༻♕༺

𝕿𝐇𝐄 𝖁𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍 𝕿𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 || 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆
𝟕ᵗʰ 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 || 𝟏𝟐𝟏 𝐀𝐂

༻ •𖢻• ༺

𝖂𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖘, 𝖆 floral breeze wafting through their silver locks, is the young prince and princess, Aegon and Maelera, with little Aemond between them, his hands held in either of theirs as, occasionally, they lift him off his feet, earning bouts of giggles every time.

"How has your training come along?" Maela looks at Aegon with curious eyes, and he smiles, "Ser Criston let me practice against the dummies today."

Maela grins, happy that he is. Though, she does wish she could train with Aegon, as well. Her mother surely, even Ser Gerold, would let her.

The great Queen Visenya Targaryen wielded Dark Sister, so why couldn't she, at the very least, learn to defend herself with steel and sword?

Maelera Bloodmoon would not subject herself to a fate where she must depend upon a man to rescue her. The thought, itself, repulsed her.

"Up, up!" The pair giggle at the little boy, nearly four in three moons, lifting him into the crisp air. Aemond squeals in glee, wildly kicking his feet, filling their hearts with joy as they softly laugh.

"Mother says Aemond can begin his training next year after his nameday." Maela smiles so sweetly, and the little boy in question looks up at Aegon with young curiosity at the sound of his name, "Train with sword like you, 𝐥𝐞̄𝐤𝐢𝐚?" ( brother )

The older prince, eagerly, nods, his youthful face radiating with excitement, "Yes." Then the little one looks up at the princess, "Will you join, Maeya?"

Although Maela knows all she would ever feel is bitterness as she only watches the princes train, she kisses Aemond's silver hair and nods, "I will."

"Promise?" A gentle grin lifts the corners of her soft lips, "I promise."

And Maelera Bloodmoon never breaks her promises.

For several hours, the three young Targaryens continue their stroll through the gardens, as peaceful as they were gloriously beautiful, occasionally words were spoken between the comfortable silence that enveloped them.

Until the peace of the serene midday hour was interrupted when Talia, the Queen's Lady-in-Waiting, approaches the younglings. "Princess, the Queen has requested your presence in her chambers."

Gifting her boys' farewell kisses on their cheeks with a promise to find them later, Maela leaves them to walk to the Queen's chamber, where she finds Alicent standing by the window, gazing out at the Dragonpit perched high on Rhaenys' Hill in the far distance, anxiously picking at her cuticles.

"The Princess, Your Grace." Ser Criston announces.

When Alicent turns to look at Maela, instantly it seems, the tension marring her features soften as her hands fall to her sides. "Maela." She smiles through a breath. The girl, more intelligent and perceptive than people believe, curiously tilts her head, "What is the matter?"

"Come, sit with me."

The Queen and her ward sit upon one of the twin settees, Maela curling her legs upon the seat, though is mindful not to allow the dirty soles of her boots onto the plush and tidy turquoise cushions, looking at Alicent.

The older woman's shoulders rise with a heavy intake of breath, heavy with the weight of the news she just received from across the sea and how she will inform Maela of it, knowing either way, it will not please Maelera Bloodmoon.

"Your father..." Maela's breath hitches at that foul word, " – sired a babe within Lady Laena. And today, a raven came with news she has birthed two, healthy twin girls. Your half-sisters, Baela and Rhaena."

Maelera did not think she could ever feel so much in a single moment. Shock, curiosity, sorrow, and rage all whipping through her like a vicious whirlwind. The most prominent being rage. Her chest begins to heave as she attempts to steady her angered breaths, nails digging into her soft palms as she clenches her fists on her lap. "First the coward abandons me, then he goes off and marries some pretty girl not even a year after Mother's death, and now..."

   A tear trickles down Maela's cheek, and she wipes it away with wide eyes, lashes fluttering as she stares at the crystalline droplet... then more begin to follow in its wake.

   "Oh, sweet girl." Lovely Alicent pulls Maela into her arms. The girl limply falls into it, eyes so faraway. She felt a distant touch soothing her hair, and a soft voice whispering sweet nothings, yet neither did hardly anything to comfort Maelera.

   No, there was only one midst this wide world whom would bring her solace in this moment. And thus, she calls him to her.

༻ •𖢻• ༺

𝖀p in the sky, where the woes of the world could not burden her, Balerion glides through the wisping cirrus like the shadow of one of the Stranger's avenging angels, shielding his rider from the harsh, and unforgiving lands far below.

Maela were stretched out across Balerion's rock-hard scales midst the divet between his broad shoulders, her hands laid atop her belly, twisting and turning Alicent's silver ring.

The little girl 'twas so confused, lost. Shouldn't she be rejoicing?

All every little girl in this world wants is a sister–a sister to play dolls with, to braid each others hair, and daydream about their future lordly husbands–and now, she finally has not just one, but two sisters.

And yet, the word feels bitter on her tongue when using it to describe these Velaryon twins.

No, Maelera wasn't rejoiced at the news, not like her uncle-king is. She is... revolted.

First, her father marries the pretty Velaryon bitch not even a half-a-damned-year after her mother's death, then he flees across the sea with her, and now he's fucking impregnated her.

Why? . . . Why? Why? Why?

What did he see in Lady Laena that made her more worthy than his own fucking daughter?

What separates them?

What made a pretty face more interesting than his own kin?

All these dark thoughts are likely enough to drive Maelera mad, but one stands out amongst all the rest as the young girl finds herself wondering if Daemon is holding these babes now, gifting them the smile of fatherly love she will never see.

A bitter sob chokes its way out of the girl's throat. She hadn't noticed the silent tears caressing her cheeks 'til now, swept away by the biting breeze.

The beast beneath her whines, twisting his slender neck to gaze upon her with sad smoldering eyes. Maela only curls herself into a ball between the thick scales and spikes dotting Balerion's enormous backside. Her tears melt away as they fall upon his hot scales, and she wishes so badly the heat of Balerion's flames could melt away this overwhelming sorrow coursing through her bloodstream and squeezing her heart in agony's unrelenting grasp.

"Why was I not good enough, Balerion?" She says it with such pain. Balerion the Dread cries, and all the world hears it.

༻ •𖢻• ༺

𝕱ar across the Narrow Sea within an old palace perched atop a high hill above the Free City of Pentos, whilst his wife rests after a tiresome thirteen hours of labor, Prince Daemon Targaryen holds the eldest of his newborn daughters, the one he decided to name Baela for his father; Baelon 'the Spring Prince'. The younger twin, little Rhaena, 'tis asleep in her cradle with a dragon egg nestled beside her.

   Soft beams of light trickle in through the moon-drenched windows, casting the nursery in a silvery-white glow, the distant ambiance of the sprawling harbor city beneath the hill carrying across the whistling breeze.

   The once slumbering Baela awakens with a little yawn, and eyes so new to the world seem to brighten with excitement as a soft coo tumbles from her lips when she notices her father's face above her.

   The babe lifts a chubby hand to his cheek and Daemon snickers, crinkling his nose when she grips it with a strength that surprises him for such young and frail thing. Gently prying her hand away with a soft murmur in Valyrian, he finds himself gazing into young Baela's eyes.

   They were the Velaryon blue of her mother. Rhaena's, as well. They were not his eyes. No. Only his firstborn had his eyes. That little girl he walked away from.

   Maelera Targaryen.

   A Princess now, flourishing in the Red Keep... and Rider of Balerion the Dread. Had Daemon known that, there 'tis no doubt he'd have taken the little girl in and given her his name, Targaryen. Not his brother, whom always mends his mistakes every damned time. Raised Maelera as his as he should have, even if only to have her dragon, the greatest and largest in the known world, to control, in a sense.

   But he didn't.

   And, looking into Baela's eyes, he regrets it. Not the power he's lost, but... well, he's a father now, has been for eight years he supposes, and Daemon knows that little girl across the sea needs him.

   From everything Daemon's ever heard of Maelera Bloodmoon, she was more his daughter than his Bronze Bitch's.

   They call her the Spawn of the Rouge Prince. She supposedly hates that nickname.

   Expelling a breath, Daemon notices little Baela has fallen asleep again, and thus he returns the young babe to the cradle beside her younger twin's, where her own dragon egg lays, as well–pale green with burnished pearl flecks.

   He couldn't wait 'til they hatched, to see what fearsome beasts await within.

   Deciding against returning to his and Laena's chambers to join his wife in bed, not wishing to disturb her slumber after such a strenuous labor, he instead ventures to the roof of the old palace.

   The manse 'twere owned by Prince Reggio Haratis, the Prince of Pentos and their generous host for several months now after touring the Free Cities, even the ruins of Old Valyria.

   Leaning his hands on the rails with a long exhalation, his plum-shaded eyes fall to the rippling Bay of Pentos reflecting the silvery shadow of the moon, a bay that connects to the Narrow Sea.

   The wide ocean that separates him from his kin.

   Mayhaps, he thought, if he sent a letter to his brother, the King, Viserys might send Maelera Dragonborn to Pentos.

   But no, just as Daemon never asked for his brother's aid in the War for the Stepstones, he will not ask now. No, he will return to Westeros some day and then perhaps he could mend things between them.

   Maelera 'tis his, after all. She must obey the word of her father.

   What a foolish man, indeed, the Prince is. For a dragon can never be tamed, not even by their mothers or fathers.

__________༻♕༺___________

♪ Angst, angst, angst, we both love and hate the angst ♩♫ Well, I do, at least, lol. 😝

I feel like the chapters have been shorter lately, but its also the first part is really just time-skipping with the main focus being relationship building with some important plotlines. Once we get to the episodes, the chapters are sure to get longer. Idk I just feel bad that they're shorter. 😑

Anyways, as I asked a few chapters back, if anyone is still interested in this, here's a poll of which future scenes I will write for 50k;

I. Maela & Aeg's wedding
II. Daemon telling Baela & Rhaena about their half-sister across the sea
III. The moment Aegon and Aemond realize they desire each other

So, just vote for which scene you want, and whichever gets the most, I'll write it whenever this book hits the big half-century mark lol. 🥴