?” A maid asked, disappointment in her questioning tone.

I opened my mouth to confirm the prince was here, but Margery only glared at me. “I just got back, and already a rumor has started that I have been spoiled by the prince!” A small laugh, “My, my, ladies, I must look thoroughly ravished for you all to believe that!”

“They say Aemond is quite rough, and she doesn’t look all that ravished,” A maid said to her friend. Something flared at her words, something that I pushed down into the darkest reach of my soul. 

“Seven Hells, ladies.” I looked at them, then Margery, who was looking too closely at me. “No, I did not have sex with Prince Aemond!” Several gasps at my crude words. “Go check the bed if you must.”

No one moved. Their face now tinged with shame, “We meant no ill intentions, Princess.” The mousy one who first spoke offered.

“Of course not, I do not blame you. It must get quite boring here without the gossip mill turning.” Several ladies nodded; Margery scolded them for their blatant admissions. “You must tell me more of these rumors while I am here. I find them to be quite enjoyable.” Several shoulders dropped, relieved not to be punished for their teasing.

Clapping my hands together to dispel the lingering tension, I turned to face the two ladies in charge and gestured to the simple under-tunic and trousers, “I believe I cannot grace court in this.” Their faces scrunched in disgust at the loose clothes.

“I certainly hope you were more covered when Prince Aemond was here.” Margery softly scolded as she fluffed the feather pillow, she had been whacking people with. I only offered her a cheeky grin, not daring to mention the loose-fitting servant’s dress that had nearly slipped off my shoulders several times. Elina giggled, taking pleasure in my slight defiance of the old woman. Margery, however, ignored me, but a ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips.

“Lexa, draw a bath for the princess.” Margery ordered the girl who had been bold enough to share the rumor circulating about me, “She appears to need one.” The old woman jabbed as she reached for a loose strand of hair I had tucked behind my ear. Margery pulled it forward, tugging my scalp slightly as she inspected the red-stained strands. She made a sound of displeasure before dropping it and continuing to order the younger maids around.

Unsure what to do as the maids scattered about, I sat back down and watched them work. It was strange to have others doing basic tasks for me. Strange to see them cleaning up the small messes Aemond had made as he snooped through my room. Strange to see them meticulously pick which undergarments I would be wearing for the day.

Spoiled . Morghul pushed, the strain between us noticeably less. So, I wasn’t wrong last night, that damned beast was closing in on me.

“Your bath is ready, Princess.” Lexa, the mousy girl, informed me, stepping forward to deliver the obvious news before she retreated a step back, nothing more than a sentinel in a wall of servants.

I mumbled my thanks, waiting expectantly for the maids to disperse, but they didn’t, only cast their eyes away from the bathing side of my room. “I’ll bathe now.” Still, no one moved. “Alone.” That got a reaction. Several of the maids turned to look at Margery, who only scoffed.

“You heard the princess. She will bathe alone, now out with you!” Margery watched as the maids left in a neat line, before turning back to me. “Make sure to wash your hair extra well, something seems to have gotten stuck in it.” Then she, along with the whirlwind of maids, was gone, and I was once again blissfully alone.

Stripping, I sank into the delightfully warm water, letting it soften my skin and loosen the dirt and blood that had flecked across my skin. How the damn fool's blood had splattered across my covered forearms and chest would forever be an unsolved mystery. If Aemond had seen the sheer amount of blood freckled across me, I would have been in deep shit. It was more than enough that he saw what was left in my hair.

I washed mindlessly, making sure that all the red was washed from my skin before standing to dry. Today would be my first full day back in Westeros as a princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Officially un-banished and restored as a Targaryen princess of the realm. Today was for building relationships, letting curiosity get the best of others, and learning from the whispers in the halls. With any luck, the maids would report back all their gossip, or the mysterious head of the eyes and ears of King's Landing would make contact.

The scarlet dress was simple enough to put on, but tightening it, however, was not as simple as it should have been. How were women supposed to do anything on their own when contraptions such as these kept us reliant on others?

Eventually, the dress tightened. Sure, my arms were sore and my shoulders aching slightly from the stretch, but I was dressed, and I did it alone. 

Eat that Morghul, not so spoiled, eh beastie! The taunt, of course, did not make it down the bond to the cranky dragon, but it’s the thought that counts.

The only problem with the dress was the flat neckline that stretched from the top of my breasts around my shoulders and to my back. It was a beautiful cut on a gorgeous dress, but it showed more than I was ready to show. Curving just over my shoulder blades, peaking over my shoulders, and dusting my collarbones were the harsh, raised lines of purple, pink, and silver skin.

Scars.

Reminders.

Not just of cruel punishments and the brutal lessons, but of the bounty on my head. Of the promise of pain and misery should I ever be caught by the Faceless Men.

Pulling my slightly damp hair to the side, I turned to inspect the raised lines in the warped mirror.

~

Situated on a small island off the coast of Essos, a simple white stone temple sat. A temple infamously known to the continent as the House of Black and White. Myth darkened the clouds above it, casting ominous shadows of cloaked men. Tales of death stilled the surrounding waters, and promises of salvation kept the small dock full.

A place where once someone entered, they did not leave the same as when they had come. The temple was a coin. One side darkened with rumors of trapped souls and walls made of faces. The other side brightened with the legends of men who could shapeshift, who could see your mind and soul, and grant you your deepest wish.

A single dock jutted out from the white stone steps, brimmed with small paddle vessels. Several of the boats rotted, half full of the calm salt water as time and nature slowly reclaimed them, the others were new, shiny letters spelled out the chosen names of the boats.

The calm water was empty of any fishing boats, which I found strange. ‘Calm water has the best fishing,’ Captain Seaworth had told me, a day into our long journey, when I had found the utter silence to be maddening.

The boat docked against the other boats, the man tied it to a small post already full of other ropes, and allowed me a second to take in the building. Everything was white, well, nearly everything. Of the two massive double doors, a single one was black. It was a strange shade of black, not something a painter could create, but something forged. It reminded me of the caves of dragonglass back on Dragonstone.

Strange to name an entire temple after the color of its doors, I thought, but stranger things had happened.

“Girl,” the man said, somehow reaching the steps in the blink of an eye. His black cloak had turned white, and every feature was now hidden beneath it. “Come.” A slim white hand slipped through the cloak, and in a calming gesture, he beckoned me forward. Behind him, the black door creaked open, filling the eerie silence of the island. The sea did not churn here, the birds dared not venture too close, and even our steps we muffled on the marble steps.

There was something deeply wrong about this place. Something deeply other about the man who stood stock still, his hand frozen in the air as it beckoned me closer to the cracked, void black door. I needed to leave. That much was clear, but a quick glance behind caused my heart to stutter in my chest.

Gone. Gone was the dock, gone were the boats, gone was the post thick with tethered ropes.

Stuck. Trapped.

Turning back to the man, my gut screamed at me to run, dive into the eerily still water, and swim as far as my body could take me, but my mind refused the call. Ensnared by the call of the void. The darkness peaking over the white cloak of the man ushered me forward.

I don’t remember taking the steps. Don’t remember climbing the last few steps to the doors. Don’t remember the man disappearing behind the white door. But there I was. My toes edging the threshold, eyes locked on something in the pitch-black beyond.

I didn’t take that final step. I know I didn’t. For as much as my mind wanted to thrust me into the void, my body refused its call. But still, I ended up there. A sharp touch between my shoulder blades, and I was falling. Falling into nothingness, my screams lost to the space, my fear sucked out of me until I was nothing and everything.

It was then I saw it. Saw them. The statues. They moved, red eyes watching me as I watched them. With every flicker, they showed me things. The variations of my future, dark wings, violent strikes of lightning, an island, an eye. Fire so much fire that the world was burning, blood rained from the sky, doing nothing to douse the vibrant gold flames as it swallowed everything in its path.

A blink.

And a face slack of emotions, eyes as endless as the starry night. We watched each other for days, weeks, years. Until a cruel smile spread its cheeks, stretching unnaturally upward until its face twisted and disappeared. “Valaena Targaryen.” It whispered and shouted. “Never forget who you are, or you will lose yourself.”

Then it was gone. The black door opened fully, and the man in the white cloak was watching me with dead eyes as he stepped to the side and allowed me entry. The doors pulled at my skin, stretched my mind, yanking at who I was, forcing me to leave behind who I was and become who I could.

Only I couldn’t. The burning rage held me to my name, to my purpose, my vengeance. The haunting words of the Faceless Man echoed in my mind, willing the doors to cease their assault.

“Who are you?” The man asked beyond the door.

“I am Valaena Targaryen.”

The man’s lips pulled down, his eyes cast to the now shut doors before he turned and led me to a dark corner where a mat lay waiting for me.

I never saw the same man or woman. Their faces changed and voices warped, bleeding into different people every day, sometimes every hour.

Despite their inconsistency, there was a strange sort of routine in my life, a repetitive script they followed day in and day out. Every day the same question.

“Who are you?”

And every day I gave the same answer. 

“I am Valaena Targaryen.”

Until one day, everything changed.

“Who are you?” The hooded man asked, his tone flat as it always was.

“I am Valaena Targaryen.” I answered. Parroted as I had every day since I had chosen to go with the hooded man in the alley after Brusco’s death. Today, however, the man’s eyes crinkled, and something flashed across his face, something unsavory.

“A man thought you would say that.” He circled me, his feet gliding across the smooth ground as he took me in, straight back, tense posture, and curious eyes. My hair was as neatly braided as I could manage alone and without a mirror, pulled away from my face to allow me to see as I did the simple, repetitive tasks I was required to do.

Usually, after I was asked the question, I would be allowed to leave for my chores, cleaning the Well Chamber. It was a massive room, dark, lit only by the massive fireplaces that emitted no heat. Two wells were situated in the rooms, evenly spaced, and filled with water, water I was ordered to never drink unless I wanted to meet the Many-Faced God. I would clean, eyes, cast downward, away from the people who entered and fell at the base of the wells. I would sweep and watch as they sank their hands into the water and drank it. Their tear-streaked faces crumpled in abstract pain before they would smooth out, and bliss would overtake them before they collapsed to the ground. I would watch as cloaked men and women would enter the room, gently gather the body, and carry it away to a room I was not permitted to enter.

After hours of meaningless cleaning, a woman would lead me to an open room. She never wore the same face, but unlike the others, her demeanor carried through her disguise. The room had an elevated pad where she would beat me with a stick, calling it “training,” and then I would be given a stick and told to defend myself.

I never won.

Just before the last candle would be blown out, I would be asked, “Who are you?”

The same answer would roll off my tongue, and the man would walk away, only to start the whole cycle again in the morning.

“Come, girl.” The man walked away, leading me away from my typical chore and into the training room. The woman stood, no stick held in her hand.

“A girl has not learned.” Two hands pushed me to the floor, ripping my shirt open, revealing the soft, unblemished skin of my back. “It is time for a girl to learn.” The woman was now above me, a barbed chain in her hand.  

The phantom hands pulled me to my knees, allowing my hands to cover my chest as the woman moved behind me. “Who are you?” Her harsh voice bounded off the walls, casting a haunting echo.

“Valaena Targaryen,” I said, voice strong with conviction, unsure as to what I was supposed to learn from the question. I didn’t understand, there had never been a problem with my answer until today.

The woman tsked, her flickering shadow raised an arm, and brought the chain down across my back. Skin tore as a scream shredded my throat; blood welled and dripped onto the floor. “No. Who are you?” She asked again.

Pain laced my mind. Who was I? I was Valaena Targaryen. No one had questioned me before. “Valaena.” I whimpered. Pleading with my mind that she believed me.

The woman tsked again, raising her hand once more before bringing the barbed chain to whip across my back. Arching against the pain, struggling against the hands that held me in place. Fighting to escape the pain the woman was unleashing on my back. A sob wracked my body, tears and blood alike splattering on the ground.

“Who are you?” the woman asked again, voice straining with excitement, hand poised to strike.

I searched for the answer, the pain dulling, slowing my thoughts. “Val.” I gasped through sobs. The nickname my family had called me, that Aemond had given me, rolled off my tongue.

“Wrong again.” The joy in the woman’s voice was almost drowned out by the snapping of the whip as it connected with a wet slap on my back, the barbs digging, dragging across my back, opening fresh wounds and digging deeper into already dripping ones as she readied for another blow.

“Please, I’m Valaena,” I screamed to the room, the fight in my bones pushing me to struggle against the hold even more.

The woman brought the whip down again, causing my vision to blacken at the sides, the room spun as I sagged against the mysterious hands holding me upright. “Please stop!” I gagged against the sobs, nausea rising in my empty stomach.

“Once more I think.” The woman spoke to no one as she dropped to her knees next to me, leaning close to my ear, gently pushing the sweaty strands away from my face. “Who are you?” Her voice was breathy against my skin.

A sob worked its way out of my lips. “Who are you?” I screamed at the woman in return.

“I am No One.” She said, simply standing again, disappointment and approval crossing her face before bringing the whip onto my back one last time.

~

“Princess?” A hesitant voice called from behind my closed doors, following a soft knock. Mumbling an entrance, I let my hair fall over my shoulders, covering most of the skin not already hidden by the soft fabric of the dress. Margery entered, one hand balancing a tray piled high with pastries, the other pushing one of my solid doors open. She kicked the door closed behind her, cutting off the prying eyes of the guards stationed outside, and slid the tray onto an empty table before approaching me. Her eyes inspected my hairline for any lingering signs of what I might have been actually doing last night.

“Clean at last,” She murmured, a slight upward pull at her lips before it disappeared. “Breakfast is being served in the Great Hall.” Nodding, I stilled as she picked at my dress, straightening the imaginary lines she found and tightening the lace strings, which felt like a crime as the air left my lungs. “Shall I fetch Elina to do your hair?” The old maid asked as she picked up a long, wavy piece.

Stepping out of her reach, I moved out of the small bathing portion of my room and to the sitting area. “I think I will keep it loose today.” Glancing back at the stiffly postured woman, my eyes caught on the mirror to her side.

  My now unfamiliar reflection stared back. Unfamiliar and yet, right. I had been a Targaryen my whole life; my blood sang for the skies and ached for the warmth only a dragon’s breath could produce. I had the classic features of every great Targaryen: long limbs, thick silver-white hair, and startling violet eyes. Yet my imperfections somehow always shown brighter. 

As a child, the defects had simply been my strange eyes and lack of a dragon. Both were easily explained; sure, my eyes were different, but they were still shades of violet, and of course, I had no dragon to call my own; I was not allowed the unclaimed beasts.

But now, as a woman, staring at my reflection, I saw what a Targaryen ought to be. Blemished skin, stained by the very sun we flew under during the times of Old Valyria. Violet eyes that called fire to my veins, signaling to those foolish enough to look into them that a swift death was their only mercy. No longer did I see the weak-willed child who craved love; in her place stood a Dragon Rider who would carve out her place in the world with fire and blood.

“I’ll leave you to it then, Princess.” Margery gave a small curtsy and left.

Fishing strands from each side of my head, I braided them back, allowing me to see without the wavy pieces constantly falling in my way, keeping the majority of my hair down. The style was more suited toward the elegant princess I was trying to betray, while also allowing for the long hair to cover the scars I wished to keep hidden for a while longer.

Crossing the room, I grabbed two daggers, strapping one to my thigh and the other to my ankle for easier access. With one last look in the slightly warped mirror, I allowed my shoulders to relax and braced myself to leave the small comfort of my room and face the prying eyes of the court.

Chapter Text

Valaena 

Margery guided me to breakfast, her steady pace easy enough to keep up with. “Who do you think will be there?” I asked, hooking her arm within mine. She startled at the contact, but I pulled her forward until she relaxed under my grip. 

“Milady, this is most improper.” She scolded, patting my arm as she tried and failed to slip my gently tight grip. Margery didn’t realize it, but I needed the soft contact of her plush arms; this would be my first real introduction back to my family. And blasted gods above, I was nervous. 

“Oh please, it's not like we are snogging in a dark corner.” I teased the old woman. 

She snorted, the unexpected sound racing down the hall, causing a few other maids to turn and look at us. We must have made quite the pair, a banished princess and her aging maid, tucked together like long-lost friends finally reunited. 

“My, the mouth you have.” She teased, kind of, as she fanned the blush from her cheeks. “I’m not sure,” she answered after calming the rose from her face. “Breakfast is usually just the Queen and her children, but with so many in the Keep and your long-awaited return,” Margery paused. “I'm honestly not sure who will show up in the hopes of catching your eye.” She bumped my arm gently as if to say For your hand. “Any noble is welcome, but the seats are usually reserved for higher-ranking lords and ladies.” Margery finished. 

Humming, I absorbed the information, slightly bumping my hip to hers in acknowledgement and thanks for the freely given information. She glanced up at me, a warm smile lighting her features, and I couldn’t help but let one slip out as well. 

“I’m hoping for some drama.” Grinning down the hall, I thought of the delicious tension I would be walking into. Outside of the obvious fight for the Iron Throne, there were bound to be Lords who disagreed with each other. Having them in such close proximity under the guise of gentlemen, well, it could only last for so long. And my arrival had kept them waiting in tense agreement. 

“There will be no shortage of that, for that I am sure.” Margery almost sounded giddy at the thought. A woman after my own heart. Too bad she was probably a spy for the Queen. 

Two guards were stationed outside the breakfast hall, their gleaming armor more for looks than actual protection. It made me sick. At my arrival, they straightened, hands resting on the handles of the solid doors. Margery slipped her arm from mine. “This is where I leave you, milady.” 

I watched as she scampered down the hall, her full skirts swishing with her hurried movements. With a deep sigh, I looked away from the elderly maid and nodded at the guards. With a great heave, the doors opened, releasing the sound of idle chatter from within. 

Nobles sat as close to Alicent’s family as they dared, casting looks at them as if building the courage to wrangle the royals into pleasant morning conversation, but none did. Their shoulders tensing then relaxing as they made the decision to save face and ignore the Greens.

Alicent’s family sat on one side of a long table facing the grand doors, a single chair separating the Queen from my mother, the Heir. The single chair was reserved for the King, who I doubted would appear for the early meal. Beside my mother, sitting stiffly was Jacaerys. His face blank as he blatantly ignored the whispers directed at him, our brothers, and our mother. 

There wasn’t a single chair on their side of the table, nothing reserved for me. Wonderful. I dared not take the King’s opulent chair. 

Gliding into the room, I refused to let the purposefully absent chair bother me. I would sit with the Lords and Ladies before I tucked tail and scurried back to my room. Head high, I subtly scanned the room looking for a noble to sit next to; someone who didn’t look giddy at the prospects of my arrival. 

My steps slowed ever so slightly as I continued. Aegon sat on his mother’s left, followed by an empty chair, then Daeron. Helaena was nowhere to be found, along with the chair I would have assumed to be reserved for her. A shame, I would much rather sit beside the princess than any of these drooling nobles and the two notorious princes. 

Daemon relaxed in his chair beside Jacaerys, his sharp eyes taking in every calculation I made. This was some sort of test, whether it be a loyalty one or some other, I would not lose. Could not lose, for I was playing a game they hadn’t ever learned the rules too. 

If I took Aemond’s chair on Alicent’s side, it would be an implied allegiance to her and Aegon. If I pulled up a chair to my family’s side, it would be a relinquishment of power, I would be seen as a dutiful and subservient princess. I hated both options, so I would shoot for a third. 

Turning on my heel, I gave the royals my back as I strode to the first open seat at the lower tables. Before I could slide into the seat, aside two Lords, the doors of the breakfast hall opened again, and in strolled Aemond. Eye patch snug to his face, a smirk pulling at his lips as he took in the tense situation, the mumbled inquiries, and the absent chair on my mother's right. 

Aemond walked right up to me, a possessive hand searing into the small of my back as he pushed me from the two lords and toward the front of the hall. My eyes flickered to Daemon, who only raised a single brow at the surprising turn of events. It seems our game would be put on pause as the second son of Viserys and Alicent commandeered my choices. 

“It would seem the princess is missing a chair.” The One-Eyed declared, the jab slamming into my mother, who paused her eating to glare at her half-brother. A servant scurried from the shadows of the room, a heavy chair in arm. 

I could feel the grin radiating from the bastard at my back, his actions fanning the spark he had lit this morning. “You are making a scene.” I seethed at him under my breath. Quickening my steps, I tried to escape the heat of his hand, but his legs lengthened, keeping pace alongside me. 

“Whatever do you mean, Darling?” He whispered, but not quietly enough to escape the ears of the Ladies closest to us, who all shared a look. 

Fuck him. He knew exactly what I was talking about. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

People whispered as he forced me to Alicent’s side of the table, snatching the extra chair from the trembling servant. My mother and brothers’ gazes burned into me as I looked helplessly at them. If I escaped the prince, I would cause a scene, if I allowed the prince to his ministrations, I was making a scene; there was no winning against Aemond at this moment. 

The petty squabbles of my mother and her half-family were their problems; I had missed ten years of their fights, I was their victim for ten years, and now, back in their sights, I was somehow finding myself in the middle of it all again. The gods must find their pleasure in this madness. 

Aemond pushed me into his once-empty chair, saddling me beside a grinning Aegon and Daeron, before shoving Daeron aside and pushing his own chair up. 

“Much better.” Aemond grinned, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands as he scanned the room, before turning to look at me. He looked nothing but smug at his power display, as he settled further into his chair, scraping it against the stones as he pulled himself closer to the table and grabbed a few morsels of food from the feast in front of us. “Can I get you anything, dearest Val?” He was mocking me, mocking my family. 

“No.” I gritted out despite my hunger. I was stubborn to a fault. 

Aemond hummed, displeased to be denied. “But surely you must be hungry.” I saw him grin from the corner of my eye and tensed, preparing for what he was about to say. “Especially after last night's activities.” His suggestive tone was not lost to the room as more whispers started. Aegon, next to me, snorted into his cup, which smelled like wine. 

Only I knew what he was referring to. My late-night escapades into the city. Gods, he shouldn’t have even known about them, but here he was using them to ignite the rumor my lady maids had told me of this morning.  

Not letting him get to me, I leaned back into the chair, “Last night was not as tiring as one would think.” My comment may have done nothing to quell the rumors that Aemond had visited me in the late hours, but gods, was it satisfying to see Aemond scowl at the insinuation that he was a lousy bed partner. Daeron snorted at the verbal sparing match volleying between his older brother and me. Aemond, not caring for the disrespect from his younger brother, nudged his elbow at the glass perched precariously in the prince’s hands, causing it to slosh over the sides and stain Daeron’s fine tunics. 

Satisfied with the ruined shirt, Aemond turned back to me. His large scarred hands snatched my empty plate and began piling it full of fruits, pastries, and morning meats. When there was enough to feed a small army, he shoved it back in front of me before snapping, “Eat.” 

A sharp inhale punctuated through me at the demand, filling my senses with the scent of outside, more specifically with dragon. Casting a look at the prince, I took in his outfit. Tight, thick leathers clung to his limbs and chest; it would seem Aemond had gone to visit Vhagar. 

Anger, I thought I had buried years ago, reared its ugly head at the realization. Anger at the memory of the night he had claimed the so-called ‘Queen of Dragons.’ Oblivious to my suddenly stabby behavior, he glanced at me before adding a final lemon square to my plate, a sickening look of satisfaction crossing his face.  

He plopped a grape into his mouth, a grape he had placed on my plate. “Eat.” He ordered again, his throat bobbing as he swallowed the fruit. Sharing a plate now, what had gotten into the prince? 

The queen also noted the actions of her son; she glanced down the table at me, looking past Aegon to catch my eye. Her solemn eyes flickered between Aemond and me, the gears behind her head turning as she tried to piece together the strange behaviors and conversations. I could only offer her a scathing look and a forced smile. 

Aemond was hers to control, not mine. Alicent looked away, turning her head to converse with Larys Strong, who hunched over the Queen, his eyes dipping several times to her chest as he leaned heavily on his cane. 

Gross . 

Looking away from the Queen, my stomach let out a pitiful sound, one that was not lost to Aemond, who was watching me, eyes narrowed at my open defiance of his order. Scoffing, I did exactly what he wanted, kind of. 

Grabbing an especially juicy fruit, I brought it to my mouth, biting into it, I let the juice stain my lips and fingers, before slowly licking it away. His eyes tracked the small flicks of my tongue as I cleaned my fingers. I wasn’t one of the simpering ladies of court, ignorant of the ways of men. I could and would fight dirty if the battle demanded it. 

Finishing the fruit, I pushed the plate away, sliding it in front of the prince. 

“I do love a stubborn woman,” Aegon whispered against my ear, startling me. I wasn’t expecting him to be watching the silent battle I was having with Aemond. 

Aegon’s hand landed heavily on my upper leg, squeezing it slightly. His wandering touch narrowly missed the spot where I had strapped one of my favorite daggers. Clamping my hand on his, fociably removed it from where it was not welcome. Not in this life or the next.  

“I’m sure you heard about the last man who touched me without my permission.” I purred at Aegon as he tried to jerk his hand away from me. “If not, let me educate you.” I paused, peering into his eyes. “He lost it. Learn from his mistakes.” Smiling sweetly, I stood from the table, intent on finding food and company elsewhere. This table was proving to be too much this early in the morning. 

Aegon stood with me; he was not as tall as Aemond, but still taller than I. “Are you threatening a prince?” He challenged, trying to use his height to threaten me. 

Patting his arm in a familiar manner, “I would never.” Smiling, I continued, “I’m giving a friendly warning.” The look I gave him was anything but friendly. 

Aegon, wisely, didn’t follow as I dodged Aemond’s hand that tried to sit me back down, and moved toward the tables filled with Lords and Ladies who just had the show of their lifetime. Grabbing a plate from the closest table, I picked through the feast looking for the foods I wanted. 

Sitting next to a man in far too many clothes for the stifling heat of the Keep, I plopped a lemon square in my mouth. 

“You certainly know how to make an entrance, princess.” The bulky man said with a startling deep voice. 

Swatting a fly away from my plate, I looked at the man, “Just trying to keep things interesting.” Picking at another, less juicy fruit, I prompted the man, “And you are?” 

He grinned, eyes flickering between my strange violet ones and my lips, “Cregan Stark.” Then he moved his hand, reaching for my lower lip as if in a trance. I held still, quelling the instinct to jerk away as he wiped sugar from the corner of my lips, “Pardon me, princess,” He mumbled. 

Snorting at his obvious courting behavior, I caught Aemond’s murderous gaze. Rolling my eyes, I looked back at the man. “A Winterfell Lord,” I stated, the knowledge coming from deep within my mind. “What had brought you to King's Landing?” He made to answer, but I kept talking, “If you saw me, just know I’ll be disappointed.” 

Plopping another fruit in my mouth, I almost moaned at the explosion of flavors. Yeah, I could get used to the food here. Morgual growled at the thought, not at all happy about me staying in Westeros simply for the food, while also taking offense that I didn’t enjoy and miss her charred catches of the day. 

Cregan chuckled, his plate of hearty meat and bread forgotten as he gave me his full attention, “Your mother actually requested my presence here. But yes, I would say it was mostly for your arrival.” 

“A shame.” I responded, clicking my tongue in disapproval, “Posturing. Nothing more than a show of power and allies.” Shaking my head, I looked at the nobles scattered across the room, the closest ones quiet as they listened to Lord Stark and me converse. 

Cregan chuckled, his hands coming to brush his face, dark curls falling in his face, “You don’t do subtle, do you?” 

“Like I said, I like to keep things interesting.” I deadpanned. 

Seemingly finding my response deserving, he laughed, “I must say, you have a rather large pair of balls on you. I have heard stories of the princes’ cruelty, but you handle them exceptionally well for a princess.” The lord cringed at his crass words, but didn’t take them back. 

“That is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I said, placing another sweet in my mouth. 

He watched me chew, finding something to say, unwilling to let the conversation die. “You mustn’t have talked to enough people.” Cregan was turning out to be a serious flirt, or was testing his limits with me, as many in court also were. Either way, I couldn’t help but glance behind him, finding Aemond watching the whole interaction with a scowl, the plate in front of him forgotten. 

“Can’t say there were many to talk to in Essos.” I supplied, shoving my banishment into the air. Curious to see how he would react, but before he got the chance, a light hand fell on my shoulder. 

“Valaena,” Jacaerys said, making himself known, “Please come sit with me, I have missed your endearing conversation.” Jace raised his hand in an offering, ever the gentleman. 

Cregan laughed loudly again, “Endearing indeed! Anything you wish for a conversation, come find me, princess! I shall reminisce about our words for the rest of my days.” The Lord of Winterfell nodded at Jacaerys and then went back to calmly eating his breakfast. Dismissed then. 

Raising my hand to my elder brother’s I placed it in his. “Thank you, brother.” Jacaerys’s hand tightened on mine at the title, or perhaps it was the harsh callouses, hardening the skin on my palm; either way, he didn’t comment, only led me to the table with my mother, brothers, stepsisters, and stepfather. 

A chair had been placed between Jacaerys and Daemon’s for me. Wonderful. 

Daemon pulled out the chair for me, Jace guided me into it. “Making friends, are we?” Daemon commented as I settled. 

“Cregan,” I hummed innocently. “I thought he was a friend of yours already?” Before smiling at the familiar sight of a purple fruit common in Braavos.

Daemon let a heath breath escape his nose, “You know who I am referring to. Care to elaborate on the rumors I woke up to, Princess?” 

Ahh, so he had heard.  

Pulling my brows together in confusion, I turned to him, “What rumors? 

His hand came down on my forearm, pulling me closer to him. The fruit I was peeling slipped from my hand at the jerky movement. “The rumors that you spoiled yourself to Aemond.” 

“I don’t care for people touching me,” I tsked, refusing to shed light on the rumors while his hand still seared into mine. 

His grip tightened, “You had no problem when his depraved hands were all over you.” He was trying to provoke me, but he had made a valid point. I didn’t mind when Aemond had touched me. It was something I frankly didn’t want to think further into. 

Tilting my head, a predatory glint sparking in my eyes, I glanced up from the vice grip of Daemon's hand on my arm to meet his eyes. “What is it with men touching me without permission?” His grip lessened, but didn’t remove. “Remove your hand or I will remove it for you.” It wasn’t a threat, but a promise. The second I had dulled out this morning. 

Off to a great start. 

“You forgot yourself, Valaena,” Daemon warned, but removed his hand. His eyes watched the monster in my eyes fade away, something akin in his also fading. 

“You’re making a scene.” Lucerys jutted in from my right. A light smile gracing his no longer boyish features. 

Daemon laughed like I had shared the funniest story and leaned back. Looking away from the older man, I spotted Cregan, who raised a glass once again to my ballsiness. 

I was beginning to like to lord. 

“Is it always like this?” I sighed, relaxing back into my chair, as I looked at my second brother. 

Lucerys looked startled at the attention, clearing his throat and fiddling with the silverware elegantly held in his hands. “They are just testing you.” He supplied before amending, “Testing your place with us.” 

“My place had not changed.” 

Luce nodded, but then furrowed his brow. “You know of the tensions, of the upcoming battle that will surely fall once our Grandsire passes.” I nodded. “We, well, mother and Daemon, are unsure of where you will lie in the battle, and your comfort with Aemond is confusing.” He patted my knee reassuringly as if to say he knew I was on their side. “I will always trust you. I owe you a debt I will die trying to repay.” 

I prickled at the admission, “Don’t mention it.” Feeling the exhaustion of today and last night weighing on my shoulders, I patted my Lucerys’s arm, “I truly missed you, and Jace too.” 

It was true, in the early days, I had yearned for my brothers, imagined them flying to Braavos and saving me. And I couldn’t find any fault in them for not. It had always been easy between us, due to our rocky standing in court, them because of the rumors of their father, and me because of our mother’s noticeable disdain. 

“And I, you, Val,” Luce whispered. 

We ate in silence, Luce and Jace casting not-so-subtle glances at Baela and Rhaena. 

“I take it you are happy with your bethrothal? Jacearys as well?” Luce smiled sheepishly, filling his mouth with a pastry so he would not have to answer. The action was so Lucerys, I stumbled for a second. “I am happy for you.” I was surprised they weren’t officially married yet due to their age, but I imagined it was all hinging on my arrival. 

“Know that now you are home, Mother will be planning to marry you for an advantageous alliance.” He was warning me. Casting a slight glance at him, I straightened, to the room fading into the background as Morghul’s absolute displeasure rang through my skull. 

Glancing past Daemon and Jacaerys, I looked at my mother. Her back was stiff as she watched the room, meeting the gazes of various Lords and Ladies and giving them slight nods of acknowledgment. 

“Know that I had done more than enough for this family, Luce.” He tensed at my words, at the outright defiance in them, “I will do no more than I am willing to do. Whether that be marriage, or anything else she may think of.” 

Lucerys sighed before nodding in understanding, allowing me my stubborn pride. I knew he truly did not think I would go against our mother’s wishes in the end, but I meant every word. I had the power to back my life now. I was no longer the princess who yearned for the love of her mother. 

As I ate, I felt the room cast glances at me, trying to catch my eye, but I ignored them, the heavy words of Luce weighing on my mind. How many were watching, assessing their bid for my mother? Had Mother promised one of these men my hand in marriage already? 

My movements turned robotic as I finished my meal. When several nobles had left, I took my leave as well. For every piece I placed in my mind, Rhaenyra and Alicent placed one as well.  

~

The One-Eyed

Valaena kept surprising me. And now it seemed Aegon was beginning to understand the enigma our dear niece had grown into. As Valaena left, dodging the hand I had tried to catch her with, Aegon’s eyes followed a fire burning that could only signal anger. Whatever she had said to him had provoked him. 

Valaena prowled through the rows of tables set for the Lords and Ladies. Back straight, a pleasant, mindless smile on her lips, hair slightly flowing with her relaxed movements. Her delicate hands reached between the nobles, meticulously picking fruits and sweets for her plate. I nearly grinned as I watched her pluck a lemon square, topping off her plate. Every move, every action was calculated. 

Plate full, she slid into the empty seat beside the Winterfell scum and immediately began speaking to him. She had him laughing within the first few moments of their meeting, jealousy reared its ugly head as I watched them interact. Far too familiar, and then the Stark did something unforgivable, he touched her. 

Touched what is mine. In that very movement, he forfeited his life. And to make matters worse, she didn’t threaten him. Didn’t pull a dagger, I knew she had tucked under her skirts, she only froze then continued talking. When her gaze met mine, I couldn’t find it in me to place the neutral mask. She needed to know she was mine. Every word, every action I had so publicly displayed this morning had marked her as mine. 

Aimlessly grabbing whatever was on the plate I had prepared for us, I ate, not letting my gaze leave the princess. Watching as the bastard Kacaerys stepped into view and offered his hand to the princess. Of course, he would be sent to retrieve her from the masses, but only after I had staked my claim on her. Smirking, I watched as he led her to their side of the table. Looking past my mother, who was deep in conversation with the slimy Lord Layrs, I watched as Daemon pulled Valaena into him. Watching as they traded harsh whispers, their faces dipping from carefully crafted pleasant to something darker. 

It would seem, Valaena was not conforming to their expectations either. Peculiar. 

It was then that something clicked into place. Princess Valaena, despite her features, was indeed a bastard. But unlike her undeserving brothers, she was a full blooded Targaryen. I don’t know how anyone missed it, how I had missed it. They are so similar. 

Her personality, her tenacity, stubbornness, unyielding urge to survive; hell, even her strange deep violet eye was his. It all pointed to him. I wondered if she knew. Wondered if he had any say in her banishment. Wondered if Daemon Targaryen, the infamous knight of the realm, rider of the Blood Wyrm, had any control over his eldest daughter's fate. 

Interesting indeed. 

Lucerys pulled them apart, Daemon releasing a fake laugh before settling into his seat to converse with his eldest stepson and wife. Valaena’s shoulders slumped as he retreated from their conversation, only to tighten again as she turned her attention to the crowd before her. 

Exhaustion weighed her down, it was obvious to anyone who dared look at her for longer than a moment. What had she been doing all night? Where had she gone, only to return home with splatters of blood marring her hair and skin? Where had she found the gods' awful, ill-fitting servants' dress? 

When would she realize that her secrets drew me in, like a moth to a flame, there was no escaping me?

My interest in her persisted as she mindlessly ate her breakfast, squashed between Lucerys, who conversed with Baela and Rhaena, and Daemon, who watched the room with predatory intent. Valaena watched the room, seemingly counting each lord who left, making their exit, and whom they bowed to as they left. After a certain number of lords left, bellies stuffed with sweets, she stood, drawing the attention of Lucerys, who bid her goodbye as she left. 

No more than a wraith in human flesh. Valaena was a mystery, and I loved a good game. 

Chapter Text

Valaena

Exhaustion weighted my body down as I left the breakfast hall. If only I could have had a week to recover from my journey across the Narrow Sea, alas, King’s Landing never rested, so neither could I. 

I had been informed via letter, delivered from a guard stationed outside the hall, that I was to return to my chambers as the seamstress awaited me. Just one more thing to do, but it was necessary. Helaena’s clothes were slightly too large on my frame, revealing more than I wished. Plus, it would be nice to have possessions again.

Guards flanked my sides as I strode down the hall toward my chamber, their clinking outfits revealing us to any hidden intruder that might wish ill will on me. My eyes rolled at their posturing. If anything were to happen, they would be too slow in drawing their swords, their heavy metal plates weighing them down. Not to mention, four guards were far too many for the tight halls of the Red Keep; should they all draw a sword, it would be disastrous for all parties involved. 

Their gold cloaks swished behind them, the color revealing their allegiance to the King. If I recalled correctly, Daemon was head of King’s Landing’s Gold Cloaks and still retained their loyalty despite moving to Dragonstone with her new wife and family.  

My head ached as I tried to form a list of all my tasks. It grew longer each hour. Seamstress, dinner feast, meeting the eyes and ears of the city, avoiding any arranged marriages, and oh yes, vengeance. I still wasn’t sure what I would do in the name of revenge on my family, or rather, the responsible parties, but it made the list nonetheless. 

My head pulsed around my temples, adding to the misery of the day, which had barely begun. Eventually, I reached the doors of my room, and one of the guards reached around me to haul open the door and usher me into the brightly lit room. A woman stood in front of a new, unwarped mirror, inspecting several swaths of fabric. Margery and Elina stood on either side of the darkskinned woman, offering their input on the colors and textures of the fabrics. 

“Glad to see you’ve already begun,” I said warily as a way of greeting, meaning every word. Fashion was not my speciality, the less I had to do the better. The doors clicked behind me, leaving me in my room with my two maids and the royal seamstress. 

The three woman bowed, dipping their heads respectfully, muttering something that sounded like a greeting, before straightening and ushering me over to the small dais that had been placed in front of the mirror. 

The darkskinned seamstress grabbed a thin silk slip from where it was carefully laid over a rack, next to a table full of scattered materials: measuring tapes, pins, scissors, and a few other items that she would need during our appointment. “Princess, if you could put this on, we can begin.” She held up the strip of fabric, her accented voice sparking something warm in my chest. 

Grasping the fabric, I looked at it. Looked at the dip in the back that would reveal my scars. Something akin to panic and hatred sparked in my heart, not at the seamstress but at my ruined flesh, at the Faceless Men who had marred me in the name of training. 

The maids were bound to see my flesh at some point. Stepping behind the curtain, the black dress fell from my body, filling the quiet room with rustles of fabric as I slipped into the small, tight dress. There was no hiding anything. The deep scars welting my back, shoulders, arms, and legs. The pink and purple flesh marking where I had been cut, torn open, and rebuilt. 

My fingers skimmed over the raised skin as I pushed my hair out of the way, sparks of memory threatening to pull me under. Shuttering, I stepped out of the curtain, only to be met with absolute silence. 

Margery’s eyes flared as she took in the ruined skin of my shoulders, her eyes traced the lines until they fell on the sloppily stitched wound on my palm and forearm. Our previous interaction no doubt flittering through her mind at how uncaring I was about the deep wound. Her brows pulled together as she took me in under a new light. Elina’s face twisted into one of pain and pity.  But the seamstress only looked at the flesh with careful calculation. 

“Oh, gods,” Elina whispered, breaking the spell of silence in the room. “Princess,” She stumbled over her words. “How could someone do this to you?” Her words were echoed by Margery, who looked to be struggling to come to terms with what was done to me. Struggling to understand what could possibly cause such ruin upon my skin. At what I had survived. 

“Who did this to you?” The elder maid spoke, breaking Elina out of her sorrowful mutterings. Her face was set with fury as she finally came to understand my time in Essos had not been sunshine and summer festivals. But rather a desperate crawl toward survival. 

Squaring my shoulders, I stepped onto the dias, already ready for this to be done. “No one.” My voice was void of emotion, void of memories, void of pain. 

The seamstress caught my eye in the mirror, a look of understanding crossing her features. If she was indeed from Braavos, she knew exactly who I was referring to when I said no one. 

Margery huffed at what she assumed was a lack of answer, but nodded, allowing me my memories. 

“I would prefer if the state of my body stayed between us ladies,” I said, meeting the horrified gazes of the maids in the mirror. “No need to cause a fuss over something that happened ages ago.” Nodding to the seamstress, she began. 

Pulling the tape out, she instructed me; measuring each and every dip and crevice of my body. Her light touch graced my skin as she ignored the scars wholly. Seeing the naked flesh of her customers was part of her job, I was sure she had seen things far more horrific. Watching her work in the mirror, I scoffed. I doubted anyone had seen such ravaged skin. 

I couldn’t imagine much worse, other than perhaps melted flesh. 

Snapping out of their stupor, Margery and Elina became extra hands for the seamstress, whose name I learned was Lynn. Elina braided and pinned my hair out of the way of Lynn’s nimble fingers, revealing more damaged flesh of my upper back. Margery, despite the sick look upon her face, passed Lynn her tools, obviously in practice of helping the seamstress. 

Lynn hummed nonsense as she worked; she didn’t utter a word and worked quickly. It was a welcome peace, for I knew the second she left, Margery would report her findings to the Queen, and I would find not a moment of peace. 

Elina and Maergey held up fabrics, pointing out which shades would be best for my tanned complexion and unique eyes. Different shades of red were presented as well as blues, in honor of my Velaryon side. It was agreed that reds and blacks were to make up the majority of my wardrobe, with a few deep blue gowns for special intimate occasions. 

I was nothing more than a doll to the women, who pinned, poked, and prodded me. Moving me to the positions they require. With each movement, each new position revealed more scars. Thankfully, the large, deep canyon of ravaged skin upon my back was mostly covered by the silk slip, only Lynn knew the full extent as her hands brushed over it, feeling the rivets of flesh. She paused only once, her eyes flickering to mine as I tensed, before she carried on—nothing but professional.

My proportions were noted in the small leather-bound journal resting on the small table aside the mirror, a thick pin held the pages palace. Sketches of dresses littered the pages with arrows, numbers, and words written in Low Valyrian. 

Lynn brought the tape to the base of my neck, her fingers digging into the flesh as she stretched the tape to the base of my spine. Her soft finger guiding the tape down the length of my spine, hitting every scar possible, sending shivers of harsh memories to the forefront of my mind. If it wasn’t for the soft, familiar tune she was humming, I might have shut down altogether. 

“What is that song?” I asked softly, unlocking my knees, trying to release the tension building in my shoulders. 

Lynna hummed the repetitive lyrics again, “I’m not sure. My mother used to sing it, but I have forgotten the words.” She reached for the fabric held against my body by Margery and Elina and pinned it in place with a few well-placed needles. “I can only remember the melody now.” 

I hummed a verse, fleeting memories of sun, music, and Brusco’s mischievous smile dancing between the soft melody, “I heard it once in Braavos during a festival.” I confided, “It was lovely.” 

My two maids stiffened at my confession. I had not shared anything about my ten-year banishment. I knew the court was rabid for information about how exactly I managed to survive and what I did to pass the time. 

“I was born in Pentos,” Lynn mumbled, lost in her work, “But my family moved to Braavos when I was little.” She explained, her eyes shining at our small connection to the Free City. “They are quite fond of their summer festivals, are they not?” She asked rhetorically, grinning at her memories of said festivals. 

I was silent for a while longer before I spoke again, this time in Braavosi, “Do you miss it?” The language rolled off my tongue far more easily than the Common Tongue. Lynn looked up, startled by her mother's tongue. 

“Every day,” She replied, a soft, sad smile on her lips, “But I am lucky to be here, to have this job.” Her head bobbed in dutiful acknowledgement.

Margery raised a brow at Elina, as if asking if she understood anything we had said. Elina shook her head. Good, neither of the maids knew Low Valyrian, which meant they probably didn’t know High Valyrian. 

“It was simpler there,” I said, still in Braavosi, “I think I would be happier there, but I had a duty to the people here. A duty to my family that I know no amount of distance would allow me to escape.” 

Lynn really looked at me, her hands paused on my waist. She took in the tanned skin, the slight pinch of my eyes that revealed I once smiled freely. Then her dark eyes moved to trace their contrast: the deep-set scars that had repeatedly been opened, the emptiness that had made home in my violet eyes, and the ever-present tension in my shoulders. 

“Valar morghulis,”  She provided, seeing past the princess, I was bred to be.

“Valar Dohaeris,”  Returned the warrior I had been molded into. 

Lynn nodded, switching back to Common Tongue. “I will finish one for tonight’s feast, expect the rest to trickle in throughout the week.”

She gathered her materials, but before she could leave, I halted her, “I should also like riding leathers, same as the dragon riders, along with simple pants and tunics.” She nodded. “A rush on the leathers and tonight's dress, but everything else, whenever you have the time.” 

“Of course, princess.” Lynn bowed deeply. 

“Thank you,” I said sincerely to the woman, who only smiled and slipped out the door with Elina. 

Margery and I watched them go, tension slipping back into the room. I knew Margery was a spy for the Queen, and Margery knew I knew. 

“Shall I help you get redressed?” Margery tried. 

I shook my head, hands skimming down the soft fabric that allowed the sea breeze to tease my skin. “If word about my scars gets out,” I paused, considering the threat my words carefully. “Well, I would hate to do anything rash.” 

Margery gulped, glancing at the door, then back at me. There was something fearful in her voice as she answered, “I wouldn’t dream of it, princess.” Perhaps seeing what I had endured to make it back here had shifted something in the maid. Perhaps she would slip from the Queen’s grasp into mine. 

“Make sure Elina knows as well.” I nodded. “You are both growing on me.”

“Of course, milady.” She bowed slightly. 

Stepping off the dias, I looked at the bed. Exhaustion still weighed on my shoulders, even more so now that I had been poked and prodded. “I think I’m going to rest for a little. Please wake me when I need to be ready for the feast.” 

Margery pulled back the heavy covers, allowing me to slip through them. “You don’t have to worry about your scars, princess. No one will know unless it is from your lips.” She gently reassured me as she pulled the covers over me in a soft manner. 

Turning away from the doors of my room, I hugged a pillow, listening as Margery slipped from my room. 

Sleep came easier than I thought. 

~

The One-Eyed

I didn’t see Valaena for the rest of the day; my duties and Aegon’s pulling me from stalking after her as she escaped the dreary breakfast. As she left, several other nobles stood to take their leave as well, either hoping to catch a moment alone with the princess in the halls and propose an alliance now that she was home, or because they had glimpsed her and had letters to write to their sons and Houses. There was no fooling anyone, the lords were here to propose offers for her hand. 

From the tense conversations on Rhaenyra’s side of the table, I doubted my half-sister was prepared for the attitude, chaos, and independence Valaena had brought back with her from Essos. Indeed, those three attributes would make pawning her off to some lord in exchange for an army rather hard. Daemon would need to find a mold for Valaena to fit into should her reappearance have any political gain for his and Rhaenyra’s plans. 

It brought me joy that the sniveling princess who wanted nothing more than her mother’s love was long gone, and in her place was a spitfire woman who held her own cards close to her chest. Even I could see that getting close to the princess and gaining a semblance of trust was going to be a time-consuming challenge. With the way Viserys was decaying, I was happy to know my half-sister did not have the kind of time it took to tame a woman of Valaeana’s proess. 

It was not lost on anyone in the Red Keep that Rhaenyra needed Valaena on her side. Needed the princess as a willing pawn in the game of thrones. The future of Valaena and who she should marry was the golden chip in my sister’s arsenal for potential alliances.

Valaena may not know it, but her compliance was perhaps the only factor that could change the tide of the oncoming war, especially if the dragon scales I had found in her room were from a living beast. I wondered if Valaena had told her family she had come to possess a dragon? Wondered if the marriage alliances Rhaenyra was plotting were nothing but a facade to tie in her known allies to the new information. 

Suspicion and frustration prickled my scalp. I hated not knowing everything. Knowing the ongoings of King’s Landing was my unofficial job, and as much as I enjoyed the chaos Valaena caused with her return, the unknowns were making my life hell.  

Otto would never allow Rhaenyra nor her children to ascend the Iron Throne so long as his blood mixed with the Targaryen blood in Aegon, Daeron, and I’s veins. Hell, he might even put aside his prejudice and place Helaean on the throne just to spite Rhaenyra’s claim. So long as Rhaenyra’s line lived, Otto’s game of thrones was threatened. 

If only he and Mother had accepted Rhaenyra’s bid for peace years ago, a marriage between Helaean and Jacaerys would have united our bloodline and placed a green in the future King’s ear. But no, Helaena had been tied to Aegon. She now suffered under his mistreatment and neglect. 

Casting a glance at my older brother, I couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of hate for what he had put our sweet sister through in their first weeks of marriage. Aegon had never liked Helaean. He found her strange and odd. Her fascination with bugs and creatures had disgusted him, and he never liked that Helaena had bonded Dreamfyre, the fourth-largest tamed dragon. It made him feel inferior. 

When Aegon had found out that Mother had denied the betrothal of Jacaerys and Helaena, proclaiming that she was already betrothed to Aegon, he was outraged. He had promised to be the worst husband the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. Our mother had called his behavior childish and claimed he would grow to love Helaeana as a husband should. Aegon had not. 

I could still hear Helaena’s sobs as she stood in front of the Septs who circled her as they draped wedding cloths of blue and gone on her. I could still hear her mutterings of spiders spinning webs of green and black and decaying dragon flesh caught in with spindly clutches as she walked the length of the Great Sept of Baelor toward Aegon. 

Mother had seen the life drain from Helaena as well, seen the weight loss, the blandness of her appearance, and done nothing. I could see her bright eyes dulling with each night Mother forced her to be with Aegon, lighting again only when the twins were born. 

When Helaena had born her twins, a boy, Jaeharys, and a girl, Jaehaera, Mother had taken Helaena back under her wing, allowing Aegon to turn his attentions away from Helaena. Aegon had an heir, and Helaena no longer needed to suffer under him. 

Whores wandered his halls nearly every night and the twin’s slept in Helaena’s rooms, insisting she need to keep an eye on them and their door. After their birth, they barely interacted with each other save for political and family events. Helaena, content to raise and care for her children, out of the view of the kingdom, and Aegon, content to never see his sister-wife unless he absolutely has to. 

Daeron, now sitting in Valaena’s empty seat, snorted, drawing me back to the meal. Aegon was washing down yet another glass of wine, Mother watched with disdain as a drip of red rolled down her eldest son’s wine-flushed cheeks, before looking away, content to ignore us like she usually did. 

“She surely could not have gotten you this ruffled, brother!” Daeron playfully jabbed at Aegon, slapping his shoulder. Aegon snorted into his cup at the sudden jarring, which only caused Daeron to laugh harder. 

Aegon cast an eye on me, then to Daeron. “She threatened me.” He seethed. “I should have had her then, then and there.” Growling, Aegon looked at the room, murder in his gaze. 

“And pray tell, brother, what could you have said to get her so defensive?” I asked calmly. If I had learned anything about Valaena, she was more than capable of provoking, but she usually had her reasons. Which meant Aegon had found a boundary and forced himself over it, in typical Aegon fashion.

Aegon snarled at me, causing a smirk to grace my lips. “Nothing I can do should warrant a threat from a princess.” He said indignantly. “A threat upon me is a threat upon the kingdom.” Ah, so Aegon had been listening to Otto’s outrageous claims. Rhaenyra might have bastard children, but she raised them to have the Targaryen grace that Aegon lacked. 

Viserys, despite Otto’s nagging, had held steadfast in Rhaenyra’s claim. Usurping her in favor of my drunk brother was ludicrous, not just in terms of succession, but for the whole realm. Aegon’s attitude and habits in court should have been enough to warn Otto off his high horse and admit defeat in the game of thrones, but it seemed my mother’s father did not care. 

“She is a princess in her own right. Should the same not apply to her?” 

At this, both Daeron and Aegon scoffed. “Her? A princess!” Daeron gibed darkly. “The rumors already mar her has a whore. Thanks to your early morning leave, it is all but confirmed.” I couldn’t help but smirk at the rumor that I had defiled the princess when she had all but ordered me about her room, unbothered that a male was intruding in her space and dodging my questions as if it was her royal right. 

Yes, she was something but a whore she was not.

“And don’t forget her show with the knife at the front gates!” Aegon added, affronted. “Banishment must have done a number on her to leave her so …” Aegon trialed off a grimace on his face as if he found her wild behavior unpleasant. He then turned to me, finger circling the rim of his goblet, “Tell us, was she as hard as she appeared under all her clothes?” 

“When I find out, I shall tell you,” I answered. In truth, I would never share anything I found out about the princess with him, nor with anyone. She was mine to uncover: secrets and clothes. Mine to know wholly. My brothers laughed at the revealed truth. I had not , in fact, spoiled the princess. 

Aegon grasped my shoulder, his wine-stained fingers sticking to my flight leathers. I could tell by his slurred speech and that what he was about to say was going to grate my nerves.“Trust, if I had been in her rooms so late and early ,” He paused, winking at me, “She would have left bleeding and sore.” 

Daeron laughed with our older brother, and I watched something akin to desire spark in both of their eyes at the thought of defiling Valaena. Cold fury whipped through my veins at the thought of either of my brothers getting Valaena alone. “Forget not, brothers,” Aegon’s hand fell from my shoulders as I stood, the chair scraping against the worn steins as I pushed out from the table. “Valaeana is mine. And you both know how I loathe sharing.” The threat hung in the air, as Daeron and Aegon shrank back slightly. Unlike Valaeana, my threats had years of credible backing up. 

Smirking, I let the words settle further on their minds, Aegon sobbing up slightly. I had always been a possessive man, but something about Valaena made me ten times worse. Worse enough, I would openly threaten my brothers in a room full of nobles who watched with rapped and eager attention. 

There was a reason I, Aemond the One-Eyed, had earned a reputation of cold, stoic, and cruel. Something slithered under my skin. Something dark and dangerous and controlling. Something that had its sights set on Valaena. 

Stalking out of the nearly empty room, I contemplated hunting the object of my interest, but alas, duty called. Meetings were beginning, and I had to show face, should Rhaenyra or any of her children decide to sit in on them. 

I noticed as I left the breakfast hall that much of my half-sister’s spawn were already gone. Left to do, gods knows what around the Keep. It had been over ten years since they had lived in the Red Keep, choosing to study, train, and live on Dragonstone after Valaena was sent to Essos. Perhaps they were just refreshing their memories, mapping out the Keep, but I doubted it. Rhaenyra had probably sent them out to sweet-talk the noble houses who remained on the fence of green and black. 

I wanted to scoff. We might not have had as many dragons as my half-sister, but Helaena and I rode the two largest claimed dragons. Choosing to side against us was choosing to burn their lands to a crisp. 

Steeling my spine and straightening out my green riding tunic, I shouldered open the wooden doors of the Small Council. A smirk found my pale, scared face a I entered to find I was one of the last to arrive, and like the good dogs they were, they had waited for me to begin. 

Chapter Text

Valaena

Before I could truly find rest against the relentless, raging thoughts, a knock sounded at my door. Three decisive beats followed by a moment of silence before two more. I knew it was Margery or Elina, for they only knocked once and then burst through, not waiting for me to announce I was decent or even there. It couldn’t have been Aemond because I doubted he even knew how to knock. 

Groaning, I rolled in warm blankets, tugging them over my head. The sun was still out, which meant this could wait. Right? There was nothing pressing occurring right now, not unless the king had died. Shit had Viserys died? 

Two impatient knocks answered. 

Fuck . He was probably dead. 

 The few hours of rest I had managed to get might have helped with my mood had I not been startled awake and barraged with the looming impacts of King Viserys’s death. Not to mention, I was feeling the distance between Morghul and me. It was like a wound that had healed improperly, achy, sore, and tight, constricting my lungs. 

Thankfully, my stubborn beast never listened to me, and I could feel her lazy approach. Soon enough, she would be causing mayhem in Westeros. A new, massive, wild dragon, eating livestock and terrifying villagers. 

Pushing the covers from my body, I shimmed out of the feathered bed. The warmth seeping from me as I stumbled to the dresser on the far side of my room. 

Another round of impatient knocking. “One second!” I shouted at the impatient knocker. Can’t a girl get a moment of peace around here? 

Stripping the silk dress, I shoved my leg into the pants I had randomly grabbed from the dresser. As my leg slipped through the soft fabric, I tripped. Arms flaring out caught the chair, managing to stop my rapid descent to the ground, but also slamming my thigh onto the hard armrest. Ouch fuck.  

“Come in,” I yelled, hoping whoever was at the door didn’t care that I was in a sour mood. Rounding and standing next the the chair that assaulted me, I placed my hand casually on the back. I had hidden a small steel dagger within arm's reach of this spot. Should whoever is at my door wish ill will they would meet a swift end. 

My door hesitantly opened, revealing Baela and Rhaena, my first cousins and now step-siblings. The sisters were respectively wearing red and black dresses, showcasing their loyalty to my mother and House Targaryen, but the simple jewelry lining their fingers and wrists was light blue in honor of their mother, my aunt Laena Velayron. 

They entered the room side by side. “Cousin, it has been too long,” Rhaena announced as she moved into the room, leaving her sister behind. Rhaena moved around the seating area, arms open as she drew me into a hug. Over her shoulder, I met Baela’s eyes, the woman watched her sister’s back, ever the big sister, despite them being twins. 

“Too long, indeed,” I said as Rhaena pulled back, holding me at arm's length as she took me in. Smiling, I gestured to the chairs across from the one I had silently staked a claim on. 

The twins sat on the loveseat facing my chair, a short table separating us. It felt like a chasm. Neither Baela nor Rhaena spoke. “Is there something I can do for you?” I prodded, “Or is this visit simply because you wanted to see me?” I teased lightly. The small, desperate part of me that wished for my family’s love, the part of myself that I had crushed and buried in Essos, yearned that my cousins were here to catch up, but I knew better. We had never been close as children, there was no reason for us to be close as adults aside from their betrothals to my older brothers. This was a business meeting, one that my mother likely sent them on. 

“Yes, actually.” Rhaena began, only to trail off, her eyes flickering to an exposed spot where my neck met my shoulder. A spot that the shirt had slipped free of. Her eyes darted from the light scars to my face, trying to see beneath the mask I had fashioned. 

Instinctively, my hand rose to the spot, not covering but feeling. As my hand skipped over the raised spot, I knew exactly when and how I had gotten it. Remembered the incident that had caused the imperfection. Smiling, I pulled the shirt up slightly, covering the scar that had actually healed exceptionally better than the others that littered my body. 

“You were saying?” I podded, pulling the woman back to the subject at hand. 

Rhaena looked at her twin, an uncomfortable look passing between them. “Yes, well, to be honest, it was your mother who sent us here.” I hummed at Baela, already having guessed that. 

“She was hoping you would be more willing to speak to us rather than her or Daemon.” Rhaena finished, having the decency to look slightly apologetic. 

“I see.” Squaring my shoulders, I let my spine straighten. This was going to be an uncomfortable conversation. “Well, she was correct.” 

Rhaena sliced another glance as her slightly older sister, obviously, they were supposed to be more inconspicuous when probing me. Baela shrugged, casting a look at me, “She would have seen right through us if we tried to be anything less than honest.” She explained to her sister, who now sat on the edge of the soft feathered cushion. “Isn’t that right, Valaean?” Baela asked, turning to me, as if to say I was honest. Your turn.

Nodding slowly, I looked at the twins. Baela’s confession had startled Rhaena, diverging from the path they had agreed on following. Interesting . 

“Rhaenyra needs to know where you stand,” Baela said, pushing back to sit fully in the chair, resting back to appear comfortable. She was trying to appear bigger than she was, trying to show she was in control of the conversation and situation at hand. The minuscule motion of her fingers tapping together gave her away; she was nervous. Everything about me was unknown: how I had survived, what I had done to return home, where the scar on my nape had come from. 

I scared them. I scared my mother. That thought alone made me feel powerful. Morghul rumbled pleasantly in my mind, the distance only allowed her to push a single word through: “Cowards.” 

It had me grinning, “I stand with the Throne. Which, currently, Viserys sits.” 

Baela nodded, seeing my tactical answer for what it was. They would have to ask specific questions if they wanted answers of any value from me. But Rhaena looked slightly torn. 

They both knew the terms and conditions that led to my banishment. They knew what my mother had agreed to. They knew the banishment was a death sentence disguised as a chance. They knew I was not supposed to be here, drawing breath into my lungs. But I was. And it threw everything in the air. 

Surprisingly, Baela did not answer my non-answer. Rhaena’s voice was soft and understanding, even though she would not be able to fathom what I had possibly gone through to be here, mostly sane today. “I know you and your mother have a long history,” her eyes flittered to the scar again. “And no one will ever know the true extent of what you have gone through for Lucerys, for your mother, nor for the continuation of our bloodline.” She paused again, looking toward her sister for some support. “But we are here not as your cousins, but as delegates for the Heir, and we need to know if she will have your support.” 

“Alicent and Otto are planning to usurp the throne and place Aegon on it.” Baela cut in. “We all know that even if you despise your mother, Aegon on the throne would be a disaster that would destroy our dynasty.” 

The words hung between us. I knew they were right. I would never stand with Aegon, but my mother had tried to orchestra my demise. “It is true my mother and I do not have the best foundation, but I will not deny her nor stand against her when it is her time to claim the Iron Throne.” 

Rhaena looked pleased to have a somewhat decent answer from me, but Baela only raised a brow. “You will not stand against her, but you will not defend it with her? With us?” She accused, seeing my answer for what it was. 

“How could I possibly defend her claim?” I questioned, “Should I raise a sword, claim a dragon, decimate the small folk for a war they have no power or say in?” I paused, looking at the sisters. They did not know war or survival. They thought only of themselves and power. But the small folk, they would suffer should a war between dragons break out. 

The twins did not know of anything but their privileged lives. One who would be the future queen, should my mother succeed in keeping her birthright and ascend the iron steps and sit on the throne of swords. The other would be a Lady of a realm, in charge of the well-being of an entire realm. I doubted they knew what their titles meant. 

“I do not wish for war. I have fought long enough.” Those would be my final words. I would not fight for the woman who had turned me into this, but I would not fight against her. 

Rhaena understood the soft finality of the words, her empathy pushing her to understand to some degree where I was coming from. They simply did not know all that I had endured. They did not know what I had become to survive. If I were to be unleashed on Westeros in the war for the throne, I would not stop. 

It seemed Rhaena’s empathy was not a shared trait between the twins. Baela rose to her feet, her face hardening with righteous indignation as she ignored what her sister had perceived. “I do not wish for a lot of things.” She snapped. “Yet here I am, in the Red Keep, playing nice with those that wish to usurp us! And there you are getting cozy with the enemy!” Daemon’s eldest daughter stepped forward menacingly, imitating the prowl of a dragon on the hunt. “So I ask you, plainly, would you do as your mother, the Queen, would command?” 

Grinning at the princess, who tried to intimidate me with her tense stance and hard eyes, “Have I not already proven I would do what my mother would command me?” I snarled lightly. “I alone saved Lucerys, the Heir to Driftmark. Your betrothed.” I snarled at Rhaena, raising a finger as I stood. 

“You have done more than any of us. But it will not be enough until Rhaenyra is secure on the throne.” Rhaean offered, pulling her sister back slightly. Both sisters watched me with caution, spotting the feral beast beneath my skin. 

I scoffed, “You survive ten years alone in Essos. You survive and evade flesh peddlers, assassins, hunger, and homelessness. You survive the hate of those who are supposed ot protect you. Then and only then can you demand more from me.” Both had the audacity to look ashamed, but neither left. They had more to say. 

Growling at them, I moved behind the chair, putting more space between the twins and myself as the urge to attack itched my skin. “You will not leave until you have served her demands, say them and be gone.”

“A betrothal is to be arranged between you and a lord. Rhaenyra is between Cregan Stark of Winterfell and Jason Lannister of Casterly Rock.” Baela said, back to her no-nonsense tone, but a hand rested on the poorly concealed dagger at her hip.  

I scoffed at the revelation, “The Lannisters have already sided with he greens and the Stark lord would sooner fall on his sword than break his House’s oath to my mother.” Not to mention, Jason Lannister is the same age as my mother. 

“Jason Lannister can be persuaded,” Rhaena explained, standing, knowing her welcome was long overstayed. 

“A possible future of dragon riders.” I laughed at the thought. Giving the Lannisters power over the dragons would indeed be the downfall of House Targaryen. The very idea that my mother was contemplating the offer was ludicrous. 

“Does my mother have Rhaenys on her council?” I asked suddenly, causing the twins to startle. Our grandmother, Princess Rhaneys, and her husband, Lord Coryls, Lord of the Tides, had been the only family that showed me kindness. Corlys’s parting words with me all those years ago had been the hope I clung to when I had nothing else. They would not throw me to the pompous lords unless the situation was more dire than Baela and Rhaena knew. 

“She is.” Rhaena supplied, noticing that my question had more meaning than simply information fishing. 

“What does it matter who has your mother’s ear?” Baela challenged, poorly hiding her curiosity under her rage. She was so much like Daemon, it hurt. “What more could you have to offer aside from your hand in marriage?” She was too astute for her own good. She knew I was hiding something... Knew that there was no reason for me to return to King’s Landing unless I had ulterior motives. 

I scoffed at her poor attempt to peel information from me.“More than both of you combined.”

“Prove it.” 

“When the time comes, they will not question my strength.” 

Baela tsked. “When the time comes, you will be nothing more than a name in some lord's treaty. A bargaining chip for some army or a few morsels of gold. A bed warmer until you produce an heir and are cast aside,” She spat cruelly. 

“Baela!” Rhaena snapped at her sister, pulling her back. Any progress they might have made with me went out the window, and Rhaena knew it. 

The words should have stung. They should have brought fear into my heart. Baela spoke of the future I would have had, had I not been banished to Essos: forced to find my own way, my purpose in life outside of my mother’s Targaryen expectations. 

Rhaena gripped her sister with an iron fist, but Baela didn’t back down. Her eyes flamed with at the words, she wanted a verbal sparring match, but I had not grown up learning the art of skillfully slicing words as she had. No, I had learned the art of blades and where exactly to cut someone for a slow and painful, inevitable end. 

“This is not what we came here for, Baela.” Rhaena hissed at her sister. 

Baela took a second, fighting against everything in her that screamed for fire and blood. She inhaled, breathing deeply before leveling me with a look, “I apologise.” I gave her a look that said I knew she wasn’t. “You are either with us or against us, Valaeana. Know the line you walk is thin.” With that, she shook off her sister's grip and went to the door, heaving it open. She looked back once, before stepping out, leaving the door open for her sister’s eventual exit. 

“There is one more thing.” Rhaena said, “Daemon strongly encourages you to distance yourself from Aemond. He and Vhagar are our biggest battle to come.” She paused, looking at me softly. Noting my tense figure, my stiff grip on the back of the couch, and the hard look in my eyes. “I don’t want to see you face any more than what you must, cousin,” And then she followed her sister out.

At their leave, I say my path. A long, unevenly cobbled road encased by thorned vines. Ahead, the path split, a fork cutting my life in two. Both roads were dark, weeds sprouted between the loose cobbles, and figures loomed in the shadows, but I could see the light at the end of one path. 

Ahead of me, fate presented a choice: a life of servitude where I slipped back into the princess my House needs, or a life where I continued fighting for everything I deserved and more.

Grinning, I chose the path, knowing there was no going back. Not that I would ever want to. 

~

Preparation for the feast had begun the second King Viserys announced I had returned home. Servants scampered about the halls, arms piled high with fine glass plates, cotton table clothes, and scores of tasting trays. Who was doing the tasting, I didn’t know, but I envied them, for they got to taste whatever the kitchen was making smell so delectable.  

The strained voices of stressed, overworked higher-ranking maids ordering about the lower-ranking servants echoed down the thin servant halls into the open corridors. Margery was no exception to the chaos. 

After the twins had left to report their findings to my mother, Margery had rushed into the room, a long black dress with intricate gold and red detailing clutched in her arms. Elina followed close behind, one hand balancing a small tray of fruits, the other gripping a medium-sized wooden chest. 

Margery carefully hung the dress off a wardrobe before shoving me into the vanity chair. Elina set the fruits in front of me, offering me a quick, tight smile, before opening the wooden chest, revealing several sets of jewelry boasting some of the largest gems I had ever seen, and Morghul had quite the horde. 

“Not yet!” Margery snapped at Elina, ordering her to do my hair and makeup before allowing me to select what jewels should adorn my body for the evening. 

Elina nodded, her eyes tightening at the harsh words of her elder maid. Gently setting the case of priceless jewelry on an empty table, she came behind me. Gathering my hair in her hand, she looked at me in the mirror. I knew she wasn’t seeing me, but rather envisioning how she was going to style the long, mostly tamed silver waves. 

Pulling the front pieces gently back, allowing a few loose strands for framing, Elina’s deft fingers worked my hair into several intricate braids and twists. She was gentle as she untangled the caught strands, but sure with her movements. I felt the pampered princess I was always meant to be as Margery hustled about the room, pulling undergarments out, and deciding on shoes, and Elina softly hummed an old First Men folk tale. 

By the time Elina had pulled away, she had covered the small blemishes on my cheeks, coated my lips in a bold red, added a lick of kohl on my lids, and raked my hair into a beautiful do. All in all, she worked magic. The bottom half of my hair remained down, untangled and flowing. Small shiny gems had been placed in the loose waves, so when I moved, I sparkled. The top half was pulled back to show off my sun-kissed cheeks and spattering of freckles. 

“I couldn’t bring myself to cover your freckles.” Elina hummed as she put the moisturizers and tinted potions away. “You have such beautiful features, my princess.” She mumbled shyly, stepping away so Margery could manhandle me into a standing position. 

“Enough flattery, we haven’t the time!” The senior maid declared, brushing off invisible lint from the dress. “Here, put this on.” She shoved a black slip into my hands. Noticing how rushed the poor woman was, I wasted no time. As I stripped, Margery explained that her senior had demanded she tend to everyone before me. 

Who could possibly be more senior than this old koot? 

“It’s alright.” I soothed.

“It’s not! It’s a feast in your honor. You can’t be late!” Margery yanked the beaded dress from the hook, gathering up the skirts before having me bend so she could toss it over my head. 

As soon as the dress touched my skin, Elina was tugging the fabric in place while Margery got to work on the blasted corset. She modled the damned thing to my skin as she tightened the damned laces at the back. Her hands, rough with decades of hard labor, brushed over the wrinkled bodice, finding nearly invisible imperfections and soothing them over. She fluffed the skirt until it shone to her satisfaction. 

“It’s a god-damned miracle that Lynn had already been preparing this dress for your return using your mother’s old measurements.” Margery mused. “She only had to change a few minor details.” 

“A miracle, indeed.” I wheezed against the bodice.

Margery only scoffed, waving her hand at me, “Oh, don’t be dramatic. It’s not that tight.” 

Not that tight! “You go from wearing only ill-fitting tunics and trousers to being stuffed into a fitted dress.” I teased the maid, who tsked at me. 

“Oh, yes. What a shame.” She deadpanned. And I had to give her the point. 

Margery turned to Elina, who was holding the case of jewels, “It’s time.” 

Elina squealed, racing forward as if she were going to be wearing the jewelry. “Oh, I hope she chooses the one I like,” She mused to Margery, who only shot her a look. 

In the case, there were three sets of red, gold, and black chains, earrings, and rings. My gaze skimmed the sparkingly gems, but the one on the left held my attention. A simple black chain boasting a carved shard of dragonglass, a matching bracelet, deep, scarlet red pair of earrings hanging from the same black metal, and a set of six rings. 

Revenantly pulling the dragonglass necklace from the case, Elina shimmied with joy. I take it this was the set she wanted me to pick. 

“A wise chouse, milady.” Margery said, taking the necklace and clasping it in place, before moving to the other several pieces, placing them as she wished. “Now you’re ready.” Margery appraised. 

Just as she spoke, two heavy knocks rang through the room. “Don’t answer it yet,” I ordered, skimming past the two maids to my bedside dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, I brushed aside the jewel-encrusted dagger, favoring the twin blades engraved with Fire and Blood . 

Hefting the skirts up, I fastened a sheath on each thigh before sliding in the daggers. Testing how secure they were, I let the skirts fall, only to be met with silence. Glancing at the maids who stared at me with gaping mouths, I offered them an ornery grin, “You never know what to expect with these things.” 

Margery shook her head, but didn’t look surprised as she hauled the doors open, revealing Jacaerys. The maids scuttered past him as my oldest brother entered, blending seamlessly in the shadows of the halls as they went off to do more work for the night. 

Jacaerys cast a quick look around the room, scanning the interior before his gaze finally fell upon me. His brow softened and he gave me a half smile, his straight white teeth poking though his plump lips. 

“You look lovely, little sister.” 

Scoffing, I moved toward the mirror in the corner of my chamber. Margery and Elina had not given me time to inspect myself, but as it did now, I hardly recognized the woman staring back. 

She looked younger, her tanned skin softer, eyes brighter, lips fuller. She looked like me, except not. She was everything I could have been, everything I should have been had I been allowed the privileges of my birth. 

The dress fit me perfectly. The straight neckline traced the whole dress, not dipping once. The fabric covered the large scars, leaving only the small, thin, hardly noticeable ones. Lynn had done an excellent job; it was no wonder she had been plucked from across the sea and employed by my family. She was a once and a life talent. The corset sinched, showing off my slim, lean figure, plumping my cleavage, and extenuating my hips. The whole silhouette made me look desirable. 

Jacaerys was right, I looked lovely. 

At my smile, his half-grin morphed into a full smile. Before I took Jace’s offered arm, I swiped the half-full goblet of wine, downing it in one go. The warm liquid filled my nearly achingly empty stomach. Tonight, I would not allow the woes of life to dull me. 

Jace chuckled at my improper behavior, tugging me close to him, “I am glad you are home.” At the confession, he pulled me from my room, leading me to the Great Hall that had been transformed into something of a spectacle. 

Glancing up at my eldest brother, I patted the arm holding me to him. “I am glad to be home.” His honey-colored eyes tried to hide the remorse from my solten childhood, but Jace had never been able to hide even his deepest emotions from me.

Reaching the opening of the feast, we both tensed, fitting our metaphorical masks in place. We entered the Great Hall together, siblings reunited once more, and Royals of the realm. 

Chapter Text

The One-Eyed

The Small Council meeting went on for hours, as they usually did. Only now there was a new topic of conversation, a new kink in Otto’s devious plots to put Aegon on the Iron Throne and do away with Rhaenrya and her horde of supporters. 

Valaena Targaryen was proving to be more than a headache for my maternal grandfather. She had burrowed into his side, a thorn that, when plucked at, only sank deeper. She was the metaphorical needle in a haystack, only this haystack was a needlestack and she was identical to the other needles. It would have been amusing to see the gears turning in my grandsire’s mind had I not known that most of his schemes ended in mayhem, murder, or marriage. 

In his perfect world, Valaena had died nameless and forgotten in Essos. Unfortunately for him, she had not only survived but returned with a flair of support from the smallfolk and an air of mystery and too many secrets to count. Otto hated people he couldn’t read, couldn’t manipulate, couldn’t control. 

So now that she was alive and well, stalking the halls of the Red Keep, he needed a new plan, a new scheme on how to get her under his thumb. The first and easiest solution was to marry her to Aegon, pose it as a union of peace, and then destroy her. My mother had shot that down faster than she would swat a fly circling her food. Helaena was Aegon’s wife, and she would not be removed, replaced, or whatever else Otto had planned for her. 

Although I knew my quiet sister might find respite had she been sent away to live the rest of her life with the Silent Sisters, of course, only if Jaeharys, Jaehaera, and little Maelor would be sent with her. 

“We should have waited for the body of Valaena to appear before tying Aegon to anyone.” He had snarled at the small council, his glare pointedly focused on the weasel of a Master of Whispers, Larys Strong. But there was no going back on the union between Helaena and Aegon, especially since there was an heir and a spare between the two. 

So he had begrudgingly moved on to other topics on how to tople the recently returned princess. Sending her away had proven moot; Valaena had proven to be more resourceful than anyone previously thought. Not only had she survived but seemingly thrived, if her poorly hidden trove of jewels told me anything. She had a knack for survival. 

So that left two options for the Hand of the King: marriage or murder. Murder was the easiest solution; to marry off a princess took time, resources, and a somewhat willing princess. 

“With air in her lungs and a beating heart between her breasts, she is a threat,” Otto fumed at the Lords surrounding the table. “We can not afford to allow Rhaenrya to use her as another pawn in her plots against us.”

Despite his calm voice, I knew my grandsire was spiraling. His bald head flushed with anger of his own making. His green jeweled fingers tapped incessantly against the solid wooden table of the Small Council, and his typical dull silver tunics and furred capes were ruffled from his twitchy movements. He was feeling the consequences of his foolish assumptions. 

Years ago, he had decided that the lost princess had succumbed to her environment; had fallen to the flesh peddlers who desired the Old Valyrian looks for their brothels, or perhaps lost her head to the assassins I knew he secretly sent after her. As such, he had foolishly removed her from his schemes. Had moved past her existence as he hoped the world had. 

But now she was back, and everyone had to regroup, had to reshape. But Valaena wasn’t making it easy for anyone. She held her cards close to her beating heart and snarled at anyone who sniffed too close. It was delicious. 

Or it would be delicious if I knew she would be safe from the mercenaries Otto had at his disposal. I found that when someone or something did not go the way Otto Hightower wished it would, someone always ended up dead. 

Straightening from my relaxed listening position, I watched in bored fascination. Otto knew of my peculiar fascination with the princess and would only off her as a last resort, and should he make that final decision, it would not be in my presence. Not to mention the gods favored and opposed my ancient house fiercely and strangely. 

“What do you propose we do about her then?” I questioned. 

Otto straightened at my question; he knew I was a wild card; my loyalties were to my family, but he also knew of my claim on Valaena. Rather than my grandsire laying his plot out, Jason Lannister decided it was time to fluff his feathers. 

“My Lords,” he graciously spoke, his nasally voice grasping the attention of all those present. “Rhaenrya has come to me seeking an arrangement with my house. I find it might be the solution we have been searching for, in regards to the Princess Valaena.” The Lord of Casterly Rock gave a slimy smile at the attention of the room, his eyes dutifully not meeting mine. 

“Rhaenrya has offered me Valaena’s hand should I pledge my House’s armies to her.” The room went still. “Of course, I would never side with the whore, but having Valaena teathered to me in the eyes of the gods, well I would keep her sorted.” He raised a proud brow and tossed his shoulder-length untamed mane. 

“You would go back on your word to Rhaenrya?” Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, questioned the idiotic man. 

I snorted, drawing the attention of the Lords. Straightening under their stares, I learned forward, resting my weight on my forearms as I smirked at the man who so easily cast aside his house's honor. Something that would last longer than his puny life. 

Steepling my hands, I let my fingers tap against each other once as the silence drew on for a second longer. “I knew the Lannisters lacked honor, but this is quite the interesting display of such shortcomings, Lord Lannister.” I cocked my head at the now sweating lord, pinning him with my one eye. “All these schemes for what? A princess who might bear you a child who could claim a dragon?” I scoffed. “No matter who sits on the Iron Throne, they would never allow the likes of you or your house to bear witness to the might of the dragons.” The harsh words speared through the room. 

Shoulders tensed at my truthful words, no house, no person, outside of Targaryen or Velaryon was allowed the honor of a dragon bond. The only exceptions were those who married outside the two Valyrian houses. 

Otto heaved a great sigh. “My grandson speaks the truth.” His shoulders lowered a fraction as he considered Jason’s words and mine. “But Casterly Rock is far, and she has no swift means of returning to Kings Landing should she find herself there.” 

The Lords nodded in agreement. Again, I wanted to scoff, small men and small thoughts. 

“And after you have taken the princess and locked her in your towers of stone, then what?” 

“Then nothing, my prince.” Jason Lannister laughed as if my question was ludicrous. “It is not as if they would come for her. We have seen how little the whore of a princess cares for her only daughter.” 

“Ah, yes, because when my half-sister finds out you have deceived her, she will let you stay as you are.” He made to interrupt me, but I stopped him with a sharp glare, his face drew into a frown as I continued sarcastically. “Surely she would not send Daemon and Caraxes or Rhaenys and Meleys to burn your walls and ashen your lion soldiers. Lord Lannister,” I all but growled, “My half-sister may not care for Valaena, but she would care about her promised army. That she would come for.” 

“Well,” Otto drawled, a pensive, calculating look taking over his features as he ran through each scenario before finding a solution to the new problem, “That is why you and Vhagar will station at Casterly Rock, at least until we have taken care of Caraxes and Meleys.” 

I could have snarled at the man for ordering Vhagar and me around, but I withheld. Morbid curiosity allowed me to hear how Otto’s plans shaped. 

“Dreamfyre is large enough to ward off King’s Landing from Rhaenrya and her dragons, and I doubt the Blacks will open fire on the Red Keep.” I hated how truthful his words were. The Red Keep is one of the prides of King Aegon I's legacy, aside from his conquering of Westeros, of course; to melt its stones would be a spit in the face of the Targaryen dynasty. 

“Sunfyre and Tessarion will be needed for small disputes and patrol, but Vhargar … ” Otto tsked, shaking his head, a faraway look shadowing his eyes. “We will not waste her on simple fronts that Scorpion bolts can take care of. When Viserys releases his final exhale, you will prepare to be sent to Casterly Rock, where you will command the armies Lord Lannister speaks of and ward off Meleys and Caraxes from melting the Lannisters in dragonfire.” 

Otto’s demands settled over the room. “Lord Lannister, continue with your plans of courting the Princess, and with any luck, you will convince Rhaenrya to pass her to you before Viserys drops dead.” 

The whole ordeal was laughable. The solution Otto thinks he has found, even more so. Not only were my siblings' dragons not battle-hardened, but Sunfyre and Tesserion had never known battle in their short lives. They might be able to stand against Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes and perhaps even Syraxes, the spoiled dragon she is, but they stood no chance against Daemon and Rhaenys' beasts. The Blood Wyrm and The Red Queen have known battle, had been bred and raised to fight armies. Daemon was the best knight in the Seven Kingdoms, known to fight on dragon's back and on foot. For Otto to overlook this was foolish. But not nearly as foolish as he was to overlook the tenacious princess. 

He did not know her, did not care to know her. To Otto, Valaena was exactly as Helaena: a princess who may complain and wish differently, but eventually complied. 

Even so, Rhaenrya was desperate. Sure, she had the dragons and the loyalty of several foolish houses, but she lacked the royal coffers. Alicent, under Otto’s command, had limited her access to the treasury. The Queen had done so hesitantly, scared to give her childhood friend another reason to hate her, but as she had looked upon my eyepatch, her hand moved on its own accord, signing the proclamation. 

My half-sister would find out that loyalty would only get her so far, especially when her soldiers were starving. 

Princess Valaena might not know it, but the coming war was up to her and whether or not she complied with her mother’s orders. Unfortunately for everyone, Valaena was no longer content being a pawn in the game of thrones. In fact, I doubted she was even playing the same board as her mother and Otto were. She had invented a new game where she plotted her own future, and when the rest of the Keep realized her mysterious return made no sense, it would be too late. 

I only hoped I would be there not only to see her actualize herself, but also to put her to a final stop. 

No matter what Otto said. No matter what the Small Council decided. No matter what she wanted in her life. She was mine. I would break her, mold her into something content to spend whatever was left of our lives together. 

~

Unknown

I require your services.” 

“And who might the unlucky soul be?” 

“A recently returned princess.” 

The man in the dark clock grinned, his strangely white teeth flashing in the dim lantern light of the alley. “Her soul has already been claimed by those more dangerous than I.” He spoke back to the finely dressed man before disappearing down the alley, seemingly fading away into the shadows. 

~

Valaena 

Jacaerys’s large hand patted the arm I had threaded through the crook of his elbow. An affectionate smile slipped past his mask as he watched my face light up in amazement. I had never seen so much food in my life. My stomach rumbled at the sight of it all, and something deep within swelled, urging me to grab as much as I could, should I not have the opportunity or access to food for days. 

Tamping down on the old feelings of hunger from the early days of my banishment, I tried not to oggle the plies upon piles of delicately laid food. But I couldn’t tear my eyes from it. There was enough food here to feed the whole of King’s Landing. 

Meats from various beasts, glazed in honey and rosemary butter, center the long clothes tables. Loaves of steaming rye, sourdough, and fluffy biscuits nestled on silver platters between hearty pots of simmering stews. Fruits arranged in wonderful shapes, mimicking the flowers grown in the royal gardens, shot above the citrus and jam-filled pastries splayed about. 

By the gods, my mouth was watering. I was sure the room could see my stomach rumbling through the tightly cinched dress. 

Jace led us deeper into the Hall, the jovial shouts and boisterous laughter between friends and fellow nobles softened as we were spotted. Hushed whispers and quick glances hunted us as we moved toward the elevated platform. My mother sat to the right of the middle chair, pointedly not looking at her once childhood best friend. Daemon sat on her right, his head tilted toward her as she whispered in his ear. Jacerys’s chair was beside Daemon, as my mother’s heir, his seat was always closest to hers, and as his bethrothed, Baela’s was always immediately to his right. 

Lucerys’s eyes tracked Jace and me as we slowly made our way toward them. Jacaerys had purposely slowed his pace, allowing the room to take me in. A ploy to allow the room to observe me. Allow those wishing to trade their army for my hand to inspect me for flaws. 

“I know what you are doing.” The harsh whisper spilled from my lips and into Jacaerys’s ear. He tensed, but didn’t quicken his pace. 

No matter how much Jace and Luce apologized for their previous actions and inactions, they were still under my mother’s thumb. I had been gone for ten years. Ten important years. 

I quickly realized I had no allies here. No one I could confide in, no one in my corner. I knew it would be this way. Knew I was going in alone and would have to scrounge and fight for what I wanted. Hell, Morghul had growled it to me more than once, rather prissily. 

Shoulders tensing, I scanned the rest of the table. Lucaerys bethrothed, Rhaena sat to his right, followed by my empty seat, hopefully, then Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys. 

My late father’s parents passed hushed whispers between each other as they scanned the room, noting Lords and Ladies. Joffrey leaned toward them slightly to listen and occasionally supplied his own thoughts. 

As my eyes caught Rhaenys and her husband’s soft smiles of encouragement gracing their lips, a nod of acknowledgement passed between us. 

I hadn’t seen either of them since the night King Viserys declared my banishment. Lord Corlys had come to me that night, revealing how my mother had denied them access to me, denied me a better life with them on Driftmark. 

To the left of the grand empty seat reserved for King Viserys was his second wife, Queen Alicent. Aegon, her eldest and Viserys’s first living son, sat beside her, swirling his goblet of wine. Aegon’s bored eyes danced around the room, noting the Lords and Ladies in attendance, but doing nothing more. The two seats beside him were empty, but I could assume one was for Helaean, his sister-wife, and the other Aemond. 

I could only feel pity for the princess who had been forced into a marriage with her cruel brother at the young age of fourteen. As children, Helaena had been the closest thing to a friend I had. She would show me the bugs and critters she had caught around the Keep, and I would show her the secret tunnels teeming with the dreadful creatures, making her promise to never tell anyone of them. She would squeal in delight when one of the large, brightly colored beetles would skitter past us, rescuing it from my underboot with a swoop of her hand. Cradling it to her chest, she would prattle about the facts she had read about. 

When I had glimpsed her at my presentation, gone was the peculiar girl; in her place stood a woman. One, that by the dull and empty look in her eye had had her childhood taken from her too soon. My heart ached for her. We had been punished differently but in equally cruel ways. 

Daeron sat beside Aemond’s empty seat, and then Otto Hightower sat. His hawkish eyes were trying to unsettle me as they watched my every breath as if it offended him. 

Good , I thought, preening under his hate. 

I couldn’t help but wonder where Aemond was. A thought I knew if Baela and Rhaena knew was crossing my mind would scold me, as only hours before, they had warned me to stay away from the Green prince. That Daemon, himself, had given them the order to sway me away from him; from building a bond or some sort of tentative relationship with him, as in the upcoming battle, he and Vhagar would be their most wary rivals. While that may be true for them, they didn’t know I possessed a younger, equally large and more agile bond with a beast who would rival the old hag of a dragon. 

I felt Morgul gloat under my subconscious compliments. 

Finally reaching our designated spots residing over the nobles, Jacaerys pulled out my chair and ushered me to sit, before finding his own by our mother and quickly entering into a conversation with her and Daemon, neither of whom offered me a glance of acknowledgment. Holding in a scoff at the subtle disrespect, I snatched up the full goblet of red wine and downed it in three gulps. Turns out I was going to need to be slightly buzzed to get through this feast, as was my right since it was in my honor. 

Joffrey to my left, tensed at my swift movements, but didn’t make to engage with me. I hated to admit he had grown into a man. At the age of ten and six, he had developed into a solid wall of muscle. He had been spotty around the castle the past day I had been here, sticking close to our mother’s ideas, as she walked the halls, reminding the servants and residents of the Red Keep who and what she was to them and the realm. His dark hair and eyes matched Jace and Luce’s, and as children, their darker features had made me feel out of place, even as I was the one who matched our mother’s classic Targaryen looks and our father’s Valyrian silver white hair.

A servant apparated from the shadows and refilled my empty glass. Slowly sipping it, my eyes scanned the room over its gold-crusted rim. Lords and Ladies from Great Houses and minor houses filled the long tables, sitting tightly on benches in their house colors. From my perch, I couldn’t make out what they were talking about, but from the way several of their eyes darted to me, I could make assumptions. 

Light music danced around the room, filling the empty space where chatter was quieter. 

My lungs emptied in a sigh as I turned to my elusive youngest brother. At my attention, he stiffened and glanced nervously at me. Rhaenys chuckled and grasped Corlys' arm as she watched me make my brother ever so slightly uncomfortable. Was it my gaze that made him so, or did he not like to be perceived by anyone? Both made sense, I’m sure the same rumors flittered around him about his strange appearance despite having hatched a dragon in his cradle; Tyraxes, a pale purple-scaled male dragon, with dark violet flames and horns. 

“Tell me, little brother,” deciding to break my studying of him. “What do you remember of me?” 

The boy shrugged slowly, his memories of me slowly to recount. “To be honest, not much.” He replied, picking at his properly placed napkin. “Only glimpses, really.” 

Nodding, I took a slow sip of the spiced wine. I knew he would have few, if any, memories of me as he had only been six when I was sent away, but it still hurt to know I had missed his formative years. The wine glass made a small thud as I placed it on the table, pushing it slightly farther away than necessary.

“But Jacaerys and Lucerys spoke of you often.” He amended curiously. 

Unsure what to do with my hands, I unfolded my napkin and placed it on my lap, only to crumple it before smoothing it out. “All good things I hope.” I grinned down at my older brothers.

Sensing the dispelled tension, Joffrey chuckled, “Mostly.” He shyly said, causing me to laugh. “They said you were quite the troublemaker and excelled at finding the hidden passages in the Keep.” His cheeks flushed at the admission. 

“Of course, that is what they would tell you!” Shaking my head playfully at the boyish lint to his honeyed eyes. “But it’s true.” My shoulders dropped dramatically. “I was quite the bloodhound when it came to secret passages.” I sniffed dramatically as a bloodhound would when on the search. Joffrey laughed loudly, pulling the attention of a few Lords. I dared not glance to my left to see if anyone else was listening. “I might have gotten into trouble once or twice, but Javaerys was the most troublesome of us!” 

Joffrey shook his head in disbelief. “I find that hard to believe,” He looked past me to Jace, who I found to be watching us with amusement. 

“Oh, but it’s true!” Exclaiming, I searched my memory for a story to tell the boy who did not know the lighthearted, mischievous eldest brother I knew. Looking back, my memories of Jace and Luce jumbled slightly with memories of Brusco, and I startled. I had tried not to think of Brusco since I found him limply hanging in front of a mob. 

“Tell me if this brother I have never met!” Joffrey questioned, pulling me from the once-buried memories. 

Scrunching my face, I made an exaggerated show of thinking, but i truly was having a hard time recalling. It had been so long since I allowed myself to think of my carefree childhood, of my family. Pulling the memories I had shoved so far into the recesses of my memory was taxing, but I liked knowing I would grow on Joffery if I shared a few memories. 

“Ah yes,” Grinning, I took a swig of my wine as a few unkind memories surfaced along with the fun ones. 

Clearing my throat, as the storytellers of Essos did before they lost themselves in their outlandishly tall tales, I began eerily. “It was the night of the full moon. I was deep asleep when I was awoken by loud pounding in the halls. Thumps and thunks, stomping closer and closer to my door.” I paused, slightly mimicking the sounds with my hands on the table and feet on the stone floor. “I thought the bogyman was coming to get me,” Joffrey chuckled, but waved me to continue. “So I did what all princesses did when facing the shadow man, I grabbed my favorite stuffy, shoved my pillows under my covers to mimic my body, and dashed as far away from my bed as possible.” Smiling at the memory, I instinctively looked toward my older brothers, only to find them and their betrothes listening. Lucerys was already grinning, having recalled the memory and knowing exactly what I was about to reveal about Jacaerys. 

“I had grabbed my bedside candle as a weapon. I was a heavy thing of mettle and had a wondrous handle for my little hands to hold, just in case the bodyman knew I had hidden from him and decided to come looking for me.” Grasping one of the elaborately decorated candlestick holders, I blew out the candle and shucked the wax stick off and onto the table. Mimicking the hold I had all those years ago. “The pounding was getting closer, and then my door handle started to twist and my door was creaking open. I was so scared that the bogyman was going to hear the pounding of my heart from my hiding spot.” Lucerys laughed getting ahead of my story, and Rhaena glanced at him a fond smile on her lips. “Well, the figure entered my room, a hunched thing cloaked in black. It hobbled toward my bed awkwardly, and I should have known then, but I was so scared. It was as if the spirit of Visneya herself possessed me, and I knew it was not or never. But I didn’t run.”

“No, you didn’t!” Lucaerys laughed heartily. 

“What happened?” Joffrey asked on the edge of his seat. 

“Well, I took that candlestick holder and jumped on the back of the bogyman, right as it reached my bed and threw off my covers!” Everyone laughed, and warmth flickered in my chest. “I got him by surprise, used all the might in my eight-year-old body, and tried to beat the monster to death so it wouldn’t have the chance to get my brothers!” 

“She didn’t realize it was those brothers she was trying to protect that were under the cloak!” Luce took over dramatically. Rubbing the back of his head as if he could still feel the massive goose egg I had given him, all those years ago. 

“I was screaming like a banshee, trying to get the guards in the halls to come rescue me.” I continued only to be interrupted by a chuckling Luce.

“When in reality it was Jace and I in need of rescue from our resourceful little sister.” Rhaena’s chiming laughter filled the space, as I took another sip of my wine, watching the smiling faces of my brothers and step-sisters. Even our mother and Daemon had stopped talking to listen to the memory, a faraway look on Rhaenrya’s face. 

“Anyway, so there I am, on the back of the bogyman, screaming at it for all the children of King’s Landing it haunted. Logically, I registered the screams it returned sounded a lot like Jace, but I was out for blood, and would not be fooled. In my half-conscious state, I feared the mythical demon had gotten to Jace first, so naturally I needed to exact revenge for my eldest brother.” 

“Thank you so much for that, Val.” Jace drawled from the head of the table, a grin morphing his features into something younger. 

Waving him off, I went on. “The bogyman had made it personal by gobbling up my brother.” Waving the candle holder, I reenacted beating the monster down. By now, everyone in the Great Hall was watching in fascination as I retold the story, loud enough for them all to hear.

Sure, I was having fun retelling a fond memory from a time before I had to fight every second to survive, but I was also showing the Lords and Ladies of the court my family was just like theirs, we were just like them. Unlike the cold Green Queen, Alicent. I was putting on a show, a show that said back to my family when the time came. I had a feeling it was the only reason my mother didn’t send someone over to tell me to shut up. She knew the game I was playing, knew it had the possibility of helping her, even if it brought us down to their level. 

The Targaryens and Velaryons were gods to the commonfolk. We rode dragons and commanded their breath of fire, but this story made us seem like them. Showed that behind the red walls of the Keep, we had a childhood of mischief. 

“Knowing the beast had gotten to my big, strong older brother, I doubled my efforts on beating this thing to death. I hardly registered when someone came rushing into my room and grabbed me off the cloaked monster. I didn’t know it was Dad,” I paused and cleared my throat. Joffrey probably had few memories of Dad, “Leanor,” I amended, casting a look to Rhaenys and Corlys, but they were both smiling fondly at the memory. “I thought he was a henchman of the bogyman, so I started clawing at the hands of this new monster! It wasn’t until Laenor turned me around so that I could see his face that I calmed slightly.” 

“You just stopped wacking father!” Lucaerys accused, pointing a finger at me playfully. 

Shrugging slightly, I smiled. “I was still getting revenge on you!” I pointed back. 

“You tried to kill us even with Father reassuring the bogyman wasn’t real!” Jace chuckled, his deep voice filling the room, that I had almost forgot was eagerly listening. 

“I thought it had killed you!” I pointed now at Jacaerys. “Anyhow, I somehow managed to wiggle out of Dad’s arms and launched myself at the groaning cloaked figure, but Dad caught me.” 

“She kept screaming to Leanor that the Bogyman had eaten me and probably gotten to Luce.” Mother almost smiled, but she stopped it just a the upward twitch of the corner of her lips. Daemon looked rather pleased at my actions in the story. 

“Eventually, guards filled my room and Leanor ordered them to uncloak the supposed monster, only to reveal Jace and Luce stacked on top of each other.” Joffrey snorted before doubling over in laughter. 

“Teach us right for messing with your beauty sleep, Val,” Luce called over a howl of laughter. Rhaena patted his arm as she too laughed.  

“That’s exactly what Mother said!” I snorted, rather unladylike. “ ‘Never mess with a sleeping princess. ’” I mimicked what she had told the boys that night. Amusement pitched my voice higher than usual as I remember how I slept with a candlestick holder in my bed just in case the real bogyman got mad at my brothers for impersonating him. 

“I remember the letter I received at that night.” Princess Rhaenys chipped in with a sad, soft smile as she remembered her late son. “It said, ‘My daughter will be a fierce warrior one day.’ He was so proud of you for trying to defend your brothers, Valaena.” The table grew silent at her confession before Joffery swooped in. 

“I didn’t know you could be so fun, brother.” Joffrey teased lightly down the table at Jacaerys.

Jace had the nerve to look hurt for a second before pointing to me as if it was my fault he lost his boyish shenanigans. “That is because she beat it out of me that night!” 

The whole table erupted into laughter. 

“It must have been fun to grow up here,” Joffrey spoke to me as the table quieted. Mother’s attention was pulled away as someone approached her and Daemon, pulling Jacaerys’s and Baela’s attention. 

“It had its moments.” I agreed, with a sip of wine. 

Lucaerys snorted, “ Had its moments .” He repeated me in a high-pitched girly voice, “Consider yourself lucky, Joff. Had you grown up with Val, she would have traumatized you as much as she did us!” Rhaena laughed, casting a small look toward me, pity crossing her features as she caught the same thing I did. Had you grown up with Val... But she looked away before she could fall into the same pit of sadness I danced along the lip of. 

My wine glass emptied, and I wished there was something stronger available as Luce began telling another story. One, I quickly realized, did not involve me. 

I listened with mild interest as I tried to piece Luce’s story timeline with mine. If I was correct, his story had happened around the same time my time in Braavos with Brusco had come to an end. While I had been grieving my brother, not of blood but of choice Luce, Jace, and Joffery had been growing up happy and safe. 

Fighting to keep the easy smile on my face, I downed my third glass of wine. As my brothers and their betroths told stories, I couldn’t stop my mind from tying their lives into mine, what I had been doing while they were climbing the walls of a fallen castle, or taking their maturing dragons flying over the Seven Kingdoms. 

I managed to keep the smile and laugh when the others did, but I didn’t engage much more past that. The whole affair had turned dull; the music was not loud enough, not jovial enough to dance, the crowd was too scared to approach us, and I was too stuck in my head to engage in anything. 

Chapter Text

Nineteen

Valaena 

I couldn’t stand to sit any longer. 

The stories went on, chuckles passed between my brothers and their betrotheds. 

The first time Arrax was just big enough to carry Lucerys, and they nearly took out the West Tower of the Keep, Mother had forbidden further flying until Arrax had grown another three feet. Which, according to Jace, had only taken two weeks thanks to whatever the Dragon Pit maesters were feeding the growing beast. 

An empty stomach. Sunburned skin. Dirt-coated hair.

Or the time Baela and Moondancer had flown for the first time with Jacearys and Vermax. The two green dragons dancing in the sky around each other had apparently been quite the sight to see. 

A cracking barbed whip. Pools of blood. Stinging skin that refuses to close.

Even still, as the stories went on, I couldn’t find it in myself to hate my brothers. Sure, a healthy amount of loathing and anger simmered at the thought of them living carelessly and free, but that was how they were supposed to grow up. 

How I was supposed to grow up.

Shivers of anger pranced along my spine, and my wine glass found its way back into my hand. The red spiced wine slid down my throat rather easily, considering in Braavos I had grown accustomed to drinking various unnamed fermented liquids. 

What had I done differently from my siblings to deserve the scars and trauma? Morghul grumbled a scolding sound in the back of my mind. The grumble resonated loud and clear enough in the recesses of my mind that I knew she was closer than she ought to be. 

“Some poor farmer or fisherman is going to spot you, Morgie.” I tried to shoot toward her, but the bond was still static. Close enough to push sounds, emotions, and a word or two, but not close enough for sentences. Noted. And not for the first time did I curse myself for not testing the range of the blasted connection we shared. 

Jacaerys launched into a story, drawing the attention of our table, and even Mother turned to listen, a soft smile gracing her red-stained lips as she listened to her heir. 

Pouring rain. Blistered feet. Looming mountains. 

Snatching my empty plate from the silver and gold-threaded placemat before me, I stood. Four glasses of wine on an empty stomach would do me no favors tonight. Rhaenys passed me a concerned, questioning look as I swept past her and Corlys. Her light violet eyes bounced between mine, the porcelain held tightly to my chest as if it were a plate of armor rather than a serving plate, and then to the servants hidden in the shadows whose only jobs for the night were to serve us. 

Shrugging, a disarming smile to my face, I left the safety of the high table reserved for the royal family and the Small Council. Ten years I had fought and scrounged for food, and here it was laid out on tables hardly being touched. By the gods above, I would not let that go to waste. Plus, I now had a chance to walk about the room and see who might throw their men's lives away for a chance at my hand and a step closer to the power of the Iron Throne. 

Gods, men really were the worst, especially those in seats of power. 

A large hand settled on my shoulder, startling me from my wandering, slightly misandrist thoughts. Ready to throw the man over my shoulder and slit his carotid, I pivoted slightly only to find one of the Lords in question there. 

Lord Cregan Stark stepped back the second he caught my attention, his heavy hand slipping off my shoulder, and an easy look on his rugged, admittedly handsome face. “Sorry if I startled you.” He spoke softly, depriving the nearby listeners of what I was imagining to be the beginning of a conversation. 

Even though he had taken a step away, allowing me my space, I still conceded a small step away from him. “It’s alright.” My eyes narrowed as I remembered this was one of the two lords my mother was considering tossing me to. “Did you need something, or did you simply wish to startle me?” I asked sharply.

Lord Cregan scratched his chin, “Ah,” he mused, having the gall to look slightly apologetic, “So you heard.” A statement, not a question. 

“I have no clue what you think I might have heard.” The innocent tilt of my head didn’t fool either of us. We both knew, I knew exactly what he was talking about. 

The hand that scratched his chin moved to rub the back of his head. Gods above, he was embarrassed, and something inside me decided I didn’t want to dance around the truth, not tonight. 

“Look.” I dropped the mask I had been wearing since I arrived in this blasted city. The doe-eyed glazed look evaporated into sharp eyes, the timid rounding of my shoulders straightened, and the soft airy voice I had adopted hardened. “I’m sure you are a perfectly decent man, and perhaps an even better Lord, but I have gone to hell and back for my mother, and I draw the line at arranged marriages.” Draw the line at marriage in general, but he didn’t need to know that tidbit, especially if he just wanted to get under my dress. 

He looked like he was going to say something, but I held a hand up, shushing him, and he startled, probably not used to being silenced, let alone by a woman, and continued. “Don’t take it personally, that sniveling, shriveled dick of a man, Lord Lannister, is going to hear the same thing.” 

Cregan Stark just stared at me for a second before his blank face turned into amazement and he burst out laughing. “I hope when you tell ‘that sniveling, shriveled dick of a man, Lord Lannister,’ you describe me in a slightly more flattering way.” He slapped his stomach as if to quell the too-loud bursts of laughter. 

Unsure what to do, I clutched the plate tighter to my chest, hoping it would save me from the stares of the nobles who had inched closer to hear our private conversation. Fucking hell, even my family had stopped their revealing to peer at the Lord and me.

“I take no offense at your stance, princess.” Lord Stark said, gathering hold of his emotions. “In fact, I would be in the same boat as you. Had I just arrived home from ten years of forced absence and told I was to be sold to the highest bidder like some prized mare…” He tsked, shaking his head disapprovingly.

 My lip peeled back in disgust and agreement. The bridal market among the royals was exactly like a horse sale. “I figured you wouldn’t agree to an arranged marriage, which is why I plan on wooing you right off your sturdy, capable feet.” He mused, his dark eyes quickly skimming me, not to leer, but to convey he knew I was far more capable than I was letting on.  

My brows pinched together. I had, basically, just told this Lordling to go eat shit, and he still had it in his thick skull that he could get under my skirts.

Morgual chuffed at the man, but I, once again, couldn’t help but agree.  

“I don’t like the cold.” I was at a loss for words. Words that would ward off this man, but I found I might just actually like his company, as a friend and nothing more, of course. 

Morghul sent her dislike at the mention of cold and the faint possibility of long winters. “And neither do dragons,” I added for her, then immediately cringed. Way to hide my secret bonded beast. At this point, it felt like I might as well just sing it from the rafters that I had a dragon and was, in fact, not a waste of Targaryen blood. 

He began walking toward the tables of food, prying the plate from my hands as he went and ignoring the dragon comment. Startled, I could do nothing but follow, my stomach growling slightly. “I can’t help the cold, but I can help you get what you want.” His dark eyes scanned the mountains of food as he began plucking various sweets, breads, and a few slices of honey-glazed meats onto my plate. 

“What could you possibly help me achieve that I couldn’t do on my own?” I questioned, not harshly but curiously. What did he think I wanted to begin with? 

“Your mother on the Iron Throne and Aemond off your scent.” He said nonchalantly, passing me my full plate as he grabbed a clean one for himself. 

Again, Morghul chuffed in amusement, and I laughed, gladly taking the plate and picking off it as I followed him down the tables again. 

“I’m now getting the sense that those are not what you want.” He cringed slightly, tossing me a confused glance.  

“Not even close.” I backhandedly commented, plopping a green grape in my mouth and savoring the burst of flavors. 

“So you want Aemond?” Cregan asked, rather concerned. Either at my admission that I wanted Aemond sniffing his traitorous nose near me, or that I didn’t wish for my mother sitting atop the Iron Throne as the gods and her birthright decreed.

Scoffing, I looked at him, finding him already looking at me. “What I want is to be free and away from this gods-damned drama.” Balancing the plant on my hand, I waved my free hand. “My mother’s birthright is to sit her prissy ass on that throne of melted swords, who am I to deny her?” I shrugged, then stabbed Cregan with a freshly manicured finger. “And what you want is to be in her good graces.” I pushed my finger harder into his chest, finding a surprising wall of muscle resisting me. He took a tiny step back. “So swear loyalty, bend the knee, or whatever she wants, and give her access to your army of northmen.” Removing my finger from his chest, I looked him in the eye, a stern expression on my face as I backed away from him. “Got it?” 

My demands floated into his ears and rattled around, I knew because I could see it happening past his lovestruck puppy brown eyes. “I just decided right here, I’d do whatever you asked me.” He said, capturing the hand that had been smashing into his broad, solid chest, and planted a kiss on the back of it. 

He let my hand fall stiffly between us before bouncing away, plate stacked full of meats and bread. Ugh, men were so weird. 

Plate full of food I would actually eat, I returned to my seat. Rhaena wasted no time, turned to me with a grin, pulling at her wine-happy cheeks, “Making acquaintances?” I could see the hope in her eyes, that her calm words had sunk past Baela’s harsh words, and I was getting to know the man she had proclaimed my mother wished to wed me to. 

Tearing into a lump of bread and shoving a slice of cheese in with it, hoping the unladylike display would cause Rhaena to sit back out of my space, but it didn’t. Swallowing, I lifted a single corner of my lips, “Gathering an army.” 

Rhaena startled at that. Her perfectly trimmed brows furrowed, but no words escaped her lips as I stood once again. Only this time it was not to prance about with the common nobles, but to have a word with my mother. 

Daemon sensed my approach, his shoulders tensing, hand falling to Dark Sister, who was strapped to his side, as it always was. Grinning a the action, as if he would have time to draw that mighty blade before I had slit his and my mother’s throats. 

Dropping to a single knee between Daemon and my mother, so that I was no ear level with the duo, I spoke. “I have secured the Northern army of Lord Stark.” A pause, the taunt too tempting to leave unsaid. “No forced marriage necessary.” Pushing to my feet, I nodded to past Daemon to Lord Cregan, ignoring my mother as she had done to me my whole life. The young lord nodded back. Wonderful, it was all agreed upon then. 

Stepping away from my supposed parents, my mother’s soft, uncalloused hand grabbed my wrist and gently pulled me back toward her. I could have easily yanked myself free, but curiosity and four glasses of wine implored me to stay and listen. 

“How did you do this?” She sounded somewhat amazed, and was that a tinge of pride in her voice? 

“With my winning personality, of course.” Smiling, I shook off her touch then, but once again couldn’t help myself. “Imagine all I could have done for you had I been here.” I shrugged, “Guess we’ll never know now.” 

Daemon scoffed, shaking his head at my obvious disrespect, but the hand that had oh so casually been resting on Dark Sister moved to grip his wife’s hand. “Take this win, my love.” His violet eyes flickered to mine, a pensive look on his face, “Thank you, daughter.” 

Scoffing under my breath, I looked away and returned to my seat. A mountain of food and another glass of wine or two was calling my name. 

~

Dinner had long passed, and many nobles were looking bored out of their minds, still drunk but bored; a rather dangerous combination, considering how many rivaling Houses sat within the increasingly shrinking room. However, no one dared leave, as the King had yet to arrive. 

A few nobles had taken to finding dance partners to pass the time, trying and failing to find the rhythm in the too soft music despite standing in front of the musicians. Others had taken to gorging themselves on leftover food and the bottomless barrels of imported wine, as Aegon had. 

Jacaerys and Lucaerys had run out of stories to tell, their voices dimmed, and the table became muted with hushed discussion I was not privy to despite sitting directly between the conversing royals. It had transformed into a dull affair rather rapidly. 

Helaena had arrived an hour or so ago, the tiny hands of her twins clutched in hers as she directed them to their grandmother, the queen. Alicent had perked up at the arrival of her only daughter and her grandchildren, her pale hands reaching out to greet them. 

Swirling the sixth glass of wine I had been nursing for what felt like hours, I looked away from Helaena and the Queen, swinging my gaze back to the Hall of lords and ladies. As much as I yearned to join them and try to find a stimulating conversation, I dared not move from my seat. Not when Lord Lannister’s beady eyes tracked every fidget of movement I made, as if he was possessed by a starved dog, and I was the last tenderized steak left in the kingdom.. 

He was shameless in his study of me, puffing out his chest every time my eyes passed over his vague direction. Preening under my bored wandering gaze as if I was truly checking him out. I would speak to him as I spoke to Lord Stark, perhaps not as friendly, but still, Lord Lannister needed to know my hand would never be wed to him. 

Gods above, he was disgusting. 

So I stayed seated, contenting myself with watching others interact and trying to ignore my mother's calculated gaze that would periodically fall on my slightly intoxicated form. 

Eventually, I retreated into my mind, finding solace in the tense bond stretching between Morghul and me. I could feel her, feel her approach, and distant boredom as she flew ever so slowly to me. 

I knew I wouldn’t be able to reach her as I yearned to, but still I tried. Concentration stretched my mind as I tried to pierce the thinning veil between us, but to no avail. Distance might be the physical boundary separating us, but it was my own hubris that had gotten me into this mess. And now that my family knew for certain that I was alive and seemingly well, there was no disappearing back to where Morghul had insisted we stay for the rest of our lives. 

A soft groan vibrated in my throat as I imagined where Morghul lurked. There was no doubt she had left the Painted Mountains, as I was able to somewhat feel her, but where her lazy journey brought her? Had she passed the rolling golden hills of the Rhoyne? Had she cast her shadow over the free cities on the western coast of Essos? Or perhaps she was closer than I imagined, the Narrow Sea where the mist could coat her incandescent scale, and the shadow of the clouds under the moon could hide her hulking figure. 

Gods above, I missed her. Or maybe the wine induced me to miss her. Either way, I missed the warth that radiated off her scales and even her annoyed commentary and opinions. Focusing with every ounce of concentration I could find in my wine-addled body, I shot one word to my beast, “Bored.” She only snorted in response. 

Glaring at the wine glass, I put it down. These thoughts were not going to help me here. In fact, this whole feast had turned out to be a bust. Sure, I had found an ally in Lord Cregan Stark, but I had a feeling he would have come crawling to me eventually, but everyone else seemed to lay their loyalty at the feet of whoever they deemed the strongest. 

Just as I shoved the table, screeching my chair from its resetting position, the gods reminded me how much they disfavored me. King Viserys entered the Great Hall. Leaning heavily on a wooden cane that had been intricately laced with gold and silver, the King shuffled into the massive room. Two maesters followed behind him dutifully as he slowly, painfully slowly, shuffled to his massive thronelike seat.

Wonderful.

He was dressed in ill-fitting, gaudy clothing. His tunic was brightly dyed yellow in a failed attempt to mimic gold; the harsh color washed out his ghostly complexion, highlighting his semi-bald, stringy hair. One arm clutched the cane, while the other swung with each step of his movement, reminding the room of his decayed and amputated arm. A heavy gold mask hung from his head, covering the rotting side of his face; it slipped every so often, caught only by the maesters behind him. 

He was a mess. How in all the realms of hell was he able to even move in this state? Each inhale sounded painful, each exhale felt like his last, but he kept moving. A snail reaching for the last of morning's dew. 

Mother was out of her seat the instant her father entered the room, shooing off a single maester so she could take her place on the King’s right. Alicent, noticeably, didn’t move to help her husband. I couldn’t help but feel for the Queen. She had been a victim when her father, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, had ordered her to seduce he king. She had been a child bride, and her rise in status had ended her friendship with Rhaenyra. However, Alicent’s actions since then … 

Shaking my head, I slung back the final drop in my wine glass, knowing I would need it should I have to entertain the King and his guests. Mother helped the old king to his chair before setting a plate full of food that I knew he could not eat in front of him. 

King Viserys, as predicted, ignored to food, favoring to cast his eldest daughter a decayed smile and then took several strained deep breaths, building up to his address. 

“Nobles of the Seven Kingdoms,” He heaved. “I welcome you to the Red Keep as we celebrate,” A wet cough, “the long-awaited return of my granddaughter.” Viserys cut off abruptly, reaching for the goblet in front of him. He took several gulps, most of the liquid spilling out from under the gold plate concealing the blackened side of his face. 

“Valaena.” The king suddenly heaved the summons, slamming the goblet down. “Come, tell us of your travels!” He tried to sound joyous, tried to twist the punishment I did not deserve into a grand story of travel and adventure. 

Shaking off my disgust, I rose from the chair I had yearned to escape from all night and fell into another sort of prison. A medium-sized space had been cleared in front of Viserys, enough room for the crowd to single me out as I stood before the King, but not enough room for me to retreat away from his stench. 

Wine churned in my gut as I braved several steps closer to my grandsire. Reaching over the table, I grabbed his singular rotting hand and quickly kissed the large gold ring, showing my loyalty to not only him, but the Iron Throne. 

Don’t throw up, I begged my stomach. Pull yourself together. 

“My King,” I managed, taking a calculated step away from him, “There is too much to tell.” Smiling sharply, I looked down my mother’s side of the table, testing their face to see if I could find an ounce of regret, but they had all slipped into their court masks of disinterested, yet attentive listening. 

The king nodded, as if he understood the challenges I faced. He lifted his hand, a single crooked finger raised. “Share one thing, only then.” He managed to say, before dropping his hand as if it were weighed down by the gold bars hidden under the Keep. “One thing, and we shall stop pestering you!” He joked, a smile finding its way into his usually strained voice. His eyes shone with something akin to regret as he painted over the trauma he must have known I suffered, as he transformed it into a show for the court.

My heart clenched at his attempted familiarity. Despite his duties as the King of the Seven Kingdoms, he was still my grandsire, and he had not forgotten that. I had been a warning to the nobles that not even the Royal family escaped the consequences of their actions. An obligation to prove he was not the softhearted man the small council tried to paint him as. Even still, he, and he alone, seemed to be truthfully apologetic for his part in my lack of upbringing. 

All feast I had been thinking of things to share, knowing this moment would happen at some point. But only having to share one was a dream, a blessing. 

Dipping my head slightly, the loose strands of silver hair fell over my shoulder. Turning from the King, I spoke to the room as I maneuvered between he tables to the musicians that had ceased their mindless playing upon the entrance of Viserys, “The music of Braavos has been something I miss dearly.” Then to the musicians, “If you will allow it, I would love to show the court a simple festival dance.” Smiling, I looked toward the King. 

As we waited for Viserys to gather the breath to answer, my gaze darted toward Alicent. She was watching me, her green eyes calculating my every move, filing away every word. 

“A dance, how lovely!” The king managed, before falling into a coughing fit. Mother reached toward him, a satin napkin in hand, but Viserys pushed her away, using his sleeve to wipe away the spittle from his lips. 

Bowing slightly again, I tuned to the room. There would not be enough room for everyone to join should the king order everyone to dance. “Excuse me, Lords and Ladies,” I addressed the room, “For this dance, we will need these tables cleared from the center of the room.” My voice projected off the walls, as I gestured to the three packed full center tables. No one moved. 

It was only when Jacaerys moved from the Royal table, clasping Cregan on the shoulder, that people seemed to move. Tables were pushed flush against walls and other tables, and benches were shoved out of the way. 

“Is this enough room, princess?” Cregan asked, stepping around the crowds of now unseated nobles. 

Examining the room, I nodded, “I believe so.” Ignoring his grin at my acknowledgment, I turned back to the musicians. “It is a string and winds sound,” I explained lamely. I had never been good at explaining music, but rather feeling it and letting the tune sway where it took me next. 

“If you don’t mind, can I show you the rhythm?” I held my hand toward the violin, hoping the man wouldn’t cause too much of a fight as I asked for the expensive extension of him. “I promise to be careful with it.” 

He hesitated only a second longer before passing it to me. 

The first few notes were rough, but soon the rhythm found its way back to me. The first time I heard this song was my first summer with Brusco. 

~

“Come, Val! It’s the Summer Festival!” Brusco shouted to me as he weaved between the moving crowds.

I didn’t know what the Summer Festival was, but judging by the mass amounts of people, it was important to the citizens of Braavos. Brusco was still somewhat of a stranger; we had only known each other for a couple of moons, but he had taught me to survive, and for that, I owed him everything.

So, when he woke me before the sun had risen with a poke on the forehead and told me to dress in my finest colors, I obliged him. My finest clothes fitted over my leathers that Daemon had made and gifted me the night before I was banished, perfect for if Brusco and I ran into trouble, which was undoubtedly going to happen. If I had learned anything about the boy, it was that he attracted trouble at an alarming rate.

“Come on! Hurry or we will miss it.” The urgency in his voice had me racing out the door, ready for whatever danger was awaiting us. Brusco dragged me out of the edge of the city slums into the center of the city.

The area was arranged in bright colors, stalls from all around the world, and trinkets spread on every surface. Woven brightly colored rugs covered the dirt and stone-packed ground, inviting those who could afford it to walk on them. Music sounded from nearly every corner, and people danced in large crowds, but Brusco pulled me away from them, seemingly searching for something specific.

“Ahh, here it is!” The music started softly with just a few flutes, and several people linked arms, spinning, but not doing much else. “Join me!” Brusco didn’t wait for a response before he snatched my hand and yanked me into a small circle.

An elderly woman grabbed my other hand, closing the circle. Suddenly, the music crescendos and everyone began clapping and spinning. There was an obvious rhythm, but I couldn’t find it yet. 

Clumsily, I bumped into several people, but no one shouted at me; instead, they grabbed my hands and helped me find what I was supposed to do.

I found myself in the hands of the elderly woman, “It’s a flower dance!” She cheered, hopping from foot to foot as she felt the music, releasing one hand to spin me in a circle, causing a giggle to escape my lips.

The Flower Dance was so different from the strict dances I had been forced to learn at the Keep. It was a loosely choreographed dance of freedom. 

Once I found the beat, the dance became fun.

Brusco and I found each other throughout the dance, grins stretching painfully across our cheeks as we wove between the people who usually chased us away. It was the first time I truly had fun and felt safe since I arrived on the hot shores of Essos.

~

The other musicians joined in after a few moments, easily finding the simple beat of the music. I went through a shortened version of the music, hoping to sear the rhythm into the minds of the musicians. When we came to an end, loud applause erupted throughout the room. Turning to the smiling crowd, I mocked a dramatic bow, “It’s a flower dance,” I supplied, thinking of the woman who had first guided me through the now familiar dance, “It can be as long or as short as you desire. During the summer festivals, it would go on all day, pausing briefly only to switch out musicians.” 

Now for the hard part, I needed at least six people to show everyone the dance. Wiping my clammy hands on the elegant skirts of the dress, Margery had shoved me into I scanned the room, searching for anyone who might be willing to join. 

Cregan and Jace stepped forward together, their friendship obvious. “Jace,” I called. “Would you mind grabbing Baela and helping me with this dance?” He raised an inquisitive brow, “It requires at least six participants.” Smiling sweetly at my eldest brother, I watched as he did as I asked, even grabbing Luce and Rhaena. 

Cregan stepped forward, as if he was going to offer himself as the sixth and final person for the dance, only for Helaena to come out of nowhere. The young princess wore a gown of flowing soft blue satin, the colors belonging to House Arryn, but it didn’t seem the princess cared. I assumed the soft color was her favorite, and no one had the heart to tell the delicate princess not to wear the color, as it was pledged to my mother. 

“I would like to join.” She paused, wringing her hands nervously, as if expecting me to reject or ignore her. “If that is alright.” 

Offering the princess, who had once been my dearest friend, a soft smile, I nodded. “Of course,” Linking our arms, I guided her to my Mother’s side of the royal table. Daeron openly glared at what he assumed was a ploy. 

Stopping in front of my youngest brother, I spoke to Helaena. “Do you mind dancing with Joffery?” Leaning close to the princess, I whispered conspiringly, “He can be awfully shy.” 

Helaena smiled, her shoulders untensing as I included her, “I would be honored.” 

“Joffery, if you would be so kind as to join Helaena in this dance?” 

My younger brother looked nervously at our mother, either unwilling to dance or unsure if he was allowed to interact with the green princess. But mother only nodded, her lips pulling into a fond smile as she looked at her nervous, younger half-sister. 

It was no secret that Rhaenyra had a soft spot for her sweet sister, finding problems only in her conniving half-brothers. 

Joffrey stood, extending a hand to his aunt. The pair met the others in the large empty space, which I had designated as a makeshift dancefloor. Cregan stood on the fringes of the crowd, watching with amused eyes. 

Knowing I would need a partner, I begrudgingly stuck my hand out to him as I passed, which he took eagerly. “Don’t be too pleased with yourself,” I murmured to the Lord who was admittedly gowing on me. Like dragonscale, I thought with a snort. “I needed a partner, and I know you.”

He grinned, “So, it's working?” 

Barley containing an eyeroll, I signaled for the musicians to begin. “The structure of the dance is loosely based on a flower, hence its name,” I explained to my family and Lord Stark, and the eagerly listening room. 

Grabbing Cregan’s hand and Helaena’s, I told everyone to do the same, “Every other person move in, release hands with the person who is not your partner and spin out.” They did as I asked, following my lead, admittedly rather clumsily. Was this how I looked to the old woman? 

Spinning out, I clapped my hands over my right shoulder on beat. The others followed, their spines too straight from the formal dance lessons that had been drilled into us young. “Then you follow the rhythm and kinda just spin around,” I said over my movement. 

Spinning, I let the motion pull my arms over my head. No one copped, the men still in the center of the flower looking rather uncomfortable. So I spun to Helaena, who was grinning unabashedly. 

Grabbing her hands, I moved her with me, loosely following the same basic motions I had shown the others. Her sharp giggle traveled around the room. At the sound, her twins broke free from the watching crowd and shimmied between us. 

Releasing Helaena’s hands, I grasped Jaehaera’s, including her and her twin into the dance. As soon as we went through the dance with the twins, they had found the rhythm, breaking off from the mother and her children. I spun, clapping toward my brothers and their betrothes who were trying to find the joy of the music as Helaena had done. 

“Less thinking,” I supplied to them, as I snatched Cregan’s hand as he was trying to fade back into the crowd, content to watch and skim out on the duty he had unknowingly volunteered for. “I don’t think so.” 

Once the royals had found the rhythm, they began pulling in nobles they knew into the dance flower. The flow of the music easily ate at the intoxicated room, dulling everyone’s fear of each other and the growing tensions between the dragonriders. 

I wish I could say I was immune to the lure of alcohol, but I found myself enjoying the moment and the dance, my walls slipping slightly as the memories of the early days of Braavos flooded my mind. 

Cregan continued to try and spin toward me, usually going against the grain of the other dancers, but I knew the flow better and easily avoided him. A cat and mouse game amongst two intoxicated people trying to find footing in a newly blooming friendship. 

I couldn’t help but laugh as a newly widowed noblewoman who had made it abundantly clear she was in the market for a new husband snatched Cregan’s hand, pulling him into her orbit. He tried to snake out of her grasp, but not quickly enough. A laugh burst out of me as I watched his carefully crafted polite mask slide into place as he engaged the woman in quick conversation as she spun him about the room. 

Ladies were passed from Lord to Lord as everyone spun around the room. The small dance floor I had made, growing in size as more tables were pushed together. 

I passed through several Lord’s hands, most of whom tried to speak to me, but the cheers of the room were far too loud to hear anything of substance, and the dance too short to become anything as I was twirled away to the waiting hands of some other Lord. Which was part of the reason I had chosen to show the court this specific dance. 

I didn’t mind the brief touches necessary for the dance; in fact, I welcomed them. Happy memories of the two Summer Festivals Brusco and I had shared flashed before my eyes. For the first time, since I had washed up on the gods forsaken lands of my home, I felt ever so at ease with the situation I had purposely strong-armed myself into. The wine flowed through my veins, pushing me to spin faster, kicking up my skirts as they flared out, the small gold detailing catching in the flickering light of the room. 

Everything was good, at least in this small moment, I allowed myself. And then I was caught by rough, large hands. The meaty fingers curled around my hands possessively, drawing me against the flow of the dance, causing me to stumble slightly as I avoided the bodies of the other dancers. 

I followed the hand up red, gold, detailed velvet, past broad shoulders and a stubbled chin, and finally to the yellow-stained teeth of Jason Lanniser. Tugging my arm, I tried to escape the rough, unwelcome touch that pulled me from the dance. 

“Let’s not be like that, Princess,” the blonde bimbo of a Lord shouted over the roaring crowd as he yanked me away from everyone and behind a large stone pillar. No one stopped him as I tried to escape his vice grip. A few lords even smiled and laughed as he dragged me past. 

It was like this was a common thing for Lord Lannister to do to women. 

Gross. 

Morghul growled in my mind, and I couldn’t help but agree. 

Jason Lannister pulled me toward the darkest part of the room, near the abandoned tables of food. The large stone pillar dug into my back as he slammed me against it before releasing me and taking a few steps back. A mistake he would forever remember. 

“I just want to talk to you. One on one.” The Lord, only a few steps away from me, held his hands up as if trying to calm a wild horse that had escaped the pasture. The soft, better-than-you grin on his lips showed off his chipped yellow teeth. 

Rubbing my wrists where he had yanked me behind him like a stubborn mule, I glared at the lord. My head was swimming as it fought off the excitement of the crowd and the lingering effects of the wine I had indulged in.

“You did not have to be a brute about it.” I snapped my words dulled. Gods, this was a shit show. 

He mockingly bowed slightly, glazed over eyes never leaving me. “My deepest apologies, I did not know another way to remove you without causing a scene. A scene I am sure you would have wished to avoid as well?” Straightening, the man took a minuscule step toward me. 

Reacting to the step, I pressed myself further into the pillar as if I could escape him; my head was spinning. Morghul chuffed, unhelpfully annoyed at the situation I had found myself in. I could feel the strain she placed on the bond as she tried to watch the scene play out, but the distance blocked her. 

Nodding slightly, I lowered my hands, brushing the concealed dagger beneath my skirts. “What could you possibly have to say to me at this very moment, my Lord?” The title slipped off my tongue with disgust. The tone caught by the lord, who looked eager to take advantage of the situation he had placed us in. 

His chest puffed out slightly as he tried to ignore the harsh use of his title. “Our future,” He paused, taking another step toward me, “Together.”