⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ °• ☼ CHAPTER SEVEN: THE WEAPON OF A MADMAN ☾ •°⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

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RHAEGAR WAS MARRIED to Elia Martell of Dorne within the next few months. The wedding was as grand as ever, red ribbons hanging from marble archways, doves perched on each pillar, tied by their legs in a way which Nessie thought was cruel and planned to mischievously cut them free later. Neither Aerys nor Viserys attended the ceremony, for Aerys' fear of assassination.

     It had been a bright Summer's day for an outdoor wedding, and the sun had caressed them as they stood in its light. Nesaela had been dressed in a pale gown which pooled around her long legs, hair tied up in a braided crown on her head. Bracelets of silver glittered around her wrists and she stood beside her mother and Rhaegar. Her older brother wore his finest clothing, protected by thin armour underneath, and his long white hair was sleek on his shoulders. His nervousness showed, and several times Nesaela stomped on his shoe to stop his foot tapping, which earned her a grin.

     Elia of Dorne arrived in a silk and gold carriage pulled by caramel horses which's silk bridles trailed in the wind. When she'd stepped out from the carriage, a hush had overcome the crowd, as if they'd turned to a field of daisies and were being brushed by the wind.

     She was adorned in blood red silks and white roses entwined in the veil upon her head. Elia's dark crystal eyes shone behind the silk mesh. Jewels littered her flawless skin and silver jewellery were adorned from her straight Dornish nose, to her delicate feet. Nesaela thought she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, and she hoped Rhaegar thought the same. Elia had looked like a mystical dream, all silver and red, almost as tall as Rhaegar and, Nessie was sure, twice as brave.

     When Elia and Rhaegar had held each other's hands and the priest spoke the sacred words as he bound them with ribbon, Nesaela saw no love in their eyes. She saw duty, friendship and fondness, and their equal share of nerves. Rhaegar had always wanted true love, but as Nessie looked now, she knew Elia and Rhaegar would be good for each other, as good friends would be.

     After the consummation, it was customary for the members of the groom's family to exchange gifts with the brides, as a sign of gratitude and welcoming into the new family. When it was Nesaela's turn, she'd given Elia a laced collection of the Myths from the Known world—Oberyn had mentioned Elia loved to read—and a ring sculpted in the shape of a dragon claw. In turn, Elia had given her a pin: a smooth golden sun with a thorned rose piercing the middle. Nesaela had loved it, and pinned it to her dress-front immediately, despite the gold clashing with her silver jewellery. Elia's pretty grin at the fact Nessie loved her gift was even more a reward, and she hoped Elia liked her gift too.

     After the ceremony they ate and danced and drank—Nessie may have drank a little too much, but hopefully those stories are lost to time—and Nessie was sure that between the spinning she'd glanced multiple times to the stands in search for Nym, who had not arrived at all, and was saddened by her own disappointment. And then her brother grabbed her hands and twirled her along again, giddy and bright in his merriment. Nessie would remember that day for a long time: the happiness of all her family; the happiness of the crowds; the way her brother and mother's smiles had glittered on their faces, and Elia's too.

     Nesaela adored Elia. The Dornish woman was everything she ever wanted to be: kind and collected and brave. That's of course, not mentioning the beauty, because Elia was likely the most beautiful woman Nessie had ever seen. It was not similar to the pin-up beauty of the Southern ladies; with the pale skin, wide eyes and button noses nearly every lady in the Courts had: but a wild, striking beauty Nessie craved for herself. Aerys was ashamed by his son marrying a Dornish woman, but Nessie couldn't be gladder, because she was similar to Nessie in a daring way; in the way which Nessie wished to be wild.

     Within the same year, Elia gave birth to Princess Rhaenys: a happy babe with dark hair and brown skin like her mother, and just as beautiful. Nesaela loved her more than anything. She loved Rhaenys' laughs and her child-smile; she'd forgotten what it was like to have a baby in the castle; and the moment Rhaenys had started to walk, she'd been chasing her around the palace halls. In those days, there was nothing Nessie adored more than her niece, with her soft brown eyes and rounded face. She couldn't wait to see the little girl grow up healthy and strong. Nessie had imagined reading to Rhaenys when she came of age; teaching her the secrets of archery deep in the woods. She imagined what it would be like to have a little sister, and Nesaela would have thought nothing less of Rhaenys.

     And so it was a sweet time, with the people celebrating and Nesaela's family joyful, spare her father. It felt like a spring which was never going to end, in which Nessie was allowed to keep away from Aerys and spend time with Elia or Rhaenys instead. The people were happy, with Elia in line as Queen, and the bond between the South and Dorne completed.

     It would be remembered as the last golden year, before the Fall set in.

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     ON THE DAWN of her twelfth year, King Aerys II began burning people.

     It started with only alleged traitors being engulfed with wildfire, an execution method which he had taken a likening to. Wildfire was further used for executions after that.

     She and her younger brother Viserys would be shut in her room all day and night as screams echoed throughout the courtyard and throne hall beneath. The smell of burning flesh and blood wafted up to them through the open windows, and the two children tried so desperately to barricade it. All they could do was sit on Nessie's large silk bed and wait. Nessie sung songs to her younger brother and recited her poems. He was many years younger than her, smart as he was sweet. Though they'd often been separated in the past by her father's plans, it was during those first days that they truly bonded.

     But it was Nesaela's dragon egg which truly gave her the most comfort. For years it had remained on her mantlepiece, left mostly alone and making Nessie feel childish whenever she touched it longingly.

     She supposed it was foolish: a silly dream to cradle a long-dead dragon egg, but it made her feel better all the same. Now, she could lie on her bed with the thing pressed against her chest and Viserys attempting to read books at her feet. It didn't make her feel silly anymore, and she could think about all the stories of Vhanea and her dragon Laeraxes, and Baela and Dreamfyre, and imagined what it would be like to graze her fingers against the stars with a dragon's scales beneath her feet. Nesaela knew she would never know how that felt, and it shamed her. She knew she likely wouldn't live long enough to dream up more stories of her soaring through the sky. She was a pawn—a pawn in Aerys' game, who had never been object to sacrificing family.

     He had always loved her least.

     And so, Nesaela knew that soon enough, she would be given as a bride to one of her father's enemies, or killed by them all the same. That was the price of being a King's daughter, she supposed. Nessie wondered if she'd live to see the sun rise on her eighteenth birthday, or see Rhaegar be crowned as King, or Viserys grow up. She imagined dancing in the revels of Dragonstone with her mother and brothers, and any more children her mother might bear. She knew it was probable she would never see that day.

     Rhaegar himself had become wary of his father's behaviour, and in turn, Aerys, had grown suspicious of his once-prized son. Now, he accused Rhaegar of conspiring against the throne. Nesaela had always known her father was mad—she knew his paranoia; how her father treated his family compared to how the Martells or the Starks treated theirs—it was as her grandfather Jaehaerys had said: madness and greatness are two sides of the same ambition, and when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin. But now, this madness, had gone far beyond what she had ever imagined. Accusing his own son of treachery, threatening war with the Houses around him. All Nessie could think about was her history lessons, and the factors which had led up to the Dance of Dragons.

     Nessie saw her father in the first time in weeks when she finally went downstairs. Aerys II's hair had grown long past his shoulders, and his beard too. Nesaela heard he refused to have it cut, for fear of blades—a fear which he had received from cutting himself too many times on the iron throne. She could see that now. His skin was littered with scabs, both old and new, some still bloody. The common folk called him the Scab King, and Nessie couldn't blame them. His nails were inches long and an unpleasant yellow colour. Madness curled and thrived in his eyes like living serpents, swallowing his soul. Nessie recalled this in poetry as she sat at her marble and birchwood desk, an intricacy from Dorne. She often wrote poetry about her father, though she would never dare for it to be seen. He would have her executed for just that. She thought of the blood she'd seen on the marble floor of the throne room.

Though purple like a sunset wildfire

curls a serpent far more deadly than licking flames.

Blood stains on cracked lips

and runs down drunken beards

to join the screams of dying men

as ashes and dust.

And so it is discovered that fire is not the weapon of the dragon

but of a madman.

     She smudged the ink across the page with her finger. After staring blankly at the ruined piece of parchment for a moment, she deflated, boiling with a calculated anger. She placed the pen in the ink pot, lifted the paper, and tried to salvage what of the poem she could. When she placed the parchment down to dry, she spotted her blue dragon egg still sitting upon her chest of drawers.

     Another chorus of screams came from the courtyard below, and Nessie could see the green glow of wildfire from her window. She tied the curtains over the opening and didn't look down. Instead, she moved back to her bed and lay down, the dragon egg tucked between her curled knees and stomach. Nessie pulled her hands over her ears and sang Gentle Mother, Fond of Mercy until the sun fell and rose again.

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word count: 1,895

20.01.2019.