valyrianbloodlines

(Art by CrazyTom0712 on X)

She tried to glimpse her father's burning figure among the flames, but they were too bright, and she had to look away. Instead she glanced at Valarr. Her brother stood tall, his face empty, and Aelyssa noticed how tightly he was gripping Kiera's hand. Lady Kiera of Tyrosh had tears flowing down her brown cheeks, her head low and heavy. She had been part of the family for only a year, married to Valarr for a political alliance. The lady was kind and cheerful, and had made every effort to fit into this new kingdom that must have been so strange to her.

Prince Baelor's other son wasn't there to witness their father's funeral. Matarys, the youngest, was appointed as a cupbearer to their grandsire's council, so he had been in King's Landing in the past few weeks. Aelyssa was not meant to be there either, but she had been so desperate to escape Dragonstone for a few days that she had begged Baelor to let her attend. It was the largest tourney of the year, held in honour of Lord Ashford's daughter, Gwin, and her best chance to meet new ladies and lords. Baelor, of course, had always been soft with his only daughter, especially after her mother, Jena, died. Aelyssa was supposed to have been married by now, at eight-and-ten, but her father had kept delaying it, finding every excuse to keep her home longer. Now it was no longer Baelor's responsibility to see her wed. That duty would fall to Valarr, who would take his place as head of the family and the new Prince of Dragonstone. He was also the heir apparent to the crown now, and would have to assume the position of King's Hand in their father's stead. It was a great deal of responsibility for someone barely into manhood, and she felt a flicker of sadness for the youth her brother would have to give up.

The septon fell silent. Some of the folk began to turn and leave, but Aelyssa stayed rigid, only the skirt of her dress swaying in the soft evening wind.

Her eyes found Maekar. Her uncle stood apart from the rest, with only his youngest son by his side. His broad shoulders were slumped, as if a heavy weight was set upon them. It was, she supposed — the weight of killing Baelor. Of becoming a kinslayer.

Aelyssa's face hardened. This whole tragedy was the fault of Maekar's second son, Aerion. The boy was the same age as her, but they could not have been more different. Cruel and volatile, Aerion believed himself far greater than he truly was. Just two days ago he had attacked a poor puppeteer, claiming the young girl mocked him, and forced the knight who protected her into accepting a trial of seven.

Aelyssa's father had not meant to fight that day. It was supposed to have been between Ser Duncan the knight, and Maekar's foolish son. But Baelor could not stand by while injustice unfolded, so he joined the knight's side in the trial.

It was Maekar's mace that struck true, though he swore it was not meant to be. Baelor had worn Valarr's armor, since he had not brought his own, the helm being far too small to absorb the crush of the weapon. She knew that must have pained Valarr even more — a father dying in his son's armor.

At the very least, Aerion seemed the only truly rotten fruit among the six children her uncle had. His eldest, Daeron, was a fool and a drunk, but he would give Aelyssa wildflowers picked from the roadside and make her laugh with outlandish jokes. Aemon and Aegon were sweet boys too — mischievous, yes, but honest. His two daughters were still so young, shy and serene, and always so happy to see Aelyssa.

She wondered what had gone wrong with Aerion. At least it was confirmed now that he would be exiled to Lys, to fight among sellswords until some sense returned to him. As if that would ever happen — Aerion, the Monstrous becoming sensible.

While Aelyssa knew her cousin was to blame for it all, she could not stop the anger rising in her as she looked at her uncle. She and her brothers didn't deserve to lose their father so soon. That it happened at Maekar's hand was a pain — sharp and cruel — she had never imagined before.

Baelor and Maekar had visited each other often in recent years, spending days at one another's keeps. They had often brought their children along, so Aelyssa had grown up playing with her cousins, sometimes in Dragonstone, sometimes in Summerhall.

Maekar was a harsh, quick-tempered man, but he could be so gentle too. He had always treated Baelor's children as his own. She remembered running around the courtyard as a child when Aerion pushed her and she fell, scratching her knees bloody. Maekar had smacked Aerion on the back of his head, scolding him for playing too roughly. Then he had come to the crying Aelyssa, his face as soft as it could be for such a stern man. He gathered her in his arms, shushing her, telling her to be a brave girl. Aelyssa had sniffed, pressing her face into his chest, but her crying eased as he handed her to the maester to tend her wound.

She knew Maekar had loved Baelor. It made all this the more vile and sickening.

She watched now as her uncle turned to leave, one hand guiding little Aegon toward the road.

His eyes met hers. She held his gaze, face raw, eyes red from tears. It was Maekar who looked away first, casting his gaze down and turning with head hanging low.

When only she, Valarr, and Kiera remained, Aelyssa took the lady's hand and pulled her away, walking toward Ashford Castle so her brother could say his final goodbyes alone.

"Is he going to be all right?" Kiera asked, her rose-haired head snapping back toward Valarr, who still stood frozen in place.

"He will need some time. We all do," Aelyssa said. "But it will get better."

At the castle they were greeted by Lady Gwin, who asked about the funeral with wide-eyed curiosity that bordered on fascination. She was still so young — barely out of childhood — and seemed more entranced by the grim details than saddened by their weight. "Did the flames really turn blue like they say for Targaryens?" she asked brightly, as if it were a tale from a mummer's show. Aelyssa managed a thin smile, but Kiera's eyes filled with tears once again.

Before Gwin could press further, Lord Ashford appeared, face flushed. He shooed his daughter away with hurried apologies to Aelyssa and Kiera, murmuring something about "youthful indiscretion."

✦✦✦

Dinner that evening was painfully strained. Maekar and Aerion did not appear, which was for the best. Daeron was so deep in his cups that he slumped over the table. Aelyssa wasn't even sure he remained conscious. Aegon stared at her and Valarr with solemn, violet eyes from across the table. Aelyssa gave him a sad smile, which the little boy returned.

Valarr broke the silence.

"The king has sent a raven," he said to Aelyssa. "He wants me in the capital. I would prefer you came as well, sister, instead of returning to Dragonstone alone."

Aelyssa nodded.

"Of course."

She did not want to return to Dragonstone alone either.

"We will ride with Uncle Maekar on the morrow, then," Valarr said.

Aelyssa's head snapped up. Of course their uncle would be going to King's Landing too. King Daeron must be devastated by the death of his heir — he would want to hear from all involved.

Aelyssa excused herself and left the chamber quietly. As she turned a corner, however, she ran straight into a solid chest.

Maekar reached out to steady her, but Aelyssa recoiled. Her uncle dropped his hand and bowed his head, face unreadable.

He stood still as she backed away, posture deliberately relaxed and unthreatening, only moving to continue on once she was well out of reach.

Aelyssa was not afraid of him. Her reaction had nothing to do with fear. It was that she no longer wanted him near her. She had adored her uncle once, but now she had to hate him, but it was so new that her heart remained confused.

She recalled the end of the trial that morning, when the injured were carried away. She had waited anxiously in her family's tent, desperate for news of her father, uncle, and cousins. Even the thought of Aerion's death had worried her, though he would have deserved it.

A steward had brought the news — her father's death, and how it had happened. The boy had begged her to wait for her brother or a member of her family to tell her, but Aelyssa was impatient and had coerced the news from the boy.

She had broken then, falling to her knees on the grassy floor, sobs loud and painful and desperate shaking her body.

She might have been there minutes or hours until a warm hand pressed to her back, strong arms coming around her, pulling her into an embrace.

Her heart had stuttered when she recognized Maekar. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, face beaten and bloody, looking utterly exhausted. He mumbled a silent apology against her hair, then seemed to realize himself and began to pull away.

She could not bear being left alone, so she clung tighter, pressing close, hands grasping his biceps, breathing in his scent of blood, iron, and mud. He drew slow circles on her back, and slowly her sobs eased.

She remembered how Maekar had held her after her mother's death, finding her crouched on the sept floor in the middle of the night. How he stayed when she refused to leave. How the next morning he fetched Baelor, who came rushing to his only daughter.

Aelyssa was the spitting image of Jena — deep brown hair with only one streak of white from her Targaryen blood, like Valarr and Matarys. It had taken her father much coaxing that day to draw her from the sept, to mourn with family instead of alone in the cold.

This time, Maekar held her until she could stand and pull away. Only then did reality dawn. Suddenly she felt sick — with him, with herself — for clinging to the man who had caused her grief.