three / the nightmare

Salaenya's footsteps were soft as she crept through the vaguely familiar halls of Dragonstone. It felt like she had thick wool stuffed into her head as she walked. She recognized the halls, but she didn't remember how; she knew the paths yet never remembered walking them. All of these hallways she knew, yet there was an empty expanse of memories she could not tug from her mind. She did not know why she felt love for a place she could not remember.

The air was tense as she crept her way through the halls and towards wherever she was intended to be going. She felt heavy with a thickness she couldn't understand. The castle was tense with it, the air rolling across her skin like a viscous sludge as she stepped from one stone to the next. She felt like the world was ending as a neverending grief tugged at her heart. Something was sticking to the back of her throat, and she felt like choking. Why was she choking?

She turned a corner as the light from the sconces burned low. It must have been daytime for how light it still was despite the low-burning candles. They almost never let them burn this low in the red keep, always too big and to scary to leave to darkness. Her hands shook as they trailed the wall alongside her, grounding her to the feeling of the craggs and crack of the wall scratching her fingers instead of the overwhelming grief. She hated fearing something that she had not seen yet. Like a phantom clinging to tightly to the neck, ready to shred muscle and bone, yet docile enough to only snap when least expected.

She hated walking this path alone.

As she moved to turn another corner and towards... somewhere, a small hand tugged at the flowing skirts of her dress. As she turned to look, she noticed a glittering green scale settled into a beautiful ring on her finger. Had she gotten married? How old must she be if she was already married? She didn't think much about it considering there was only a small girl left in the lower light. She could now hardly see this child beyond the bright silver hair and glittering violet eyes. "Hello?" her voice echoed oddly in the hallways.

"You must be lost." The girl's voice was breathy, lilted with youth and naivety, ethereal in a way that unsettled Salaenya to her marrow. She couldn't see the girls faces no matter how hard she tried, just vague shapes that could be a nose or a jaw. "Mother is this way." She then tugs at Salaenya's hand and leads her further from her starting point.

The little girl's hair hung loose around her shoulders and swayed in a way that reminded Salaenya of her mother. "My mother or yours?" She asks the girl, now curious as to where she was being led. There was an air of familiarity about the girl now. Somehow reminding Salaenya of herself despite her long hair being curled instead of straight. When had her hair gotten to mid-back? Her hair was hardly past her shoulderblades.

"Aren't they one and the same?"

Her brows furrowed; she tried again to make out the little girl in the light. Just a white dress that had some dirty spots stuck out. Nothing that would say who she was or who her parents could be. She could be anyone—her mothers, her supposed savior of an uncle, her grandfather—she could be any of their relatives. Considering she was being vague on purpose, she supposed she wouldn't be finding out. So instead of making more of a fuss she let the girl lead her.

It didn't take long to hear the wails of a woman. Loud and piercing, cursing weaved between every few words—things that would make the toughest of men flinch. It sounded painful and hallow, like someone was giving more than what they had. Trying to hand over what wasn't there yet. It sounded like a pain so deep and grievous there must have been no light at the end of that tunnel. It tore away at Salaenya's heart, ripping gummy flesh until her ribs were pried open and her beating heart was touching the cool air. Then even that was ripped away from her too.

"What-" She begins to ask, her voice tight and hollow as she looks at the door that the girl was dragging her too. "Why?"

That ethereal and haunting voice whispered against the stone halls. "The first bath of blood will not be that of a man or dragon, but that of a babe taken from warmth." The words tore into Salaenya's skin as the girl tugged her into the room. A head of sweaty white hair stuck up from the side of the bed. So hauntingly familiar, how her mother always looked after when she presented a new child. She had always thought the glow on her skin made her ethereal, a vision of valyrian beauty and grace, even in moments that seemed to be of great pain.

Yet as Salaenya rounded the bed with the girl urging her forward, she had never felt more wrong. Crimson stained her mother's slip, her face contorted into anguish as she clutched at the bed and table, screaming as she cried. There was something wrong. Fear flashes through her as she tries to step forward and help her mother— to be able to do something. Giving life shouldn't be this way—so bloody and terrifying—so gruesome. What was her mother giving to this thing that seemed to rip from her? "Ma-"

The girl tugged her hand back. "You cannot help her."

Salaenya turned, seeing the girl in a new light with her hair covering her face. "Who are you?"

Her mother's screams ricocheted into her ears and she flinched. The little girl finally faces her. Horror dropped into Salaenya's gut as she wrenched her hand free and tripped backwards, feet scraping harshly against stone.

The girl's face was covered in scales and half-rotted; it seemed like death oozed from the gaping hole in her chest where her heart should be. Salaenya could see the rot of her eye and the blindness of another; the way her teeth seemed cracked and chipped. The curling of the scales on her body was that of a dead dragons. The girl was more monster than child. Ice cold terror ripped into Salaenya as she dropped to the floor and clung to the bed.

"Visenya," the girl said, haunting Salaenya.

She woke with a cry, tears, and drool staining her pillow as she sat up in a rush. Fire licked down her skin as her heart paced in an unsteady rhythm. Her skin felt too tight and her eyes too wet; her spine felt like it was cracking and protruding from her back. She felt anchient in a child's body. She felt her heart thundering in her throat as she remembered—her mother had begun laboring late in the night last night.

Not that she knew what laboring meant, but she knew it had something to do with her belly being so round—and the dream.

Fear trickled down her spine like a creek with no destination. The icy claws tore into her delicate flesh as she stood quickly, unstable on her wobbly legs—ready to run to her mother. How do you protect someone from their own body? Salaenya had no clue. But she let the cold of the stone floor rip through her feet as she began the trek to her door.

Her heart thundered in her ears as she thought back to the dream—to her mother's screams of agony. No matter how she thought of it, she couldn't make the panic go away—the blood, the screams, the little monster. It felt like her heart would run out of her skin. Her hands were clammy, shaking, and grasping at the front of her nightgown. Her toes were cold against the floor—they might have fallen off if she hadn't begun running through the keep.

It was always dark in the stone halls of the Red Keep—and despite her being used to it, she was suddenly afraid of every shadow that reached for her ankles. Her nightgown was fluttering as fast as her legs could carry her, around corners and up bends. The short walk suddenly felt like a lifetime. Every second away from her mother was another second she wasted; another second her mother could die.

Her lungs burned, her eyes watered, and her heart felt like it would explode. She wanted her mama! Fresh tears began to well in her eyes; no doubt her cheeks burned a furious red as she ran. "Mama!" She finally shouted as she neared her mother's door. She didn't care if she looked like a wailing baby, she wanted her mother!

Ser Harwin turned in confusion; his conversation with her father paused as he saw the crying Salaenya barreling through the hallway. He just barely bent to the right height to reach out to catch her before she slipped past to get into her mother's chambers. "Woah! Princess, are you alright?" He asked quickly, looking at the disheveled princess.

Panic welled in her chest and she wanted to scream. "Mama's gonna die!" She cries, pressing on his armoured arm and shaking. "It told me! Mama is going to bleed and die! The girl with scales is going to kill her!" She tried to reach forward and grab his finger to bite it, but he easily slipped from her grasp. His grip tightened around her, his heart thundering as he worried for the little princess. He used his other hand to pat her back to try and soothe.

"Selaenya!" Laenor said quickly and ducks to his knees. "Your mother is going to be quite alright; she has been twice. This time is no different." His voice was smooth and comforting, equally as important as her mother—but he was not the one who was going to die.

She shook her head. "I don't believe you!" Her voice rose, octaves above the 'acceptable limits' according to her Septa. She sounded like a child having a fit; even one of Aegon's outbursts wouldn't compare to the ruckus she was creating. "Mama! Mama!" She screams, her hands wailing onto the armoured arm of her mother's guard. She would apologize once she knew her mother would live to see the next day, to scold her for hitting Ser Harwin.

"Princess!"

The door opened quickly, Havaena fluttering from the doorway so beautifully it almost startled  Salaenya into silence. Instead, her face screwed up and she slammed her hands down against Harwin's arm before throwing herself to the handmaiden. The fat tears rolled down her plump cheeks faster than Havaena could wipe them away. "The girl told me mama's going to die," she whispered to the woman, who then bent down and wrapped her long arms around the young girl. "I need to keep Mama safe."

"Oh, my sweet girl." Havaena's words come out low and soothing, soft as a caress of silk. Her fingers curled into Salaenya's wild and unruly hair. It had been blonde as a child but was growing brassy over the years that she grew. "You had a nightmare?" She lowered to her knees and pulled the girl to look into her eyes. Warm and brown—everything Salaenya needed and also not enough. She wanted Havaena's and her mother's hugs and soothing words.

"The girl-" Selaenya hiccuped—Havaena had always been a comforting presence. Hard as she was around the edges, she had seen the worst of the little princesses' nightmares. "Said that the first blood would be that of an unborn babe. What if she dies? I have to keep Mama safe." Her hands gripped onto the front of the handmaiden's dress ruthlessly, wrinkling the fabric between her skinny fingers. Turning her hands red with the effort of squeezing.

"Havaena?" A soft but painful voice called. Salaenya instantly recognized her mother's voice; she would have known her blind—even deaf. She would recognize her by her heartbeat and smell, even in the warmth of her palms. "Is that my daughter?" She had known that voice her whole life—scolding and teaching and soothing; it was the voice of comfort and home. It was alive.

"Mama!" Salaenya called, her voice breaking as more tears began to run down her face. "Mama, please let me in!" Her face was red and snotty, her hair a wild mess, while her eyes were bloodshot and sore from crying. There was still dried drool on the side of her face as well. She looked like a mess and not the twelve-year-old princess she was.

The door cracked and her mother was slightly hunched—her dress sweaty and her hair curling from being held at her nape in a knot. Her eyes spoke the volumes of pain she felt, but they were soft for the little girl in her handmaiden's arms. "Oh, my sweet. Come." She motioned for the princess to make her way inside. "Tell me what troubles you, my darling princess."

Havaena stood. "Are you sure? You should be lying down!" She was worrying again, moving to help Rhaenyra stand. "She is too young, your majesty." There was a desperate insistence in her voice—so many had become aware of the horrors of motherhood much too soon. They could save Salaenya the pain until she was older. Much older and in love and ready to marry Jacaerys and begin having children.

"She will learn either way, Havaena." Rhaenyra's voice was certain. Salaenya watched her reach her hand out to her and wave her forward. "Might as well be from us—and not someone like Aegon. Poor boy."

If she weren't so scared—she would have laughed at Aegon's expense with her mother. She was just too overwhelmed to do anything but grab her mothers hand in a death grip and move into the room with them. Looking over her shoulder at her father and Harwin—who both stood with worried expressions—before the door closed and she was left alone with the women and the nurse maids.

Her mother deftly grabbed the leather string that held her hair up and tugged, letting her hair fall into the loose curls that she had always maintained into straight locks. Salaenya had always been in awe of her mother's hair—the beauty of its fresh snow color with the softness of silk. Many times she had braided her mother's hair and wished her hair felt the same way.

Luke and Jace's hair was just as soft as their mothers.

Salaenya was pulled from her mind as Havaena draped a long and wide quilt over her shoulders, then guided her mother to sit down on the odd-looking bed. She groaned and laid back, holding her bulbous belly in her hand and smoothing the tired skin as she lifted her swollen ankles to the bed. "Now," she started as Havaena began to dab a wet cloth along Salaenya's mother's brow. "What nightmare had you nearly assaulting Ser Harwin?"

Salaenya's cheeks flushed with shame as one of the nursemaids brought her a tea-lavender by the smell of it; the septa had told her it was used to calm and promote sleep. One of the very few lessons she really listened to is about herbs and plants and their properties—maybe she could begin to make herself useful by working with a healer? She finally thinks back on the nightmare as she sipped on the floral tea and shuddered at the memory of the little girl. "It was dragonstone... I think. I was older, or at least I was taller, but I had a ring on my hand that looked like Vermax's scale. It was daytime and I was walking–looking for someone or something. Then a little girl found me and said I must be lost, and that mother was this way. She took my hand and led me on. Her hair was like yours, Mama."

Havana had stopped dabbing the cloth on her princess's head and looked at the young girl. There had always been legends of old valyrian gifts; foresight was one of many—dreamers is what they were called. Rhaenyra used to speak of Daenys the Dreamer when they were young and had snuck into flea bottom to escape the wandering sad eyes of Alicent. Rhaenyra had not put much stock into the old whispers of a time long past—of this kind of magic, but Daemon had found her in a cave encased in rock. Could she be...?

"I couldn't see her face, and after a while I gave up on trying to see her or what shade looked like. Eventually we heard screaming—" She paused, looking up from the warm cup of tea and at her mother. "Your screaming. I tried to help you or run to you, but she tugged me back. She said, 'The first bath of blood will not be that of a man or dragon, but that of a babe taken from warmth.', and then She told me I could not save you; when I asked her who she was, she finally looked at me. She was covered in scales, dark ones that curled up at the edges like a dead dragon; her cheek was rotted away and I could see her teeth. Her left eyes was half rotted and her right was blind. The worst part was her chest—it looked like it had sunk in. It was also scaled but it was empty and I could peer inside of her. She said Visenya—and when I screamed, I woke up." Her hands shook as she thought back to the horrible dream.

Rhaenyra sat up taller. "Come here, love."

Salaenya was careful as she stood and set her cup down, moving to sit next to her mother as her heart raced. "You won't die in your labors, will you?" She asked quietly, timid to a point of tears as her mother's hands wrapped around her shoulders.

"No, my love, I won't die in my labors." She assures, rubbing soothing circles into her daughter's shoulders and kissing the crown of her head. Salaenya sighed in relief to feel her mother's comfort, trying to reason with the beating of her heart and the whirling of her mind. Her mother had done this twice successfully; she had managed to breathe life into her best friends with no problems—she could do this with no issue. "All will be well, my girl." Her mother whispered into her hair.

"Okay," she said again, then felt her mother tense as another wave of pain crashed over her. "Mother? What's wrong?" She asked softly, watching as her mother's white knuckles gripped Havaena's hand. Her eyes trailed across her mother until they rested on her belly, big and bulbous and tenser than it normally was. Why did her belly need to tense? Did she need to relieve herself?

Once her mother began to rhythmically breathe through whatever pain she was in, she let go of Havaena's hand and looked at her daughter with a soft smile. "It is... birthing pains." Her tone was so gentle, but there was a strain on her as she said it. "A woman must endure pain and then push to bring the child into the world."

"What?" She gaped, her eyes bulging and her jaw unhinged, almost falling to the floor. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes," She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "It is the worst pain I have experienced in my life, and I have fallen from Syrax and broken an arm."

Fear struck Salaenya quickly. "I don't want any." She said it faster than she had ever said anything in her life. "It hurts? I thought you just needed to poop!"

Havana burst into a fit of laughter and shook her head. "Oh my girl, you are such a treasure." Havana said, shaking her head with a smile as a few of the nursemaids chuckled quietly. "It is a gift to bring life—and you do not yet know how a child is made yet. It could change your mind. Love also changes the mind as well. Someday you and Jacaerys will have children."

Rhaenyra groaned. "My sweet children are too young to be talking about marriage and parenthood."

"Gross," Sel scrunched her nose and shook her head. "Not me!"

They all again laughed.

Salaenya stayed with her mother until the birthing pains became too much and words she wasn't allowed to repeat began slipping from her mouth. She was guided away by her father and helped into a light dress to walk with Jace and Luke to find an egg for their new sibling. "A big egg would do well!" Luke shouted as they all walked, her fathers hand on her shoulders. "It would hatch to be a big dragon!"

"I think we should pick a colorful egg." Salaenya added, smiling up at her father. "It would be a pretty dragon. Maybe gold like sunfyre?"

"Blue!" Jace grinned.

Laenor laughed as Sel pushed Jace and began to run into the dragonpit, trying to be the first to find a good egg he would approve of. The two boys began to quickly run after her—in a way he was sure they would do for the rest of their lives.

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So i lost basically everything for my format, go me! But HERE IT ISSSSS!! Chapter three finally!

Also dosr won second place for best Jacaerys Velaryon fanfic! How cool? (im writing this when i'm really tired and in pain lmao, if i sound weird that's why.)

Should hopefully be updating this more regularly!