Mihama Umi

TW: Trauma/PTSD, Alcohol Use, Physical Violence, mentions of incest

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her.

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

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Chapter 26

As they turned the corner towards the inner courtyard, Valyra noticed her uncles already waiting.

“Finally, you return.” Aerys shifted at the sight of the royal party entering the halls. 

“Welcome back, brother.” Rhaegal embraced Baelor as the heir stood rigid. 

“Thank you.” He patted the back of his brother; it was obvious which version of Rhaegal was currently present. 

Valyra’s uncle, Rhaegal Targaryen, was rather unusual. Often swinging between anger and hatred, and love and kindness. The Mad Prince, they’d call him. Valyra never thought he was mad, just rather strange.

“My sweet niece." He turned towards Valyra. “I was appalled at the news of what befell you on the road to that tourney.” He wrapped an arm around her. “How are you?”

Valyra looked uncomfortable to say the least. “I am alright uncle, thank you for the concern.” 

From behind them, Aerys – Baelor’s oldest brother spoke. “The King has granted you a day to rest. He expects the Hand at the next council on the morrow.”

All eyes found Aerys, and Baelor nodded his head. “Very well then. Maekar, you know your way around the Keep, find whichever place suits you and your sons.”

Valyra glanced towards her two cousins who were already following close behind. 

“Cmon then.” Maekar shoved Daeron forward, breaking the eye contact between him and Valyra, and the three of them walked down the long corridor. 

She forced her eyes away and back towards the older men. “How are Aelor and Aelora?”

Rhaegal smiled widely. “Rather well, although no babe on the way yet. You’ll see them at dinner, I suppose. Who knows where they have run off to now.”

Valyra physically recoiled at the mention of a child. She loves her cousins. Aelora had always been kind, and Aelor truly loved her. But they were twins, brother and sister, and even if born a Targaryen, Valyra couldn’t swallow down the idea of incestuous marriage. “I can not wait.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Father, could I be excused? I am rather tired.”

Baelor’s eye landed on her. “I suppose.” 

Valyra bowed at her father and uncles and swiftly walked towards her own chambers. 

As she got further away, she could still hear Aerys’s voice. “How does the Hair lose an eye over a simple tourney?”

“It’s a long story.” Baelor tried to defend.

Aerys scoffed. “Father is not pleased.”

Even though weeks had passed, the room was exactly as she had left it. Curtains slightly ajar, a dress lying neatly over her bed – one she’d chosen to wear upon her return. Her eyes found the empty cup on her table too, one last drink before she departed. Valyra’s nose met the rim; even time could not erase the strong smell of Dornish Red. 

She stepped further inside, basking in the afternoon light that shimmered uninvited. She was different back then. Before she’d left, before all of it. Oh, if only she knew what was awaiting her back then.

Just across from her on the floor, she noticed the black sack lying discarded. The maids must have brought it in, the one she’d been clutching onto since Ashford. 

She reached down, bringing it close to her before pulling out whatever was inside into the open.

The deep red was caught in the sunlight, and Valyra found herself shaking again as she held onto the ruined dress of her mother. 

She couldn’t bring herself to burn it, to throw it away, to discard it like it was nothing. Her reflection in the mirror was already staring back as she placed the bloodied, ripped fabric across her frame. 

“Tsk.” 

Every stain, every rip, every part of it brought back memories in flashes. Good and bad.

–Flashback–

“Valyra darling, could you bring me the ruby one?”

I exhaled, annoyed at my mother, “Which ruby one? You have many.” She was getting ready for some ball.

The maids stepped away, and my mother finally turned, laughing softly. “The ruby with the golden twisted chain.” 

I found myself reaching for the necklace, but when I looked at her again, I was stunned at the beauty of her dress.

She noticed. “Do you like it?”

I simply nodded as my mother reached out and took the jewellery out of my small fingers.

“It’s one of the first gowns your father gifted me when we got married. Said I lacked clothing of his house colour.” She chuckled. “Can you believe it?” The golden chain sat perfectly across her neck.

I couldn’t take my eyes away from my mother. “It’s beautiful.”

She stepped forward. “It’ll be yours one day. Or I suppose your own husband would shower you with just as beautiful gifts.”

I glanced at her. “H-husband?”

My mother laughed. “Well of course, child.” Her hand met my cheek. “You are a princess, one day you shall marry too. Have children of your own.”

“But… I do not want to.” 

Mother’s expression changed, and it scared me.

“Oh Valyra, my sweet, sweet Valyra. We all have a part to play in this world—”

I stood up quickly in protest. “I don’t want to marry! Boys are stupid. And I do not want children either, they cry–” The words spilt out of me fast.

Mother brought me into a hug. “Shh, it’s quite all right. It does not matter what you wish for. Your father will be King, and you–” She lifted my chin. “You, my beautiful daughter, are more important than you even know.”

I grasped onto my mother and cried into her dress. 

–Flashback End–

Valyra’s breath had quickened before she even realised, and she tossed the old gown aside as if it burned. 

The dress she had held onto was nothing like the one from her memory, but as she glanced at the ruined fabric, she thought – perhaps she could somehow mend it.

Across the Red Keep, Maekar walked quickly ahead of his sons.

“How old is Grandsire now anyway?” Aerion’s voice cut through the silence. 

“The King is fifty-five years old.” There was annoyance in Maekar’s voice as he answered.

Aerion continued forward with his cane. “He’s been King for quite some time. Don’t you think it time for Uncle to take over soon?”

Maekar halted, and Daeron almost walked into him. Violet met violet as he stared at his younger son, and it was too obvious that their father was holding in anger.

Aerion waited, but no scolding came; his father only returned to walking as he spoke over his shoulder. “Take a bath, both of you, and dress well. I am not gonna have my sons further embarrass me at dinner. I expect you both to be on your best behaviour, if that’s even possible.” Maekar raised a brow in annoyance.

Daeron stopped abruptly. “What about Valyra?”

Maekar flashed him a look. “What about her?”

“Surely the matter with the Blackfyre’s is of utmost urgency. How can you stand around attending dinners and welcome back parties when she–” He stopped himself. “There are more important things…”

Aerion stood idle, resting his back against one of the walls, watching his father approach Daeron. 

“I understand your concern for the well-being of your cousin. But there is a certain way things are done here. Valyra herself had to adapt, and I suggest you do too.” Maekar turned and continued forward. “I assure you, things are already being done.”

Aerion pushed off the wall and almost tripped trying to level with them. “What does that mean?”

His father let out a heavy breath. “It means, let men do their jobs, and you do yours.”

“And our job is what exactly?” Daeron questioned.

“Not being a further disappointment.”

The sun had already set much faster than Valyra expected. She tripped over nothing as she was getting dressed. Her earlier full pitcher now lay empty on her table. 

She took note of her skin as the dress dropped over her head and down her body, the bruises had almost fully faded, barely any pain present now and yet she felt no different at all.

She wore that same dress she had picked the day before her departure, some vague attempt at forcing herself back into who she used to be, who she had to be.

“Cousin! Welcome back!” Aelor’s voice rang across the fairly empty dining hall.

“Valyra! Gods you look wonderful.” Aelora followed her twin out of their seat to greet her with excitement. She met them halfway, a small smile portrayed across her lips. 

“I am glad to see you are both doing all right.”

“Alright? You were the one the Blackfyre’s attacked.” Aelor’s voice reached the servants, and a few flashed them curious looks.

Aelora reached for her hand. “Father told us. How are you doing?” 

Valyra walked slowly towards a chair, and both of her cousins followed. “I am fine. Really, I think everyone is just exaggerating a little.” A laugh escaped her; it felt wrong.

They only sat around the table for a short while, chatting and drinking, before the rest of the family joined them. Both Aelor and Aelor greeted Baelor and Maekar as they entered. 

Daeron took a seat next to Valyra, flashing her a small smile which she did not return. They had left things on bad terms, and it followed them all the way into the Red Keep. 

Across the table, Aerion stumbled into his own seat. 

“Cousin.” There was already anger in Aerion’s face the moment he’d heard Aelor address him. “I hear you are the reason Uncle Baelor returned from Ashford short of an eye.” 

Aeron looked around the table once. “You heard wrong, I am afraid, I did not lay a hand on uncle.”

Beside Aelor, Aelora pulled on his sleeve, trying to hush him. He ignored it. “No, but you called for a Trial of Seven, did you not?”

Aerion lifted his goblet, and when an answer didn’t come, his cousin continued.

“Some things never change, I suppose. Still the same angry little boy from Summerhall.” 

Aerion kissed his lips. He glanced at Valyra briefly as if checking she was still listening. “I could say the same. Two years and still your twin lacks a babe.” His eyes found Aelora. “Does he even know where to put it?” 

Valyra rolled her eyes at the comment. 

“Good Gods! What a thing to say…” Aelinor, Aerys’s wife, exclaimed, bringing a hand to her lips. 

Just then, the food was brought out, somehow lessening the tension as the maids hurried around the table. 

“Pay him no mind.” Valyra turned to her aunt. “He is bound to get bored eventually.” 

Further down the table, she noticed her father’s good eye on her, almost analysing her every move, and the thought annoyed her.

“Is Grandsire going to be joining us?” Her question landed on Baelor. 

“The King is rather busy.” 

Valyra looked away, displeased. “Strange, I’d thought he would find the time, considering he wished for us all here, did he not?”

Suddenly, the table got too quiet.

“Come now, it's been years since so many of us shared a meal. It calls for a celebration!” Raegal clapped his hands, and music filled the hall. 

That should have erased the tension in her body, dulled the anger boiling in her mind. 

It did no such thing.

Celebrate.

As if it were as easily done as it was said. 

As if she didn’t hear her father’s words repeated as he watched her. ‘Tell me… I will not condemn you for it, I swear it.’

As if any of this was simple.

“Are you alright?” Daeron’s voice snapped her back to the table. The music suddenly sounded rather distant.

“Yes.” She lifted her fork, barely tasting the food at all. 

He leaned slightly. “You disappeared there for a second.”

“I said I am fine.” She lifted her goblet only to realise it was already empty. “Stop looking at me like that, and pass me the wine.” 

Daeron reached for the flagon, refilling her cup himself. But his eyes never left her, not when she had asked and not for the rest of the night either.

Aelor didn’t attempt to prod at Aerion again that evening, and to everyone’s surprise, Aerion sat in silence for the rest of it. 

The older men spent most of dinner discussing general subjects of little interest, as if everyone had allowed themselves this one night without talks of war and rebellions.

The moment the desert was brought out, Valyra found herself thinking of Ser Duncan. 

Cake.

That one time he found her in the rain, when she’d used cake as an excuse for the vomit, when in fact it had been Aerion’s vile actions that caused her to be sick. 

She glanced across the table once, and Aerion was already looking, so the sudden change probably didn’t go unnoticed by him. He tilted his head slightly, almost questioning. She brushed it aside. 

Ser Duncan, Egg, she wondered where they were now. If they were safe, if they had enough food, enough shelter. 

“Is something the matter? You are not eating.” Aelor questioned her. 

She shook her head instantly, but it was Aelora who answered. “She does not fancy cake. Right, cousin?” 

Valyra smiled softly, nodding. “Yes. I think I will retire for the night.” The scraping of the wooden chair against the tile brought everyone’s attention back to her. 

Baelor did not object; it was indeed getting rather late. 

From the seat next to her Daeron flashed his father a look. Almost asking, almost pleading for permission. Maekar’s gesture was small, but the second Daeron caught it, he stood alongside Valyra and followed her out of the hall.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” Daeron asked.

“That. Following me around."

“I simply wish to accompany you back to your chambers.” 

“Or you think I am going to run off in search of more Milk of the Poppy?” She turned a corner, still speaking over her shoulder, still not looking at him.

Daeron exhaled. “So I worry. Is that so wrong?”

She stopped just outside her room. “Well, you have nothing to worry about. I am—“

“Seven hells, if I have to hear you say you are fine one more time, I am going to lose it.” He almost chuckled. 

Valyra pushed open the door and froze. Her handmaidens were inside, changing her linen, preparing her a bath.

“What are you doing?” She questioned them with slight worry in her voice.

“Princess. Welcome back. There is a bath ready for you and fresh clothes—“

“Get out.” 

Daeron looked at her; she was genuinely angry, and he couldn’t understand why. The maids stood still, stopping at once what they were doing. 

“Princess, we only—“

“I never asked you to do this. Get out! All of you.”

“Lyra… cmon.” Daeron was met with her cold stare, and he knew not to intervene further.

“As you wish.” One of the girls said, and they all hurried out of the room. 

“And don’t bother coming back in the morning.” She shouted at them as they finally left.

The door shut behind them.

“What was that?”

She turned away. “Nothing. I don’t need them.” He could hear the slight trembling in her voice. 

“Alright, perhaps there was a better way of telling them that?” 

Valyra snapped her head towards him. “You wished to escort me. I am back at my chambers now. You can leave.”

Daeron stepped closer. “How long are you going to be angry with me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

“Lyra—“

“You spoke of things I shared with you in private to Aerion. Do you even know what you’ve done?”

“I am sorry. I truly am, but I promise I will not tell another soul.”

“You idiot. You might not, but what do you think he would do with that type of information?”

Daeron froze at her words. “He hasn’t told anyone.”

“Yet.” She added. “He hasn’t told anyone yet. The second, it might benefit him Daemon Blackfyre will be his best asset.”

He paused; she wasn’t wrong, and yet Daeron didn’t retreat this time. “Or you can just come out and tell your father.” 

She scoffed and turned away, dismissing the idea instantly.

“I am serious. How long are you planning to keep this a secret? Baelor is the Hand of the King. He needs to know these things. He needs to know of any attempts made by the enemy to communicate with you.” 

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“Fine.” He stepped back towards the door, defeated. “But you must understand the longer you wait, the worse it will be when they do find out.”

“Not if they never find out.” 

Daeron stopped. “What?” 

“The message was for me. Not for father, or the Hand, or the King — me.”

Daeron didn't speak at first, waiting to see if she’d take back her words or correct them. She didn’t.

“You are actually serious. Why are you protecting them? You don’t really believe what he said, right? Because that would be insane.”

“I am not protecting anyone.”

“The people who hurt you have no remorse for you, Valyra.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“So then why?” 

“I don’t know!” Valyra paced around the room once before halting. “I don’t know, alright? Now please, leave.”

Daeron hesitated only for a second. The internal conflict was obvious in her eyes, and yet he felt compelled to defend himself.

“For someone who wanted me here, you surely ask me to leave often.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just slammed the door shut behind him as he left.

Valyra was left in the silence of her own room once again. She poured herself another drink and stripped, taking advantage of the already warm bath the maids had prepared for her. As she slipped under the water, her body took in the familiar warmth and yet the thoughts never stopped circling. 

Why was she so angry at the handmaidens? Was she afraid of what they might think if they saw the remnants of the assault upon her body? 

She glanced around the room. 

Or perhaps it was what Aerion had said to her that one time. How did the Blackfyres know about her journey to Ashford? Were there spies within these walls?

 The question was stupid when she thought about it. Of course, there were spies everywhere; perhaps a better question would be who would side with the bastards and betray House Targaryen… either way, she did not want people prying about her quarters without her presence.

Her eyes landed on the sack concealing the red dress again. Tomorrow she’ll have someone look at it; she’d already decided to preserve what little things she had left over from her late mother. 

By the third goblet, the water had turned from steaming to tepid, and Valyra found herself collapsing onto her bed. She was worried she might not sleep that night either, but once her body met the plump mattress, slumber came to her almost instantly.

The following morning, Valyra had awoken early. As per her instructions, no handmaidens came to her, and once dressed, she decided to go out for a walk to the gardens. She did not like King’s Landing much, but the place did have its charm in some places. 

Aerion was not aware of any of this. In fact, he managed to hide his true intention well enough that he’d taken the corridor leading up to her room by accident while on a walk around the castle.

He hopped lightly on one leg, clutching the head of the cane as he walked a few steps ahead of the guard that was assigned to follow him around. Part of the deal of him being here – constant watch, reports of his every movement to Baelor, no talking to Valyra without his permission – all of those he’d agreed to, all of those were stupid chains designed to control him. 

Aerion was never the one to get controlled; he did the controlling.

As they turned the corner, he noticed her door was slightly ajar, and an almost inaudible shuffling sound came from inside. 

Aerion stopped, and so did the guard, not questioning the prince in the process. In fact, the man might as well have no tongue, for he had not uttered a word to the prince all morning. The head of the wooden stick met the door as Aerion pushed it open wider. He’d expected to see her there and was rather disappointed when he did not.

Inside was a simple-looking boy. A peasant, perhaps, and he had his hands grasping at something that looked like Valyra’s clothing. The boy did not notice the prince or the taller man standing behind him until Aerion knocked over a small vase on purpose, and the shattering startled him.

“M-m-my P-prince.” The fear was real within the boy; Aerion cared little for it.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Aerion stepped closer, analysing him.

He lowered his head, as if afraid to look at Aerion in the eyes. “I-I can not say, my prince. Forgive me.”

“You can not say?” Aerion tilted his head. “I am your prince, and I command you to tell me what business you have in here.” He took two large strides and yanked the fabric from the timid boy, glancing at it. “Are you a thief? Stealing is a crime for which you pay with your hand. Stealing from a princess will have you lose both. Speak!”

Aerion’s shout jolted the boy, but to his surprise, he stood his ground. “I can not, I swore it.”

Aerion exhaled, almost bored. “Very well then.”

In a flash, Valyra’s clothing was tossed aside, and Aerion grabbed onto the boy’s collar with his free hand, forcing him to his knees. “I guess I will have to beat it out of you.” 

It had been a beautiful sunny morning, and Valyra genuinely felt calmer in the gardens than she had in weeks. She’d often come here, watching over the edge at the bay below. Soon it was time for her to return; she walked the corridors alone while servants and guards bowed as she passed, and she greeted each with a warm smile. 

Just as she’d approach her room, her heart sank at the sound of screaming and shouting. She ran and quickly froze at the sight in front of her. 

“I.. I am sorry…forgive me, my prince…”

Aerion was beating a poor boy with his cane as he held him close with one hand. The boy was on his knees, bloodied and bruised. 

“You’r sorry? That’s not an answer. I am still waiting.” He hit him again, hard across the side, and the boy’s scream made even Valyra wince.

“Aerion!” She shouted, and he stopped mid-strike, stick high in the air. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing?” She walked forward, concern written all over her face.

Aerion lowered the cane but yanked the boy up to his feet.

“I caught him rummaging through your things.” He eyed her dress on the floor, and Valyra actually felt sick. 

“Get your hand off him.”

Aerion’s brows furrowed as if he did not understand. “He’s a thief! A spy for all we know.”

Valyra swallowed down before she looked at him again. “I asked him to do that.”

“You… what?” 

The boy lifted his head and looked at her, surprised.

Valyra only stared at Aerion, even more determined than before. “Get your hand off of him. Now!”

A moment passed before Aerion shoved the boy aside. 

Valyra opened her mouth as if to apologise, but the boy had already dashed out of the room and away from the abuse he’d just suffered.

Aerion studied her. “I do not understand. What could you possibly need from someone like him?”

She closed her eyes, almost thoughtful, before the answer came. “His mother mends fabrics down at Flee Bottom.”

“What does that have to do with…” But he found himself glancing at the clothing on the floor again as he watched her pick it up carefully.

Valyra looked towards the guard who had just remained still this entire time. “You. You just stood there witnessing this and did nothing.”

The man bowed. “Forgive me, Princess, but the Hand assigned me specifically to watch over and report on Prince Aerion’s doings.” 

Valyra chuckled with disbelief. “Are you going to be reporting on this then? That you stood idle as he assaulted an innocent.” She pointed towards the door. “Leave us.”

“Princess, I can not, the Hand…” The guard tried to protest. 

“I am well aware of your duties, and I would happily face the consequences from my father. But he is not here right now, and I just gave you an order. I’d like to speak with my cousin alone.”

The guard glanced between Aerion and her before he bowed again and left the room.

The quiet that came felt strange right after such a commotion.

Aerion broke the silence. “I would hardly call him an innocent–” 

“Is this your big plan?” She snapped at him. “Terrorise the whole castle until every living soul despises you.”

Aerion’s eyes landed on the dress again. “I do not care if they despise me.” He walked forward and yanked it out of her hands, studying it close up now. 

“You are an idiot.” He said. “You actually kept it.” He traced the faint stains of blood on the fabric with his fingers. 

Varyra shifted uncomfortably as she watched him analyse it. It felt wrong. It felt like he cared. 

“What would you like me to do? Throw it away? Burn it?”

He met her eyes over the fabric. “Yes.”

“Well, I can not.” She reached out and took the dress back from him.

“So you thought you’d hire someone to fix it? Throw in some extra coin to keep it quiet? Is that it?”

“What of it?”

“It’s ruined! It can not be fixed.” He insisted.

“You don’t know that! Alright? You don’t.” She faced him. “It has to be fixed; if it’s not, it means I lost another piece of her.” 

Aerion knew exactly what she meant, and when he opened his mouth to speak, he was almost about to say something human. Something soft that might actually help her. 

He felt disgusted with the thought and with himself. “You need to get rid of it.” 

She flashed him another hostile look. 

“So far, people are talking, but all they know is that you got ambushed. If someone stumbled upon this, the true threat would be bare for all to see.”

But Valyra did not look worried, and in return, that worried him. 

“I do not care.” She said. “I am not getting rid of it.”

His hand turned into a fist at the sound of her stubbornness.

“Lyra–”

She froze. “Do not. You have no right to call me that.”

Aerion stood watching her in silence for a moment, and some part of him longed for her to see him as worthy. 

“Give it to me.”

She looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“The dress. Give it.”

“No!” She hugged it closer to her chest. “You’ll just throw it in the fire.”

“It is the most logical thing to do, but no.” He stepped closer, and she stepped back, and somehow this reminded him of Ashford. “Give it to me. I will find a way to fix it, I swear it.”

“And I am supposed to trust you?”

“I am trying to help you.” He reached out, but she just pulled further back.

“Yes, like you helped me by smashing the poppy, or breaking that girl’s fingers. What was it you called it? Enacting our mutual will.” She laughed after she’d said it.

“It helped, didn’t it? You slept just fine without it.”

“I stayed up all night without it!” She corrected him. “Don’t assume you know what I am going through.” She stepped around him. “I don’t need your ‘help’.” She emphasised on the ‘help’, and Aerion scoffed, annoyed. 

“You don’t need anyone’s help, right? That’s why you dismissed all your handmaidens, is it not?”

Valyra stood rigid. “How did you…”

“You’d only grant access to that boy to fetch your dress had you known no one else would be around.” He took another step towards her, slower this time, almost careful. “And one of your braids is twisted.” He reached towards her hair, and when she didn’t pull away, his fingers tucked the strand behind her ear. 

The moment stretched, she did not retreat, and he did not push further. They simply remained like that, in the proximity of each other. 

Her eyes lowered for a second. “Aerion…” Her voice was almost a whisper, and it undid something inside him. 

He knew then with utmost certainty she felt it too, whatever this was between them. 

TW: Talk of Trauma, PTSD, unhealthy coping. Mentions of Blood/Gore (minor)

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her

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Chapter 25

Eventually Aerion made it across the hallway on his own and when he pushed the door open he was met with Daeron, sprawled out on his bed across the room. This would be the last night they’ll have to share and he couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Aerion slammed the door shut behind him. “When you told me about the poppy I thought it was a one time thing.” 

Daeron sat up. “What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about Valyra. I just caught her with another jar full of it.” 

Daeron’s expression dropped. “No.”

“Yes.” Aerion tossed the cane aside violently and dropped on his bed opposite Daeron. 

“I thought she drank it all already.”

“Well obviously not, someone must have given her more.”

Daeron narrowed his eyes. “Who? Maester Yormwell would never without a proper reason and I doubt she wished to give one.”

“Maybe not Yormwell, but maybe that's why she rode ahead.” What Aerion was implying was obvious.

“You are being ridiculous. Not Valyra, that’s not her.”

Aerion laughed. “How well do you actually know our cousin brother?” Daeron's hands tightened into fists. “If you haven’t realised, she is no longer the girl from Summerhall you remember.” 

“What happened after?”

“I tossed it aside and got rid of it. After telling her to get it together of course.”

“Aerion.”

“What?” Aerion shifted higher up on the bed. “Someone had to say it.”

Daeron scoffed. “You’ve just pushed her further away now.”

“At least I got her to admit it.”

Aerion noticed his brother freeze. “Admit what?” Daeron asked.

“That she is falling apart. She hasn’t slept properly in days, said they are haunting her dreams – the Blackfyres.”

“She said that?”

“Not in those exact words but yes.”

Daeron chuckled. “You are unreal. You actually expect me to believe that.”

Aerion just shrugged. “Belive what you wish. Oh and I might have mentioned Daemon, she knows you told me and was not very happy about that.”

Daeron laid back down on the bed. “That's great, just fucking great.” Aerion smirked at the reaction.

Valyra dashed outside the manor, not towards her bed, not towards anyone that would actually help her – outside. The air was cooler here compared to the close proximity of Aerion. She bent over, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. 

The poppy.

It was gone.

He’d fucking ruined it… Aerion. 

The image of him walking with that cane returned. Why… Why was he better already? Why was he sticking his nose where it did not belong?

She gripped her knees tighter and a stinging pain came from her palm where she’d held the glass too tightly. 

‘Okay, let's get your mind off this.’

And so Valyra aimed outside, with her bow and arrow, until the sun came up again.

“You’ve always been good at that.” 

She stiffened at the sound of her father’s voice. It was early morning, way too early for his usual time to wake up.

“You can see that?” She asked mid-nocking of another arrow.

“I see enough.” Baelor leaned against a tree. “Did you sleep alright?”

She froze for a fraction. “Not much.” Not at all she wished to say. She shot another bullseye. 

“Your uncle is worried about you.” He paused. “So am I.”

Well of course, Maekar had already asked her if she’d lost her maidenhead at the ambush – she’d expect no less. 

“Worried about what? I am fine.”

“Valyra.” 

She let out a short breath from her nose before looking at her father. 

“You are not sleeping, you are not eating and you are pretending like none of what happened to you matters.” He walked towards her as she lowered the bow. The sunrise now illuminated both of their brown hairs. 

Baelor stood a few inches away from her. Looking at the women he once bounced on his knee, or so remembering her as much.

–Flashback–

“Brother will be King one day ... will he not? After you of course.”  Valyra questioned, sitting atop my lap behind the desk. She was rewriting High Valyra on an old parchment across the desk, some phrases I had given her prior to this conversation.

“Yes, he will. Would you like that?” I smiled at her.

She thought for a second, her small hand hesitating. “Yes.” But her face did not seem to match her answer. 

I tilted my head, almost playful. “Would you like to be Queen instead?” A smile formed across her face.

“No.” She shifted in my lap. “It would not be appropriate.”

I heard myself laugh as she continued to write. “Appropriate… what makes you say that?” 

She tilted her head. “I do not think I would make a good Queen. Valarr is better at saying what he wants.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Hmm…” She made an almost thoughtful noise but I could tell the answer was already formed in her mind long ago. “It means I would spend half my time explaining my ideas, and the other half would be the lords trying to talk me out of them.” She continued scribbling away as I eyed the parchment.

“Check that one again.” I pointed at one of the phrases. She made that pouting face that just made it impossible to scold and yet she corrected the word with ease.

She’d always been good at that, since she’d been born – taking criticism without much of a fuss.

Gods, she is brilliant. 

I smiled wide at the thought. She noticed.

“Did I get it right?” Her smile was mischievous.

I rested my hand on her shoulder. “If the lords questioned your ideas, what then?” 

She placed the ink down. “I don’t know… I guess I’ll just have to convince them harder.”

I rubbed my beard and shook my head. “That’s a rather difficult task, you know.” But my daughter only shrugged as if the heaviness of the conversation didn’t phase her at all. 

“I don’t mind.” She said, “I can do it, probably not as good as Valarr… But I can, I am your daughter after all.”

A quick breath left me. “I bet you could.”

–Flashback End–

A much older, much more damaged hand met Baelor’s face now as he reminisced on the past. 

‘Is she like this because of me? Because of the expectations put upon her?’

The sound of another arrow flew past him as it met the target at the end. “Will you stop that and come inside? Let's talk.”

She simply lifted the bow again. “Did you forget what I said back at the pavilion?” 

No, of course not. How could he forget what she’d spoken after the way she’d flinched at his grip on her arm. It haunted him back then, it haunted him still. 

“No, but I’d like it if you spoke of it now.” He straightened instinctively, correcting himself. “No, I need you to.”

“Why?” She turned suddenly and Baelor could tell she was angry even amidst the blur of his vision. “So you could tell me it’s going to be okay? And how we can fix it?” Valyra reached for another arrow. “I don’t need fixing.” She turned back to the target and almost as if she’d let it slip under her breath. “I am fine.”

Baelor reached out, his hand lowering the bow along with the ready to fire arrow. “You are not fine, you haven’t been fine and it will keep getting worse. Eating you alive from the inside, unless you talk to me with sincerity.” 

“Is that a command Your Grace?” Her voice was almost as cold as that time they’d argued, back when she’d demanded Daeron to come with them. Almost. This was worse. Like the past week on the road sharpened her even more precisely. 

Baelor could hardly recognise his own daughter. 

“No, I wish to speak to my daughter, as a father, not command you.” Valyra’s harsh, dismissive chuckle grazed him. “I am sorry about Ser Crakehall. I was only trying to protect you, I never meant to dismiss Ser Bronn or his death.” She stiffened at the name of her late knight. Baelor did not need to see her clearly to know she was hurting in many more ways than just one. “It’s not your fault.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” There was an even sharper edge now. Certainty, and Baelor hated how it sounded coming from his little girl. The sun was illuminating her face and yet she appeared far away.

“You can not blame yourself for what other men—“ He’d started but Valyra was quick to counter, too quick.

“Uncle Maekar wanted to talk too and I will tell you what I told him.” She carefully placed the arrow back. “If you want to know what happened. You’ll have to wait until the issue be brought up at the small council.” She stepped past him.

It was clear she’d already thought about the future. What was awaiting them at King’s Landing and what the realm would expect of her – the truth. 

“Why?” Baelor turned, words reaching her as she was walking away again. “If you know, why prolong it at all?”

She stopped but did not face him. “Because the second you know, one eye or not, you will look at me differently. All of you are already doing it with your speculations.”

“Look at you differently?” His voice came calmer, almost defeated. 

“Yes, like I am broken, like I am just another problem for everyone to fix.”

His eye stayed on her back as silence followed. He could deny it, but to what end? She was not wrong at all, they have been treating her differently even now, even without meaning to and yet Baelor thought there was never anything wrong with that. 

“You are not broken.”

Her head snapped back around. “How would you know?”

Silence followed.

“Then tell me.” He stepped towards her again but she just looked away. “Tell me what happened. Your troubles, your worries and fears… all of it. I will not condemn you for it child, I swear it.” He stood beside her. “Valyra… I love you, we all… your family loves you. Do not shut us out any longer, I beg you.”

Baelor was close enough to see her mouth open but no words came, only the sound of the morning birds danced around the two of them. 

A guard approached from a distance and bowed once close by.  “Your Grace, everyone is ready to depart, just give the word.” 

Baelor glanced at Valyra then back at the man. “Give us a minute.” 

“No.” She said from beside him. “You heard the man, everyone is waiting. Let's not make them wait any longer.” She started walking back towards the stables without another word. 

This had been the closest he’s gotten, and yet it was not enough either. ‘You’ll look at me differently.’ But Baelor knew what that really meant. She did not wish to appear weak or fragile, she did not wish to worry any of them. He ran a hand through his hair. He’d already been worrying about her, he simply wanted to know exactly what happened.

His daughter got further and further away. 

“Ready the horses. We’ll leave at once.” 

The man lowered his head once more and marched in the same direction as Valyra.

Next to her horse Daeron was already waiting for her. “Good morning.” The greeting felt wrong, he’d hardly slept and by the looks of her she hasn’t either. 

“Morning.” Her voice sounded hollow and she did not meet his eyes. She handed her bow and quiver to a servant that placed it in a crate safely.

“You were out rather early this morning.”

“I needed to think.” Daeron noticed it then, the same clothes as last night. She hadn’t even bothered to hide it this time and then he saw it, her bloodied palm.

“You are hurt.” He stepped towards her, hands instinctively reaching out.

She waved him off. “It’s nothing, just cut myself on an arrow.” She stopped then, glancing behind him and he followed her gaze. 

Aerion was stumbling towards his cart on his own two feet this time. The wooden cane met the stone floor in an almost daunting click, click, click. They stood there watching him for a moment. The space between them and Aerion was small and almost as if he could feel them looking – he stared back. 

Daeron already looked away and back towards her and the damaged skin, but Valyra’s eyes remained on his brother. 

“Maybe Maester Yormwell should look at that–”

“How could he possibly be better already?” Daeron exhaled at her question meant to distract from her own pain. He didn’t allow it this time. 

“Valyra.” 

And she finally peeled her eyes away from Aerion. 

“He said he found you with more poppy.” Daeron lowered his voice. “Is it true?”

Her silence was an answer enough and he clicked his tongue almost annoyed. “You used to be able to talk to me.” 

“Yes, and I used to trust that our discussions would not reach others.” She stepped past him, mounting her horse. 

“What would you have me do?” He snapped. “You continue disappearing into yourself, one message from the bastard and you are here drowning on the poppy like you can not bear to close your eyes.”

She stared down at him. “You can speak of whatever you wish with your brother, but one word about the poppy, Daemon, or his message to father and I swear to you – I will never forgive you.” 

From a distance Aerion remained watching them, his head turned following Valyra as she rode her horse at the front of the line. Daeron stood at the stables, hair falling messy in front of his face and he pulled aggressively at the strands as if that was the issue.

It only took a few hours for them to reach Kings Landing. The tall walls surrounding the city became visible as they passed the King’s Woods and suddenly the liveliness of the city spilled even beyond the gates. Merchants, guards, high and low born alike greeted the royal party as they flooded in past the giant doors. 

“Your Grace, we are glad to see you’ve all returned safely. The King is expecting you.” 

Baelor’s eye landed on the guard below them. “I have much to discuss with my father, but first I’d accompany my family and assure they are settled within the Red Keep.”

The guard bowed. “As you wish, my prince.” 

Bakugou- (Dualist) - Reyna, Raze, Jett/Phenix

Kirishima- (Initiator) - Breach, Kay/o, Sova

Sero - (Sentinel) - Sage, Cypher, KJ

Kaminari - (Dualist) - Neon, Iso, Yoru

Midoriya - (Controller) - Brimstone, Clove, Miks

Tokoyami - (Flex) - Omen, Reyna, Vyse

Jiro - (Dualist/Senti) - Raze, KJ

Ashido - (Controller/Senti) - Clove, Deadlock

Ojiro - (played 2 games then uninstalled)

Todoroki - (plays League of Legends)

The rest of 1-A dont play.

TW: Trauma/ PTSD, addiction themes, overall mental health struggles, self-injury/ blood (minor), Explicit Language

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her //Currently considering/Under thought -> The Spring Sickness //

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / … / 25 / 26

Chapter 24

Valyra did not recall exactly when she left her tent, or how she got atop her horse, but now she was watching the sunrise appear across the flatlands. The lack of sleep made her body feel heavier, and it took more effort for her to sit straight. 

“Good morning.” Kiera rode towards her with a smile. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She stopped about a meter away, admiring the view.

Valyra exhaled, long and tired. “I do not hate you. I never have.” The exhaustion attacking her mind alongside her body, she cut straight to the point. 

Kiera looked at her surprised. “I… I did not say–”

“You didn’t have to, Valarr spoke enough of it.” Valyra’s eyes returned forward. “I apologise. If I have offended you with that business earlier in the year, but it truly had nothing to do with you. You are the best thing that’s happened to my brother.” She glanced once at the Tyroshi girl. “But I am not Valarr. You don’t need to keep trying to make me like you.”

Kiera forced a strand of hair behind her ear before looking away. “You were there when my babes were born dead.”

“I was there for my brother. We are not friends.” It came somehow colder than she intended, and yet that was the truth.

“I hear you don’t have many – if any.” Valyra’s head snapped to the side as Kiera continued. “That must be rather lonely.”

“Is it loneliness? If the person prefers it that way?” 

Kiera looked at her. “No one likes to be alone. Not even you.”

The quiet settled between them, and in the distance, they could hear the camp beginning to prepare for the departure once again.

“You should speak with your family.” 

That made Valyra stiffen in the saddle. 

“Valarr, your father and uncle, they all think…” Kiera did not finish.

“Think what?” She snapped at the girl.

She watched Kiera bite her lower lip. “They think those men meant to get a hold of you. That the intention was to marry you to Daemon II Blackfyre.”

“Why would they think that?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” 

“Kiera!” Valyra snapped. “Why would they think that?!”

“They concluded themselves while Lord Caswell hosted us the other night. Sometimes men are as smart as they think, just not quite as quick to it.” 

But Valyra did not even fully hear the last part; she was already thinking back to Bitterbridge. The way her father had dismissed their bickering at the dinner table. The way Valarr had apologized after. Now that she thinks back, she could swear even Maekar looked at her differently after. 

They believed it.

And none of them questioned her, knowing she would deny it.

Her chest tightened once the face of the boy returned to her mind. ‘Daemon Blackfyre sends his regrets for what occurred upon the side of the road, and bids you know it should not have happened.’

Valyra closed her eyes.

“You look worried, that means it is true. Doesn’t it?” Kiera prodded again.

“No.” Valyra breathed out; it could not be a lie if even she did not know the truth. She turned her horse around suddenly. “Tell father I’ll get a head start.” 

“Do you think it wise?” 

Valyra ignored the question completely and started along the remainder of the Roseroad. 

About an hour later, the retinue was ready to go.

“Valyra left early on,” Kiera spoke softly.

Valarr glanced at his wife. “Left? Where? What happened?”

“She said she'd wait for us at the manor.” She quickly added. 

“Is she okay?” Daeron asked the pink-haired girl.

Kiera nodded. “She is fine, better than yesterday, it seems.” She leaned in towards Valarr as if just between them. “She even apologised.” Valarr flashed her a look.

The men stared at the girl.

Maekar looked towards his worried brother. “Then let's get a move on.” Baelor nodded and just as quickly as they’d occupied the glass field, the Targaryens were on the move again.

Aerion had perked up with interest from his seat as he turned towards his brother. “I take it your talk didn’t go as well last night, if she is running off again.”

Daeron kept his eyes forward, not paying him any mind. 

“Gods, you do look pathetic.” Aerion spat towards him. “I guess I was right. You can’t handle it.”

Daeron snapped his head. “Stop talking.” His mind was already busy worrying about what she had said. 

‘Perhaps all of you would find life easier without me.’

The sentence refused to leave him alone. Daeron had spent most of the morning convincing himself she had not meant it. Valyra said cruel things when angry. Valyra said foolish things when drunk. Valyra said things she did not mean. But that had not sounded angry. Nor drunk. It frightened him more.

For the first time since Ashford, Daeron found himself wondering whether he should tell Baelor. The thought lasted all of three seconds.

She would never forgive him.

And yet neither could he forget the look in her eyes.

“‘I don’t want her to be alone tonight.’” Aerion spoke in a mocking tone beside him, forcing his voice to sound as close as Daeron’s. “Yet you returned rather early.”

“I said, stop talking.” 

But Aerion laughed instead. “Do you ever do anything you say you will?” The amusement remained in his voice. “No wonder we are both disappointments in father’s eyes.”

As much as Daeron tried to ignore it, Aerion’s words had once again held a cruel truth he did not wish to face anytime soon. 

Now he was thinking about how she’d frozen at the mention of Aerion again. 

‘What else did he say?’ She’d found herself more concerned with the details of the shared information than anything he’d said to her prior. It angered him. Daeron stared at his brother, wondering what else he was hiding, wondering just how he managed to keep her attention without his physical presence.

Valyra arrived at the manor before lunchtime, but instead of heading for some food, she hung around the yard a while longer. She’d passed this place too on her way to Ashford, but did not entertain the idea of spending the night. Too many people walking by – making their way through the Crownlands, but she didn’t need all of them, just one type in particular.

“My apologies.” She quickly spoke, after pretending to walk into the man by accident.

“It is quite all right.” He glanced at her a second time. “You… You are the princess, aren't you? Prince Baelor’s daughter.”

She smiled politely. “Yes, I am.”

The man, probably around her age, was dressed in a muted colour robe. “Are you the manor’s Maester?” Valyra stirred the conversation in her favour.

He laughed. “No. I was just on my way back to Old Town. Visited someone in the city and thought I’d rest here for a while.”

“Really?” But there was something off about the way she’d said it. “Who were you visiting?”

Valyra spent the better part of the afternoon listening. He spoke of Oldtown, of his family, and studies. She smiled when expected and asked the right questions at the right moments.

Somewhere between half laughter, she asked. “But you are a Maester, aren’t you?” Her eyes snapped towards a wooden chest he’d kept close by all day. 

“Training to be one, yes. Why? Are you unwell?” He set his cup down, sitting up straighter. 

Valyra waved her hand in front of her face. “No, no. I am fine.” But she looked back up at him. “However, my father… he got hurt at the tourney.”

“Yes, I have heard. Trial of Seven, was it?” 

She nodded. 

“Well, if you need anything – if his Grace needs anything.” He offered innocently.   

“Actually…” She smiled again. “You see, our Maester ran out of some supplies on the way back home…”

“And they sent the Princess to fetch it?” He’d laughed, and her lips also twitched at how absurd it sounded. 

It didn’t stop her, though. They’d talked plenty for her to know she’s getting what she came here for. It helped that the man was young and eager to prove useful.

“I’d like to help when I can.” She replied, brushing the previous comment aside as if nothing. Pushing a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, she held his eyes.

He appeared curious now.“Alright then, what supplies are you missing?” 

“I managed to find most things around, only Milk of the poppy left.” By now, the lies had stacked so high in her throat she could almost choke. 

“Milk of the poppy?”

“For father, he’s been having trouble sleeping.” She flashed another polite smile.

“And you are sure your own Maester ran out? Usually, they carry plenty.”

“Not enough to last the journey, I am afraid.”

He frowned. "Prince Baelor must still be in considerable pain.”

She lowered her eyes. “More than he lets others see.” That one felt easier. That one was a truth.

“Then of course, I’ll be happy to help.” He stood quickly, opening the chest that had kept most of Valyra's attention. “Here.” He handed her a black jar. 

Her eyes dashed between the sealed poppy and the young man. “Oh, I couldn’t – “

“Please.” He cut her off. “It’s not much, but there should be plenty to last his Grace until you return home.”

Valyra reached out and took it in her hand. “Thank you.” But she did not look at him again; the guilt was too intense now. 

By the time the conversation wound down and the young man was preparing to leave, Valyra ensured she slid three golden dragons inside his wooden chest. Was she paying for the poppy or for the lie that somehow found its way out of her lips way too naturally? Either felt disturbing.

He noticed. “Princess, that’s too much.”

“Consider it a donation to the Citadel then.” She straightened up her clothes, standing abruptly and leaving him before he could get another word in. 

By the time Valyra stepped inside the small manor, her family had already arrived and settled in. She was surprised no one had come looking for her yet. The surprise didn’t last long when a Kingsguard approached her. 

“Princess, His Grace would like a word.”

She nodded and followed the white cloak that escorted her to the rather small room where her father was resting. 

The moment she stepped in, she felt a sense of panic. Her father was sitting talking with Ser Roland Crakehall.

“What’s going on?” She asked, looking between the two of them. The knight who had escorted her closed the door and left. Baelor’s eye stared at her, and she wondered if he could actually see her. 

“We were just talking,” Baelor spoke calmly.

Valyra stepped further inside. “What about? You asked to see me.”

“About you.” She blinked at her father’s words. “I’ve assigned Ser Crakehall as your new sworn shield.”

She glanced at the knight, then back at her father. “No.”

Baelor continued. “He’ll ride alongside you, go where you go, and protect you from those that wish to harm you.”

“I said no!” She barely contained a shout. 

But Baelor remained calm. “I thought we’d talked about choices back at Ashford.”

She scoffed, remembering her father’s stern tone then. ‘I am your father! My word is final.’

“If you wish to run around, if you wish to ride ahead without prior notice. You will be free to do so, with a trusted man by your side.” 

So that’s what this was about. Her father had seen her recent actions and he’d thought this the solution. To have her followed, have her looked after as if that is what she needed. 

She shook her head. “I already had a protector.” Baelor lifted his head in acknowledgment. “I am not going to have another man bleed to death at my feet on my account.”

Crakehall smiled, almost surprised at the concern for his life. “Princess, I assure you I will not–”

“Will not what?” She turned to him and his smile disappeared at once. “You assure me you will not die?” The knight fell silent.

Baelor sat forward. “I need to know you are safe. This is for me as much as it is for you.” 

“No. The only thing this gives me is another man to bury.”

The quiet felt too uncomfortable too fast. Neither of the men could find what to say.

“So that’s it then, is it?” She walked over to the wine, pouring herself a cup. “You’d get me another knight, purchase me another horse, you’d probably even scout for the same dress as mother’s in an attempt to do what? Pretend it didn’t happen? You can’t simply replace what broke in the hopes of forgetting what did.” 

Baelor watched her as she drank. “I am not trying to forget, but there are certain things I must do to prevent it from happening again.”

Valyra froze without meaning to. “You think it would happen again.” She did not question it, just phrased it as a fact.

Kiera was speaking the truth that morning, her father was worried about them trying to take her again.

‘Daemon Blackfyre sends his regrets…’

She wasn’t sure why she was thinking of that now, but it was too late.

“It won’t.” She spoke quietly. 

Baelor exhaled. “You don’t know that.” 

‘...and bids you know it should not have happened.’

She faced her father fully. “It will not happen again.” There was not a flicker of uncertainty or worry when she’d said it, and Baelor narrowed his only eye. 

Valyra set the empty cup down, and before her father would question her bold statement, she spoke, this time of a compromise. “I will have another knight, but one of my own choosing, not one handed to me.” Crakehall glanced at Baelor. “I’ll find him myself once we return to King’s Landing.”

Baelor crossed his hands in front of him and thought for a while before slowly nodding his head in agreement.

“Can I go now?” She asked after her father didn’t object further, and Baelor nodded his head at that too. Valyra opened the door and stepped outside.

She walked more slowly now, lost deep in thoughts that made no sense. 

Why had she said that? Why did she claim to know it would not occur again? Back then – even now – she believed the message from the boy a fake, a fabrication of some further ploy placed by the Blackfyres. 

So why in the Seven Hells did she let herself believe it, even for a moment? 

She was aware of her father’s true intentions and yet even imagining another man taking up Ser Bronn’s place sickened her. 

Her hand reached instinctively inside her pocket as she stared at the tinted glass. At least she could get some sleep tonight. 

A couple more steps further ahead, the corridor got tighter, and Valyra stopped in her tracks, eyes glued to what she was seeing. 

Aerion was walking – or stumbling, but still walking – one hand braced against the stone wall and the other visibly unstable against a wooden cane. He did not see her at first; his eyes had been on the ground in front as if measuring every step before he took it. And the sight reminded her of him back then, the one time she’d seen him vulnerable when she’d foolishly stepped through the wrong door.

Once he noticed her, he stood straighter, like he was determined to appear better than he actually was. Perhaps that is why he had chosen this hidden corridor.

Valyra’s gaze trailed up his body. “You are up, and you are walking.” She said, eyes not leaving him.

“Dragon blood heals fast.” 

She lowered her eyes, continuing to walk forward. “Right.

Aerion’s eyes glanced down at her hands. “What’s that?”

She’d completely gotten lost in the moment and forgotten all about the poppy she was holding.

“Nothing.” She tried to walk past, but he raised the cane in front of her.

“Milk of the poppy?” He asked, and she froze. “Which idiot gave you that?”

“Let me pass Aerion.” But the stick remained as a barrier blocking her. 

“What do you need it for? You never took it when you should have – after the ambush. Did Daemon Blackfyre actually scare you that much?” There was worry in his voice disguised as cruelty.

She looked surprised. "You and Daeron keeping score over who knows more?" A small hurt laugh escaped her. “I’d make sure I make it a meeting next time with all three of us.”

“Are you angry?” She looked away at his question. “Good. Be angry.” Anger he could handle, but the distant detachment he’d been faced with over the last few days, however, was foreign to him. 

Her eyes met his with a sense of certainty. “Get out of my way.”

Aerion lowered the cane, but just before she had a chance to walk away, he reached for the black jar gripped between her fingers. Without hesitation – not giving her an opening to grab at it again – he found himself throwing it at the wall with whatever strength was left in him.

She flinched at the shattering of glass.

The broken pieces scattered across the floor, the liquid dripped down the side of the stone wall, and when he turned to look at her again, she was staring at the outcome of it, not at him.

“What in the seven hells did you do?” There was something different in the way she’d said it. Helplessness perhaps? Aerion hated how it sounded.

“If you want to be angry – be angry. If you want to shout and hit me – do that.” He gestured towards the puddle forming on the floor. “This isn’t the solution.” 

“Then what is?!” Her voice cracked at the end and it shook him. Not because of how directly she’d asked it, but because he actually didn’t have an answer. 

This wasn’t something he could change or punish or threaten away.

Aerion narrowed his eyes.  “I won't watch you do this.”

She stepped back staring at him, confusion all over, but Aerion didn’t buy it for a second. “Watch me do what?” 

“This! Whatever the fuck this is.” He pointed at her, almost losing his balance. She rolled her eyes at him. “This isn’t you.” 

Scoffing, Valyra walked towards the shattered glass. “You speak as if you know me.”

Of course she’d said that, that’s been her favourite phrase lately when it came to him.

“Better than yourself apparently.”

Aerion watched her as she kneeled beside the mess, slender fingers brushing the pieces. “You fucking idiot.” She muttered under her breath.

He tilted his head, confused himself now at what he was seeing. 

The girl from Summerhall would have told him to go to hell. The one from Ashford might have thrown something at his head. Instead she knelt amongst the broken glass, staring at the spilled poppy as though she had lost something precious.

Aerion hated how much that frightened him.

Someone from the kitchens passed them and froze once witnessing the both of them in the middle of the dimly lit hallway. 

Aerion flashed the servant a look. “Keep walking.” And they did just that, lowering their gaze and scurrying away. 

“Get up.” He broke the uncomfortable silence. “Go back to your chambers and try to sleep.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” And when she looked at him, he could tell she was fighting tears. “You think I haven’t tried to sleep it off? To forget it? To move on?” 

Her palm met the shards as she grabbed a fistful of them, and Aerion inched forward instinctively. “Stop this.” 

She shook her head. “I can’t.” And she squeezed so hard she was visibly shaking. A thin streak of blood flowed between her fingers and down her arm. 

Aerion felt his heart beat faster, but this wasn’t anger. He was panicking. “Of course you can!” His shout echoed around them, but she did not meet it.

“I can’t.” Her breath came out more broken than before. “You don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand even if you tried.” 

Aerion couldn’t bring himself closer. Something had rooted him in place. 

“I can’t sleep.” She continued. “I close my eyes, and I am back there again. I hear their name, and I am back there again, I–I…” She lowered her hand, releasing the stained shards, and somehow that allowed him to exhale a fraction more easily. “I look at myself in the mirror, and I can still feel it, all of it. What they did to me.” 

Aerion’s grip on the cane tightened because even he hadn’t stopped thinking about it. The image of her in the mirror, half-dressed and covered in bruises, barely holding in the pain. 

She wiped at her face where a tear had fallen. “And then I get an apology, like that would solve anything–”

“It’s a lie!” He was quick to jump in.

“I know that!” She held his eyes. “So why does a lie affect me so?”

Aerion stared at her. “Because you care too much. You always have, that’s what I–” 

He stopped himself.

“-Hate about me?” She added to the end of his sentence, and he almost chuckled at how far from the truth that was. “You want me to be like you? Heartless and cruel?”

“No. I want you to be yourself.”

She stood up, wiping her bloodied palm across her clothes. “Yeah, right, of course. That’s why everyone is trying to tell me what’s best for me. What I should and shouldn’t do. That’s not letting me be myself. That’s control.”

“And you think that isn’t?” He eyed the spilled poppy before catching her brown eyes again. “You are not thinking clearly. You aren’t dealing with this; you are simply trying to pretend it doesn’t exist.”

“How do I deal with it, Aerion? Because I get a sense that even if you’d dropped every Blackfyre bastard’s head at my feet – I'll still be here. Stuck in this loop of endless torment.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And neither do you.” 

Silence settled, because he didn’t know. That was the problem.

She finally pulled her eyes away and walked past him. “So that's it then? You are giving up?” He spoke after her. 

Her sleeve brushed his, and something in him shattered. He grabbed her arm before he realised what he was doing. “Don’t walk away from me!” 

“If I don’t, we’ll just keep arguing, and there is hardly any point in that now.”

His thumb brushed the fabric covering her skin a few times, debating what to do next, and then he let go of her. Because what else is he supposed to do? Admit that he’d rather have her shout at him than self-destruct in private? Aerion would rather take another 10 beatings from Duncan than say something so honest.

The narrow hallway was filled with the sound of her steps as she left, and he didn’t look away once.  

TW: Substance/ Alcohol Misuse (as coping), Suicidal ideation, Trauma, discussion of kidnapping/sexual violence

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her //Currently considering/Under thought -> The Spring Sickness //

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / … / 24 / 25 / 26

Chapter 23

The following night, they would spend at a royal encampment, and once they entered the Crowlands the following day, they would be hosted at some lord’s noble manor. Daeron did not care about what type of bed he was lying in now, as he rested under the large tent; his thoughts were fully occupied by her. 

He stared up at the canopy. Daemon Blackfyre. Yes, that would do it. 

He worried. Not because she was acting out, but because she wasn’t. That’s just it, she should have told someone, her father, his father. Anyone who understood the implications of this type of message sent at an awfully perfect time. 

Daemon had been in Essos, and yet he knew exactly where they would be – where she would be – to deliver his lie wrapped in courtesy.

They are watching her. Keeping an eye even from across the Narrow Sea.

Why? What could they possibly want? 

But just as Daeron was about to outweigh all the options…

“You are awfully quiet.” 

Daeron closed his eyes. He’d spend the last hour listening to Aerion in the background. Complaining about what hurt where and that the Maesters were all too stupid to heal him.

“Why are you here again?” Daeron asked, still not looking at his brother, who was lying on his own make-shift bed across the tent. 

“Not enough tents for everyone, that's what father said.”

Daeron scoffed. “Right, or he is punishing me.”

“Who is to say he is not pushing me? I’ve never been good at sharing.” 

Daeron glanced at him. “You are an annoying little thing, you know that?”

“Oh, I know. The question is, what are you?” Aerion's smirk was visible even through the darkened skin. “A prince? A drunk? You haven’t touched your wine since we settled. That's not like you, brother.”

“Ah, so you can’t walk, or fight, or fuck. Must be awfully boring for you, forever the observer.”

“Won’t be forever. I assure you.” 

Daeron rolled his eyes. “Nevertheless, Ser Duncan did all of us a favour, even if short-lived.”

A silence settled, and Daeron thought Aerion had had enough. How naive of him.

“You drink when you wish not to think.” Aerion’s words didn’t need explaining to carry the meaning. “What’s happened with Valyra?”

Daeron laughed at that. “You are unbelievable.”

Aerion’s eyes flicked away for a moment as if he was careful with his next words. And then quieter, almost under his breath alone. 

“A secret for a secret?” 

The silence that came made him smile. 

He watched as Daeron stilled ever so slightly. “No.”

Aerion ignored it. “I’ll start.” 

“No,” Daeron said again, sterner now.

Aerion sat up on the bed. Eyes glued to his brother’s face now, studying every reaction.

He’d already decided the way this would go. 

“Late last night, Valyra stumbled into my chambers.” Daeron snapped to him. “She looked frightened. Not angry, frightened. Whatever happened to her happened before she entered my room.”

It was so quiet that all they could hear were the people outside passing their tent. A small flicker of anticipation came to Aerion. He wondered if his brother would give in to the offer now. If he’d take the bait.

And just as he had predicted, he had.

“Daemon Blackfyre sent her an apology.” 

At first, Aerion thought he’d misheard, but he kept his expression natural. He refused to show just how much anger had boiled inside him at the mention of the bastard’s name. “Apology?”

Daeron held his brother’s eyes. “‘It was not supposed to happen.’ That’s all she said.”

Which part was not supposed to happen? The ambush? The pain they caused her? 

Aerion did not ask any of those. Somehow, between their shared gaze, he knew Daeron was telling him all he knew. Except that gave him little comfort now.

He gripped the blanket covering his legs. “You said she was not drunk today. But she had taken something, what?”

Daeron’s eyes sharpened. “What happened in your chambers?” 

Aerion had to fight off a smirk. Of course, that’s where Daeron’s mind would go. “Nothing happened.” Then quicker he repeated. “What did she take?”

“Milk of the Poppy.” The words lodged themselves inside. Aerion hated how quickly his brother had responded. He hated the answer just as much.

Daeron sat up. Feet to the ground. “You said she stumbled into your room. What exactly happened?”

Aerion exhaled at the stubbornness of his brother, refusing to believe him. “She left once she realised it was the wrong one. Like I said. Nothing happened.”

Neither of them dared to yield by looking away. 

“You look worried.”

Daeron rested his elbows on his knees. “Of course I am worried.”

Aerion tilted his head to the side. That cocky grin was present across his lips. “I wasn’t talking about that.”

The moment stretched after that, until the older brother broke the quiet.

“What did they want with her?”

Aerion stared at him, pouting his lips, but did not reply right away. 

Daeron pushed. “You know, don’t you? She must have told you.”

“Come now, brother, you might be a drunk, but I never quite pictured you for a fool.” Perhaps surprised by Aerion’s words, Daeron straightened up. “What could they possibly want… I wonder.” Aerion cooed. 

Daeron looked at the ground as if it might hold a clue before returning to his brother again. “A secret for a secret. That’s what you said. I gave you two. You owe me.”

Aerion let out a low chuckle at his brother’s desperation. “Think. The heir to the Iron Throne’s daughter. Pure dragon blood.”

A short silence fell between them, and Aerion watched as Daeron’s face dropped soon after. 

He’s figured it out.

“You can’t possibly mean–”

“Oh, I do,” Aerion said. 

“No. That– that’s not…” Daeron stuttered, trying to find the words. His mind is a complete mess at the cruel truth now lingering within him. 

Aerion adjusted his pillow. “Their only mistake was sending men incapable of taking her.”

Daeron’s eyes were colder now, sharper. “Don’t talk about her like that. Like she is something to be owned, to be possessed.”

“Unfortunately, because of who she is, she is something to be owned. The bastards thought they could claim her–”

“-Well, they can’t!” Daeron stood abruptly as the anger came out of nowhere. 

Aerion’s head snapped up. “I agree.”

That was a rare sight on its own. It’s been years. So long that neither of them could even remember it – the time they had agreed on something.

Daeron ran a hand through his hair and reached for his cloak, tossing it across his shoulders. 

“You are going to see her,” Aerion spoke quietly now, shifting under the sheets at the instinct to follow.

“I don’t want her to be alone tonight. Or any night after that.” 

Aerion watched as the flap of the tent closed behind Daeron. 

He should feel victorious. He got what he wanted. 

Daemon Blackfyre. 

The bastard’s name lingered at the back of his mind now, uninvited. All Aerion could picture was her scared face back under the moonlight of his chambers. ‘And they have the nerve to reach out to her… After everything they did.’

Milk of the poppy.

Daeron thought he’d traded fairly. He hadn’t. Aerion still held the more important secret.

‘It should not have happened.’

Now Aerion could start placing the pieces together. And if anything, he loved a good puzzle.

Outside, the air was colder than Daeron had imagined. The sun was fully set now, and a few guards passed him as he made his way towards where Valyra was. Her tent was smaller, in proximity to her father and brother. 

Daeron froze for a moment as he stood outside. “Hey, it’s me. Are you awake?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded way too distant from inside. Daeron reached for the fabric and pulled it aside, walking in. 

Valyra was sitting on the ground with her knees to her chest again, staring into the small fire that burned in front of her. 

“How are you feeling?” He finally cut through the quiet. 

“I am fine.”

She hadn’t looked at him yet, just kept staring into the flame as if it were speaking to her. Daeron stepped closer. “Can I sit?”

She shifted slightly to the side. “Sure.” 

“Look at me.” He finally got the courage to say it once beside her. She didn’t turn. “Lyra. Look at me.” His voice cracked at the end. Cracked. 

She finally looked away from the ember, but Daeron could still see the reflection of the flickering light in her eyes. It was obvious the poppy was wearing off, but its presence was probably still lingering within her. 

“I spoke to Aerion.”

She let out a small breath. “Okay.” Exhausted or defeated, he wasn’t sure. 

“He said… I didn’t believe it at first. That’s why I want you to tell me. Is it true? Was their goal to take you?”

Valyra looked back towards the fire again. “Yes.”

“Gods.”

But what came next struck him far worse. 

“They were going to rape me first of course.” 

She chuckled. Hard and cold. 

Daeron felt a lump in his throat.

“Then probably hand me over to the Blackfyres like some prize.” 

Daeron watched her, eyes wide. Frozen somewhere between the moment her words left her and the aftermath. He hadn’t even processed it yet before she continued.

“At least then I’ll no longer be a problem – with a husband that is –  according to my brother.”

“Don’t say that. You are not a problem. How… How could you even think like that? That is not what Valarr said.”

She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly as if she hadn’t just stuck a knife in his chest with a few short sentences. 

“How could I not? My father still looks at me like I am a child. Valarr thinks I am out to ruin his happy marriage and you…” She pauses, then turns to face him. “You went as far as talking to Aerion about me. Perhaps all of you would find life easier without me. ”

“I only spoke to Aerion because you refused to speak to me. I worry about you. I feel like– like I am the only one that does.”

But it was almost like she never registered it at all. “What else did he say?” 

“What?”

“Aerion, did he tell you anything else?”

He felt his chest tighten. “No, why? Is there anything else?”

She held his eyes briefly, then pushed off the floor. “No. There is nothing.”

“If there was nothing, you would not have asked.” He stood beside her, but she was already turning away towards the bed.

“Can you leave now? I’d like to sleep.” Her back was facing him, already taking off parts of her jewelry when he stepped closer. 

“You shouldn’t be alone.” He spoke softly now, his intention for coming here resurfacing, and he found himself reaching for her. 

Daeron’s fingers enclose around her arm gently, and he felt her almost stutter at the contact. “I don’t want to ever hear you say that again. That it’ll be easier without you.” He hovered over her – her back almost grazing against his chest –  before her eyes met his over her shoulder. “Promise me, promise me you won't say that ever again.”

“Fine.” She said. 

But it was not a promise.

Daeron had only lingered for a moment after that before he broke the contact and left her tent. He wished he hadn’t, but after seeing her, he understood sticking around would only push her further. By the time he returned to his own tent, Aerion was fast asleep – or so he pretended to be. The night stretched on too long as he replayed her words in his head. 

‘At least then I’ll no longer be a problem, with a husband that is..’ 

Did she really believe that? Or was she saying it with another intent, one only he could understand? He laughed low to himself.

Maybe Daeron was just hearing what his brain wished to hear; maybe he was connecting the dots where previously there had been no connection. 

He poured himself wine. Drank it swiftly before pouring another. 

She’d waited. Exactly enough time – to her account – for the camp to be mostly in slumber. Daeron had already left long ago.

Maester Yormwell’s tent was open, and as she approached slowly, she noticed he was in the middle of treating an injured man. 

“Will it take long?” Even if she spoke softly, both of the men jerked their heads towards her.

Master Yormwell laughed softly. “Oh, princess, you startled me.” He smiled. “No, he is all done.” 

The man sat up at the instructions and slowly left the tent while she cautiously walked inside, pulling the flap closed behind her.

“I came to ask you for a favour.” 

He glanced at her. “Well of course, anything you need.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I need more.”

Yormwell stared at her for so long she’d thought she had made a mistake coming here, but no, this was no mistake. 

She needed this.

He finally exhaled. “How much more?”

“More than last time.” She looked away. “And preferably inside something more discreet.” 

Valyra watched as he took off his chain, placing it with a heavy thud on the wooden table. 

“No.” 

She blinked a few times, surprised. “Please.”

“I am sworn to heal and do no harm. It is my judgment that I believe this isn’t helping you.”

She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “It was you who offered it to me in the first place. Now you are saying no?”

“That is my honest mistake. Milk of the poppy is not something to be taken for granted, princess. I offered it to you so that it might help ease your mind. A sip before bedtime or a spoonful inside your tea. If you had already finished what I gave you, I will not give you more.” His eyes did not leave her. The decision was final, she could tell from his voice. 

“Fine, then I’ll find another Maester that will.” She turned abruptly and walked back towards her own tent. 

She has said it so easily, and yet the more she thought about it now, the more she realised – she’ll have to wait until they get back to the city. Her hand gripped the wine tighter as she drank. She didn’t want to wait that long. She simply needed the world around her to lessen. Not in a week, not tomorrow, right now. 

Valyra stayed up all night, curled up by the fire, terrified of what kind of dreams would come if she slept. 

Her thoughts had come in patterns. The ambush; Ashford, Aerion, Trial of Seven, her father – his eyes. The road, the message from the peasant boy, Aerion, the poppy.

By the time sunlight pierced through the tiny holes in the tent, she’d looped it in her head more times than she could count. Each time hating herself for how many times Aerion invaded her chain of thought. 

She brought her hand to her face, rubbing her now exhausted eyes. 

‘I just need to get through this. A few more days, a few more excruciating nights. I can do it. I have to do it.’

TW: Trauma, dissociation, alcohol/ substance abuse (as coping), discussion of assault/ kidnapping

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her //Currently considering/Under thought -> The Spring Sickness //

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / … / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26

Chapter 22

A severe stinging pain washed over the side of Aerion’s face. He’d turned to his side in his sleep, and his right cheek had grazed the pillow. His eyes shot open, taking a while to adjust to the brightness. 

For a moment, he lay there, wondering if he’d imagine her. Valyra, in his room at the hour of the wolf. 

No. 

That was no dream. She was real. 

Even after being abruptly awoken – with dreams still lingering at the back of his head – one glance at her sitting against his door in the darkness, Aerion could tell something was terribly wrong.

‘I am just drunk.’ She had said, yet the wine could not explain the heaviness of her breathing between the quiet of his chambers and neither could he. 

Aerion rested his back against the headboard, recalling the encounter in better detail. The way she’d snapped her head up from her knees at the sound of his voice, startled – almost frightened.

But not of him. Not this time, not really. He knew that much.

Something had happened. Something important enough to have her running from it through the castle corridors in the middle of the night, but what?

The Maester was already circling his bed, tending to his wounds enough for the upcoming journey towards the Crownlands. 

Aerion barely acknowledged him or the servants assisting – unlike the previous time, his mind was too preoccupied by Valyra’s broken words from last night. That’s just it, she had sounded like she did back at Ashford. Back when she was covered not just in bruises but in secrets, she desperately wished to remain hidden. 

Aerion laughed. 

The people froze, worried, probably as the sound was so foreign coming from him. 

Granted, the irony of Valyra barging into his private room had been enough to raise amusement even from him. Yet the way she had said it, ‘I apologise…’ almost as if she wasn’t regretting the act itself but the fact that she had let herself be seen like this – by him – again. 

She still didn’t see it, refusing to acknowledge that he was the only one who had already seen her truly. Already understood the parts she kept hidden from the others.

One day soon, she will. 

When their eyes meet, and she could no longer deny it, or hide from it – the fire that’s been building between them for years – she’ll finally realise he’s the only one that could burn alongside her.

Aerion beamed with anticipation of the day to come.

A long while later, two doors down the corridor, Valyra hadn’t even stirred yet until several knocks finally woke her.

“Princess?” A now worried voice repeated for the third time, a maid from outside followed by another louder knock. 

Valyra’s eyes almost refused to open. She felt her dry lips move before she could process the words. “What time is it?” 

“Long after sunrise, princess. Your family is already waiting over the bridge. They are worried.” Valyra glanced at herself. She was still half-dressed in the clothes she had on last night. 

There was a lingering dizziness that came even once she sat up. “Right. Tell them I’ll be out soon.” Valyra heard a shuffling beyond her door; the maid was leaving to do as she had been told. 

As she forced herself to her feet, she felt a strange disconnect from her body – different from all those times she’d been out cold from the wine. She found it difficult to focus her eyes, yet a glimmer from the small table beside her bed caught her attention.

Maester Yormwell’s small glass jar. 

Empty. 

She’d been aware of the instructions and still, regardless, she remembered herself tipping back the full thing as soon as she finally returned to her own room. Refusing to pretend she could hold control any longer. 

She had forced the sleep to come. 

But that wasn’t all that the poppy had done. Valyra had felt it straight away. The heaviness in her limbs, the way her thoughts had slowed right after – the Blackfyre name blurring somewhere at the back of her mind. 

Aerion. 

Gods, Aerion…

She would not hear the end of it, that much as certain.

“Fuck me.” She cursed out loud at herself, and yet even her voice had lost its edge.

Valyra changed her clothes and brushed her hair once, the simple thought of a braid exhausted her. 

She thought she’d feel the panic again once she descended the steps where the encounter with the messenger boy had happened last night. Instead, she felt nothing at all, and strangely, that comforted her. 

‘Maybe I imagined it.’

Valyra knew it was a lie. Today, she felt safer believing it.

Outside was another sunny day, and they were all standing around waiting again. Except this time it wasn’t mere minutes. Her father had sent a maid back into the castle, only for her to return with a vague message that she would come soon. She’d been late for an hour. 

An hour. 

That was not like her. 

Daeron was restless. The hangover was accompanied by the headache he felt as soon as he awoke that morning. He remembered the dining hall, the talk he’d had with Valyra before they were interrupted, before she could answer him. He doubted if she even would.

His eyes landed on his brother. He did not know whether he was still drunk or whether Aerion really did look better today. His injuries had not even begun to heal, and yet he sat still, relaxed, and that was what worried him. 

Aerion doesn’t do composure.

“She’s here!” Kiera’s voice cut through the otherwise quiet among the men. 

“Oh, thank the Gods,” Valarr added, and Daeron watched as Valyra rode her horse across the bridge. With one hand shielding her eyes from the bright sun, she was not looking at him; she was not looking at anything. 

“Let's not make it a habit,” Baelor spoke as she drew closer, but when Valyra did not acknowledge her father or him, Daeron felt a tightness in his chest. 

Was she angry with him? Because of what he had said at the mercy of the wine? Because of how he had questioned her about Aerion as if he had any right?

He did not see anger. On the contrary, she looked calmer than she had in days. 

Valyra rode her horse forward, past them as if they did not exist. “Valyra!” Baelor called after her.

She finally halted her horse, looking over her shoulder – eyes somewhere in the distance. “Hm? I overslept,” and she moved again.

That’s it. 

No good morning, no inquiries about her father’s injuries. No apology over her lateness – just those detached words that got stuck behind Daeron’s ribs. Aerion lifted his head higher, almost as if he had also expected more than that.

All of them stared at her back as she got further away. No one dared to say it, but all of them thought it. 

‘What in the seven hells did you do?’

It took no time at all for his mind to go back to it. The white liquid – still sealed – was at her table in Ashford. Now with utmost confidence, he knew that whatever happened after she left the dinner table last night had been enough to push her over the edge. Enough to make her reckless. 

And where was he? Once again, drowning in his cups because that was easier than letting the ugly jealousy rot him from the inside. 

Daeron looked away from her, ashamed.

‘... be here.’ That is all she had asked of him, and back then, he had lowered his head in agreement. The problem was Daeron didn’t know how to be here, not for her, not for anyone. 

They had all started to move with the retinue now, Daeron remained at a safe distance away from her. Matching her pace just enough to remain close if she needed him and far enough to give her space if that is what she wanted. 

But the feeling was different now. No lingering glances back, just that same unnerving sway of her hair as she rode. Even from the back, she looked unsteady; at one point, he almost thought she would slip off the saddle. When he pushed ahead and looked at her, she was yawning. The exhausting type. 

Daeron opened his mouth to say something. But what? 

What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did you drink it all?

None of those sounded right.

His brother had beaten him to it. “Overslept and still tired, cousin? You can share the cart with me if you’d so prefer it.” Aerion had probably forced the man to level the wooden cart, carrying him alongside them – the large Roseroad allowed for all three of them to travel side by side. 

Daeron scoffed under his breath at Aerion’s proposition. Valyra didn’t. In fact, she had no reaction at all at first, as if she didn’t hear him. Not even the usual snappy reply she’d often offered.

Her eyes stayed forward. 

Aerion looked to his brother accusatively when he realised no reply would come. “How much did she drink exactly?”

“She isn’t drunk,” Daeron replied almost too quickly in her defence.

He raised a brow curiously. “Really? What then?” 

Aerion swore he could see his brother debating where to elaborate, but it only lasted a second before Valyra shut the possibility down. “My head hurts. Can you two stop talking, or do I need to move?”

But he knew her better than that. 

She’s smart, cunning, just like him. She’d shut up Daeron before he could open his big, drunken mouth. It was enough for Aerion to understand completely; his brother knew something about her that he himself didn’t. Something she did not wish anyone else to know.

His curiosity deepened almost instantaneously, replacing the desire with pure need. They both held a hidden piece of her now, and that thought drove him furious.

“And yet you wondered the castle well enough last night.” 

Daeron’s head snapped in his direction. “Last night?” 

Perfect.

Except Valyra simply let out a tired breath and proceeded to do exactly what she said she would — move away. 

She did not look at either of them, did not say anything nor argue back, just simply moved herself somewhere in the middle of the retinue.

Even as both of them watched her, Aerion could feel the tension radiating out of his brother and he thrived on it.  “Well, I guess she wasn’t with you either.”

“What?”

Aerion turned to look at him, ignoring his question. “But you do know something, about why she is not herself today.”

Daeron let out a short laugh. “Must be exhausting for you, is it not brother?” Aerion’s browns knit in question. “Pretending you care about anyone other than yourself.” Daeron forced his horse to move after that, leaving Aerion to stew in the words Valyra herself had said to him before. 

His jaw tightened. 

When it came to her, Aerion had never pretended. 

Somewhere across the Narrow Sea, roughly three days ago, Daemon II Blackfyre was seated across from Aegor Rivers – questioning him about his own agenda.

“Say that again.”

Bittersteel stood rigid, facing the dragon. “I sent a few men. The goal was to capture the girl, bring her here and then–”

“And then what? Do you have any idea what you have done? And under our banners no less.”

“I simply did what I bid best for the family. For our house.”

“What possessed you to believe that kidnapping the princess – the heir’s own daughter, was best for the family?”

“The blood of the dragon, of course!” Aegor’s voice rose. “With her by your side, we won't only be joining the red and black dragon as one; people will recognise legitimacy.”

Daemon looked away. “You underestimate the princess. If Valyra Targaryen is anything like her father – and from what I hear, she is – the dragon princess would slit her own throat before she allows for any of this to happen.” 

“I do not care for her, or for her father. Only for you.”

“You might speak differently once Baelor Breakspear's wrath descends upon us once more.” Bittersteel glanced at the floor. “You laid hands on his daughter. His daughter!” Daemon repeated, exhaling, almost exhausted. “Get out, and send a Maester in after you. I need to send word, apologise on behalf of your wrongdoings.”

“Apologise?” Aegor was furious. “You would dare– if your father were alive”

“My father died fighting those men. You would do well to remember that before provoking them again.”

Back along the Roseroad, Daeron slowed his horse beside her. “Lyra.” She turned her head this time.

“You drank it all, didn’t you?” His voice was soft, almost broken, but Valyra just looked away again. “Why? What happened?” Her eyes stayed forward, and Daeron felt like he was losing her with every passing moment. “Was it me? What I said? Because if I pushed too–”

“I got a message.” She cut him off. 

Daeron frowned “From who?”

“Daemon Blackfyre.”

Silence.

“What did it say?”

Valyra just stared ahead as if the conversation barely reached her. “That it should not have happened.”

Daeron glanced at her. “What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly I can’t bring myself to care either.”

“That’s the poppy talking.” Daeron whispered. 

“Good.”

TW: Explicit Language, Trauma, PTSD, Panic Attack, Alcohol use (as coping)

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her //Currently considering/Under thought -> The Spring Sickness //

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / … / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26

Chapter 21

“Alright, what are you thinking?” Valyra set her goblet down.

“What?” There was a flush against Daeron’s cheeks as he glanced at her, almost startled.

“You haven’t said a word since we sat down. Finished two pitchers all by yourself in less than an hour and can barely look at me.”  

Servants were moving around them swiftly, preparing the large round table for the supper promised by Lord Caswell. By now, the wine had dulled some of the tension Valyra felt, and yet the many eyes kept returning to her now and then. 

“Daeron.”

He stared at his drink. “Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“Aerion,” Daeron said, lifting his gaze. “You never used to when we were younger. Said he was cruel, said he was the worst of us.”

“I still think that.” 

His face was unreadable. “Do you?”

The clanking of plates around them distracted her only for a second before she turned to fully face him.  “What brought this on? Is it what I said at Ashford? Or what he–”

“It’s the way you look at him now.” His voice was sharper, and she blinked in surprise at his words. “Like you need him,” he added, voice rising due to the wine.

“That’s not true.” She spoke more quietly, attempting to make Daeron realise he was once again attracting unwanted attention.

“And yet you never answered my question.” Daeron sneered, eyes narrowing to her as he gripped his cup tighter.

The corridor just outside the dining hall suddenly filled with chatter, and this time under Daeron’s watchful eyes, Valyra gladly looked away. 

“Princess, My Prince, I was not aware you were here already.” Lord Caswell entered with his wife and children. 

Daeron’s eyes snapped to him, words slightly slurred now. “Don’t mind us. We quite fancy your wine, don’t we, cousin?” Valyra didn’t look at him, only nodded once at Lord Caswell. 

“Well, in that case, not to worry. There is plenty.” The older man waved his hand towards the servants, and at the motion, more wine was brought to the table. 

Just as the others were seated, Baelor, Maekar, as well as Valarr and Kiera walked in, taking their seats around the table. But it was the familiar rattling of wooden wheels on stone that forced Valyra’s eyes in the direction of the door. 

Aerion was pushed inside the hall. 

“What are you doing here?” Maekar questioned him.

“Having supper with my family, of course.” Two smaller boys helped him out of the cart and towards his chair. 

“You should be abed, your injuries are not yet healed.” His father’s annoyed words filled the large room.

Aerion sat atop the large chair slowly. “My injuries can heal regardless of whether I am sitting or lying down.” 

From across the table, Valarr observed his sister while the food was served. By now, regardless of whether he claimed not to believe it, the idea had haunted him. If what Valyra had gone through was much more than just a run-in with a bunch of thieves, what kind of man did that make him? Even just last night, he’d shown his worst colours, writing off her discontent as simple loneliness. 

He noticed Daeron watching his sister refilling her cup with practised ease, and something in him boiled over. Anger? Worry? “I thought I told you not to let her drink anymore.” 

All eyes landed on the young prince. Daeron smirked. “I think your sister is old enough to decide for herself.”

Valarr’s need to make amends for his past wrongdoings led him to speak carelessly. “Well, obviously not.”

“Valarr…” Kiera whispered.

To the right of Daeron, Valyra swirled the wine around her mouth. She refused to entertain this and instead turned to the youngest boy at the table, seated one seat over to her. 

“Gyles, is it?” Lord Caswell’s youngest froze the moment she had addressed him, managing only a small nod. “I hear you want to be a knight one day.” Valyra smiled, as if the previous tension within her family never fazed her. 

“Answer the princess.” His mother urged with a smile. 

“Y-Yes. My brother is a knight. I am his squire now, but one day I wish to ride into battle too.” 

Valyra chuckled. “You remind me of my cousin, Aegon.” Across from her, her uncle had narrowed his eyes. “He is about your age, a squire too. I am sure you’ll make a fine knight. If the Gods will it, one day you might even meet each other in the lists of some tourney.” The young boy smiled, nodding eagerly as he forced food into his mouth.

Beside her, Daeron leaned in, and she could smell the wine on his breath. “How’d you know he wants to be a knight?”

“Most boys his age dream of knighthood.” She spoke under her breath.

Lord Caswell cleared his throat. “The tourney at Ashford must have been quite a thing. A Trial of Seven hasn’t been seen in a thousand years.”

Valyra found herself gripping the goblet too tightly. “Yes, it was. Two knights died. My father – your future King, almost died. Quite a thing indeed.” Her eyes snapped to Aerion as she spoke the bitter words.

Aerion stared back at her. 

“Can we cease the pointless bickering for once and just eat supper?” Baelor’s stern voice came through.

Valyra let out a humourless laugh. “Yes, of course. There’s a river out front. Why don’t we all go out fishing like the good old days too, while we are at it?” 

The uncomfortable familiarity of simpler times settled across the Targaryen family. 

Baelor brought a hand up to his forehead, rubbing his temple. He felt an ache in his head again, a sharper one now than before from Kiera’s words. He gripped his fork, continuing to eat as silence settled across the table. Yet even as his vision remained unreliable, a clear memory came to him.

–Flashback–

We sat along the green grass, having made the short trip out of Summerhall along with my brother’s family. 

The children wanted to go fishing, and since my duties as Hand had kept me away, I urged Maekar to arrange the outing. 

My brother sat a few feet away, his hand resting atop his wife’s knee. His two oldest, Daeron and Aerion, talked loudly as they gripped their fishing rods, with Valarr competing beside them. Aemon sat next to his mother’s skirts, playing with a wooden dragon.

“Baelor, are you listening?” 

I turned to face my dear wife. “I was. But dare I say your sweet voice begs me to hear it again.”

Jena laughed, and her red hair almost shimmered in the bright sunlight. “I was talking about Valyra.” 

My daughter sat away from the others, plucking at the small daisies all around her. Her fingers were working carefully, weaving the flowers into something that looked like a crown. And every time either of the boys shouted or spoke louder over the sound of the flowing water, her head lifted, and she observed them.

“What do you think about betrothing her to one of your brother’s sons?”

“She is my daughter. Marrying the heir’s daughter within the blood would–”

“Would strengthen the family.” Jena crossed her hands in her lap. “Give her to the firstborn. Valarr’s children will inherit the throne, hers will have Summerhall.”

I lowered my voice. “I love my brother, but I love her more… Look at them.” I pointed to my nephews, one now tangled in the fishing net while the other attempted to free him. “They are not worthy of her.”

My wife only laughed again. “They will grow – mature.” She leaned in. “Watch them a while longer, and you’ll see them glancing at her for approval.”

I looked at her sharply. “She is nine. Nothing but a child.”

“She won’t be a child forever, love. And neither will they.”

–Flashback End–

Even as the memory faded, Baelor did not hear the scraping of chairs or the quiet chatter as the others had left the table. A long time had passed, and yet he did not move, almost as if wishing to return to that place. Back with his loving wife and his innocent children.

“Your Grace, if I may.” A servant reached in front of Baelor. 

He had emptied his plate without even realising, at least his vision had allowed for that much. When he lifted his head, he noticed Maekar was the only one left at the table, still sitting by his side. 

Baelor’s daughter had been one of the first to leave the dinner table, barely touching her food, but she drank a plenty among the silence filled with clattering of plates and cups. Once she had gotten up to leave, she expected Daeron to follow her, but he did not. Instead, the blond prince stayed behind even after his brother was carted back to his chambers; the wine had its hold on him again, and after a longer time, he eventually stumbled out of the room too. 

Valyra stood on the balcony overlooking the Mander, arms crossed over her chest. The night air was chilly, and it smelled faintly of smoke coming from the Targaryen camps around the castle walls. She refused to turn even when the sounds of footsteps reached her, and he stopped at her side.

No one spoke for a while until Valarr finally turned to face her. “I am sorry.” But she did not look at him still. “For what I said at the holdfast, for how I’ve been of late – all of it”

She exhaled. “Did father send you to apologise?”

“No. This is me.”

She glanced at him. “It’s fine, brother.”

He held her eyes. “No, it is not. I just… I can’t lose you, too.” 

Something unspoken passed between them. 

“You remind me of her, mother.” Valarr looked over the edge at the horizon. “I miss her sometimes.”

“Me too.”

Then almost too quiet for her to hear. “All I want is to protect you.”

Valyra stepped forward, resting her arms on top of the stone half-wall beside him. “You can’t protect me from the world.”

He looked at her. “I can try.”

The wind blew harder now, colder, and Valyra shuddered as it grazed her skin. She did not speak another word to her brother, only rested her palm against the fabric on his shoulder before she walked back inside the castle walls. 

The corridors were darker now, faint shadows cast upon stone from the candles that lit her way. She could hardly remember which way led where, but she found the stairs familiar, and so she ascended them, one step at a time. 

Her eyes had been on the ground the moment someone crashed into her on the way down, almost sending her toppling down the steps. She gripped the railing at the sudden contact.

It was a peasant boy. 

“I am sorry.” She offered a small smile, and yet something uneasy twisted in her gut.

“Daemon Blackfyre sends his regrets for what occurred upon the side of the road, and bids you know it should not have happened.”

Valyra forgot how to breathe. 

The boy ran down the steps, disappearing into the darkness.

She stared into nothing, slowly sitting atop one of the cold steps. 

‘Daemon Blackfyre… regrets… should not have happened.’

Her eyes darted to the bottom of the stairs where the boy had vanished. Her breath had quickened. 

‘No.’

She forced her eyelids shut, feeling the panic return again, feeling the lack of control over her own body and mind. 

She pushed off the steps at once, dashing in the direction of her chambers as fast as she could. 

‘What does that mean?.. Should not have happened… I remember the banners, the sigil…’

Her mind looped the message aimed at her – the message sent for her. 

Her stomach turned just as she reached the familiar door. 

The room was almost pitch black.

Valyra slid down the door, hands in her hair as she pulled her knees closer, trying to steady her breath.

‘Just breathe… one, two, thr–’

“Cousin?”

Her head snapped towards the bed, and her breath caught again, almost painfully now.

“Seven hells.” She muttered to herself.

The moonlight seeping through the glass illuminated Aerion’s hair, making it appear even brighter in contrast to the darkness around them. He forced himself up on the mattress. Scars and bruises still prominent across his bare skin.

“What has happened?” His voice was rough; he’d obviously been asleep, and her chest betrayed her, beating faster at how vulnerable he’d looked just then – how human.

She stood to her feet at once, recoiling at the embarrassment she felt. “I apologise. I thought this was– never mind, I am just drunk.” Her hand met the handle, and she swung the door open, leaving before her cousin could question her further. 

Valyra’s panicked eyes scanned the hallway, left, then right. Her door was five doors down, not three. 

‘Fuck me.’

Somewhere between the wine, the eerie message from the boy, and now Aerion, she did not know which one was currently affecting her more. One thing was certain: sleep would not find her tonight.

TW; Trauma, Emotional distress, SA (implied), Violence/Murder (discussed), Forced Marriage/reproductive coercion (mentioned),

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her //Currently considering/Under thought -> The Spring Sickness //

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 /… / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26

Chapter 20

Sunlight through the large painted windows illuminated the bedchambers in a beautiful morning hue. There was a warm presence along Daeron’s side and across his chest. He stirred between the silk sheets, and when his fingers made contact with skin that was not his own, his eyelids fluttered open. 

Daeron’s eyes widened at the sight. 

Valyra was lying sprawled out on the bed beside him, one arm resting across his chest and her head buried in his shoulder. Shifting along the sheets closer to him, her hair grazed his arm. Her usual dark brown locks appeared somehow lighter in the morning light.

‘What madness is this?’

Daeron swallowed. 

They were both naked under the blankets. The warmth he felt had been a mixture of their bodies pressed together, and he wished for nothing more than to remain in that feeling forever. 

‘Just another cursed dream.’

“What is it? Another dream?” She kept her eyes closed when her soft voice came from beside him. 

“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.” 

He felt her breath slow again. “Alright.”

Daeron refused to look away or close his eyes. He was terrified of it slipping away.

‘Another moment… Please, just another moment.’

The sound of the horn had been loud enough to pierce the thin walls, and Daeron startled awake at once. The version of them at peace faded instantly, and the previous warmth he felt was now replaced by the cold stone behind his back. 

His eyes opened slowly and were met by her brown ones. Valyra had her elbow on the table and her chin resting on her hand as she watched him.

He glanced around; the same room, the same table, the same her from last night. “Did I?-”

“You fell asleep as soon as we finished the flagon.” She pushed a small cup towards him – water this time.

Daeron straightened up, stretching his back in the process. The light through the tiny window was nothing like the bright yellow in his dream, but it was enough to tell him morning had already come. “Did you sleep?” He lifted the water to his dry lips.

Her eyes stayed on him. “What were you dreaming about?”

He choked. “Nothing.” Pushing a few loose strands of hair behind his ear, only for them to fall across his face again. “Gods, I should cut this thing.”

Valyra smiled. “Don’t. It looks good on you.”

He set the cup down, looking back at her. “So dishevelment suits me now?” She actually laughed at that, even if it was short-lived; the sound alone made him smile.

“That’s not what I meant.” She shuffled closer. “Here, let me help.” 

Daeron looked at her as if she’d said the strangest thing in the world. 

“I do my own hair all the time. I think I can handle yours. Now turn around.” Reluctantly, he did as she had asked, and soon enough, he felt her fingers across his scalp. “You are too harsh on yourself sometimes, you know that?” 

He found it hard to steady his breath. “I think you are the only one in the seven kingdoms that thinks that.”

She neatly gathered all the fallen strands, carefully pulling them to the back of his head. “So, what were you dreaming about, really? And don’t say nothing.”

“Why not if it really was nothing?”

“You don’t smile like that at nothing.” 

Daeron felt his chest tighten. 

Her hands remained in his hair as he turned his head just slightly to look at her. “How long were you watching me sleep exactly?”

“Long enough to know it was a good dream. Now stop moving.” She pushed his head forward again. “When is it going to come true?”

Daeron tensed beneath her hands. “I don’t reckon it will.”

“Hmm, but they always do.”

A set of steps approaching made them glance at the door. 

Daeron’s father appeared at the entrance, and confusion – or perhaps worry– settled across his face at the sight of them like this. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you two. We are about to depart.”

Valyra finished tying Daeron’s hair in place, patting his shoulders once before she pulled away. “All done.” 

Maekar lingered for another moment, glancing at Daeron before he made his way back outside. 

“You know...”

“Hm?” She looked back at Daeron. 

“They don’t always come true. Or at least not in the way I expect they will.” 

Her forehead creased slightly at his words, as if she did not understand. “You’ve never been wrong before.” 

Daeron exhaled. “There is a reason as to why I did not wish to come to Ashford. Why I took Egg and hid at that tavern – beyond my obvious distaste for jousting.” 

“A dream?” 

He nodded. 

“Tell me. What did you see?”

He hesitated but spoke anyway. “Death. A dead dragon. Ser Duncan standing in the middle of it.”

Her eyes widened. “And you said nothing?”

“I did not understand it then – I don’t understand it still.” He lowered his gaze.  “It hardly matters now. None of it came true.”

“It still might.” Her words cut through the air. 

“Daeron!!” Maekar’s voice rang across the corridor, furious now. “Don’t make me come back in there. We are leaving!”

“We should go.” She pushed off the bench, making her way towards the door. Daeron watched her disappear at the corner before she poked her head back around. “I hope the good one that had you all happy comes true at least.”

He chuckled softly once she was gone.

‘You have no idea.’

Outside, most of the people were already moving along the winding road, but some lingered still.

“Did you hear? Apparently, the princess ran into some trouble on her way to the tourney. That’s why we had to stop along the way.”

At the quiet sound of the voices trailing behind her as she passed, her mood had already changed. The soft ease with Daeron moments ago blurred in the background as the cruel reality forced itself back into her mind.

The stable boy moved aside when she approached her horse. 

“What kind of trouble? She looks well enough.”

She paused just for a second, checking the saddle, the straps, anything to occupy her hands. She wondered whether people were really that stupid or if they intended for her to hear it – or whether perhaps it had been her own paranoia talking.

“I don’t know, but I also heard a Kingsguard was killed protecting her.”

Her fingers tightened around the leather, back still facing them, but it did not matter; she did not need to see them for their words to land. If their own people – servants and guards under House Targaryen were already whispering – she could only imagine what was already being said at their next stop.

She mounted her horse, noticing Daeron being scolded by his father the moment he crossed the front gate. He flashed her a knowing look with a tug along his lips.

A few guards passed her. “Couple more miles until we get on the Roseroad, then it should be a straight journey back home.”

“I can’t wait to sleep in a proper bed at Bitterbridge.”

“You wish! Only the royal family will be hosted inside the castle. We lot are stuck in tents until we reach the Crownlands…” Their voices faded as they walked in the retinue's wake.

Valyra scanned the line in front. Her eyes landed on Aerion as he was being carted away, seated facing the back, one arm braced over the edge of the wooden cart, swaying side to side on the uneven path. She did not see Valarr or her father – expecting them to be out front, she urged her horse forward.

Aerion had watched as his brother exited the gate shortly after her. She had that look on her face again; happy, content, if only just for a moment, there was a smile on her lips. He hated it. It was short-lived anyway; her expression dropped by the time she sat on the saddle. People were already talking; the abrupt stop yesterday prompted speculation.

Across the yard, his father was speaking to Daeron, his brows furrowed. Aerion could not hear any of it, and yet his imagination ran wild. 

They were together.

Right after she came to see him, she had sought out his brother’s company. Even after everything he had said. She still chose Daeron.

She passed the cart on her horse, probably looking for her father. Aerion’s eyes lowered to his injured body after she disappeared. Unable to move, unable to follow, not knowing where she is going or who she is with. It’ll take about a week to get to the city. Aerion remained sitting still, determined to heal as much of his flesh before they arrived. 

It did not take long for Valyra to level up with them, slowing her mount to the right of Baelor. Valarr glanced at her once — she did not meet him. The argument between them from last night remained unresolved, and he forced his eyes back on the road. 

“Father, how are you feeling? How’s the eye?” She asked.

“Same as yesterday.”

Valyra turned in her saddle, looking behind them. 

“Where’s Maester Yormwell?”

Before Baelor could speak, Valarr answered for him. “He left for Bitterbridge before sunrise, to make sure Lord Caswell knows we are on our way.” 

She turned back to the front. “Do you think it wise? What happened to us sticking together?” 

Baelor shifted, turning his head slightly towards her. “Us. Meaning our family.”

Soft chatter behind the royals filled the quiet between them, and none of them spoke again.

It took more than half a day until the yellow centaur flag of House Caswell could be seen atop its castle walls. It was not a rather large keep, but it sat atop the river crossing and that made it important enough for low and highborn alike. 

The atmosphere here was different. Livelier, fuller and yet as they approached, there was a shift in the air. 

They had barely moved across the stone bridge, but people were already staring. It was not every day that a retinue of House Targaryen visited a smaller house in the Reach. But they were not staring at the Heir or at Valarr and his pink-haired wife. Everyone’s eyes were on the princess. She was certain now. Word of the attack had probably reached even as far as Old Town.

“What are they all looking at?” Valarr leaned slightly toward his father, his voice quieter. Almost as if he had forgotten, his father could hardly make out shapes, let alone read expressions. 

“They are looking at me.” Valyra’s voice cut clean through all of them, even Kiera, all the way to the left had glanced at her. 

Maekar, who had chosen to ride at the back with his sons this time, was approaching the front now as the gate to the castle came into view. 

Just outside Master Yormwell stood talking amongst the others. “Your Grace.” He turned to Baelor at once. “Lord Owen Caswell, his wife, Ellyn from house Rowan and their two sons, Martyn and Gyles.” 

“Your Grace. It is an honour to host you at our home once again.” Lord Caswell spoke. The rest of his family bowed their heads as Baelor and Valarr dismounted and approached with Maekar at their side. “Please. You must be tired from your journey.” He gestured, and they followed Lord Caswell inside. 

Valyra remained a moment longer. Admiring the beautiful, large outstretched river. Her hair waved in the gentle breeze.

“What is it?” Daeron approached her.

She let out a heavy breath. “I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“Do what?”

“This.” She spoke quietly. “The stares, the people… the whispers. And it’s going to get much worse.”

Daeron glanced around them. “Maybe they are simply staring because they’ve never seen a princess before.” He had tried to lessen the tension. It did not work.

Valyra shot him a glare. “I mean it.”

“I know… What would you like me to do?” Just as he shifted closer to her, they noticed Aerion being pushed towards the castle atop a wooden cart with wheels. 

At the small pause by the stairs, Aerion’s violet eyes landed on a group of locals standing around, who were whispering while glancing towards Valyra.

“Keep looking, and she’ll be the last thing any of you see.” The sharpness of his voice startled them. His words had been loud enough for all around to hear. 

Across the distance, Daeron watched as the low-borns looked at each other, then at the ground and quickly shuffled away in different directions. If his brother was good at anything, it was his ability to make people fear him.

Just before Aerion was carried inside, the brothers looked at each other. 

Daeron had never favoured violence, or fear, or vague threats that could in fact come to pass, given his status. And yet he felt it beside him, the way Valyra’s tension had lessened just then – once the prying eyes were commanded away.

“Let’s just get inside.” She began walking, but he lingered. “Daeron? You coming?” She stopped an inch from the door.

He blinked, finally looking at her. “Yes. Let’s get a drink.” She smiled at his words, and they walked inside the stone walls.

Meanwhile, Lord Caswell had escorted the Targaryens to his study, offering them wine and ale to their liking. 

Baelor listened to the small fire crackle as they sat comfortably. 

“I was sorry to hear of what befell the princess, Your Grace.” 

Baelor could not see much more than their blurry figures, but was certain all eyes were on the simple lord. He crossed his hands in his lap. “What exactly have you heard, Lord Caswell?”

“Only the vague rumours, of course. That a group of bandits ambushed her and that her guards died protecting her life.”

Valarr scoffed. “A lord such as yourself believes these rumours?”

“I meant no disrespect, my prince.” There was a slight tremor in Lord Caswell’s voice.

Baelor looked towards his son before returning to the man. “Forgive my son’s sharp tongue."

“There is nothing to forgive, Your Grace. Your worry for the princess is justified. I wonder now, if I had known… Perhaps if she had stopped by here on her way, I could have sent a few more men with her.”

Maekar’s voice cut through. “If any of us had known, my niece wouldn’t have been out there in the first place.”

“Yes, of course.”

Baelor’s fingers found the silver around his skin again, familiar, grounding – he spoke his mind as the thoughts came. “These ‘bandits’... what do you know of them?” He heard his brother shift towards him in his seat, knowingly aware of the intent behind the question.

Lord Caswell refilled his goblet as he answered. “Nothing of consequence, I am afraid. Some say they were looking for gold, others… that they simply wished to spill blood for sport.”

‘Good. No mentions of the Blackfyres yet.’

“My son Martyn passed along that way a few days ago. He found nothing but the obvious signs of a fight – mud and dirt where green grass should be, but that is all.”

Baelor nodded his head slowly. 

A green boy such as Lord Caswell’s son would not notice much more than that, but Baelor remembered the stiffness in his brother’s voice after he had returned. 

‘Mayhaps it is better you can not see.’

The grip on his hands tightened just slightly. Maekar had refused to share the details with him, which alone worried him. He had only asked to take Valyra along the path himself, to which Baelor reluctantly agreed. Now, with every passing day as they approached King’s Landing, Baelor’s unease deepened exponentially as the line between his family and the realm – the father and the Hand – continued to blur. 

Lord Caswell clapped his hands once and stood up. “Supper will be served at the dining hall within an hour or two. I will let you all rest until then.” 

“Thank you, my Lord.” 

The door shut behind him at the courtesy of Baelor. 

Maekar turned to his brother as soon as Owen left the room. “So they don’t know the truth of it yet.”

“No. But it’s only a matter of time.”

Kiera perked up from the back of the room, where she was previously sitting idle. “And what truth is that?” The Tyroshi’s soft words reached the men around her, and they turned as if they had completely forgotten she was there. 

Valarr leaned slightly. “It was Blackfyre loyalists that attacked Valyra.”

The girl startled. “Blackfyre?” she asked.

Valarr nodded, lifting his goblet. 

There was a sudden change in Kiera’s expression. “But the living daughter of Baelor Targaryen is worth more than gold, or jewels across the Narrow Sea.” 

“Meaning what?” Valarr stared at her. 

By now, Maekar had lowered his gaze, already aware of exactly what the Tyroshi girl was speaking of. 

He watched Baelor freeze. Surely his brother had already entertained the possibility, yet refused to believe it true.

When Kiera did not answer, Valarr’s voice rose. “Are you saying they meant to take her?” He snapped. “Force her into marriage? Use her to breed their claim?”

“I am only saying that perhaps it was a wife they sought upon the road.”

Silence fell so suddenly that only the hissing of the dying fire remained. 

“No.” The young prince’s words were tamed now. “I do not believe it.” He turned to Baelor. “Father?”

But the Heir did not speak. 

Baelor remained sitting rigid, and exactly what Maekar had attempted to prevent was unfolding in front of his very eyes. He’d known it back then, in the tree line, as he grasped at the ripped piece of silk.

He’d felt the cruel truth of it once Daella and Rhae were born – sons would come and go, but daughters are the ones that broke you. 

His brother wept for his beloved daughter. Not with tears but with guilt and shame and sorrow hidden beneath the silence demanded of him.

Maekar peeled his eyes away from Baelor. “Valarr, why don’t you take Kiera to your chambers. We’ll speak again at dinner.” Valarr’s eyes jumped between his father and Maekar, and it looked like he had wanted to argue back.

Kiera stood at the suggestion. “Come, my love. Your father is tired, let’s let him rest.” A second later, Valarr pushed off the chair and left the room along with his wife.

TW: Trauma/PTSD/SA (referenced only), Emotional Manipulation and Obsession/Gaslighting (aka. Aerion being Aerion) , Alcohol use (as coping)

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her //Currently considering/Under thought -> The Spring Sickness //

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Chapter 19

The holdfast was small, but they were welcomed just as well as any royals would be. 

Maekar sat down as a small girl filled his cup and scurried away. Valyra had trailed behind him but had since slowed her steps and now stood by the door watching her uncle.

“Are you going to stand there all day?... Come, child.” 

She took a deep breath, dreading what was about to come, but stepped inside anyway.  “I am no longer a child. You can stop addressing me as such.” She sat across from him on the bench.

He scoffed, eyes locked on her. “You are always going to be a child.” 

A short silence came after, and both of them drank, setting the cups down afterwards. 

Maekar never looked away from her, continuing to study her face. “You said there were thirty Blackfyre supporters.”

“I did not lie.”

“I know.” Maekar rested his back against the chair. “That’s what worries me, you see. When I saw the site.” 

Valyra lowered her gaze, fixed on the table and her own cup. 

“I asked myself…” He continued. “How do thirty armed men lose to a Kingsguard, two Goldcloaks, and a princess?”

She exhaled slowly, still refusing to look at him. “Luck?” Her voice was quiet.

“Is that really what you are going with?”

Her eyes snapped to him at once. “What do you want me to say? I know little of battles, armies, and men. That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“I think you know a lot more than you say.” He leaned forward. Arms resting on the table. “But you are right. I do know of battles, armies, and especially men… so would you like to hear what I think?” 

She did not answer; she didn’t need to. 

“There is only one way someone survives those odds. If they are wanted alive.” Maekar paused for a second as if waiting for a reaction she did not let herself provide. “There are many reasons as to why they’ll want you alive. Care to tell me what those are, before we plunge the realm back into war?”

“How in the seven hells should I know?” 

Maekar sat back fully into the chair, glancing away from her once before returning. She already knew he could see past the lie. Past the weak attempt to conceal this further. 

“Surely you must understand you cannot keep this hidden forever.” He spoke. “In six days' time, when the lords sit around the table, and questions begin arising. You will have to speak of it in full. Your father will demand it, so will the King. Leniency will no longer apply.”

Valyra lifted the wine to her lips. “Then I guess you will have to wait and learn of it the same way the others will.” 

Maekar shifted in his chair. “You spoke to my son of it.” 

His words caused her hand to halt mid-sip. “I didn’t tell Daeron anything that–”

“I wasn’t talking about Daeron.” 

She felt the words land deep in her chest.

‘I don’t care to share what has been given to me.’ Those were Aerion’s twisted words the night before the trial, the night he had questioned her about Daeron. It had been more than obvious – almost expected – that he would use her secrets to gain an advantage one way or another.

So why did it still feel like this? 

Was there some part of her that had hoped this time it might have been different? 

And then an even crueller question. 

Just how much had Aerion said to them in order to save himself?

A short silence had settled before Maekar spoke again. “There is something else.” She glanced at him. “Out there, by the trees. I saw something.” 

Valyra froze.

“You tried to run, didn’t you?” Her grip tightened as her uncle continued to question her. “But they were faster, angrier.”

“What are you asking me, uncle?” Her voice stayed steady, despite the nervousness underneath it.

Maekar closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling a deep breath. Valyra already knew what to expect before he even spoke. “I am asking if those men took–”

“No.” Her voice rang through the empty room, cutting him off before he could continue. Maekar’s face relaxed just a fraction, as if that idea had been the heaviest of them all.

Valyra drank the rest of the wine, setting her cup down. Maekar did not speak further. The wooden bench creaked under her as she stood to her feet, and she left the room without another word.

By the time the rest of them arrived, the sun had dipped low. 

Daeron did not speak to his brother again the rest of the way, and Aerion made no effort to taunt him further either. It was obvious they had both been affected by what they saw on the road. 

“Where is she?” Valarr asked as he slid down his horse. 

Maekar was standing outside. He inclined his head towards the large field outside the holdfast’s boundary. 

Valyra was sitting under a tree, back pressed against the trunk, knees to her chest. She was watching the sunset. From the back, Daeron watched her for a long time. Debating whether to go over there. He wanted to. Yet something about his brother’s words from earlier forced him still. He’d never faltered at anything Aerion had said before; he was faltering now, and he hated it.

Due to the size of the holdfast, most of the men were camped out in the fields surrounding it by the time dinner came around. 

Valyra remained outside until the sky had fully darkened. No one bothered her, and she had spent the time replaying every conversation she’d had over the last four days. At one point, she wished to cry, yet no tears came; only a dull ache in her chest that lingered. Even that felt out of her control now.

While the rest of her family was being served supper, Valyra decided to pay a visit to the only one physically unable to attend dinner.

“Ow, ow, you are hurting me!” Aerion’s voice could be heard down the hall.

“Just a little bit more, my prince.” 

“The hell with all of you!!” He shoved the tiny girl who was tending to the scar on his face away from him. She stumbled back and fell to the floor. 

Silence dropped just as fast. Before the remaining helpers took note of Valyra by the door. “Princess.” They all lowered their heads. 

Aerion’s eyes landed on her instantly.

She stepped inside, glancing around the room once, while the girl on the floor took to her feet. “Pardon my cousin. You can leave us now.” 

In a hurry, the door closed, and they were left alone. 

“You are visiting me now.” He did not elaborate, only let the statement hang in the air, and Valyra did the same.

She walked further inside, pulling a chair as slowly as possible. Only once seated did she finally look at him. Studying him for a moment, up close, broken and bruised, he did not appear as powerful as before the trial. 

And yet he had been.

“You used me so my father would allow you to remain in Westeros.”

Aerion blinked, and for a second, she expected him to lie. “No, I used you to get The Hand to allow me to reside in the Red Keep. Father wished to send me away. I did what I had to.”

She scoffed. “Yes, you’ve done plenty because ‘you had to’.”

“It’s nothing personal, cousin.” 

There was the long-awaited lie.

“It’s always personal with you.”  

She saw a tug at the edge of his lips appear once the words left her.

Valyra shifted in her seat. She tapped her fingernails against the wood, eyes still on him. “So what is it that you want? You are no fool, Lys is no punishment. I would have thought you would be glad. You’d fit there better than anywhere near rules and laws. Why bother at all?”

“For you.” 

She lifted her head higher, searching his beaten face. “What?”

“You need me, cousin.”

A disbelieving chuckle left her. “Why would I possibly need you?”

Aerion pushed himself up higher along the pillows. “So I can act upon our mutual will.”

‘I only did what you would not.’

‘You think I wanted you to hurt her?’

Back then, he had attempted to claim she was the reason behind his violence. A desperate attempt to speak of their similarities, one she felt disgusted by.

He continued, dragging every word as if he was aware of her unravelling mind. “Just like at the puppet show and back on the road earlier… You need me. You can pretend you don’t. But I know, and you know–”

Valyra’s fingers clenched into a fist. “I spoke of it in jest the other day, but it seems you really have gone mad.”

“And what of it? It’s in my blood, is it not? Just like it’s in yours.” He coughed, reaching for the water resting on the bedside table. His words came slower now, almost as if the simple act of speaking hurt him. 

“Call it madness if you wish. You never even asked yourself, did you, how the Blackfyres found you? You were right about that too. I do see traitors in every room, if there are traitors to be seen.” He lifted the water, drinking in silence as his words reached her.

She was no fool either; of course, she had thought about it. How would supporters of the bastards – who were rumoured to be scattered around Essos – happen to descend upon her and her guards that day? The time, the place, it had been eerily well timed.

She watched him place the cup back. “And what are you going to do, exactly? Question every maid, servant and stable boy within the castle? I can do that myself”

“Question?” He chuckled this time, arm over his chest. “No. I am going to hunt them down. Every man, woman or child who happened to spread word of your doings. And then I am going to make them pay.” 

There was no lie this time. 

She had looked for one, in his face, his body, his words. He truly believed he could do all of that. He may have even believed he was the only one who could.

Valyra looked away. “What exactly did you tell father and uncle?”

“Only that I knew more than they did.” His eyes trailed down her body. “The details I kept for myself, if that is what troubles you.”

She snapped her head to him. 

“I can imagine they’ve started to heal by now. Strangely, now I have some of my own to match.”

“You are disgusting.” He smirked at that, too. “You really found joy in tormenting Daeron with that earlier.”

“Don’t forget you are the cause of that joy. You want him near you, but you cannot trust him, not fully at least.” 

“I can’t trust you either.”

His lips remained slightly parted before her words had cut through him. “And yet… You are here.”

“Yes, questioning which of my secrets you spilt for your convenience… Hence, I can not trust you either.”

The silence that fell lasted a long time. They remained staring at each other too long for her liking, and eventually she pushed off the chair. 

“Where are you going?” He questioned her while she put the chair back in its place.

“Anywhere else.” 

“Tell father I want a different room. This bed is uncomfortable.” 

Valyra stopped walking and looked back at him. “The bed is uncomfortable because you are covered in bruises. I guess there is a lesson in everything.”

Her cloak twisted around her body as she turned to leave the room. The door closed behind her, and Aerion was once again left alone. 

He relaxed instantaneously the moment she was gone, unaware of the built-up tension present in his body, one not caused by the fight against the hedge knight. Even now, he regretted none of it. If it wasn’t for Baelor, they probably would have won. That’s what he’s been repeating in his head for the last 2 days. 

But it was a lie. 

He remembered back at the hearing, when Valyra came to defend the knight. Her hand on his shoulder. He’d pledged himself to kill Ser Duncan one way or another before it was time to leave Ashford. 

He failed at that, too. 

Aerion rested his head back. Staring at the large crack in the ceiling above him. It was he who was lying in agonising pain now. His fingers clutched onto the bedsheets above him when a fascinating thought came. 

She wasn’t angry this time. Why was she not angry? 

He’d expected her to shout or curse at him. He’d done plenty to earn it, and yet it was almost as if she had expected nothing less. Aerion wasn’t sure which one was worse.

‘I can not trust you either.’ 

That was fair. That one made sense, unlike the lack of fury in her voice just prior. 

She had that same look on her face too – the one from the first night at Ashford, dripping in exhaustion that went beyond the body. He thought back, trying to find when exactly it appeared on her. She had been fine this morning when Baelor’s eye had improved, even smiled after. 

So that’s it. 

It was the road. 

When she realised they were back there again. When she was back there again. He was confined to the cart, but he saw plenty regardless. It had been almost like a switch. She was fine one moment and breaking the next. 

Aerion fisted the fabric harder at the thought of her pushing Valarr away in the woods. That was exactly what he had expected to receive when he had touched her. Instead, that night at her chambers, she’d allowed it – allowed him. He remembered the way her breath had hitched when his fingers pushed into her bruised skin, and the way she welcomed it. Now, as the quiet of the lonely room settled around him, he’d do anything to feel that again, to have her like that again.

Downstairs, Aerion’s brother Daeron was thinking of exactly the same thing. 

After Baelor and Maekar had finished eating, they left Daeron in the company of Valarr and his wife. They talked, and he drank, and all was right in the world. Except none of it was, because she wasn’t there. He didn’t know where she was. Just before supper, he had gone out to look for her, but Valyra was no longer sitting under the tree, and Daeron regretted not going out there earlier. 

He lifted his cup, emptying it only to refill it once more. 

‘I didn’t know we would be going this way.’

The image of her worried face pained him in equal measure every time he thought of it. She was scared, and Gods that frightened him, something about her back then shone a light upon his own helplessness. 

He hated it. 

Daeron glanced at Valarr, who was laughing at something Kiera had said. He is her brother, and the way Valyra had pushed him away earlier spoke plenty of her mistrust. 

His right hand brought the cup to his lips again while his left flexed his fingers around nothing. He remembered her in his arms the other night. Her chest pressed against his, his hand fisted in her wet hair as the rain was pelting down. It was she who had pulled him in then, and only once witnessing her tension with Valarr did he realise just how much that actually meant. 

The sound of soft steps forced Daeron to pull his attention to the entrance, and just as he did, Valyra walked in.

Valarr straightened up in his seat, turning to look at her along with Kiera.

She only took two steps inside before Kiera rose from her seat immediately. “I guess I will retire for the night. Good night, my love.” The tyroshi girl kissed Valarr’s cheek before anyone else could say anything and scurried out of the room.

Valyra stood frozen in place for a second longer, watching Kiera exit the room. She glanced at her brother. “Did I do something?” 

Walking over to the table, across from Valarr, she sat next to Daeron, immediately reaching for the wine. Valarr’s hand got there first, moving the flagon out of her reach. 

He exhaled sharply. “She thinks you hate her.” He pushed a plate of food across the table.

Valyra’s brows knitted in confusion. “I don’t hate her. Why would she think that?” She lifted the fork, and Daeron actually thought she might eat something. Instead, she just stared at the food.

“The ladies-in-waiting?” Valarr prodded. “Did you have to refer to them as ‘lecherous girls’?” 

She lifted her eyes, resting the fork against the plate once more. “Oh, please, she can’t possibly still be upset over that.”

“Valyra…”

“What? It had nothing to do with her.”

“It had everything to do with her. She went through a lot of effort trying to–”

She cut him off. “Maybe that’s the problem. She is trying too hard.” 

“Or maybe you aren’t trying enough.” 

Daeron’s eyes darted between the two of them during the short silence. 

“Kiera is my wife. She will be Queen, and you need to respect her.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She snapped at him. “I was at the wedding, and I was there for the stillbirth, or have you forgotten?” Valarr stiffened at the comment. “Maybe she should respect me. I was your sister way before she became your wife.” 

“Is that what this is about? You hate her because we are married. You despise me because I am no longer as lonely as you.” Valarr’s gaze flicked to Daeron before returning to her, as if expecting her to answer. 

She didn’t. 

Not at first. Only lowered her eyes away from him. 

“I don’t hate her. I simply had no need for lecherous girls.” Valarr only scoffed, annoyed at her answer. 

He pushed off the bench, leaving without sparing either of them another glance.

A moment passed before Daeron spoke softly. “He did not mean that.”

“Yes, he did.” 

She reached for the wine again, and as he watched her wrap her fingers around the handle, Daeron found his own hand on top of hers. His chest tightened as they looked at each other over the tiny contact. He’d spent years in shame and guilt over his own feelings. But when he had her like this, when she looked at him exactly like this, it was almost undeniable. 

She felt it too. 

It took a lot of effort for Daeron to force his eyes away from her’s. He eyed the plate in front. “You eat. I’ll pour.” 

She responded by sliding her fingers from under his, granting him control of the flagon. 

The remainder of the evening was spent exactly as he had said. She ate, and he refilled her cup in silence, and almost all was right in the world again.

TW: PTSD/Trauma, Panic Attacks, SA (referenced), Alcohol use, Emotional Manipulation , Violence/Grief

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her //Currently considering/Under thought -> The Spring Sickness //

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Chapter 18

As soon as Baelor and Maekar left them by the roadside, Valyra tipped the wineskin once more. Her brother watched, glancing toward Daeron as if expecting him to stop her. And when his cousin did not, he stepped forward and pulled it from her hands. Wine spilt into the dirt.

“Are you trying to drown yourself?” 

Her glare was wrong in every way. 

He handed the wine back to Daeron, throwing him a look before returning to his sister, studying her for a moment.  “Are you worried they might still be lingering? Waiting?”

“Oh Gods, I am not talking about this with you.” She turned, but Valarr followed after her. 

“Why not? It seems you haven’t talked to anyone if you are acting like this.” 

Valyra halted and faced him so quickly he almost crashed into her. 

“Like how? Do not begin to speak of the proper way to act as if you know anything of it.” Her voice cut through the air.

Their cousins were not the only ones watching them now.

Valarr lowered his voice. “I know it is best you not face it alone.”

“You know nothing,” she muttered under her breath. 

He stepped closer. “Then tell me.”

“No.” Her eyes had returned to him, colder now.

Valarr let out a defeated breath. 

His wife had approached the back of the line without any of them noticing.

“Valarr? Is everything alright?” Kiera’s voice came warm against the tension.

“No.” “Yes.” 

His sister dismissed it as she had before. 

“Your time is better spent tending to your wife, brother.”

Valarr stared at her a while longer. In recent years, they had drifted apart; he could not deny it. He wondered now if that distance had taught her to be alone.

“Valarr…” Kiera called out to him once more, slight worry in her voice now.

“Go.” His sister said, eyes flicking to Kiera for a second.

“Father said I am to stay with you.” He protested, but Valyra had already walked away.

“I won't run off again.” She tilted her head towards their cousin. “I’ll stay with Daeron.” 

He glanced once in the direction. Daeron was where he had left him. Standing with both hands on his horse’s saddle. His eyes had already been on them from earlier. Valarr’s gaze moved across and found Aerion too; he was still sitting stiff on the wooden bench inside the cart. Still watching his sister. 

The princess did not speak to her brother again. She fiddled with the straps of her saddle, petting her horse slowly. The panic had not left her, but she refused to show any more of it. 

The spring sun hit her skin, and it grounded her. She felt the slight breeze as it swept across the field, and the tree leaves danced softly to its force, creating a soothing melody.

If not for what had happened here, she might have felt at peace.

Her breath left her, steadier this time. Walking a few steps towards the grassy patch, she bunched up her cloak behind her legs and sat down. Her back was facing the men behind her, and her eyes lingered across the horizon; on the land they had just crossed, not on the one still awaiting them. 

Valarr took slow, measured steps away from her. He stopped in front of Daeron. Lowering his head, his voice was quieter. “Do not let her drink anymore.” He glanced once more at his sister sitting on the ground.

Daeron nodded his head.

Valarr reached for his horse, ushering it forward. He turned towards Kiera, and they both walked back to the front of the line.

The blond prince watched his cousin pluck small stalks of grass and roll them around her fingers before tossing them aside. He noticed his brother shift in his seat, angling for a better view while Daeron approached her.

“I do not want to talk about it.” She spoke out into the open air once he stood beside her.

“I know. You don’t have to.” Daeron took a seat next to her on the green grass. She did not look at him, and yet he continued. “But you know you can, right? Whatever this is. Valarr is right, you don’t need to do it alone.” 

Valyra stretched her fingers out, aiming for another blade of grass to become her victim. 

“Hey…” Daeron’s voice reached her, and she looked at him this time, resting her hands on her lap. “I’ve burdened you with my problems for years. I can carry some of yours.”

A dull laugh came from behind, and both of them turned their heads. 

Aerion’s voice had been enough to reach them. Enough to show he was listening. They glared at him.

“You can’t even manage your own burdens, brother. What makes you think you can bear hers?” His words came choppy, broken in places due to the bandages across his ribs. 

He continued. “You will fall apart the moment she speaks of it plainly.” Pausing for a brief moment. “I know I nearly did.” 

Daeron turned to her. “What is he talking about?”

Valyra forced her head forward again, eyes back on the horizon, refusing to meet Aerion even when addressing him. 

“I had thought Ser Duncan’s beating enough to quiet you; at least until we reached the city. I guess he showed you mercy after all.”

His lips curled; he wished to smile more widely. “The flesh heals, while the mind remains shattered.” She flashed him an angry look, and he thrived on it. “Soon there might not be any remnants left to show at all.”

It fascinated him how quickly he could strike a nerve. Aerion watched her as his words settled. 

“What does that mean?” Daeron attempted to get an answer once more, but she ignored him again. Her eyes pierced the open space between them and Aerion.

“I doubt your pride will mend as easily. The Trial of Seven; quite an astonishing defeat. People will speak of it for years to come.”

Aerion did not speak further.

While his brother’s eyes flicked back and forth between them, in the distance, they all noticed Maekar and Baelor returning.

As they got closer, both brothers noticed something guarded across Maekar’s face. A worry, perhaps. Whatever it was, it had settled on their father, and that alone bothered them.

Maekar and Baelor halted their horses, and Daeron stood to his feet.

“It’s clear enough. We’ll pass through quickly.” Maekar looked at Baelor as if for confirmation before turning his eyes to Valyra.

“You.” He said sharply, and her head snapped upwards instantly. “You’ll ride alongside me. We’ll push ahead of the others, wait for them at the holdfast further ahead.”

She felt uneasy. Wondering what her uncle had seen, what the site of her anguish had revealed. And how much of it her father had witnessed.

Her uncle had spoken, but she glanced towards Baelor instead. “Father?” 

“Do as your uncle bids, child.” 

Valyra pushed off the ground, wiping her hands across her trousers. “What about you?” She asked him.

“Your brother will guide me well enough.”

She did not question it further. Just like before, among the trees, her father had spoken.

As she walked to her horse, mounting it in the process, the previous panic that had started to subside was returning. She felt it in her breath, in her movements as she sat atop the saddle, in her unsteady hands as she gripped the reins. 

The return of the heir and his brother had stirred the people across the road, and the retinue was preparing to continue on. 

Maekar pushed his horse forward, eyeing Baelor. 

“We’ll be going now, brother.”

Baelor just nodded slowly at the words.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Daeron spoke to Valyra as she moved past them.

Maekar rode out first, and she followed right after quickly. The rest of them stood there a while longer, watching them disappear in the distance.

“Alright. Time to get a move on, enough lounging around.” Baelor’s voice rang loudly further up the line; a couple of murmurs followed in agreement. 

Daeron got back up on his horse, this time following closely behind Aerion’s cart. 

Once back at the front, Baelor approached Valarr, who was riding alongside his pink-haired wife.

“I thought I told you to stay with your sister.” Baelor’s voice was firm, more heir than father.

“She did not wish for me there. Daeron was with her.”

He glanced at Kiera for a moment. “I do not care about her wishes or yours. When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it.”

Valarr had looked away, yet all his father understood was his silence.

“Is that understood?!” Baelor pressed, even harsher now.

“Yes, father.”

Their mounts' manes waved in sync with their own hair as Maekar and Valyra rode at speed. 

The princess felt her heart beating faster and faster as they got closer to it. Her uncle was slightly ahead of her, keeping to the left, as if attempting to block her view. 

They would pass the pyre she built for the dead first – or what was left of it. Suddenly, it came to her. How she had managed to start the fire back then. A trivial thought, one she thought forgotten, resurfaced. A piece of flint and steel had fallen loose from the pocket of one of the men as she dragged him through the mud.

She blinked the thought away, and before she realised, they had already passed the site. 

Valyra turned one last time, looking back as her horse continued carrying her forward. 

The ambush itself had been the worst. Back then, at the sight of the men, she had already deemed the fight lost.

‘Give us the princess, and we won’t slaughter you.’

She had foolishly thought about it – surrendering. Now she wondered if she had, would Bronn still be alive? Would the others?... Would she?

Many of the men did not fight – not at first. They had lingered, laughing, watching as if the battle had already been decided. As if the Blackfyre loyalists never expected to lose. 

Looking back now, she felt stupid for not realising it right away. 

They were never on this road with the intent to kill her. 

They came to take her. 

The men protecting her were just an obstacle. 

Her chest tightened. 

They were here now. 

The ground was still muddy. The tiny incline of the land uphill, she remembered tripping there as she ran. The fall had brought the men closer to her. 

The tree line… Her eyes could not ignore it, no matter how fast they were moving. 

And for one disgusting second, she was back there. 

‘No! Get off me!’

Feeling their vile breath against her skin. 

‘Let go of me!’

Their weight suffocating as they forced her to the ground. 

‘Get the fuck off me!’

Valyra closed her eyes, a single tear running down her cheek. She lifted her hand, wiping it away. 

They were already moving past it. Leaving it behind. 

It did not matter. 

Aerion had been right. 

Even if he had said it to spite her, to get an angered response, it did not make it any less true. Her flesh had already started to heal, her mind, however, remained broken.

The rattling of the cart's wheels had grown louder as the retinue picked up speed. Baelor and Valarr were leading the men in the front. 

It’s been hours since Aerion had a Maester tend to him, and the moving and shaking of the uneven road only caused him further discomfort. He’d looked in the mirror just that morning and felt displeased at the sight. There was no longer blood, only gaping scars and swollen bruises. 

The thought caused him to turn slightly, glancing once at his older brother shadowing him from behind.

Daeron had a similar scar across his cheek; only one, and not nearly as deep.

Even if focused on the hedge knight back then, Aerion did not remember seeing much of his brother during the Trial of Seven. 

‘Don’t die.’

A short breath left him. Knowing Daeron, he probably lay in the dirt until it was all over. 

Daeron noticed his brother eyeing him. His thoughts had been wandering all over the place since they’d started moving again. 

Valyra.

His father.

That look on his face.

What could he have possibly seen that forced him to take her away himself? 

He reached for the wine and took a sip. Aerion had once again faced the front.

‘You can’t even manage your own burdens. What makes you think you can bear hers?’

Daeron glanced down at the wineskin in his grip. He remembered all the times he had come to Valyra with his troubles, and all the times she had come to him with hers – of which there were none. 

Gods, was Aerion right? Over the years, did he only take and never give? 

Daeron’s grip tightened, eyes still glued to his brother’s back.

‘You will fall apart the moment she speaks of it plainly. I know I nearly did.’

He knew Aerion would never admit weakness outright, and yet just then, he had.

What did they speak of? What horrid things had she shared with him that forced a cruel boy like Aerion to falter? Or perhaps it was nothing at all, perhaps it had been just another lie slipping from his brother’s mouth.

Daeron drank once more, and as he lowered his hand, he noticed something across the horizon. A darkened patch of grass. Most of the retinue had passed it by now. It was further into the field, away from the road. Hidden behind other bushes and taller grass. But it was there. 

He didn’t know why, but the longer he stared in its direction, the more he felt he should look away. 

Forcing his horse forward, he moved at a steady pace to the side of the cart carrying his brother. 

“What did you talk about with Valyra?” Daeron asked, eyes scanning his brother’s scarred face. Aerion did not reply; he did not even appear to acknowledge him. “I want to know what she told you.”

“Why? Because she didn’t tell you?” 

Daeron hadn’t felt anger in a while. 

He did then. 

“This isn’t a game, Aerion. She is a person!” His words cut through the air.

Aerion leaned back, eyes still forward. “This must be hard for you. Not knowing what she’s thinking or feeling. What she wants.”

“And suddenly you do? You’ve never cared about her before.”

Aerion shifted in his seat. “If that’s what you think.” 

Daeron stared back at his brother for a moment. “What do you know?”

“More than you.”  The moment the words left him, Aerion sat up straighter, glancing to the left. His brother lifted his head then, following his gaze. 

One side of the uneven road was a ruin. Dirt and turned-over grass covered a large part of the area, even leading up to the slightly rising hill. A few murmurs traveled across the line from the people further ahead. 

No one could mistake it. There was a battle here. 

As the retinue moved forward, Aerion kept his eyes on the site, scanning it. “She said there were thirty.” His voice trailed off at the end, almost as if he were unsure of his own statement. 

Daeron’s eyes flicked down towards him. “Thirty men?” He echoed, as if searching for a sign that this was just another grim joke.

The information Valyra had shared with the others had been lost to him in his absence that first night. 

They continued moving. Aerion did not answer, only twisted his neck further back, eyes fixed on the muddy ground. 

Soon enough, the holdfast came into view across the horizon. Valyra and Maekar dismounted upon arrival, greeted by the stable boys. 

She remembered the last time she was here with Ser Bronn and the others. Their last stop before Ashford.

-Flashback-

“Thank you.” I lowered my head at Bronn as he refilled my cup.

The fire crackled between us.

“..and so I told her. ‘There is no way anyone would want you in the Red Keep’s kitchens. You can barely boil water without hurting yourself.’” 

We all laughed. 

“In comparison to my mother, my sister learned nothing of food or how to prepare it.” Brandon took a big gulp from his ale.

“Tell you what,” Mathew said. “She can come help my dear wife around the house. Now that she is swollen with child, she can barely sweep the floor.” 

“Really? You truly mean it?” The younger Goldcloak beamed from ear to ear.

Methew lowered his cup. “Aye. Fair pay, too. Things have been well since Good King Daeron sat on that chair.” 

They all glanced at me, lifting their cups. I smiled politely, raising my own. 

“They’ll stay just as good, if not better, when Prince Baelor takes the crown, I reckon,” Bronn added.

“Aye!” “Aye to that!”

I let out a small chuckle at their excitement, tasting the wine on my lips.

Brandon leaned over, elbow on one knee. “So princess, I’ve always wondered…”

-Flaskback End-

“Princess?... Please, Princess…”

“Valyra!” 

She blinked, startled at Maekar’s voice. “What?”

“If I may, Princess,” The stable boy repeated quietly. 

She turned around, not realising she had stood idle blocking the pathway all this time. “Oh… yes, of course.” Valyra took a step to the side, and the small boy, keeping his head still low, walked towards her horse.

“It’ll be at least another hour before they get there. Come. Let's talk.” Maekar did not wait for a response; he had already stepped inside.

Valyra took a deep breath before following her uncle.

TW: Trauma, Physical Assault and Violence (heavily referenced). PTSD, Panic Attack, Suicidal thoughts (brief, passive). Blood and Non-Graphic Violence

Summary: Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her //Currently considering/Under thought -> The Spring Sickness //

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Chapter 17

The sun glinted across the warm coloured gown worn by Lady Gwin. She stood straight at the front of the castle, eyes scanning royals and servants alike as they prepared the Targaryen family for their departure.

“Your sister surely has exquisite taste.”

Kiera of Tyrosh – Prince Valarr’s wife had accompanied the family to Ashford. 

Valarr lifted his eyes, glancing once at the young maid before turning to Kiera. “Don’t you have plenty of gowns from Essos?”

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Not like that one.” 

Kiera stepped closer, and he already knew the next question that would come. 

“Maybe you could ask her to have one made for me? I’ll gather the coin, of course.” 

“You can ask her yourself.” 

“I do not think the Princess likes me.” 

Valarr turned. “Why would you think that?”

“Before His Grace had her come to King’s Landing, I arranged for her ladies-in-waiting. Within a week, she had dismissed them all – said she had no need for lecherous girls shadowing her every step.” 

He let out a short laugh. “That does sound like her, but it hardly means she does not like you.”

“Perhaps, but it says plenty about her view of my decisions. Those girls and women were from high-born families – noble houses. I do not think any of them appreciated their short stay at the Red Keep.”

“Have you talked to her about it?” Valarr asked.

“She hasn’t given me the time of day.”

Valarr exhaled. “She is probably just busy.”

Kiera flashed him a knowing look. “For a year?”

Valarr caught a glimpse of his sister, walking down the poorly lit corridor. 

“We’ll talk about it later, alright?” He turned and walked back inside the castle.

Morning rays pierced through the small windows that lined the corridor walls. The princess approached the exit with steady steps, clutching onto the black sack slung over her shoulder.

She halted her step once her brother approached her.

“We are about to leave. You have everything?” He asked.

“Yes. I just need a moment.” 

Valarr nodded and stalked back outside.

“Lady Gwin.” She noted the girl glancing nervously around by the large door as if she had been waiting.

Gwin turned her head at once. “Princess.” Her fingers lifted her skirts carefully as she curtsied. 

“I see the measurements were sound.”

“Yes, my father thought you would like to see it before you leave.”

“Your father was right. You look beautiful.” 

A tint of pink appeared across Gwin’s cheeks. 

“I will cherish it for the rest of my life. Thank you.”

Valyra smiled. “Cherish it, but not so much that you grow out of it before wearing it again. It is a gown. It’s meant to be worn.”

“Yes, princess.” Gwin smiled in return. 

Horses and their riders were slowly being ushered out of the castle gates. 

“Will we see each other again? My next name day, perhaps, or yours? I would like to gift you something in return. Although it would not be nearly as grand as this.” The girl glanced down at herself. 

“Maybe… But no more tourneys.” 

Lady Gwin let out a short breath. “No more tourneys.”

Valyra noticed Daeron among the people as he mounted his horse. His hair was pulled back, and he clearly looked like he hadn’t had much sleep. 

“I must go.” She said, looking back towards Gwin.

“Yes. Safe travels back.” 

The girls exchanged one last smile before the princess joined her family.

Most of the royal retinue had already started to move, but they had not. Aerion’s cart had stopped, idly waiting only a few meters away from Ashford’s gate. 

One side of his face had swollen profusely, forcing his eyelid shut. Yet it never stopped him from watching her as she crossed the threshold on foot, guiding her horse forward.

Daeron was there too, atop his horse. Aerion noticed his brother was steadier this time, as if he refused to move forward without her. 

Valarr glanced at her as she approached. “What took you so long? I told you we were to leave.” 

“And yet we linger still.” 

Aerion almost smiled. 

Not outwardly, of course, he was too beaten for that and the pain too sharp. 

Her brother exhaled. “Father says he can see again.” Valarr pointed further down the grassy path. 

“What?” Her hold on the horse loosened, and she dashed in their direction with her brother following close by. 

Aerion shifted his head slowly.

Baelor was sitting on top of a large rock while the Maester was tending to his head and face. His own father was there too. Maekar stood beside the Maester as if he himself could somehow help.

She passed the cart without so much as a glance in his direction. 

It’s been more than a day since the Trial of Seven. He wondered how she took it when Baelor told her he was coming with them. 

Was she upset?

No. Aerion was certain she must have been angry. That had to be why his brother was now coming with them too.

Had she asked for Daeron? Or did she demand it, as an attempt to spite her father for allowing him to come?

Tall grass grazed the princess’s feet.

“Father? Is it true?” 

The fabric that had run all the way across Baelor’s head previously was no longer there, and one singular eye patch covered his right eye instead. While the left fluttered open, blinking every few seconds.

“Only a blur, do not make it what it is not.” He answered. 

“His Grace sees shapes and figures.” 

“That’s good, right?” Valarr questioned Maester Yormwell.

“It is not bad. Far better than expected.” 

The princess and her brother watched him adjust the patch over their father’s damaged eye.

“Here you go, Your Grace.” Yormwell stepped aside once he was finished. 

Maekar reached out an arm, assisting Baelor to his feet once more, guiding him slowly towards his horse.

“Baelor the One-Eyed Prince they’ll call me now.” Their father joked, swinging a leg over the saddle.

Valyra had already turned, clearly displeased with her father’s lighthearted view on the matter. She walked back towards where her horse was left waiting.

“Wasn’t there a King with one eye?” Valarr questioned behind her. 

She wasn’t sure whether he was playing into their father’s dismissal of the injury or if Valarr had genuine curiosity about the histories, yet she answered him anyway.

“Aemond ‘One-Eye’. And he was only Prince Regent, not a true King.” 

They passed the cart once more.

Aerion followed them despite the stiffness in his neck.

“The one during the Dance of the Dragons?” Her brother asked more curiously now.

She exhaled sharply at once, continuing to speak as if reading it off a history book buried somewhere in a library. 

“Yes. Rode Vhagar, burned thousands, died at The Battle Above the Gods Eye.” She mounted her horse, eyeing Valarr. 

“Are you father’s heir or am I?” 

Across the dirt path, Daeron had laughed, and all heads snapped to him, causing the sound to die out in his throat. Aerion watched as a small smile appeared across her lips aimed at his brother, and her horse began walking forward. 

“Knowing every detail of our family’s history does not make you worthy of the crown,” Valarr’s voice rose after her. 

She glanced over her shoulder. “And neither does knowing none of it.” She was still smiling, still staying true to her word.

Slightly further ahead, Aerion could hear his father. “Where is Aegon?”

“I’ve not seen him, my prince.” One of the men carrying their banner replied.

“Where the fuck is he?!” 

‘Guess the little brat ran off again.’

Valyra willed her horse past him just then, and Aerion caught the small chuckle under her breath.

The cart once again began to move at a steady pace behind the others. Daeron had urged his horse around, following a meter behind her while Valarr rode further ahead, alongside his father and uncle.

The sun stood high above them now, bright over the vast flat lands that spread all around. 

Once every hour – or perhaps more often than that – Valyra glanced behind her, checking to see if Daeron was still there. Every single time their eyes met, she felt a smile tugging at her lips.

The next time she turned her head, her gaze landed on the figure behind him – on Aerion. 

She remembered him back in his bed, still asleep after the fight. His bruises looked bigger now, angrier. She could not see his eyes clearly from a distance, but there was no doubt in her mind that he was keeping them on her.

She looked away, eyes forward, taking note of a small pond up ahead. 

No. Not a pond. 

A lake. 

The lake.

Her heart started beating faster. 

She jerked her head left and right, scanning the area. There was no mistake. 

Palms sweating on the reins, her horse had unintentionally slowed its pace.

Behind her, both brothers noticed the shift instantly. 

The slow movements of her mount had pulled her back a few meters, moving almost side by side with Daeron.

“What’s the matter?” He looked up at her. 

She bit at her lip nervously, still scanning the horizon. “I– I didn’t know we would be going this way.” 

“Why? What is it?” Daeron asked again, slowing down beside her. 

The horse halted. 

“No.”

She swung her leg over at once and jumped off the saddle in a hurry. 

Daeron unmounted just as fast. 

The whole retinue had stopped moving now. 

Back at the front, Baelor felt the change first. It was the murmurs of the people behind him, followed by the sudden halt, that told him something was wrong.

The blur of his son moved towards the commotion at the back of the line.

“You didn’t tell her we were taking the same road?” Maekar questioned him. 

Baelor did not answer. 

Valarr came to a halt at the end of the line. He looked at his sister’s horse, missing a rider.

“What’s the matter?” He questioned, looking at both of them. 

Valyra had dashed for the small cluster of trees, but remained visible from the road. Daeron was just about to run after her. 

“This must have been where it happened,” Aerion spoke. 

Daeron snapped his eyes towards his brother, along with Valarr. 

One short moment was enough for the heavy words to settle. 

Valarr swung his leg off his own horse, and both of them approached the tree line right after. 

Valyra still couldn’t catch her breath. 

Wishing to go deeper into the small grove, she stumbled over fallen branches and her own two feet. 

She rested her back against one of the trees before her legs could give out. Closing her eyes.

She felt it again. 

The cold water from the lake when she had washed the blood away. When her naked body had dipped under the surface, and for a fleeting moment she had wished she would sink to the bottom – never to be seen again.

Valyra knew what came before the lake. 

The fire. The smell of burning corpses. The road where it all started. The sound of clashing steel on a clear day. Just like this one.

She felt sick.

Resting a hand over her chest, feeling her hammering heartbeat through the clothes. 

Valyra never even heard her brother approaching. She felt his touch on her shoulder a second before his words reached her. “Sister?” 

Her hand met Valarr’s chest in an instant and shoved him away from her.

“Don’t touch me.”

He looked surprised by her outburst and took another step back. 

“Alright. Okay, I am sorry.” 

Her eyes drifted past Valarr and landed on Daeron. He had followed too. And even worse – she had never made it further than a few feet into the trees, which meant Aerion was watching too.

‘They can all see.’

“It’s going to be alright.” Valarr tried again. “We’ll go slow.”

“No.” She stared at the ground, fisting her trousers. Her hands were shaking.

‘They are all watching you fall apart.’

“This is the only way we can go.”

Her gaze snapped upwards at him. “I said no!!” 

A flock of birds scattered away at her shout.

‘Stop it! They’ll know.’

Her eyes shut again, slower this time, desperate to calm herself.

“You keep on that way. I’ll take another path, dirt roads or farm paths, whatever, just not this road.”

Valarr’s face twisted at the idea. “No, you won't. Don’t be ridiculous.”

‘Ridiculous.’

Just then, Baelor and his brother arrived.

“What’s the hold up?” Maekar asked.

Baelor was scanning the trees. He could barely make out the shapes of their silhouettes. Each of them was just another black blur. 

“She says she won't go this way.” He heard Valarr’s voice.

“You can not force her to.” 

Even Baelor glanced towards Daeron. His shadow stood about 2 meters away from the others. 

He couldn’t be sure if Daeron was looking at him or at Valarr when he defended her. He couldn’t be sure of anything, except the fact that they were taking too long and had to move before whispers started travelling.

“Enough. Get back on your horse. You are holding everyone up.” 

The blur that was his daughter walked slowly towards him.

No one dared to say anything after that. 

Valyra stopped in front of Baelor. Eyes on his face as if he could see her. 

“Please do not make me father.” Her voice came low, and it broke at the end, and she knew they all heard that too. 

But Baelor did not respond.

Valyra moved her eyes across each of them and then down the line of people waiting, before finally realising her father would not speak again.

‘You are holding everyone up.’

A quiet, bitter scoff left her lips, and she nodded her head. 

In all of their minds, this was probably nothing but a spectacle. Another tantrum thrown by a spoiled princess. 

She loved her family. That was no lie. And yet the resentful thought came anyway. 

‘I wonder if it was any of you instead. Would you still ride forward just the same?’

She blinked the hate away, not choosing to linger on it any longer. It mattered little now that her father had given her an order. 

The princess took large, hurried strides. Past her father’s horse, out of the tree line, and into the clearing. 

Aerion watched as his brother followed right behind her, and when she went straight for Daeron’s horse and aimed for the wineskin attached to the saddle, he hurried his step.

“Lyra–” 

But she already tipped it back, not stopping until the red liquid ran down the corner of her lips.

‘Lyra.’

Aerion’s grip along the wooden bench he had been seated on for hours tightened. 

He had heard Daeron call her that before, but never so publicly. Like it was nothing, like it somehow belonged to him; as if she somehow belonged to him.

“Why not send a few men ahead to scout it?” Pain flared in Aerion’s chest the moment he spoke louder than a whisper, but he pushed through it.

They all turned to him, each of their faces bearing a different emotion. 

He only cared about one, and at a lessened distance, it had become much clearer.

Valyra looked surprised, and then confusion followed, almost as if she couldn’t quite place the reason for his proposal at all. 

‘See? You do need me.’

“No.” All eyes returned to Baelor. “No men. We can see to it ourselves. Come, Maekar.” He turned towards his brother.

“Baelor…” 

“I trust no one else.”

“I’ll come too,” Valarr said, finally stepping between the trees.

Baelor forced his horse ahead. “No. You stay with your sister. Once we return, we will continue forth.”

Aerion watched as his uncle and father rode further and further away.

Maekar did not speak as they rode ahead. Not at first. Not until he noticed something further ahead. 

“There.” 

“What do you see?” His brother asked.

“I don’t know.” 

They pushed forward. 

It was subtle, almost invisible if one rode fast enough along the path, but Maekar’s keen eye had spotted it. 

The small dark patch along the grass grew much, much larger as they approached.

Maekar narrowed his eyes at the sight. 

The moment he realised what he was seeing, he reached out his hand and pulled on Baelor’s horse and his own, forcing them to stop instantly.

“Gods be good.” 

“What? What is it?” Baelor’s voice held a hint of worry, and Maekar knew why.

There was a smell in the air. An unpleasant one that he knew his brother had already recognised.

Maekar dismounted and walked cautiously further ahead, crouching as his fingers brushed the charred grass. 

“A fire.” 

But it wasn’t just a fire. 

His gaze remained frozen, and he swallowed hard.

“Your daughter spoke true.” Maekar straightened up.

He had never doubted what befell his niece – never thinking her a liar – yet he had thought the details nothing more than just exaggerated childish stories. 

He was wrong.

What he was seeing was far from a childish story.

‘How does the poor girl sleep at night?’

Maekar scanned the nearby ground. It had been raining the past few days, but rain could not erase everything. 

There were patches of flattened grass, leading up the ashy edges. Maekar forced himself to walk forward alongside the meandering lines.

Only a few meters further, he saw it. Where the battle must have happened. No storm could erase it that quickly. 

“Maekar,” Baelor called after him, but he continued forward.

Thirty – his niece had said. 

But not all on foot.

There was no longer lush grass, only turned over soil. 

He stood in the middle of it.

‘How did she survive this?’

Just as the thought crossed his mind, his eyes landed on something in the distance. 

“I will check further up for anything else.” He shouted over his shoulder.

Maekar quickened his pace. It hadn’t been too far away from the rest of it. Just at the edge of another small tree patch, the colour of it was what caught his eye. 

A piece of red silk, small, but large enough to be caught atop a bush and wave in the wind like a flag. 

He reached for it, pulling it free.

Maekar knew that silk, the pattern, the deep red. He had seen it before. 

His grip tightened around it, eyes dropping to the ground. 

There was still blood here. Across the leaves. Across the trees. On the piece in his hand.

Maekar felt intense, overwhelming anguish. Already understanding more than he had wished. 

He could no longer stay here. His stomach turned, he tossed the silk aside and started walking back quickly. 

Maekar was an old man. A seasoned fighter. He had seen blood and death and more battles than he could count, and it had never really phased him. 

This unease did not leave him even as he walked away.

Baelor waited, and the moment he spotted the smudge that was his brother returning, he finally spoke again. 

“Did you find anything?” 

Maekar mounted his horse in a swift motion. “We need to leave. The quicker the better.”

“Maekar, tell me what you saw. I must know!” He demanded this time, his voice louder now.

“You must not!” His brother snapped at him. “Trust me, brother. Mayhaps it is better you can not see.”