Chapter Text
Dusk’s coiled tail retained its immobility for the duration of the long silence, head still upon her long limbs. Her collected demeanour should have been no surprise, the she-dragon had been born with the same peculiar enduring attitude his sister possessed. It oft made him wonder at why she’d chosen him. The least suited, objectively to her calm temper and unbroken tranquillity. Even now, in the face of his tremendous distress and acute misery, she regarded him through heavy-lidded eyes, as though the procession bored her.
Aenar turned his gaze to the woman standing before him. In the moonlight, her skin seemed paler, her already drawn face starker. “You do not understand,” he insisted, hand still upon her shoulders. “I am not going to the Free Cities. I care little for the likes of Lys and Pentos. I am going to the Freehold of Valyria.”
“We can work aught out, brother,” she answered, keeping a steady gaze upon his face. How he hated her in that moment. “You know the dangers that lie ahead. You could leave for a little while. Your absence would hardly be noticed and by the time you return, all shall be buried and forgotten. But to fly to Valyria, all on your own; that is too much.” The purse of Aemma’s lips eased when he realised her shoulders. “If there is aught you wish to tell me, I am here.”
“You always have been,” he muttered. “I do not want to be like you, sister. Always there. I am not like that. I am not Aemon either, nor Jaehaerys. The realm does not interest me. Maelor has his harp and Daeg his poetry. What do I have?” Something flashed in her eyes. Being twins had certain perks. There were times when he could take her meaning without her speaking, and there were instances in which her feelings were so clear and strong he felt them as well. “I just want something of my own. Is that so very unacceptable?”
“Why did you not tell father from the beginning?” She sat down upon the stone bench once more, fingers tracing the patterns upon her kirtle. “He would not have refused.” Aenar stopped to consider. Why hadn’t he told the King?
“How could I have?” He sat down as well, the satchel strapped to his back sagging as the bonds slackened. “Mother would have been heartbroken, and nowhere near willing to allow me to leave. This could be it for me. I can feel it.”
“A treacherous path,” she warned, though the seedling of understanding did not go unmissed. “What awaits you in those ruins? Do you recall when Ser Jaime told us about Gerion Lannister? He wanted an adventure, riches and such. He never returned. Aurion never returned, taking his host with him the gods know where. And you would leave on your own. With no one to watch your back.”
He sighed. “There is hardly anyone I could ask. Unless you offer to come along.” Dusk chose that moment to rise, her head lifting as she looked to the horizon. “And I would not expose you to such danger anyway. You are my dearest sister.”
“Replying that I was your only sister would have been most satisfying as responses go. I shall have to settle for, I am your twin, ‘tis natural I be dearest to you.” Aemma took his hand in hers, gripping him tightly. “We shared a womb, we shared a childhood. You would not share an adventure with me as well? And if not with me, then with whom? If you go on your own, you shan’t return.”
“I find your lack of faith disturbing.” Nevertheless, he could see that she would not back out. “But if you truly mean to do this, then I suggest we waste no more time.” Dawn, who had been up until that point pecking at her own wings, flapped the aforementioned appendages, as though to show her joy at the prospect of taking flight. “Or might be ‘twould not be such a bright idea after all. They might believe you’ve been spirited away.”
“Naught as dramatic.” His sister, lifted the cloak wrapped around her shoulders to reveal she’d packed her own satchel. “My poor brother, the meaning of subtlety is lost on you.”
“I will have you know, I know everything there is to know about subtlety.” He stared pointedly at the disbelief she exhibited.
“Might be how to write it.” Her deadpan response did not exactly lift his mood, but it made the situation easier to digest. He would be a liar to deny it. “Would that you had trusted me with this before.”
“You would have tried to stop me.” Like she just had.
Aemma nodded without a shred of shame. “Aye. For good reason. But I might have had more time to compose a coherent explanation for mother and father. Do you realise I have had to write in under an hour a few pages’ worth of justification. I can only hope ‘tis convincing.” Laughter followed. The sort which made his heart drop in his stomach.
“I shudder to ask, but what is so amusing?” His eyebrow raised, Aenar tried his best impression of authority. “Aemma, I should like an answer.”
“Naught. I just,” she trailed off with a soft sigh, I suppose I just thought, for the longest time, that if anyone was to sneak off in the middle of the night on some grand adventure, it would be Rhaella.” He could see her point.
“She would have stolen a ship. We, at least, have our dragons.” They both laughed at that. “What am I saying? Velaryon would have had that ship prepared for her without a peep of protest. I find that even more disturbing. What is it with the willingness of men to put up with you lot?”
“I wouldn’t know, I am not a man.” She stood and approached Dawn. “What do you say, girl, shall we be off now, before anyone realises we’re gone?”
Sneaking off on the back of gigantic dragons was a lot harder than people credited.
Baelle was making faces at Rhaemon, ignoring the scowling Daena on her other side. Elaena was steadying a book in one hand, the other hand preoccupied with guiding a raspberry tart to her lips. She nearly missed the mark, and would have undoubtedly been covered in crumbs and thick jam were it not for her realising the danger she’d exposed herself, and her book to.
“Must you bring your reading material to the table?” Lyanna questioned. Elaena, as was her custom, ignored the criticism. “And you, Baelle, leave your brother to his food. Rhaemon, truly, you are no longer a babe.” Her youngest son pouted. She bit back a sigh and shifted Rhae upon her other knee. The girl sneezed, showing no mercy to the delicate embroidery decorating her kirtle. At the very least no one else had caught her head cold.
“But mother, it’s so very boring,” Baelle complained. “And Rhaemon is enjoying himself, aren’t you, little brother.” The babe nodded vigorously, clearly enthralled with the attention he was getting. Her daughter’s head pressed against her chest, distracting her momentarily. “Besides,” Baelle continued, “I too have to entertain myself somehow.” When she looked up she was her staring at Elaena. “’Tis not as though I have anyone to speak to,”
Whatever spat had driven a wedge between her and Daena, no amount of pestering would solve it. Lyanna drew in a sharp breath and hoped she was not feeling the beginnings of a headache. A bevy of daughters was, strangely enough, turning out to be harder to manage than a yardfull of sons. However had said daughter were angelic presences in one’s life had clearly never met any of her offspring. Forsooth they would have run for the hills. “Have any of you seen Aemma?”
“I reckon she sleeps yet,” Daena offered at long last. By way of explanation, the girl shrugged her shoulders and murmured, “Last I saw her, she’d been collecting a fresh well full of ink she’d left in the library.” Books yet again. At times she could swear half the children were perfect copies of their father as far as habits went.
“That makes no sense,” Elaena intervened, lowering her book so she might make eye contact. “Aemma rarely sleeps in late. I reckon she got Rhae’s head cold.” Plausible as it was frightening.
Turning to one of her ladies, Lyanna consoled herself that she’d be disturbing the woman’s meal for a good cause. “Be so kind and see how my daughter fares and what exactly delays her arrival.”
And with that, all there was left to do was to wait. Which Lyanna did with characteristic impatience, her foot tapping away beneath the table and its cloth. Rhae’s shifting accompanies her movement, along with Rhaemon and Baelle’s drowned conversation. It would be a miracle if that headache was absent for long.
Her wait was at and end when her lady returned. It took very little power of observation to deduce that her grimacing visage was sign of bad news. Lyanna tensed, waiting for the other shoe to fall, as it were.
“Your Majesty, the Princess,” her companion stuttered, stumbling over almost every syllable. “She’d gone.”