༻♕༺

𝕿𝐇𝐄 𝕭𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝕭𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝕿𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 || 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆
𝟖ᵗʰ 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 || 𝟏𝟐𝟕 𝐀𝐂

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓 𝕸𝖆𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖆'𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖉𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘, herself, stands before the vanity, looking at herself in the polished mirror with her head slightly tilted.

   In the past year since Daeron left the capital, she'd begun to flourish into a beautiful young woman as her growing body filled out its perfect curves all the ladies at royal court envied–even at only four- and-ten.

   The inhumane beauty of the Valyrians, she were, indeed.

   Behind her, Salna braids her hair, weaving the silver through the dark brown intricately.

Delicate birdsongs ripple through the windows, mingling with the salty yet cool ocean breeze drifting from the Blackwater, gilded rays spilling across the walls–bathing the room in pale gold light.

'Tis a warm and beautiful day.

And the soft chatter of the young women fills the room, smiling as they talked about simple matters–the gossip of royal court, what Maela intends to do with the day, among others things.

"I heard from some of the servants Lord Florent intends to court Lady Kaithlyn Hawthorne."

"Oh?" Maela quirks a perfectly curved brow, the edges of her sweet lips curving slightly with an amused smirk, "The fox and the thorns entwined with flowers. That should prove quite interesting."

Salna giggles, "It would seem."

   'Tis then, Maela remembers the Florents share blood with the Queen and her children. For Alicent's mother, her cousins' grandmother, 'twere the Lady Alyrie Florent.

   A mere ghost in the halls of the Red Keep, hardly ever spoken of. She thinks it pains her Queen to remember her late mother, a pain she 'tis sorrowfully familiar with.

   "So," Salna's russet irises gleam with mischief in the golden hue blanketing the chamber, "have any letters from your thousands of suitors finally piqued your interest yet, Princess?"

Maela huffs a breath, "I think the entire world would know if one did. 'Tis all quite annoying, really. I know none of these men wish to marry me for me, only my dragon and my name."

"It is our poor luck as women in this world."

A hum ripples through Maela's chest, "Why should it be so? Why should men rule over the world and choose all the rules simply because they have the... the pillar and the stones between their legs?"

With a gentle shrug of her shoulders, Salna shakes her head, "I do not know, Princess. Those ways were decided long before you or I."

"Well.. then, mayhaps its time for a change."

The princess and the maiden's eyes meet in the mirror, and Salna smiles so sweetly, so full of pride, at the young yet so wise girl, "I believe many out there in this world would agree with you, Princess. Now, what do you intend to do with this beautiful day?"

Maela hums thoughtfully, twisting and turning her silver rings. "I don't know, honestly. I might walk with Helaena in the gardens after breakfast, 'tis far too pleasant a day to stay inside, I think."

Grinning, Salna weaves the last of the braids then angles them along the sides of her princess' head toward the back where they come together in a circle of pearlescent silver–pinned together with bejeweled silver pins.

   "There," she says.

   Admiring the beautiful style, tracing the braids with the tips of her fingers, Maelera smiles. "Thank you, my friend." Then she leaves her chambers to join her family for breakfast in the Queen's solar.

Ser Criston 'tis there–stood at his post outside the double doors–to greet her with a grin and a respectful bow of his head. "Good morrow, Princess."

She greets him, as well, with a smile carrying more warmth than the sun, "Good morrow, Ser Criston." He opens the door behind him, and Ser Melvan joins the young Kingsguard knight once his sworn princess walks into the chamber.

Within the sun-drenched room, Maela finds lovely Alicent and her children awaiting for her at the round table–a variety of dishes laid across its surface. From trays of bread with butter and jam, to sizzling bacon, boiled eggs, and smoked fish, and various bowls of numerous fruit. 'Tis a mouth-watering selection.

"Maela," Alicent smiles.

"Good morrow," Maela greets her family, walking around the table to kiss Alicent then Helaena upon the cheek before she sits upon the cushioned seat between her princes–her usual place during family meals.

Once she 'twere seated and a napkin laid upon her lap, the children cup their hands and bow their heads as Alicent begins her prayers, "May the Mother smile down on this day and grace my children with her love. May the Crone continue to shine her light and guide my son in his path so far from home. And may the Warrior shield us from the wrath of our foes."

   Maela decides to enjoy bread smeared with jam, a slice of bacon, a handful of grapes along with the sour yet sweet apple cider shipped in from Oldtown this morning.

   "'Tis a beautiful summer day, my darlings, what do you plan to do with it after your lessons?" Alicent asks her children with a gentle smile.

   "The blue will bind the tethers," Helaena mutters to herself, sipping on her water. Though, before Maelera could truly absorb her words, Aegon speaks up, "I might fly with Sunfyre after training."

Maela smiles, "Would you mind for some company?"

"If its you? Never, Maela," he mirrors her grin. She giggles.

   Tossing a grape between her lips and popping it with her teeth, its bittersweet juices flooding her tongue, she turns her gaze to sweet Hel beside her mother, "Would you like to walk the gardens with me after breakfast?"

   Smiling so brightly, Helaena nods.

   And so, after breaking their fast together, the boys went with Ser Criston to the training yard, whilst the girls trekked down the winding stairwells to the Royal Gardens to share a stroll before Helaena's lessons.

   The floral breeze tousles the stray tendrils of their flowing hair, leaving its crisp kisses upon their bare skin as they walk with leisure strides, arm in arm, admiring the scenery surrounding them.

   'Tis serene, with birdsongs and peafowl calls drifting through the air, walking by terraces where young ladies sit and gossip over sweetened tea and occasionally passing others whom decided to take advantage of this beautiful morning and stroll through the gardens, as well–all bowing their heads to their princesses in respect.

   Silence envelopes the air around the young girls for several long minutes, until they come across a bundle of lilacs entwined with green hedges trimmed into the shapes of dragons. A blue jay soars overhead, bright blue wings fluttering rapidly against the wind.

   "The blue will bind the tethers," Helaena mutters, watching the bird fly away.

   Looking at her cousin with a curious furrow between her brows, Maela suddenly remembers those 'twere the very words she uttered seven years ago when she first met sweet Hel–spoken after she had asked her and Aegon if they had dragons of their own.

   The only blue dragons of their time 'twere young Tessarion and Dreamfyre, perhaps Silverwing, as well, though from the accounts she's read, she 'twere more of a silvery she-dragon with blue dragonfire.

   Mayhaps a gentle soul like Helaena 'tis meant to bind the tethers of the rider and dragon bond with a dragon like Dreamfyre whose never known the hardships of war.

   The Blue'd been hatched during the reign of the Conqueror–thus making her nearly a century old–and ridden by Aegon I's granddaughter, Princess Rhaena Targaryen.

   She is, as well, a she-dragon whose flown all across Westeros, as far south as the Red Mountains of Dorne to Oldtown and Fair Isle, to the Fingers and the Mountains of the Moon.

   "Shall we take a visit to the Dragonpit?"

   Hel's lavender gaze meets Maela's with surprise rippling through those depths that see across centuries and the stars, themselves, but Maela only grins so knowingly at her.

The younger princess nods with a smile on her poppy-pink lips, squeezing her cousin's arm in silent gratitude, for always listening to her, for always understanding her.

Thus, the young girls return to the keep to call upon a royal wheelhouse, then, venture through the streets of the capital to the Dragonpit with Ser Melvan and Ser Willis Fell trailing in the carriage's shadow upon horses.

Arriving at the notorious pit perched atop the Hill of Rhaenys, they trek up the numerous pale stone steps, through the daunting bronze gates like the jaws of a dragon, itself, and down into the humid caverns beneath.

   Though only Aemond knew this–for some days he 'twould join her–Maela often ventures into the caverns sunk deep within the hillside, carved into a great ring, either in the hour of the eel or after the boys' lessons to stroll through the stone halls or to visit with the few dragons nested beneath the pit.

   The day her uncle told her that she was one of the ancient and glorious Dragonborn, Maela read all she could about them, learning that Aenar and Aegon the Conqueror had been the only recorded Dragonborns to come before her after the Doom of Valyria, and the legendary dragonlords were said to have a connection with all dragons. Maela found those words to be the truth several years ago.

The six dragons beneath the pit–Syrax, Seasmoke, Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, Vermax, and young Arrax–never once brought harm upon the young princess whenever she would wonder into their nests in the early hours of the night and stroke their snouts.

Some nights she would curl up by their necks with a book and read for hours.

But Maela 'twas always intelligent enough to not provoke the dragons, knowing when they wished to be left alone and respecting their wishes... as she and anyone else should.

Especially after the she-dragons, Syrax and Dreamfyre, would lay fresh clutches of eggs–dragon mothers were very protective of their young, many of the new Dragonkeepers only learned so after they'd been set aflame.

Therefore, knowing the dimly-lit caverns like the back of her hand, Maela leads Helaena through the twisting corridors to Dreamfyre's nest.

Within the cavernous nest, torches in iron scones flicker with orange- and-yellow heat across the walls–carved from the stone within the hillside, jagged edges sharp enough to slice through skin and emitting pale steam from the heat of the dragons nested within–of the circular nest with a tremendously high ceiling. Across the simple archway the young girls step through, engraved with ancient Valyrian runes that certainly could never fit a grown dragon–hence why the entrance has no gate–an iron-wrought gate 'tis sealed and latched.

Maela knows all of the other nests look vastly similar to this one.

Amidst the darkness that embraces them with its warm breath, the she-dragon stirs from her slumber with a shrill screech, her wide nostrils flaring as she scents whomever ventured into her lair.

Dreamfyre's pale blue scales gleam underneath the glow of the torchlight with silver markings dotting the dragon's slender body. The spikes trailing down her neck and her crests are silver, as well, and her leathery, near translucent wing-membranes mirror the color of a cloudless sky, the tip of her wings top-joint crowned by a single fierce talon, which is a glinting silver.

She lifts her head from her pale wing, the spikes between the frills running down her neck trembling when her throat rumbles with a curious trill, her eyes–like pools of silver, sparkling with shards of melted sapphires–looking to the girls lingering by the entrance, her tail swishing.

Hel looks to her cousin whom 'tis more like the sister she never had than anything else to her beside her, arms woven together, a little nervous, a little excited. Maela gifts her an encouraging nod, smiling so brightly.

She knows she can do it, for Helaena is just as much the blood of the dragon as Maelera Bloodmoon, herself, is.

With a steadying breath, Helaena lets her arm slip away from Maela's and begins to approach Dreamfyre with slow yet poised steps. The beautiful princess, her silver-gold hair shimmering in the flickering light, begins to sing to the curious she-dragon.

"𝐄𝐳𝐢̄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢. 𝐀𝐨̄𝐭 𝐯𝐚̄𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐧. 𝐓𝐢𝐤𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐨 𝐣𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐬." ( with clear eyes. to you i sing. winged leader )

Dreamfyre's silver eyes slide close, soothing purrs of tranquility emitting from her rumbling gullet at the girl's ethereal, enchanting, voice.

"𝐇𝐚𝐞 𝐦𝐞̄𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐮̄𝐥𝐢̄. 𝐏𝐫𝐮̄𝐦𝐬𝐚 𝐬𝐨̄𝐯𝐢̄𝐥𝐢. 𝐆𝐞𝐯𝐢̄ 𝐝𝐚̄𝐞𝐫𝐢̄." ( as one we gather. we shall fly as we were destined. beautifully, freely )

When the singing fades into sweet and wordless humming, the dragon's eyes blink open, all but glowing amidst the lingering darkness, as she lowers her snout toward Helaena's outstretched palm, nostrils flaring.

Dreamfyre looks into the Princess' lavender eyes... and sees herself, a mirror of Rhaena Targaryen.

With a delicate purr, the she-dragon presses the tip of her snout against Helaena's palm and the soft gasp accompanied with a smile brighter than all the suns, moons, and stars above is all Maelera needs to hear to know Dreamfyre has bonded with her sweet Hel.

She smiles, softly clapping with a little hop. "Now you must seal the bond with the first flight," Maela speaks softly, crossing the distance between the stone archway and the iron gate, its jagged metal glinting ominously.

Maelera twists the crank around in several circles with muffled grunts until the gate lifts high enough for the she-dragon to leave through, then approaches the newly bonded dragon and rider, softly smiling at the radiant joy on Helaena's ethereal features.

Dreamfyre meets the Dragonborn's violet gaze with a purr, lowering her neck to Maelera to reveal the thick and spiked chains wound around her beautiful scales. She grasps the latch and yanks it out with a grunt, the metal chains falling to the ground with an echoing clatter.

The girl and the dragon look to Helaena, awaiting.

The young princess' shoulders rise with a breath. "𝐄𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭, 𝐄̄𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐫𝐳𝐲𝐬." ( down, dreamfyre )

Dreamfyre lowers herself unto the ground, her rumbling chest vibrating the stones beneath their feet, and silver eyes trace sweet Helaena as she walks up her wing and climbs onto her shoulder, situating herself upon her back. She grips a pair of horns for Dreamfyre doesn't yet have a saddle since the death of her previous rider, Princess Rhaena.

"𝐈𝐨̄𝐫𝐚̄𝐬." Dreamfyre does, shaking her head with a shrill screech. "𝐉𝐞̄𝐝𝐚𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐞𝐣𝐨𝐭, 𝐄̄𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐫𝐳𝐲𝐬." ( stand ... to the horizon, dreamfyre )

And Maela trails behind the she-dragon and the princess upon her shoulders as Dreamfyre treks through the tunnel toward the Dragons' Entrance–the archway leading onto the cliffside beneath the hill.

   Sunlight invades her vision when they emerge from the humid cavern, and she blinks numerous times to adjust to the sudden gilded brightness.

"𝐒𝐨̄𝐯𝐞̄𝐬." Princess Helaena Targaryen says, and Maela smiles as Dreamfyre the Blue unfurls her wings, which shimmer and sparkle beneath the pale gold sunlight, then ascends toward the sky with a great flap.

   The skirts of her dress billow in the breeze as she runs toward the edge of the cliffside, clapping whilst smiling so brightly, so proudly, for her sweet Hel as Dreamfyre floats above the Blackwater below, her slender body twisting and turning over foamy white waves crashing against the rocky face of the cliff.

   The Blue bound the tethers between her and Helaena.

༻ •𖢻• ༺

𝕴n the hours after they told their family of Helaena's newly formed bond with Dreamfyre, Maela found herself sitting amidst the tranquil Royal Gardens beneath the shade of a lemon tree, leaning against its thin trunk whilst her plum eyes skim over the inky words written amidst the tome about the near forgotten customs of old Valyria.

Languidly flipping through the creamy pages, she remembers their family's reactions when Helaena told them.

With a jubilant smile, Aegon congratulated his younger sister and proposed the three of them should share a flight over the Blackwater before supper, and the girls happily agreed.

   Her mother, although beyond jovial to see her always so quiet and off with herself daughter smiling, seemed worried–and 'twould assure that the she-beast had a saddle upon her back before the weeks end.

The King merely smiled at sweet Hel and praised her valor, claiming the bond 'twas a perfect match.

And, although he was happy for his sister, Maela saw the sorrow Aemond bore with a bittersweet smile.

The sorrow lingering in his indigo eyes saddened her greatly, for she knew he was now the only Targaryen in the Red Keep, aside from his father, without a dragon–a creature he wished so desperately to bond with.

But who wouldn't? What child, noble and common alike, hadn't dreamt of riding a dragon–ethereal beings greater than the kings and gods, themselves, for they answered to neither.

Looking up from the book she borrowed from the library, Maela softly sighs. She has offered, numerous times now, to share a flight with him upon Balerion, but little Aem always denied.

Saying he wished to share the experience when he bonded with his own dragon, one day.

Not far off, she spots her loyal guardian, Ser Melvan, his cerulean gaze tracing an onyx raven flying from the rookery in the Tower of the Hand, and Maela wonders if it 'twere heading to Oldtown, for Helaena wished to tell her grandfather, Ser Otto Hightower, all about Dreamfyre.

Maelera had never met her Queen's father, whom had been the previous Hand of the King before passed over for, the supposedly more loyal, Lord Lyonel Strong.

From everything Aegon's told her of him, the Red Keep suffered no loss when Otto left, but Hel seemed to miss the presence of her beloved grandfather, for she always sent him letters.

And always a letter would return from the Hightowers' Oldtown.

Though, as if merely thinking of the prince summoned him, Aegon saunters around the corner of hedges–the dappled light catching on his long, silvery locks now falling past his shoulders–seemingly looking for her as he approaches her sworn shield whom juts his chin in her direction.

   Closing her book, Maelera stands as Aegon crosses the distance between them with a smile brighter than the shimmering sun above, one she mirrors with a gentle grin.

   "Walk with me?" He asks, and she nods without an ounce of hesitation, weaving her arm through his own when he offers it.

   She tosses the book into Ser Melvan's unsuspecting arms when they pass him, giggling as the man chuffs, but, to his credit, does catch the hefty tome. She looks over shoulder to wink a dark purple eye at her knight, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips once again when he only rolls his eyes at her.

   "What were you reading?"

   "A book on the customs of the Valyrians from old Valyria. A very short tale when it came to truth, filled with superstitions and guesses mostly."

   He hums in interest whilst they continue on their own way across the gravel pathways dotting the ground of the Royal Gardens, crunching beneath their every step whilst, floating across the flowery breeze tousling the loosened strands of their ethereal hair, the elegant calls of peafowls and the soft chatter of those whom have decided to enjoy the beautiful day carries.

   Blissfully, Maela expels a soft breath–aside from her chambers, the library, and the Dragon Crypts beneath the keep, the Gardens 'twere her favorite.

   A place to just exist without the weight of courtly duties and obligations, her every burden left behind in the walls of the keep, a place where only respite and peace embraces her in their sunlit warmth.

   Especially on a beautiful summer's day such as this.

   "I assume venturing into the Dragonpit was your idea?" Aegon quirks a brow.

   A smirk curls the edges of her soft lips, "Now what could ever give you that impression.. my Prince?"

   Aegon snickers, "Oh, I don't know, my Princess, perhaps 'tis because my sweet sister has never been there because the place unnerves her."

   With a giggle, Maela nudges his shoulder. "My, Old King Jaehaerys would be proud of your wisdom."

   Rolling his eyes, yet smiling nonetheless, Aegon chuckles, "And Maegor the Cruel would've rejoiced to have a descendant so cruel as yourself, cousin."

   Maela giggles.

   Walking down an aisle with rose bushes shouldering the pebbles beneath their boots, Maela stops them to admire a Dusk Rose–her favorite flower aside from Moonblooms and Dragon's Breath.

   She plucks the flower, blue like melted sapphires, from the bush it grew from and delicately spins the thorny stem between her fingers.

   "'Tis beautiful, don't you think?" She asks her prince, admiring the way the flower seems to sparkle beneath the gilded sunlight beaming down on the wide world beneath its high perch.

   A smile blooms on Aegon's lips, struck with a thought, and thus, he tucks her silky hair behind her ear, plucks the rose from her hand, and places the flower within her hair.

   "Now, it surely is."

   At his words, the young Targaryens become lost within one anothers purple-eyed gazes, soft yet shy smiles dancing on their lips.

   To him, Maelera Bloodmoon has never looked so beautiful–her brunette -and-silver hair fluttering in the summer breeze, each strand of ethereal, silvery-white pearlescent shimmering in the sunlight, her ivory skin sparkling like it 'twere covered in rhinestone dust and the flecks of plum in her eyes catching the pale gold light.

   Their hearts begin fluttering in tandem, butterflies swarming throughout Maela's belly whilst heat rushes to her pale cheeks and floods her bloodstream.

   Why is it whenever she looks at Aegon Targaryen, she feels as light as a damned feather yet as nervous as a sheep beneath a dragon?

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     𝕷ate that night, once the sun'd slipped beneath the horizon for its slumber, Maela treks through the halls to the younger prince's chamber after supper, for Aemond'd been rather quiet.

More so than usual, and it worried her.

Softly rapping her knuckles against the door with dragons carved into the elegant wood–forever in flight, burning whomever 'tis stupid enough to oppose them–she hears no response, but slips into the warmth of Aemond's bedchamber, nonetheless.

Closing the door behind her with a soft click, she sees her little Aem sitting by the hearth, the flickering flames illuminating the forlorn decorating his youthful features, shoulders sunken as he holds the egg laid in his cradle at birth in his lap.

Sorrow blossoms into a little grin on her lips as her dark brows bend. "Most of them never do."

At the sound of her soft voice that 'tis a soothing balm to his battered soul, Aemond lifts his gaze as Maela walks over to him, lowering herself onto the armchair beside the settee in front of the blazing hearth.

"Never what?" His tone despondent, purple eyes glumly returning to the cold egg in his grasp, thumbs tracing the rough texture of the scales–even with the turning of the years, the egg never deteriorated.

Turned to stone, yet still eternally beautiful–the very reason dragon eggs 'twere worth a dammed fortune for those whom could get their greedy hands on them.

"Hatch."

He softly sighs, "Why, though?"

With a furrow of confusion creasing her brows, the loose tendrils of her hair shadow the movement when she shakes her head, "Hmm, 𝐝𝐨̄𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞?" ( sweet thing ) 

"Why didn't mine hatch?"

Expelling a breath, brows still bent in sorrow for her sweet boy, Maela slides off the chair to sit on the woolen carpet beside him, legs curled beside her as she wraps an arm around his shoulders. Aemond nestles into her familiar warmth and scent, head tucked beneath her chin.

"There is more than one way to bind yourself to a dragon, Aem. Hel was without one until this day, now she rides Dreamfyre." She lifts her hand to stroke a stray tendril of silver hair from his cheek, tucking it behind his ear. "You will have a harder path, I won't deny this. Sunfyre was born to your brother, just as I was born to Balerion. If you wish to be a rider, little dragon, you must claim that right."

Aemond lifts his gaze unto hers, a smirk curling his lips, then kisses her nose.

Maela giggles at the familiar display of affection between them, flattening her soft palm upon his porcelain cheek. "You will bind yourself to a dragon one day, Aemond Targaryen. This, I know for certain. Mayhaps we can venture to Dragonstone and give this egg to the Cannibal as an offering for you to bind yourself to him."

But Aemond only snickers, "The Cannibal is more suited to you than to me, Mae."

She grins, "Why is that?"

"You're both wild and uncontrollable."

"That we are," she smirks, flicking his nose.

__________༻♕༺___________

Yes, it took for-f*cking-ever, but its here! Just one more until this part is done, 🥳!

I love my Greenie babies, they deserve nothing but happiness, 🤧.