sweet, mourning lamb

Gwayne had hoped, above all else, that his future wife would be kind.

It was a small hope, perhaps an unambitious one, but it was the only wish he had allowed himself after his father informed him that King Viserys had accepted the match. Marriage had never been a matter left to younger sons or heirs to decide, and though Gwayne had long since resigned himself to that truth, resignation did not make the prospect any less uncertain. He knew almost nothing about the princess he was to marry beyond the fragments offered by gossip, and gossip was a poor foundation upon which to build a life.

Still, kindness, he thought, could make even an unwanted marriage bearable. Everything else could be learned in time.

The rumors, unfortunately, offered very little hope of that.

Some called the king's younger daughter gentle to the point of foolishness, while others claimed she possessed the wildness of Old Valyria itself. There were whispers that she disappeared from court for days at a time, that she drank wine before the sun had set, that she climbed rooftops with her ladies-in-waiting, wandered the city in disguise, and laughed whenever septas reminded her of her duties. Others dismissed her as odd, insisting she spoke more to ravens than noble lords and spent entire afternoons wandering the castle alone.

No two stories resembled one another. The only detail upon which everyone agreed was that she was... peculiar.

He had intended to reserve judgment until they met. That intention became rather difficult when she failed to appear at all. She did not stand beside her father during his arrival, nor his welcome feast.

His sister and King Viserys greeted him warmly enough upon his arrival, clasping his arm like an old friend and speaking at length about tournaments, knighthood, and the honor of joining their two houses before finally apologizing, almost absentmindedly, for his daughter's absence.

"The princess has been feeling unwell," the king said with a tired smile. "She has retired early."

It sounded innocent enough yet Gwayne did not miss the look and sighs exchanged between his father and sister. She looked toward the doors through which the princess ought to have entered, her disappointment obvious before she carefully concealed it behind practiced courtesy.

No one explained further. No one ever seemed to.

By the end of the feast, Gwayne found himself wondering less about the alliance and more about the girl herself.

Was she truly ill? Or had she simply refused to meet the man she was expected to marry?

-

By the time the castle realized you were gone, you had already vanished into the night.

It was hardly the first time.

The servants searched the places they always searched first, the library, the dragonpit where you often disappeared to sit with the hatchlings long after the keepers had retired, the godswood where you sometimes spent entire afternoons reading beneath the heart tree. Even your ladies-in-waiting were questioned, though they could offer little beyond nervous shrugs and uncertain smiles. They had grown accustomed to your disappearances years ago.

Tonight, however, was different as you had no intention of returning.

You sighed as you reached the wall at the far end of the gardens. For a moment you stood there and pondered about when your father announced your betrothal. Your first thought had been your dreams.

Fragments scattered across years of restless nights, all circling the same terrible feeling that settled deep within your chest whenever you imagined standing beside the man you had been promised to. You had seen cages and felt a sorrow unlike anything you had ever known.

Somewhere between those two moments lay a future you could neither understand nor prevent. And for the first time in your life, you did not wish to discover which vision came first.

So you did the only thing that had ever made sense whenever the dreams became too heavy and you left.

That single thought drowned out every other, beating steadily against your ribs as you gathered your skirts in one hand and planted your slipper against the ancient garden wall. Time seemed to press in from every side so you quickly pushed yourself upward, fingertips stretching desperately toward the thick oak branch that hung just beyond your reach. The bark brushed your fingers before slipping away again.

You frowned, it had seemed much lower when you were a child. Surely you had climbed trees twice this height without a second thought. Determined, you shifted your footing higher against the moss-covered stone, ignoring the way your slippers slipped against the wall.

Just a little farther...

"You appear to be losing your battle."

The voice behind you was warm, low, and entirely too amused.

You startled so violently that your foot slipped from the stone altogether. Landing rather less gracefully than you would have liked, you spun around, silver hair whipping over your shoulder as you searched the darkness for its owner.

A man stood several paces away beneath the shadow of an elm tree, the hood of a dark traveling cloak obscuring most of his face. Moonlight caught only the edge of his jaw and the outline of broad shoulders, leaving the rest hidden in darkness.

You did not recognize him nor did you particularly care to.

You were in far too much of a hurry.

"May I help you?" you asked, though the impatience in your voice made it abundantly clear you hoped he would do precisely the opposite.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he replied pleasantly. "It seems you are the one in need of assistance."

His tone was infuriatingly calm as though finding a princess attempting to climb the garden wall in the middle of the night was an entirely ordinary occurrence.

"I am not," you answered briskly. "So you may leave."

You turned back toward the wall without waiting for his reply, already reaching for the branch once more. Behind you came the sound of unhurried footsteps.

"I will," he said. "But I confess, I am rather curious as to what you're doing."

You closed your eyes for the briefest moment. "I am not doing anything."

"You are trying to do something."

"I am not."

"You are."

A sigh escaped you. Not the graceful sort of sigh expected of a princess, but one born entirely of exasperation. You turned sharply, fixing the stranger with a look that had intimidated far older men than this.

"Who are you, anyway?" Stepping closer, you tried to make out his face beneath the hood, though the shadows remained stubbornly loyal to him, "Reveal yourself."

"I am simply a guest in the Keep."

The answer only irritated you further, "What an exceptionally mysterious guest." You dismissed him with a wave of your hand before turning back toward the wall yet again. "Well then, perhaps you can make yourself useful and lift me."

There was the briefest pause, "I'm sorry?"

You looked over your shoulder as though he were being intentionally difficult. "If you lift me onto the wall, I can manage the rest."

The corner of his mouth twitched beneath the hood. "I see."

"Come now," you urged, gesturing impatiently toward the branch. "Make haste."

His amusement seemed only to deepen. "Well, if I must assist you, I should ask why you intend to climb the wall."

You groaned dramatically. "If you must know..." Your fingers wrapped around the branch again as though the conversation itself inconvenienced you. "...I am leaving."

"Are you?"

"I am taking my dragon," you said matter-of-factly, testing whether the branch might support your weight, "and flying somewhere very far away. And do not trouble yourself with informing the King or my betrothed. I shall be long gone by the time either of them discovers it."

A beat passed.

"Ah." There was laughter hidden beneath the single syllable, "So your betrothed is the reason you're running."

You shrugged, "He is certainly one of them."

"And they won't notice you've disappeared?"

A small, incredulous laugh escaped you. "Well, of course they will," you looked toward the branch again, "Now, please. Enough questions."

You pointed toward the wall with all the authority expected of a princess issuing commands. "If you would simply lift me over the garden wall, I'll reach the dragonpit before anyone notices."

The stranger looked from you to the wall and back again then he sighed with theatrical regret. "I have absolutely no intention of helping you."

You stared incredulously, "I beg your pardon?" You whirled around fully, prepared to remind this remarkably stubborn man exactly who he was refusing. As you did, he reached up almost absentmindedly and pushed back the hood that had hidden his face.

Moonlight settled across familiar features and you instantly recognized the face you had seen in your sleep numerous times. Everything inside you seemed to stop.

"...It's you."

The irritation vanished from your voice so completely that it almost startled you. Gwayne watched the change with quiet fascination. Only moments ago, you had looked ready to order him dragged from the gardens for daring to delay your escape. Now you simply stood there, staring at him with an expression he could not begin to understand.

He smiled despite himself, "You know who I am?"

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, your eyes lingered on his face, searching it with unsettling intensity, as though comparing the man standing before you to someone only you could see.

When you finally spoke, your voice was scarcely louder than the breeze moving through the trees, "I've dreamt of you."

The words were so unexpected that Gwayne forgot entirely what he had meant to say. His smile faded into quiet confusion, "You've... what?"

You seemed almost surprised that the words had escaped you. Your gaze dropped to the ground before lifting once more, softer this time, almost hesitant. "I've dreamt of you."

Silence settled between them.

Gwayne had heard the stories. The king's second daughter was said to possess the old gift of dragon dreams. He had dismissed them as little more than another courtly tale but standing before you now, he found himself less certain.

You did not look mad.

Nor did you resemble the reckless drunk whispered about by servants and lords alike. He noticed there was no heavy scent of wine clinging to your breath, no unsteady sway in your posture, no careless laughter born from too many cups. If you had drunk anything at all, it had been little more than enough to soothe an anxious mind, and judging by the shadows beneath your eyes, even that had failed.

More than anything, you looked tired. Painfully so.

Not the sort of tired that followed a late feast or too much dancing, but the deep exhaustion of someone who had spent far too many nights fighting battles no one else could see.

His expression softened. "Am I so terrible in your dreams," he asked, a small smile returning to his lips, "that you've resorted to climbing garden walls in the middle of the night to escape marrying me?"

He had meant it lightly yet the smile disappeared from your face so quickly that he regretted it almost at once. Your fingers tightened in the folds of your skirts until the silk wrinkled beneath your grasp.

You said nothing.

For the first time since he'd found you, the lively, impatient princess who had argued with him over a wall simply... vanished. In her place stood a frightened young woman trying very hard not to let it show.

His amusement melted into concern, "...Princess?" He took a cautious step forward, "Are you all right?"

You instinctively stepped back.

"I only jest," he said quietly.

Your voice was barely audible, "I must go."

Before he could answer, you slipped past him, gathering your skirts as you hurried back toward the castle, silver hair disappearing into the darkness between the garden paths.

Gwayne remained where he was for several moments after you'd gone. He should have let you leave, instead, he found himself watching the empty path where you had vanished, turning over those four impossible words in his mind.

I've dreamt of you.

Whatever those dreams had shown you, they had filled your eyes not with hatred but with sadness. And though he scarcely knew you, something deep within him recoiled at the thought that he might one day become the cause of it. For reasons he could not explain, he left the gardens that night with only one quiet resolve settling in his heart.