༻♕༺

𝕱𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝕿𝐇𝐄 𝕸𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄 || 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄
𝟓ᵗʰ 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 || 𝟏𝟐𝟎 𝐀𝐂

༻ •𖢻• ༺

𝕿𝐡𝐞 𝖈𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝖇𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝖌𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝖘𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝖉𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝖍𝐞𝐫 𝖘𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞 as there Maelera Bloodmoon stands beside her mother's pyre. Gloved hand resting upon her chest, too still, too cold, directly above Rhea Royce's frozen heart, never to beat again. A tear slides down her pale cheek, chest hiccuping with barely contained sobs.

The salt of grief falls unto the sheet of white the lovely Royce were wrapped within; a silent splash of sorrow.

A whine emits from the winged beast perched upon the steep hill lifting from the plain the cremation took place upon outside of the Runestone keep, dimmed red eyes gazing at his rider as of a mere few hours ago.

A pitiful sob falls from the young Royce's lips, bowing her head until it rests upon her mother.

Gathered within the plain between rolling hills, those in attendance to the Lady Rhea Royce's cremation can only watch with weeping hearts.

The Bloodmoon had wished to follow the old Valyrian customs and cremate her mother so she may join the stars, and none dared to deny Maelera this. For with their Lady's face nearly unrecognizable, even those holy devoted to the Seven complained not.

Maelera straightens her posture, stifling the sobs desperately clawing their way up her throat with pitiful sniffles. "Do not fear, mother. I will have fire in my eyes, not tears. You raised a dragon among sheep." A whisper more gentle than the weeping wind fell from trembling lips.

Deep indigo eyes lift unto glowing red, the eyes of the Bloodmoon and the Dread connecting, and the dragon's flared nostrils emit smoke as he huffs, a delicate rumble echoing through his throat.

The blood of the dragon took a step away from the pyre.. then another.. and another. With each step on trembling legs, her heart became further torn with grief. How young she were to say farewell to her mother.

Standing before the crowd of nobility, members of House Royce, alongside smallfolk and servants, all who wished to say farewell to their lovely lady, Maelera knew they were awaiting her.

Though, before she spoke the word, the finality of her mother's passing, Maelera looks to Ser Gerold Royce, a man whose been beside her for as long as she could remember. Grief glistens within the girl's eyes and the firm grip of sorrow squeezes his heart, yet Ser Gerold gives Maelera a firm nod.

'Twas all she needed.

Therefore, Maelera Bloodmoon steels her gaze and connects fire with fire, staring into the eyes of the Black Dread.

"𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒔!"

A hiss falls from the snout of Balerion the Dread, barring his black teeth as he raises his slender neck. Red veins upon black flames spew from the dragon's belly, setting alight the pyre of Lady Rhea Royce's. A winged shadow casts over the crowd as onyx wings larger than a hundred knights riding side by side outstretch in a display of power and might.

Balerion the Dread ceases his flames with another hiss, smoking nostrils flared, narrowed gaze focusing upon his beloved rider.

Whilst everyone else looked to the burning pyre, young Maelera had turned away just before her dear dragon had breathed his flames, eyes closed.

Not so long after the pyre came alight with the flames of the Dread, as the sickly sweet smell of roasting flesh consumes the dewy yet pleasant air of the Vale, the only child of Rhea Royce is the first to walk away.

A heart, far too young, and far too innocent, chained and wounded by grief.

༻ •𖢻• ༺

𝔚ithin her bed chambers in the Runestone keep, Maela curls herself into a ball upon the sill of the only window in the room. Her pale fingers trace random shapes on the plush cushions the shade of her mother's bronze banner while laid beneath her arm is the egg of a dragon. One of three from Balerion the Dread's only known clutch.

The eyes of the Bloodmoon's were somber, gaze lost within the depths of her mind as she stares, numbly, at the garden below the window.

How was she to go on without her mother?

The one to bring her into this tragic world. The one who was always there. The one who would hunt their meals to dine upon with her beside the hearth in these very chambers, smiling and laughing. The one who taught her to shoot a bow and ride a horse.

How was she to go on?

Without her mother, Maelera Royce felt hollow. Where the ache had faded now a numbness spreads through her chest. She understood not why the Gods would steal her mother so soon.

Only seven summers the young girl has seen, 'tis true, but Maelera Bloodmoon were not foolish, were not naive. She knew her mother was beloved by all, respected by many, loathed by few.

None would dare harm the Lady of Runestone, so why must the Gods take just as they give?

A sole tear leaks through the shattered window to her soul, sliding down her cold cheek. Maelera hadn't even the strength to wipe it away, nor the care.

How was she to go on... alone?

It is known that a Targaryen alone in the world, 'tis a terrible thing. Many knew this to be the truth. And Maelera was alone in the world.

Or so the young girl believed.

A knock upon the wooden door echoes across the black abyss of grief swallowing her mind, breaking through the ringing in her ears. Maela blinks.

Like a lifeless doll pulled by strings, Maelera lifts herself to sit on the cushions, taking notice to the noticeable dark spot where silent tears puddled beneath her sore eyes. Ignoring it, she looks at the door instead. With hands the shade of snow and soft as the silk dress she wore, Maela wipes away the tears before she rasps in a voice hoarse from weeping, "Come."

Through the creaking doorway came Maelera's cousin, Alyssa Royce.

   Her dark brunette curls bouncing with her every delicate step as she approaches the grief-stricken girl, younger than her by very few summers. Alyssa says not anything, merely joins her cousin upon the cushions and lifts a hand to intertwine her fingers through her late Lady Leige's daughter's own.

   Maelera did not reject her only friend's silent comfort, more so craving it.

Nothing but the smooth breeze drifting through the window fills the silence, along with it the scent of the sweet flowers below and the salty bay the stone keep were built beside. A distant screech from the gloomy skies above the keep echoes across the breeze.

It took not long for Maelera to discover she hated the silence. Yet still, she spoke softly, "I don't want mother to be gone."

Alyssa felt such a pain spread within her heart at her younger cousin's words, spoken with such anguish she cursed the Gods for condemning this grief upon House Royce. Alyssa had loved the Lady Rhea very dearly, for she had become the mother Alyssa never had. Her own having succumbed to childbed fever shortly after her birth.

   "Oh, my dear cousin." The elder of the pair breathes, slithering an arm around Maelera's waist to pull her into her side—an embrace of comfort. One the younger fought not against, falling into it with a soft exhalation of breath. Lifting her legs to curl beside her, Maela rests the egg upon her lap, caressing the hard yet warm texture of it.

The warmth of the egg, the largest of the clutch with scales as bronze as the Royces' banner yet alive with black ripples and swirls, made her feel reassured and fierce... less lonely, or mayhaps the latter was owed to her cousin. Maelera knew not.

Deep indigo irises with black flecks, like the shards of shattered swords, lift unto the wooden chest beside the blazing hearth, bright orange flames crackling witnin, where the other pair of eggs rest upon a bed of red silk. A hiss resonates within her mind. Maelera blinks.

It was a known tale spread across Westeros that there was never any love lost between Lady Rhea and her prince husband, whose name his own daughter did not even know, a discontent for the Rouge Prince that spread across the Vale. Because of this, the Royces lacked the knowledge of the old Valyrian traditions—for the eggs Balerion the Dread presented to Lady Rhea the night of her daughter's birth remain unhatched.

   Although, once the young Targaryen saw her fifth summer, Maelera had taken to kneeling before the hearth in her bed chamber and holding one of the eggs above the flames within the hour of the bat just before she were to speak her prayers to the Old Gods.

Flames that had never burnt the child, no matter the distance between her and the fire.

"I never had a memory of my mother to mourn, but today.. I mourn your mother with you, dear girl." The melodic voice of her cousin's snatches Maelera from the depths of her mind, black lashes fluttering.

A deep and guttural roar slices through the silence between them before another word could be spoken.

   A call that became as familiar to Maelera as the gentle touch of her mother's had been. The Royces turn around, eyes falling upon the sight of Balerion the Dread cutting through the wind toward Sheepstealer, one of the three wild dragons nested within Westeros' borders. They sing in greeting, circling above the glittering Bay of Crabs.

Upon seeing her beloved dragon, the oldest and wisest amongst his kin whom chose her even before birth, Maelera Royce had decided she wanted to be with him above all else.

༻♕༺

( art belongs to siosin on instagram )

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𝔖oft sunlight illuminating the day, leant against her palms flattened atop the rock she rests upon with her legs outstretched before her, the Bloodmoon basks in the warmth of the midday sky as her purple eyes squint slightly.

A pair of winged shadows eclipse the sun as Balerion and Sheepstealer soar above the girl, whose eyes flutter open to gaze up at the dragons.

   The onyx black dragon grazes his colossal talons across the he-dragon's horned back then dives beneath Sheepstealer, connecting their talons with the carcass Sheepstealer possesses as they spin together across the sky while rapidly flapping their wings.

A wide grin lifts Maelera's youthful and milky features as she watches the dragons play, indigo irises straying from her dread unto the Sheepstealer.

   The smallfolk of Dragonstone named him for a self-evident reason. The wild dragon had begun to migrate his hunting patterns north into the reaches of the Vale upon the Dread's return to Westeros over seven years ago, where a bond of companionship formed between the dragons. In all the occasions Maelera had been in the presence of Sheepstealer, he was never aggressive with her... but mayhaps that was due to her possessive dragon.

   Within the mountainous, some would even say the treacherous, Vale laid an abundance of mutton which led to the belief the wild dragon raided various farms for such a reason, but while Sheepstealer devoured the occasional sheep dog, he never harmed a shepherd.

   The scales dotting his skinny body were a rather ugly "mud brown", but his bright amber eyes were utterly mesmerizing. The accounts claimed Sheepstealer was well over fifty years old, supposedly having been hatched during King Jaehaerys' youth.

The mutilated corpse of what once was a rather large ram falls from the dragons' talons and lands upon the grey rock Maelera occupies with a bloodied thump, guts dangling from it's tore apart remains.

The girl's upper lip curls in a grimace of disgust as the earth trembles beneath the dragons as they land upon the bright green grass blanketing the vast plain before her.

   Sheepstealer's jaws clamp around the mutilated carcass to drag it to himself only for Balerion to snatch it from the he-dragon's snout. The brown dragon emits a shrill screech that sounds more similar to a whine to young Maela as he flaps his wings, stood upon his hind legs to reach for the ram Balerion teasingly lifts above him.

   Maelera Bloodmoon swears Balerion the Dread is smirking.

Since being mounted atop the Black Dread, since forever it'd felt, Maelera giggles. Giggles at the pair of dragons before her–the embers to the fire within her belly. She leans forward to curl a hand around one of the horn's dotting Balerion's wing, "Hush, my love, leave him be."

Blowing smoke from his nostrils, Balerion relents as he tosses the ram aside which Sheepstealer wastes not the breath of a moment to retrieve. Taking the corpse of his preferred mutton taste into his jaws, once again, Sheepstealer extends his wings that glitter bronze with amber jewels beneath the gentle sunlight and ascends to the sky.

The Black Dread releases a guttural roar with bright red eyes like glowing rubies set upon his kin. But it seems the mount of the Bloodmoon's once the Conqueror's decides against flying after Sheepstealer as he twists his thick yet slender neck to rest his head beside Maelera.

Whom just giggles beneath her breath with a wide smile that radiates the warmth of the sun above spread across her features as she gifts him the caresses he so gently demands, both of the dragons ignorant to the hazel eyes fondly observing them from afar.

Rumbling purrs emits from deep within Balerion's chest, pupils dilated as he looks at Maelera. However fresh the bond between the Bloodmoon and the Dread were, it began to thrive like a blossom in spring when they had flown together, shared the glory of the sky. It were without words. Maelera need never speak her wish, nor think it, merely feel it and Balerion would obey it.

   He loved her, and she loved him.

   He was her, as she was him.

   Maelera Royce realizes this truth now, she would never be alone so long as Balerion the Dread rests in that place between her heart and soul, where she could always feel him no matter the distance between them.

   The Black Dread feared by many of whom witnessed his winged shadow passing overhead with a gentleness a creature of his size shouldn't have accomplished nudges his snout against his rider's legs.

   Though, when Balerion notices Sheepstealer flying farther away, he lifts his gigantic head and blows smoke from his nostrils. Balerion then twists his neck to glance at Maelera, whom strokes the smooth underside of his neck, "Go on, sweet thing."

   Another rumble from deep in his chest, such a sweet sound for such a ferocious beast, before he extends his nightblack wings with red as blood wing-membranes and ascends into the whistling winds. The flap of his enormous wings sent Maelera's brunette hair streaked with silver soaring in all different directions yet the young girl did not flinch.

   From a distance behind the rock his cousin occupies, Ser Gerold Royce bore witness to the tender moment between the blood of the last dragonlords and the last being in the entirety of the known world to have seen the greatest city there ever was, or will be. Wonder struck hazel eyes watch the Black Dread as he takes to the sky with otherworldly grace, joining the brown wild dragon that caused his late Lady much grief with his raids on the many shepherds' flocks under her protection.

   Once the Black Dread ascended into the clouds, fading within their white depths like a mere passing black storm cloud, Ser Gerold approaches Maelera, stepping unto the rock. "Beautiful beasts."

   Maelera's long lashes flutter as her shoulders slouch whilst laying her hands upon her lap, thumbs fiddling with one another as she crosses an ankle over the other. Sparing a glance at her cousin behind her, "They're not beasts to me." She mutters.

   Ser Gerold heard not her words.

   "Maelera."

   The cousin who'd become a stern figure in the absence of her father lowers himself unto the rock beside Maelera, whose gaze falls unto her lap.

   "Your mother.. there are no words. She is with the Gods now, Maela."

   "The Gods are cruel." Spoken with such indignation against these gods she blindly she gave her faith to only for them to steal away her mother.

   He huffs a breath, the corner of his lips twitching. "I suppose so." A rise and fall of his shoulders, "We will be leaving Runestone upon the morrow."

   It took a moment for her cousin's words to settle properly within her mind and when they did, Maelera turned her head to look at Gerold so swiftly he swore he heard a crack of bone. "What?"

   "In the capital, there is to be a royal wedding between Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, your cousin. I believe it is time you met your family."

   "I already know my family."

   Ser Gerold breathes an amused breath through his nose, a soft grin lifting his aged features as he rests a hand on his young yet knowledged cousin's back. "I know, Maela, but I believe leaving Runestone will be good for you. We will only be gone for the festivities, but whose to say you will not obtain a friend in King's Landing? The Queen has three children, two of them near your age, I believe."

   Maelera merely huffs while turning her gaze away from her cousin to the Bay of Crabs shimmering like sapphires in the distance below the cliffside the stone keep she had always known were built upon.

   'Tis true Runestone were all Maelera Royce knew. The young girl wished to venture forth from the rolling hills and plains dotting the landscape beyond her mother's keep, though, as her mother's heir she'd never given much thought into that wish but when she flew the skies merely hours beforehand, becoming one with the clouds upon her dragon's back, Maelera felt the strings of duty bounding her to the ground sever.

   Maelera Bloodmoon was wild. She would never be imprisoned upon the ground by duty, or honor.

   Therefore, with a breath, the Bloodmoon returns her indigo irises, sharp as Valyrian Steel, unto Ser Gerold, "Alright. I will accompany you to King's Landing on the morrow."

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༻ Author's Note ༺

Finally! It's here, my lovelies!
Holy sh*t I cannot wait to get this story going, omg!! Maelera is one of my favorite OC's that I've ever written! She's dark and wild yet oh so loyal to my Green babies! ( except Otto 😡 )
She'll basically be a mix between Maegor and mad!Daenaerys because although I hate D&D for doing what they did to my beautiful queen, Emilia made Dany look hot af when going mad 🥵
Honestly Targaryen madness is like no other, it makes something stir within me ;P so why not make Maela, the daughter of none other than Daemon, mad??
But don't worry, this book will still have plenty of happy and adorable moments, but fair warning, like Jake Sully said; "The thing about happiness, it can vanish in an instant."
This is only the beginning of my babygirl's pain 😈 ( i love her, I swear, I'm so cruel ༎ຶٹ༎ຶ )
Anyways, next chapter will be the arrival in King's Landing for the disastrous wedding feast, whatever will happen??? 🤔