༻♕༺

______
𝐀 𝕳𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐃

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 || 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆
𝟐ⁿᵈ 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 || 𝟏𝟐𝟖 𝐀𝐂

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖀𝖓𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖙'𝖘 𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖍, 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌'𝖉 called for a supper between the whole of the Royal Family in the grand dining hall.

Thus, with her children, Maelera ventures through the corridors of Maegor's Holdfast to the hall after she dressed for the occasion with the help of her maiden, Salna, whom could hardly look away from the hatchlings.

For there is no greater wonder than baby dragons.

Her bronze and red perch on her shoulders whilst her purple clings onto her bicep as Maela approaches the double doors, and her sworn sword, Ser Melvan, pushes them open.

And the knight announces his princess with more pride than ever.

She were the last to arrive, deliberately so, thus every amethyst eye is upon Maelera Targaryen as she ascends the short flight of steps to the dais where the mahogany table resides, laden with platters of all manner of evening dishes.

Her bronze shrieks, flaring glinting wings slashed with streaks of obsidian black three times the length of his frail yet majestic body. And a smirk flits across his mother's soft lips as she saunters over to her seat–beside the King's and across from the Crowned Princess', whom 'tis heavy with child.

   Maela suspects another brown-haired pup might just emerge from her womb.

   The other pups, Jacaerys and Lucerys, sit between their mother and Ser Laenor, whilst Maela's cousins sit down her right with Alicent across from her king-husband at the head of the table.

   Beside her, Aegon looks at her red, whom hisses at the boy. Maela hushes the hatchling, "𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢̄, 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨̄𝐧𝐚," she murmurs. ( be calm, sweet thing )

   Once everyone is seated, Viserys begins, "My, what an occasion this is." He smiles. "My niece, Maelera, the first of our linage to bond with not one but four dragons. A toast, I say, is in order."

And so, all of the royals lift their goblets.

"To Maelera the Unburnt."

The family mirrors the King's words before sipping the wine–or cider, for the young children–in their cups.

Maelera returns her uncle's smile whilst her children shriek. "Thank you, Uncle. For this, and for your trust in these hours."

"Of course, dear girl."

The King ushers the servers forward and the bards upon the dais in the corner begin to play languid tunes. A servant approaches with a bowl of charred meat, setting it before the young Princess.

Kindly, Maela thanks the young lad then extends her arm so the dragons may climb down onto the surface of the table. She knows all were watching as she grabs several pieces of the meat, sliced into small bits, and lays it before her children.

She tells them to eat their fill in the old Valyrian tongue with a motherly grin of love.

"What will you name them?" Lucerys questions with a smile stuffed with mashed potatoes.

And Maela withholds a grimace at the boy's lack of manners at the table.

In truth, she'd been thinking of names for these little ones for years and only three felt right the moment they came into the world.

Thus, she tells her family, "The bronze is Gaelithox, the red is Moonfyre, and the purple shall be called Nightfyre."

"Beautiful names, my Princess." Aegon smirks.

Maela mirrors it, "Oh, I know, my Prince."

Whilst the family continues to dine together, Maelera admires her children whilst they feast on pieces of charred meat, shrieking and hissing between themselves in their ancient tongue.

Moonfyre attempts to steal Gaelithox's food, but the bronze beast flares his wings and hisses.

She gently hushes the brothers, settling the dispute as she tears the meat in half and feeds them by hand.

"The Keepers will certainly have their work cut out for them with these ones," Viserys chuckles.

Maela matches his grin with a polite chuckle, but truly the thought of any of those filthy dragon slavers coming anywhere near her children set her blood afire with a protectiveness only a mother could posses.

They belong at my side, she tells herself, not those slavers.

As though sensing her thoughts, Nightfyre climbs her arm and nuzzles her tiny snout against her cheek.

A smile blooms on Maela's lips, and she strokes her head. "𝐃𝐨̄𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐧̃𝐮𝐡𝐨𝐧," she coos. ( my sweet thing )

Eventually, Jacaerys asks Maela how she knew the fire would not harm her, and whilst the young Princess speaks, from her seat across Maelera, Rhaenyra's indigo gaze couldn't stray away from the three hatchlings clinging to the Dragonmother.

She had not been there to witness the birth of the dragons, but she wishes she had been. To witness such power, not seen in all the ages of the Valyrians, even during the Golden Age.

Daemon's daughter, she is indeed, to achieve such an impossible feat.

For every dragonlord, there has been but one dragon. And yet, Maelera Targaryen has deified those odds, defied the old Valyrian gods, themselves.

For she answers to no god, Rhaenyra muses. An extraordinary thing, this girl is.

She only wishes she could've gotten to know the girl better, told her tales of her brave father and taught her to ride a dragon for she, herself, had been the youngest to ever mount their dragon in all the Targaryens' history, and to speak High Valyrian.

But alas, Maelera 'tis out of her reach, she is as Green as Queen Alicent's dress.

But then, a sudden thought comes to the Crown Princess' mind as she looks at her sons and wonders, is the Princess of Fire truly out of her reach?

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     𝕬 sinnight later, within the Silver Princess' bed chambers, Maelera sits at the round table in the center of the room, her chin resting upon her arms that lay folded on the ebony surface, admiring her three children fumbling around with one another. 

   A wistful grin dances on her lips.

   The children of the Queen, her cousins, were spread about the chambers, as well.

   The eldest, Aegon, is sprawled across the chaise beside the armchair his younger brother, Aemond, sits upon with a history tome in hand whilst dear Helaena sits on the bed with her collection of bugs, a black millipede slithering across her hands.

   Maela did not mind, so long as she did not wake with a spider on her pillow.

   The bronze pounces onto his brother with a shriek and Nightfyre hisses at her brothers, nipping at the Gaelithox's tail. 

   Maela softly chuckles at her clutch, such bright, vibrant things they are. So sweet and rambunctious, never able to be apart from their mother for long, thus she brings them nearly everywhere she goes. No older than a sinnight, yet they already had varying personalities of their own.

   Her plum eyes sparkle with a sudden thought when her gaze drifts to the bowl filled with raw meat in the center of the table. She lifts her head with a smile and reaches across the table to pluck a piece of meat from the silver bowl and the movement gains the three hatchlings' attention.

Softly grinning, Maela leans forward, knees on the edge of the chair she were sitting upon as she rests her weight on her arms atop the surface of the table.

The sound of the chair creaking as it teeters back perks the siblings' attention and they turn their amethyst gazes unto their cousin.

"Whatever are you doing, Mae?" Aegon quirks a brow.

Maelera did not respond, dropping the raw meat before Nightfyre. "𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒔."

The purple sniffs the meat then looks up at her mother, tilting her head with a chirp.

Maela only smiles at her sweetling. "𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒔," she enunciates more slowly.

The dragon-blooded children eagerly watch as Nightfyre returns her amethyst gaze unto the meat. She huffs then puffs out smoke before spitting sparks of flames onto the meat, nearly charring it.

Maela giggles as Helaena claps, the brothers smiling with awe.

"They'll soon be able to feed themselves," Maela announces proudly.

Nightfyre eagerly devours the meat, and her brothers look to their mother with little chirps, thus Maela grabs a handful of meat in one hand whilst she flattens the other atop the table as she stands.

The dragons climb up her arm, her bronze and red perching on her shoulders while Nightfyre clings to her bicep.

Maela saunters over to the hearth and lowers herself onto the woolen carpet, holding the meat within the flames.

It still amazed Aegon how fire could not harm Maela, her skin not even turning pink as the meat burns and sizzles in her hand.

Though, if it could, she wouldn't still be here, and he thanked the gods and stars she were.

After the meat is charred to the dragons' taste, Maela lowers her children onto the ground and offers them their supper.

Setting his book aside, Aemond joins Maelera on the floor. She smiles at him, brushing her knuckles across his porcelain cheek then combing her fingers through his ever-growing hair. He rests his cheek on her bosom, listening to the beat of her heart.

And it soothes him, more than anything ever could or will.

Maela kisses his silver crown, tracing the slope of his spine as he lay curled against her.

Whilst her brothers fumble around after their feast, Nightfyre crawls over to her mother, hissing curiously at Aemond.

He grins at the purple hatchling, undoubtedly the friendliest of the three, and offers his hand. Although she hesitates for a moment, the purple steps onto his palm with a little chirp.

Maela smiles, stroking her purple's neck. "𝐒𝐲𝐳, 𝐠𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐧̃𝐚 𝐧̃𝐮𝐡𝐚𝐧." ( good, my beautiful girl )

Nightfyre trills.

At the sound of their mother's voice, Gaelithox and Moonfyre shriek and bound over to Maelera. She only giggles. "𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬." They hiss and trill in glee.

Nightfyre settles herself on Aemond's lap, curling herself for sleep.

And Maela grins at the sight as her little Aem strokes her little body. It gladdens her heart to see her children and cousins getting along.

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     𝕿he following morrow, Maela finds herself in the Royal Gardens sitting beneath her lemon tree with her knees pulled to her chest as she skims through an old tome she's read a hundred times before.

   The book of Balerion's mighty deeds with the Conqueror. The Burning of Harrenhal, aiding Pentos in the Century of Blood, among other things.

   Moonfyre and Nightfyre lay curled beside her, basking in the beaming sunlight, whilst Gaelithox perches on her shoulder, observing their surroundings and hissing at any noble or servant or guard whom passes by on the gravel path ahead.

   Not far off, Ser Melvan stands watch, keeping his cerulean eyes on his Princess when the sword shield of the young girl hears the sound of approaching steps on the path and spots the second son of the Queen.

   The knight gestures to the lemon tree and Aemond saunters over to Maela.

She flips another page when Gaelithox shrieks the moment she hears the soft sound of gravel crunching beneath boots and lifts her gaze to see her sweet prince.

Yet Maela tosses the book aside whilst leaping to her feet with wide eyes at the state of him. The hatchlings all shriek, sensing their mother's worry.

"Aemond! What in the Seven Hells happened?" She worries, rushing over to him to hold his arms as she inspects him for injuries.

Her prince looks dreadful. His silver hair is matted and knotted with ash and soot, dirt paints his cheeks, and tears in his sleeves reveal raw scrapes on his elbows and palms.

Maela looks into his gloomy gaze, lifting her brows at his silence.

"They gave me a pig," he mumbles, not meeting her gaze out of shame.

Maela expels a breath as her eyes drop to the grass beneath their feet. The Strong pups and Aegon, of course.

She'd need to have a talk with his older brother, she knows.

Though, for the moment, Maela holds his cheeks, waiting until he meets her eyes. "Pay no mind to them, Aem. You will have a dragon one day, then... 𝐚𝐨 𝐣𝐚̄𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐳𝐢𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐲 𝐳𝐚̄𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧." ( you will make them all burn )

Gaelithox hisses.

She kisses his silver crown before tugging him into an embrace, one Aemond falls into whilst closing his eyes just a shade brighter than Maelera's own dark violet irises, tucking his head beneath her chin.

After escorting Aemond to his bedchambers and telling the servants to prepare a bath for him, Maelera treks through the halls of the keep toward her uncle's chambers, for she wished to bring up something bothering her as of late.

   Amidst a sun-drenched corridor, the princess comes across Aegon. But she does not return his smile, ringed hands clasped on her stomach as she quirks an unimpressed brow at him.

   Perched on her shoulder, Moonfyre hisses at the prince.

   And Aegon realizes she knows of his stunt in the Dragonpit.

   "Maela, I apologize if I upset you, it was never my intention. It was just a bit of fun."

   She strides past him, and without meeting his lilac gaze, speaks coldly, "The only one you should be wasting your breath with apologies to is your brother." Then she turns the corner and disappears from his sight.

   Shortly after, the Silver Princess stands in front of the double doors into the King's royal quarters, greeting Ser Arryk with a polite grin.

   Nightfyre shrieks.

   The knight bows his head in respect, "Princess," then opens the door. "The Princess Maelera, Your Grace."

   "Let her come."

   She saunters in and finds Viserys working on his model of Valyria with several stone-masons, sunlight spilling through the softly swaying curtains.

   "Leave us," the young girl commands and they all stand, bowing their heads as they leave, the last closing the door behind him with a soft thud as Maela sits beside her uncle on a cushioned stool.

   Viserys greets her with a smile whilst using his small tools to carve intricate detailings on one of the numerous buildings in the city of old.

   "Now why have you driven off my stone-masons?"

   She chuckles, stroking Nightfyre's amethyst scales when she curls on her lap. "Can a niece not wish to sit with her uncle in peace?"

   "I suppose so."

Maela huffs an amused breath, her gaze drifting to the city of white marble. Oh, how she wishes she could've seen Valyria in it's glory.

The Golden Age.

When the forty families of dragonlords filled its streets with hundreds of dragons in the sky.

Who knows, mayhaps in another life she could've lived on a house built on a mountain so tall it touched the clouds with a lemon tree outside her window.

Mayhaps she could've been the girl she is and wished to be, lived the childhood she'd never known.

She sighs at the thought.

"What is it, dear girl?" Viserys asks her.

"I only wish I could've seen Valyria before it's doom fell upon it."

"As do I. Balerion is the last living creature in all the world to have seen Valyria of old before the Doom. Its greatness and its flaws." The King turns to look at the Princess. "When you look at the dragons, Maelera, what is it that you see?"

Maela looks to one of the marble dragons perched on the walls like sentinels, lifting a hand to stroke a finger down it's slender body, tracing its wings, "I see us."

On her shoulder, Gaelithox hisses, flaring his wings.

"Tell me."

"Noble and commons alike say Targaryens are closer to gods than to men... but they only think so because of our dragons. They're terrifying, extraordinary. They fill people with wonder and awe."

She looks at her red, who nuzzles his head across her brunette-and-silver crown with a chirp.

Maela grins. "Without them, we're just like everyone else."

Viserys softly grins at his niece, "The idea that we control the dragons is nothing but an illusion."

Her dark brows crinkly slightly at her uncle's words, but she does not disagree.

"They are a power men should never have trifled with. One that brought Valyria it's doom. And if we do not mind our own histories, it will do the same to us."

Twisting and turning one of her silver rings, Maela looks down at her purple still curled up on her lap with a blink, like a kitten and not a beast that will grow to raze the world in her fire.

Silence settles between them for several breaths, 'til Maela breaks it. "Uncle."

Viserys hums in acknowledgment.

"I have been having dreams of late. Dreams of a glowing city with... hundreds of dragons flying in the sky." She looks away from Valyria, yet her gaze 'tis lost in the depths of her mind. "I'm always flying in these dreams."

The King nods in thought. "Many of our kin have been dragon riders, few of us dreamers. What is the fire of our dragons compared to the power of prophecy?"

Silently, Maela nods, returning her gaze to the marble city beside her as silence befalls them once again until Viserys chuckles and Maela looks at him with the tilt of an amused smirk on her lips and a quirked brow, "What?"

"I had just remembered the night you came into this world, and the morning that followed. When the sun broke the night sky, a star had fallen."

Her brows rise, interest peaked.

"Red as the Blood Wyrm's fire. Just the most extraordinary thing."

"What do you suppose it meant?"

"Not even the wisest maesters, themselves, knew. Mayhaps it meant to symbolize Daemon's bloody victory in the Stepstones."

A thoughtful hum rumbles through Maela's chest, her violet eyes dropping to the dragon in her lap. "I think it was meant as a herald."

"Of what, dear girl?"

She meets his lilac gaze, "A herald of my coming."

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     𝕬fter sitting with her uncle for a while longer, Maela found herself wondering through the halls of Maegor's Holdfast with her children, whom shriek and hiss at whomever passes them by.

   Trekking down the corridor she knows Aegon's royal quarters to be in, she spots Alicent storming out of her eldest's chambers. The Queen gives the girl a tight-lipped grin as she marches off.

   Hands cupped on her stomach, Maela stands in the hall, amethyst gaze shifting between the corner Alicent disappeared around and the opened door into Aegon's chambers with a slightly bewildered expression.

   "Curious," she mumbles. Moonfyre hisses.

   With a breath, she ventures into the prince's room and finds him sitting on a pile of blankets on the floor beneath the windowsill–undoubtedly bare as the day he came into the world beneath them.

   She expels a soft breath at the pitiful sight, knowing exactly what'd occured.

   Aegon looks up at her, and that 'tis when she spots the marks on his cheeks. Where Alicent had grabbed his face, harshly, as she yelled at him.

   Not that Maela knew this, but those marks have marred his ivory flesh more than once.

   And her anger at Aegon for his stunt in the pit fades as she closes the door behind her. She settles down on the blankets beside him with a soft exhalation.

   Nightfyre trills softly at the prince, climbing down her mother's arm to settle upon his lap–the winged beasts' sharing their mistress' love for him.

   Maela grins at the sweet sight, whilst her bronze and red remain perched on her shoulders.

   She knows Alicent loves all of her children more than anything, no matter how stubborn and troublesome they could prove to be, especially the boys.

   But lovely Alicent'd been a child, herself, when she brought them into the world, and her mother died when she were very young.

   The Green Queen knew not how to be a mother, but tried her hardest. Thus, Maelera did not fault her for things like this, for she knew Alicent had no malice intent for these things.

   Aegon could be quite the handful at times.

   She looks at the boy only a year older than herself, noticing how he does not meet her eye, fidgeting with a loose thread. "She loves you... you know this?"

   "I find that hard to believe most days, Maela."

   She sighs, "I know, but she does love you. I know that. I see that."

   Although he nods, Aegon doesn't seem fully convinced, but she doesn't fault him for it.

Expelling another soft breath, Maela lifts her ringed hand to comb her fingers through his long, pale hair. And Aegon finds himself leaning into the warmth of her touch until he slumps down onto her lap.

Maela giggles, planting a tender kiss atop his silver crown.

And in the warmth of their embrace, they would remain until the Princess feels a pull within the space between her heart and soul. A smile blooms on her poppy-pink lips.

"Why don't we share a flight before supper, mm?" She asks her prince.

Sitting up, Aegon grins with a nod of agreement. There 'tis nothing he loves more than flying.

Maela kisses his cheek as Nightfyre climbs onto her arm before standing and rushing to her chambers to dress herself for riding.

And the Silver Princess 'twere ignorant to the blood rushing to the prince's cheek where her lips had graced his skin with their sweetness.

Once they returned from the skies, Maela left her children with Balerion for the night before they joined their family for supper.

Throughout the meal, Maela noticed the gloom in her little Aem's posture and how he would avoid looking at, let alone speaking to, his brother.

She frowned at that.

Thus, once the servants came to clear the table and all bid their goodnights to one another, Maela took his hand and brought him down to the garden with the Weirwood tree where the setting sun paints the sky in beautiful shades of orange and lavender as the last of its rays peer through the ruby leaves above them.

The Silver Princess sits with her legs curled beside her whilst Aemond rests his head on her thigh, fiddling with a fallen leaf from the stark-white tree casting its shadow over them.

"𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐡𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐬 was how they said it in Valyria of old. All men must die. And the Doom came and proved it true," Maela says, closing her eyes as she leans on the palms of her hands, basking in the last of the fading sunlight.

"The hills that split asunder and the black that ate the skies," she continues. "The flames that shot so high and hot that even dragons burned, would never be the final sights that fell upon their eyes. A fly upon a wall, the waves the sea wind whipped and churned."

"The city of a thousand years, and all that men had learned, the Doom consumed it all alike, and neither of them turned," Aemond finishes.

Maela's eyes, deep purple like a plum, blink open at the sound of Balerion's roar, spotting his winged shadow in the golden clouds.

A soft hum of thought falls from her lips as she remembers the dreams she'd been having since the night she brought her children into the world.

But before she could think further on it, the voice of the boy beside her has Maela looking down at him, lifting her hand to comb it through his shoulder-length silver hair. "Do you think Balerion ever longs for old Valyria?"

Maela's gaze drifts toward the sound of the Blackwater beyond–the waves crashing against the shores and the seagulls culling above the glittering cerulean waters.

"Whenever we lay together upon the shores of the Blackwater, Balerion's gaze lingers on the sea–on the eastern horizon, I've noticed. I believe he is either longing for home, or mayhaps his lover."

With a furrowed brow, Aemond looks up at the beautiful girl he's always known. "His lover?"

A giggle spills past her smile as Maelera meets his violet gaze. "Haven't you heard the tale?"

He shakes his head with a grin.

"It is said that in his years away from Westeros, Balerion met a sea dragon. The sea dragon was hunting a kracken, but the old beast was clever and ensnared her in it's tentacles. Her cries echoed all through Valyria. Loud enough for Balerion to hear. He flew to her aid and that night, they feasted upon the kracken's charred bones. But the sea dragon had been injured in the battle, thus she decided to stay in the ruins until she healed. Their love was said to have blossomed in those weeks. Mayhaps she was lonely, no one knows, but even long after she healed, she stayed with Balerion. They spent nights dancing beneath starlight and many days hunting what lived in the seas. But then, one morning, the sea dragon woke without her love at her side. She knew not where he had gone. And the sailors daring enough to travel through Valyria say they can still hear her cries at night–hear her calling out to Balerion, hoping for his return."

Maela's gaze drops to the grass, running her fingers through the soft strands.

Balerion left the ruins when her father's seed began to bloom in her mother's womb, he had abandoned his great love for her. This she knows. "Duty tore them apart."

"... Duty is the death of love." Aemond mumbles, before he asks, "Do you believe the tale?"

Young Maelera looks up at the lone shadow still soaring within the clouds. "I do."

__________༻♕༺___________

🫣, Well, it's been an age. Honestly, my love for HOTD has dwindled so much since season two' atrocity. Ugh, 😑. Hopefully I'll be able to get through this "no-motivation" slump, we'll see, 🤞🏻. Anyway, the next chapters will begin to follow with the plot of episodes six and seven, 🤗. So that'll be fun.