⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ °• ☼ CHAPTER FIVE: MYTHS IN THE SKY ☾ •°⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

•°•☆•°•

ONCE OR TWICE a year, Nessie and her family would visit their great-uncle, Aemon Targaryen. Though he had taken the Black, he was of royal blood and was therefore permitted visitors.

     The Wall was thousands of leagues high, so high that when she glanced up, the world spun in her skull. The view made her dizzy, and despite visiting many times, she still tripped over her own feet at the sight. Snow fell around the skirts of her dress and framed her eyelashes—she'd only ever seen snow at the Wall!—she couldn't help but wonder what was beyond. Was it a snowy winter wonderland, a beautiful wasteland of ice and mountains stacked with snow? Or were there truly monsters out there?

     Nessie marvelled at the Wall as her family piled out of the carriage. How had anyone—even the ancient races of myth—built anything like this?

     "The White Walkers will get you," Rhaegar hissed and pinched her sides playfully. Nessie squealed, leaping away from him and swatting a hand at Rhaegar's shoulder hard. He yelped and then laughed, golden crown slipping on his head.

     "Nessie," her father commanded, voice deep and frightening.

     Nesaela dropped her hand, letting the long sleeves fall back at her legs. "Sorry, Father," she said. Rhaegar's grin fell and he put an arm around her shoulder, leading her through the gates of Castle Black. It was the Commanding post of the three remaining castles along the wall. The others had been lost during the reign of Jaehaerys the First or soon after. "It had been too much land to cover", Maester Aemon had told Nessie once—but then, she thought, what would defend them from the threat beyond?

     "Let's go in," he told her, and Nessie adjusted the crown on her head.

     "Okay," she said. Her mother followed them, silver-gold hair pinned up behind her head and a bruise carefully tucked away beneath the collar of her dress. Rhaegar held his grip around her as they passed the staring Night's Watch, each man more rough and frightening than the next. Nessie avoided their gaze, eyes pointed at her feet.

     Her father wouldn't go inside. Too many criminals, too high a risk of assassination. Instead, he would stay in the carriage, surrounded by the Kingsguard and his personal soldiers. He would take them this far, and this far only. Aerys brought more and more guards with him each time. Nessie presumed their visits to Aemon would stop all-together soon.

     Once they'd passed the onlooking Night's Watch, Nessie was free to bound up the winding stairs to Maester Aemon's room. The wood floors creaked beneath her light weight, dress and warm cloak swishing behind her as she turned the corner of the tower. Her mother and brother stayed behind, knowing how much Nesaela treasured the time with her great-uncle.

     When Nessie reached the great, oak door leading to his room, she hit the large door hanger once, inching herself in slowly. "Hello, Maester Aemon," she whispered.

     Aemon was long blind, old and frail, nearing his one hundredth year. She took a seat on the crooked wooden chair beside him, settling herself eagerly. Her silver-blonde hair fell around her shoulders in a blanket of white. Nessie always enjoyed visiting him—he told great stories.

     The old man lifted his head, a crooked smile on his lips. "Nessie," he croaked fondly, hands shifting from where they clasped the arms of his chair. The chair must have been made of Weirwood, its figure strong and sharp and uncorrupted; ancient, just like Aemon himself. "It's been a long time hasn't it?" Nessie took a seat in the chair placed opposite to him. "How are your studies going?"

     "They're good, Maester Aemon," Nessie said, book clutched in her lap. She thought she could read to him—Maester Aemon loved to read, but his failed eyesight made it difficult. Whenever Nessie came, she made sure to bring the best story and history books she could find. "I have been practicing archery, but you mustn't tell my father. And Headmistress Laenah says I might have my poetry published some day!"

     His old face lit up, eyes glimmering with joy again, as if he truly saw her, and all her possibilities. In Nesaela, Nessie thought Aemon must have seen his brother Egg. A young prince who had died before his time was supposed to come. She thought she gave Aemon comfort in Aegon's similarities, as if it was his kid brother in front of him, instead of Nesaela Targaryen. Nesaela had decided long ago that she didn't mind.

     "That is impressive Nessie!" His grin was old and crooked, but it made her heart warm all the same. "You shall have to read some to me the next time you come." He smiled at her like a father was supposed to, and she saw the excitement in the wrinkles of his old face, eyes crinkled and cheek-lines accompanying his grin.

     "I will, Maester Aemon. I did bring some with me. I can read you some of my newest ones in a little while if you'd like." Her great-uncle nodded with enthusiasm, pride in the deep lines on his face. "But for right now, I hoped to hear some stories. Some of the stories you could tell me."

     Aemon nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, Nessie." He never called her Nesaela or Princess, she was just Nessie.

     Eagerly, Nessie clasped her hands together. She'd waited all year to hear Maester Aemon's stories about history and mythos. "What can you tell me about magic?" she asked him. Nessie thought about the question for a moment. "Targaryen magic."

     "Ah," Maester Aemon said, his features sharpening as recognition passed across his face. He smiled. "In the times of Valyria, sorcerers used bloodmagic to create their kingdoms, working stone as those might work clay, and using candles of dragonglass which could speak with one a world away. The Targaryens, too, would have had magic once-upon-a-time."

     Nessie sat eagerly, taking it all in. She imagined a world in which she was a dragon queen, rid of her father and this cage she called home, where she had magic pulsing through her veins. It should have made her feel silly, daydreaming like a child, but it only made her feel stronger.

     "Some Valyrians had magic in their own natural blood, to let them see through the haze of witchcraft. Amongst other things. Their dreams of the future were called Dragon Dreams—an anomaly in which, after the rest of the Valyrians died out, only the Targaryens held. Egg used to have Dragons Dreams," he recalled, fondly, eyes turned towards the roof. "He would tell me all about them... the white dragon he saw during his sleep... Though nothing ever came of it."

     "Maester Aemon," she reminded him softly—though Aemon was sharp-minded, he could lose track when talking about his dead brother. "The magical blood?" She touched his arm carefully, as fleeting as butterfly wings, and Aemon looked up as if just noticing her again, a smile on his face.

     "Ah... yes. The dragon's blood," he croaked, "a delicacy among Targaryens, only present in the bloodline of Valyria, yet so very rare." He stopped to flex his throat, dry lips parting. "It is said to be lost now, amongst our bloodline. Some believe magic could only reign on the stones of Valyria, with magic in its foundations.

     "Vhaena Targaryen the Undaunted was a sorceress, you know. You may know her by her other name, Vhaena the Cursed." Nessie nodded, she did. "She performed bloodmagic, but not the bloodmagic of commoners. Magic which came from her bones, and which sung in her blood. It was forged from the bond with her dragon, Laeraxes, and together the two of them wielded magic unlike the rest of the Targaryens had seen. It was the magic from the Old Valyria, thought to be lost amongst the generations. She spun blood into weapons; she could resurrect the dead. She saw the future." Nesaela imagined Vhaena with flowing white hair like her own, a circlet of dragonglass on her head and a sword in hand; a giant black dragon by her shoulder.

     "When the Dance came," Maester Aemon continued, "she defended those she loved with her sorcery, slew Daemon Targaryen with her bloodmagic, sharpening her own blood into arrows which pierced even his Valyrian-forged armour. Laeraxes and her fought bravely against thousands of soldiers; against her own kin. Eventually, she was cut down beside her dragon, and it is said that after she died, her blood wound itself up into the sky, and it rained red rain for weeks."

     Nessie was sat forward so far in her chair, she nearly fell off it as she straightened her back. Her lilac eyes were alight with a burning fire, as if the gods had placed the sun in her eyes. "What more is there about her?"

     At this, Maester Aemon frowned. "Hardly any more is known of her. As a sorceress, her body was taken out into the sea, far away from Dragonstone or Kings Landing, to the shores between Sothoryos and Ulthos. Four stones were tied to her body and she was thrown into the black water. Where her blood touched the ocean, living things were told to be borne, sea-creatures and women with serpents' tails, and monsters of the deep. Her dragon's bones were thrown with her." He sat back in his chair, hand skirting along the carved arm-rest. "The history of her was burned: a sorceress' stain they tried to burn out of Targaryen history. But here we are, still remembering her."

     The sun from outside Aemon's quarters had turned Nessie's cheeks pink and sun-kissed, like a slowly spreading sunset, or a wildfire. If Aemon had seen then, he would have seen an ocean storm in Nesaela's lilac eyes. "I think she was brave," Nessie said, marvelling at the story.

     Aemon nodded, blind eyes staring through his open window, but full of thought. "I believe she was too. I think she was scared and young and brave."

     "But she never let her fear overcome her," Nessie murmured. She wondered what Vhaena would do if her own father threatened her; frightened her. She wondered what Vhaena would do if she had no magic to use against him.

     "No," Aemon said, "Even as the bloodmagic used her own blood, and ate at her veins and caused her pain and weakness, she never feared her own magic. She respected it: thought of it as a being which had its hand entwined with hers. She understood it, but she never feared it. Not even as it killed her."

     Nesaela wondered what had happened to Vhaena's body in the ocean. Sothoryos was a long way from home. How could they have buried her in those far-off waters? She would have been alone and lay to rest in strange waters. The idea frightened Nessie. Would her father do that to her?

     They sat in silence for a few moments, pondering their own thoughts, until Aemon smiled kindly. "Would you like to read your poetry to me, Nessie?" Aemon asked, and Nessie nodded vigorously, retrieving the small book from her pocket. She always had her book and ink on her. It had ruined many of her good dresses that way, and gotten her in trouble with her father more than once.

     When Nessie opened her mouth, the words were soft and melodic, reciting lines that were familiar to her tongue, and comforting.

"Far beyond the bale blossoms of the south,

or the moonlight stars hung in the night sky,

faeries call a name.

It may be lost to the others, with deaf ears and blinded eyes,

but I can hear it, because it is my name.

A name which means forgiveness and a name which means blood

may the gods flip a coin and tell me which one I may become;

for in the ocean a dragon raises its bones,

to murmur my name in a list of lost things,

and may it find me and burn me, so I can join the myths in the sky."

     And thousands of leagues away, across a black sea filled with the bones of a sorceress and a dragon long gone, the village of a dark-skinned girl with golden eyes blazed in the night. Where her feet touched the fiery ground, her skin burned, and a chain enclosed itself around her small neck, like a snake eating its own tail.

•°•☆•°•

this book will hopefully be updated every saturday! and please remember that nessie won't stay in westeros forever - the fall of the targaryens is coming soon and i'm so excited to write what comes after!

word count: 2,133

15.01.2019.