༻♕༺

𝕿𝐎 𝕮𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐀 𝕶𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 || 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆
𝟕ᵗʰ 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 || 𝟏𝟐𝟎 𝐀𝐂

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     𝕷𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝖜𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝖙𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝖎𝐧 𝖍𝐞𝐫 𝖍𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝖆𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐬𝐭 the luscious Royal Gardens is Princess Maelera Targaryen, basking beneath the morning sunlight as she rests her back against the neck of Balerion the Dread.

The dragon's spiked tail swishing across the bright green grass, occasionally flicking, with soft snores that amuse young Maela emitting from his gigantic snout.

The tip of his glittering snout twitches and Balerion shifts it closer to Maelera, whom giggles and smiles at her dragon. Seemingly finally warming up to King's Landing, their new home.

When they'd first arrived over a moon ago, her Balerion loathed the stinking red city. Though, most of his detest was for the Keepers, who pestered Maelera incessantly about chaining him beneath the pit. For the wild dragon would frequently raid the farms beyond the red walls for their livestock.

What could young Maelera do? Balerion is a dragon, none could ever tame them. Her indignation for them and their foolishness were his.

For the bond between dragon and rider runs so deep that the beast shares his master's loves and hates.

And Maelera Bloodmoon despises the Dragon Keepers. Dragon slavers, more like, to her.

Not only that, but it were also the matter of hooking a saddle onto Balerion. Like he were some horse. Maela told them her boy would not allow one, but let them attempt anyway for her enjoyment.

The Princess would never deny she laughed until tears leaked from her eyes when Balerion roared and nearly burned all the Keepers into ash when they had approached him with a, rather ugly, leather saddle.

The Keepers did not try since.

But Maelera knew lovely Alicent worries as it were rather dangerous to ride dragonback without a saddle, but Maela knew Balerion would never let her fall. The bond connecting them grew stronger with every flight he shared with her.

And they flew together nearly every day since coming to the capital.

Maelera Bloodmoon trusts him, and Balerion the Dread trusts her.

Though, in the past few days, the dragons had scarcely flown the skies together as the Queen kept her young ward busy with finding a knight suitable enough to be named the Princess' sworn shield.

The young girl had refused all the knights presented before her thus far. She knew they were all pompous men, tourney knights. A fancy game for fancy folk. A bore, truly. At least, that's what Ser Gerold had said when she asked about them.

But with those thoughts drifting through her mind, Maelera remembers that she is to be presented with yet another set of knights to chose as her protector in an hour's time. She sighs beneath her breath.

Balerion grumbles.

"I know, 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐝𝐨̄𝐧𝐚, but I'll be sure to see you later. Mayhaps we can fly above the bay at dusk?" ( my sweet )

   Although the dragon huffs in reluctant acceptance, Balerion lazily shifts his snout across the grass towards her, demanding a caress before he allows her to leave. A giggle as she gifts him the caresses he so desires, before she kisses his steaming scales then stands.

The sudden footsteps upon the gravel pathways dotting the Royal Gardens, cutting through the bushes and towering trees, disrupts Maelera as she turns only to see the King approaching with a pair of his loyal Kingsguard trailing behind his shadow.

A gust of humid air envelopes Maela as Balerion exhales, one of his ruby-red eyes flicking open and the princess notices the knights immediate wariness as their rigid postures tense, hands falling to clutch the pommels of their swords as if the mere steel could pierce Balerion's thick scales.

Seeing that the King were walking towards her, Maelera straightens out her lavender silk dress with pale gold swishes and swirls accompanied by a golden belt with a dragon-head clip and flicks off the few blades of grass.

"Your Grace." The princess dips into a curtsy as the King stands before her, though her ankles begin to wobble therefore she stands again.

Viserys just kindly smiles down at her. "Good morrow, dear niece. 'Tis a perfect day for it, isn't it? Lounging in the gardens. Some days all I wish for is to be free of the crown so that I might forget about the matters of court."

Maela chuckles, "I do not envy you, Your Grace."

"Please, dear girl. We are family, Uncle will do when 'tis only us."

The young girl only bows her head in a light nod with a smile. 'Twasn't only the lovely Queen whom took her in that night, for the Peaceful King welcomed Maelera Bloodmoon into his home and named her Princess of the Realm.

Even though the King of Westeros was distracted through the days attending to matters of the Realm and royal court, Viserys still made time to build a relationship with his niece.

Often summoning her to his royal chambers before supper so they may sit together beside his steadily growing model of Old Valyria as he told her story after story of their ancestral homeland and the dragons of old, as well as, getting to know one another.

He came to learn Maelera Bloodmoon is as much of an enthusiast on the histories and philosophies of this world just as he—Viserys gifted her every new text on history he could get his hands on since then. She loved to fly at sunset, practice archery on horseback, play Cyvasse, among other things.

   A waft of pale steam engulfs the King and young Princess as the Black Dread chuffs, and Viserys turns his purple-eyed gaze to Balerion, the largest and mightiest dragon in the world.

   "My, a beauty, isn't he?"

   A smile blooms across Maelera's lips, "He is."

   "Balerion is the last living remnant of Old Valyria. I do believe he stands as a testament to it's forgotten might."

   Dark brows crease above dark purple eyes as Maelera looks up at her uncle-king, whose own amethyst gaze remains fixated upon the Black Dread as wonder shimmers within their depths.

   "I don't believe the strength of Old Valyria is lost, Uncle. It still lives within us."

   The Peaceful softly grins down at the Bloodmoon, resting his palm atop her shoulder affectionately, "You have inherited the best of your father, dear girl."

   Young Maela withholds a sudden grimace at the comparison between her and her father, gifting the King a rather tense grin that seems to satisfy him. Viserys meant well, she knew.

   "Do you think Westeros could become another Valyria, Uncle?" She dissuades.

   "That depends, Maelera."

  The young princess tilts her head curiously, "On what?"

   "If you mean Valyria at its height, or at its fall. Over a thousand dragons, with a navy large enough to span the seas of the world."

   The Daughter of Death looks to Balerion the Dread still content to slumber ahead of them, lethal tail softly swishing midst the grass, kicking up pummels of dirt and blades of grass. His ebony scales glistening underneath the sun with his every breath.

   "House Targaryen has thirteen dragons under its yoke with seven dragonriders, and our Velaryon kin command a navy of nearly a thousand ships." Maela returns her gaze unto her uncle-king, "While Westeros has felt the wrath and might of Valyria twice over... I don't think it could ever become another Valyrian empire, itself."

   "Why is that so, do you think?"

   "Because then the Seven Kingdoms would be nothing but ash and ruin. This side of the Narrow Sea is far too weak to withstand dragonfire, Aegon Targaryen and his dragons proved that."

   Viserys I looks into Maelera Dragonborn's eyes and he sees Daemon Targaryen standing beside him, but he blinks and his brother is gone.

༻ •𖢻• ༺

𝔄 pawn whittled into the shape of a rose is laid within the center of the round table beside Maelera, whom stands atop a wooden stool, gazing over the railings of the balcony overlooking the yard with
the ten knights all stood below.

The Princess' sharp eyes roam across all ten men donned in armor that glints beneath the beams of the midday sunlight, her hands cupped behind her back. Observing the banners held by squire boys, she tries her best to recognize the different Houses these
men were sworn to in perpetuity.

Young Maela were only just beginning to learn all about the hundreds of Westerosi Houses and their vast histories by the maesters.

"Ser Dontar of House Tyrell."

A young knight with curly, sandy-blonde hair falling to his shoulders comes forth when the Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Harold Westerling, announces him.

Ser Dontar bows his head in respect to the young Silver Princess and lovely Green Queen, whom is stood with a regal presence at her ward's other side.

Ser Westerling begins listing off the young man's deeds, "Ser Dontar has proven both strong and steady in the tourney lists and without. While traveling to King's Landing through the Kingswood, he brought
a would-be poacher.. to justice."

Young Maela only stares down at the knight with her lips fallen into a frown of boredom, a dark brow lazily lifted. The Commander leans down to whisper to his new Princess, "You may want to thank him for his service, Princess."

Her enviously long lashes flutter as she blinks. "We thank you for your loyalty to the Crown, Ser."

The Tyrell knight bends his upper-body in a bow, then, returns to his banner, a golden rose on a green field, as Ser Westerling replaces the rose pawn with another in the shape of a seabird.

"Ser Brandeth of House Hawick."

A blood-haired warrior steps away from his banner at the call of his name. Though, his wide chest and burly shoulders do not impress Maelera.

"Ser Brandeth was knighted at eight-and-ten, and once won a tourney as the last mount of three-and-forty knights."

   The young Princess' chest rumbles with a soft hum, brow twitching once more into an uninterested lift. He was strong, yet would be too slow with those gigantic feet. Though, she, once again, thanks the tourney knight for his service.

Listening to the deeds of more tourney knights and their disposing of mere bandits—Maela may have been slightly intrigued if they'd been men of the Mountain Clans in the Vale instead, but alas they were not—morphs into a rather dull blur as three more men are called to stand before her.

With a sigh beneath her breath, Maelera interlocks her fingers together and leans her lower-arms upon the smooth, stone rail. Her eyes shimmer with boredom as they sweep across the ten men until her narrowed gaze settles on an intriguing knight stood near the back of the others.

The banner held beside him was of a white, great-horned owl on a grey field. She did not yet recognize it.

The knight's windblown hair were mayhaps just
a shade or two darker than hers, scattered with few stubborn curls, a lean form with broad shoulders and when his eyes meet hers, she sees they are a deep cerulean blue.

Like the ocean, yet you would not see the dangers lurking within it's depths until it coils it's claws around your ankles and pulls you into the awaiting abyss.

Though, the scar slicing through his face captured her gaze the most—a jagged scar cutting through the skin of his cheekbone all the way across his button nose. She wonders how he earned it.

To say the young girl were intrigued would be to say too little.

Leaning on the tips of her toes, Maelera interrupts the Lord Commander as he drawled on about another knight's pathetic feats, "Come forth, Ser."

The enthralling knight steps forward, his helm tucked into his side underneath his arm, as the other returns to his banner.

Ser Westerling only sighs at the Princess' manners, sharing a swift glance with the Queen, who struggles to withhold a grin, then, lays the pawn of the knight's House in the center of the table.

A great-horned owl.

"Ser Melvan 'Shield-Breaker' of House Mertyn."

A bright smile lifts her youthful features, a dimple appearing on her cheek. The stones of the rail press rather uncomfortably against her front as she leans further forward, yet the young girl does not find it within herself to care at the moment, "Be
welcome, Ser."

This Ser Melvan dips his head into a light bow, a smirk curling his lips.

"Do you have combat experience, Ser? Beyond capturing poachers?"

"I fought for nearly four summers as a foot soldier against the Triarchy in the Stepstones, Princess."

Ah, the war for the Stepstones. The war her father fought in at the side of the infamous Sea Snake with his mighty Blood Wyrm against the crab-feeding Triarchy.

The war that inevitably brought forth her birth, for her father flew to Runestone before he left for war and many, many, drinks shared between himself and his wife led to false desire which led to her conception.

She wonders if the knight gained his scar amidst the war.

Though, the Princess shatters those thoughts, her smile morphing into a smirk. She nods at the knight, then, turns to Ser Westerling, tilting her neck up with her palm resting on the rail, "I choose Ser Melvan 'Shield-Breaker'."

The white-bearded Commander blinks, "L-Let's not be too hasty, Princess. There's no doubt Ser Melvan is a fine warrior but Houses such as Seagard and Mallister are important allies to the Crown. Tyrell, for instance, is the Realm's primary supplier of wheat and barley for the harsh winters."

The dragon born in human flesh narrows her eyes, cupping her hands behind her back, tilting her head to the side. "Those men are tourney knights. I should be defended by a man whose known real combat... or should I not, Ser?"

   The dragon challenges the knight, whom wisely bows his head in submission, "Of course, Princess."

The young girl smiles, "Good. Well then, let us plan for Ser Melvan's investiture."

The Bloodmoon looks down to the Shield-Breaker. The knight bows his head with that smirk, holding a hand to his heart then extending it toward her.

The Princess smirks.

Gifting lovely Alicent a peck on the cheek, Maelera hops down from the stool then springs into a skip to her bed chamber.

After nearly a week of endless debate, she settled upon Ser Melvan of Mistwood, the Shield-Breaker.

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     𝔊azing upon the bustling city beneath, the young Princess stands upon the balcony attached to her chamber, chin rested atop her crossed arms laid on the rails that'd been carved from pale-stone a century ago when Maegor the Cruel built the Red Keep.

   Or rather, forced thousands of smithies and stonemasons to forge the Red Keep from brick, sweat, and blood for himself before he slaughtered them all once the keep had been finished. She knew not why, not many did.

   The maesters suspected to hide some secret within the walls only the Cruel wished to know.

   Young Maela were lost within the depths of her chaotic mind, therefore, she slightly jumps when she hears her maiden's voice echo from the doorway onto the balcony fitted with a pair of armchairs with turquoise cushions.

   "Your bath is ready, Princess."

   The young girl nods, then, with a last glance at the blazing sun above beginning to tilt west, saunters into her chamber.

   Her deep-plum eyes land upon the bronze tub laid beside the hearth, emitting orange-and-yellow heat, with pale wisps of steam lifting from the water.

Once her sole handmaiden, beautiful Salna, unlaces her silk dress, Maela steps into the waters that border near the temperament of boiling, her preferred heat for baths, and settles within the tub with a breath of content.

   The water ripples with every swish of her arms as the young girl leans the back of her head against the cool, metal rim. Closing her eyes as she enjoys the smell of the scented candles Salna had lit, as well as, the oils she mixed within the steaming waters.

The scent of citrus and lavender flowing through the spacious bed chamber fit for a princess.

Salna, a beautiful Essosian woman with brunette hair that stretched down to her waist and bright brown eyes with gold speckles that glitter in the sunlight, sits upon a wooden stool behind her Princess and begins washing the young girl's beautiful hair.

Sinking a cup into the bathwater, Salna spills the steaming water unto the Princess' hair, soaking the otherworldly locks as the excess water falls into a
bowl between the maiden's feet.

Salna repeats this until she deems the Princess' hair soaked enough, then, begins to lather the strands with lavender scented oils and soaps.

The maiden learned early on into becoming Maelera Bloodmoon's maiden that she rather enjoyed baths that were near boiling. It worried the young woman at first, but now, it merely intrigues her.

How heat never bothers the Bloodmoon, no matter it's form.

"I hear you chose a knight today.. finally." Salna breaks the comfortable silence between princess and maiden with amusement littering her tone. Maelera just chuckles. "Ser Melvan of House Mertyn." She announces the name of said knight. "I will need to introduce him to Balerion after his investiture in the morrow."

"I will wish him luck then."

Young Maela giggles. Her sole maiden was only a year or two younger than the Queen, therefore, the pair of them got along swell as Maela found herself trusting her maiden and often confided in Salna to seek advice as she'd lived in the ruthless King's Landing most of her life after she left Volantis as a young girl.

They were similar in that sense, Maela thinks.

Leaving all they knew behind for a better life, for adventure.

Gathering all of the thick strands into her hands, Salna rinses the young girl's hair as she squeezes all of the excess water into the bowl, then, curls the brunette streaked with silver strands into a bun that rests at the nape of Maela's neck, held by a silver pin, allowing the locks to dry completely.

Sliding off of the stool, Salna sits on her haunches beside her young Princess and lathers her skin pale like snow with more soaps and oils that smell of citrus and lavender delicately, as if attending to the most rare of flowers.

Maela hums in content, Salna huffs a breathy chuckle.

"How did you fall into service for the Targaryens, Salna? If you do not mind my asking."

"Volantis, although beautiful and.. exotic, became a bore over the years. I wished for more and once I saved up enough coin, I bought a ship and left all I ever knew behind for.. for–"

"For adventure."

The pair share soft smiles, understanding blooming in their eyes as they bond over this sacred information of the maiden's past. Although the princess was young, Maelera was very wise and very kind for her age, she was not some spoilt child crying out her every whim and want.

Her Princess always treats her with respect and kindness, with gratitude. Something quite rare to find within the Red Keep, mayhaps all of Westeros.

Because of this, a fast friendship formed between them.

"Yes, my Princess. I docked on the shores of the Torentine, near Starfall. I spent many moons in that beautiful keep, serving the Daynes. The Swords of the Morning, they called themselves. Arrogant is always the word that comes to mind when I think of the Dornish because they won a battle, once."

Maelera giggles. "They are, indeed."

"I soon grew very bored," The young girl giggles, once again. " — and left Dorne to see these outlandish Targaryens for myself." A wistful grin lifts the maiden's fair features. "Instead of finding hideous, cruel monsters, I found..." She trails off, searching for the right word within the depths of her intelligent mind. "I found.. a kindness. A kindness hardly seen in this world. After only four words, our Queen took me in and named me one of her maidens. I have served her proudly since. And now I find myself serving her ward.. with even more pride."

A shy grin lifts said ward's lips, sinking into the slowly cooling waters until her collarbones disappear beneath their depths. "Thank you, Salna." The maiden softly bows her head with a grin.

The pale steam begins to fade and once it is gone, Maelera stands and steps out of the cold bath, droplets trickling down her steaming skin, taking the moment to glance about her bed chamber as she walks over to the vanity where Salna awaits.

   There were patterned room dividers sprouting from the brick walls that separate the area where the canopy bed with turquoise sheets and white pillows along with smaller decorative pillows the color of bronze lay, with bedside tables on either side of it.

   A tapestry hung upon the wall behind the bed, the fabric stitched to resemble a prominent moment of Targaryen history—the Conqueror staring over the Blackwater with Balerion beside him.

   The moment Aegon the Conqueror decided to forge Westeros into the Seven Kingdoms 'tis today with his sisters and their dragons.

   Toward the left side of the bed an ebony armorie were laid against the red-bricked wall across from the turquoise cushioned windowsill with bronze pillows that overlooks the Blackwater Bay, glimmering like sapphires underneath certain lights.

   Opposite the canopy bed, on the other side of the dividers, were the stone hearth—lit all through the night and late into the day—the glass door to the balcony and a window on either side of it.

   A sitting area surrounds the hearth, a round ebony table between an armchair and a chaise with turquoise and bronze pillows, the leather of the lounge seat black, laid upon a woolen carpet. Shouldering the window, were another table crafted from ebony wood, smooth surface dotted with silver goblets and pitchers of rich cider.

   The princess were not yet old enough for the wines of the world.

   Behind the seating area were a round dining table with ebony-carved chairs encircled around it. A pair of dark bookshelves, littered with books and the wooden dragon her mother whittled for her, stood across the vanity with the table between them.

   The chambers were certainly more lavish than the one she left behind in Runestone.

    But there was a certain presence about the room that filled Maela with the sense of home, mayhaps it was the sprinkle of bronze in the small details that remind her so much of Runestone, a comforting familiarity.

   Sitting herself at the vanity fitted with a polished mirror, her faithful maiden removes the pin holding her hair and the locks cascade down her back in gentle waves. Salna, then, begins to brush through the damp strands.

   Once the locks were deemed dried enough, she weaves her young Princess' hair into a single braid with the silver and brunette interweaving beautifully, then, plucks a dress from the armorie, aiding Maelera in dressing herself for her lessons on history and language with the maester.

The sleeveless dress, reaching just above her ankles, were sewn from violet-silk with gold threadings on the sharp shoulders shaped into flying dragons spitting fire, broken fragments of amber embroidered into the gold flames, sparkling in the sunlight. The collar wraps highly around her neck with a slit running down the center, revealing her mother's necklace she never took off. The gold belt around her waist with a dragon-head clip shimmers and twinkles with her every movement. Only the bottom of her boots could be seen beneath and the heels click against the stone floor with every step she takes out of her chamber after thanking her maiden, heading toward the Royal Family's private library.

༻ •𖢻• ༺

     "𝐇𝐞𝐧 𝐳ȳ𝐡𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐢̄𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚 𝐯𝐢̄𝐥𝐢̄𝐛𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞 𝐃𝐚̄𝐫𝐲𝐬." ( visenya argued with the king about his protection )

"Good, Princess."

"𝐙ȳ𝐡𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐞̄𝐤𝐢𝐚-𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐳𝐫ȳ𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐧̃𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐮̄𝐬𝐢̄𝐫 𝐙𝐨̄𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚." ( cutting her brother-husband's cheek with dark sister )

"Yes. The last."

"𝐒𝐨 𝐃𝐚̄𝐫𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐯𝐞̄𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐧." ( thus the kingsguard was made )

"Excellent. You learn fast, my young Princess." The maester praises with a proud smirk, the golden light of the sun flooding through the windows as the sun begins it's descent into the horizon.

The private library of the Royal Family's smells of worn pages and wet ink, a scent that brings serenity to young Maelera, oddly enough. It reminds her of the library in Runestone.

   The calls of the ravens in the rookery above, the salty wind bustling in through the scarce windows, and the clinking of the maester's chains. What Maelera missed the most, though, were her hidden nook in the darkest corner where she would often lay in a pile of blankets and pillows while reading all about the Valyrians in soft, pale gold candlelight.

   With her plum-eyed gaze fluttering about the Royal Family's library, young Maela finds herself wondering if amidst these shelves there was a hidden nook beckoning to be discovered so she could disappear for hours on end as she read book after book.

The servants' door creaks as it is pushed open, a servant of the keep entering the library. The young boy says the maester were needed for a wounded knight, therefore, Maela offers to put away the books for the grey-haired man. The maester left and the young princess did just that.

The young girl clutches a large gold threaded book to her chest, 'A History of House Lannister', as she weaves through the wooden shelves to find it's proper shelf, though, once she does Maelera realizes the self were far too high for her to reach.

   Expelling a huff, Maela comes to regret her offering of putting the books away.

The wooden floorboards creak under the weight of someone stood at the end of the aisle of bookshelves, snickers filling the pleasant air.

Maelera turns only to see Prince Aegon Targaryen terribly hiding a smirk behind his hand at the end of the shelves. She rolls her eyes with another huff. "Well, are you just going to stand there like a twat and mock me, or will you help like a proper gentleman?"

Aegon only chuckles after her words and Maelera rolls her sharp purple eyes, once again, though, her lips quirk with an amused grin, before he approaches, takes the book from her arms, and easily stands on the tips of his toes to return the book to it's proper place.

The prince then looks to the princess. "Why not leave this to the servants? It is their job after all." Shrugging her shoulders, Maelera looks at her boots with a nod. "I suppose so. It just.. felt wrong to leave such books laying about."

The young boy's features only contort with confusion, dark brows bending, therefore, Maelera explains as she looks at the book-aligned shelves surrounding them. "These books contain our history.. without them, we'd be nothing and learn not from our past mistakes. It feels improper to mistreat them."

"Mayhaps you're spending too much time with the maesters."

Laughter spills from young Maela's lips as she shoves his shoulder, earning a chuckle from him in return. "I suppose you're right, how dreadful."

Aegon snickers, then he asks. "How are your Valyrian lessons coming along?"

The Princess began her lessons in learning to speak and understand her mother tongue merely a week ago. Maelera Targaryen were a quick learner, 'tis true, but learning to speak an entirely different language did not come easy. Maela shrugs her shoulders, bouncing on her heels. "Well, I suppose, considering having just started a week ago."

"𝐒𝐲𝐳." ( good )

A soft smile tilts the young girl's lips and the Prince reciprocates it, softly laughing in the space between one another.

"Though, I have trouble with my "r"s, as in 𝐥𝐲𝐤𝐢𝒓𝐢 or 𝒓𝐲𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐬."

Thoughtfully, Aegon nods. Her "r"s were not rolled as they should be for those words, sounding rusty, but she were just beginning to learn the language.

Suddenly, the Prince's bright lavender eyes light up when a thought passes through his mind. "Would you like me to help you?" Maelera only creases her brows in confusion. "With your Valyrian, I mean? I-I know you have the maesters, but–"

The beautiful Princess' chuckle silences his rambling and Aegon looks into her deep-plum eyes as she nods with a smile brighter than the stars and warmer than the sun illuminating the earth beneath.

   "Yes, I.. would like that very much."

Maelera closes the distance between prince and princess as she takes his hands into hers, porcelain skin so soft to the touch. "Thank you, Aegon." He softly smiles at the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, or will see he declares to himself.

__________༻♕༺___________

༻ Author's Note ༺

( maela's red keep chambers )

It is here, yes! 🥳
Not my best work, I know, 🫠 but I felt it's been far too long since I've updated my favorite story of all time! LOL 🥰
A little time skip and we're seeing how Maela is settling down in King's Landing with the Targtowers 😌 And a little snippet of Maegon at the end there 😉 Them and Maeond are my babies 🥹

Anyways, my brain is fried 🤯 Hope u enjoyed, my lovelies, and know there is still SO much more to come 😌 ( we haven't even gotten close to epi. six yet 🙂) And yes, I have an addiction to Emojis 😉😌 they're mah favorite