#elaenya

The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffside calmed Elaenya when her thoughts wouldn’t settle. She could listen to the raging water for hours, watching the fishing boats in the distance, the gulls swooping and swarming around them. She would slip away at the first opportunity, before her morning studies or while the rest of the castle lunched. She and her older brother had duties and obligations, but were allowed free rein of Driftmark and its shores. Her mother, Maela, was the youngest of Corwyn Velaryon’s four children, and Elaenya and Laerys, his youngest grandchildren. They had fewer expectations thrust upon them. There were times when their station demanded they behave as a prince and princess ought, but that didn’t hinder them from exploiting unsupervised moments.

She thought back to times she and her brother had explored the cliffs and caves along the beach, how they would return to the castle with sand covering them from head to toe, pockets filled with pebbles and shells. She had a fortunate childhood in some ways, though not perfect, and had been spared the boring days at court in King’s Landing and the machinations of the royal family.

She stood up from her seat on the rock and dusted the sand from her breeches. The wind caught her silver hair and lashed it around her. She closed her eyes and relished the salt spray on her face. The sun was low on the horizon and the air had become chilled.

Elaenya turned back to the castle, walking slowly up the beach. She still wore the leather pants and thick tunic from her training that afternoon. Being far from King’s Landing had many benefits, not the least of which was the small glimmer of freedom she was allowed. With a plethora of male cousins and her brother she had fought, quite stubbornly, to learn everything they learned. When her mother had finally acquiesced to Elaenya’s demands to learn swordsmanship, she had been inwardly overjoyed and outwardly unbearable for weeks. She wasn’t allowed to train as frequently as the boys, nor as fervently, but she had a natural talent and practiced on her own. She had held a sword in her hand nearly every day since she was three and ten years of age. She fingered the grip of Elēdrar as she started up the stairs. They were rough-hewn on this cliff face and weather worn and there were many of them. She took her time climbing, enjoying the changing hues of the sky presaging sunset. Well before she reached the top, a screech jerked her attention skyward. Crimson, almost black, against the orange sky, Caraxes dove and announced his arrival. Elaenya bounded up the remaining steps, paying no attention to the exertion.

The stair landing opened onto a flagstone courtyard. She was dizzy from her strained breathing but had room for only one thought. Daemon turned at the sound of her footfalls

“Cousin!” she nearly squealed, sounding much younger than her eight and ten years. He smiled at her as he removed his helmet. He ran a hand through it, mussing it after having his helmet on for hours. Elaenya stopped short.

“Yes, cousin?” Daemon grinned at her.

“Well, you,” she stuttered, then smiled back at him. “You seem to have lost some hair, my prince.” She winked at him. He closed the distance between them and scooped her up in an embrace that lifted her feet from the ground. She hugged him back. Still trying to catch her breath, she looked toward Caraxes. He was eyeing them both passively. The dragon was exhausted.

“Shall we get you both settled?” She took his helmet from him, freeing his hands to unpack his saddlebags. She looked at the soot and blood on it and smoothed the plume down. It too was filthy. She would summon a squire to take care of his armor for him.

Daemon patted Caraxes’s snout as they walked off. Their hair and clothes whipped in the air as the dragon ascended and left the courtyard. He would find plenty of sheep or goats to eat before he rested. Elaenya walked ahead of Daemon as they entered the castle.

She doled out instructions to a waiting maid and requested a squire to assist the Prince with his armor. Daemon watched her with a prideful smile, but his eyes were tired. The journey was two days by dragon.

“I’ve had a bath and supper sent to your room. I trust you remember where it is?” she asked. She beamed upon noticing the way he looked at her.

“You’ve become quite a Lady since I saw you last. It wasn’t so long as a year ago though it seems much longer,” he was genuinely impressed, but teasing Elaenya was something of which he would never tire.

“Lady!” she scoffed. “Hardly.” She grinned and gestured to her filthy clothing. “I suppose I need a bath as well. I forget how to be a Lady unless we entertain guests. And if the rumors are to be believed, we will be having quite a few guests tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.” Daemon’s mouth twitched up at the corner. “I shall see you when we break our fast tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she replied. She kissed his cheek before departing for her chambers.

The fire helped to dispel the chill in the room but not entirely. It must have not been lit long. Steam rose from the bath water. Elaenya undressed impatiently. The evening sea air had seeped into her bones. She loved the way the water felt as if it burned when she first stepped into it. As she sank down into the tub, letting the day slide off her, she mulled over Daemon’s comment. She supposed she had become more confident with the servants and had learned more from her mother about her duties this year. This was inevitably the result of her mother’s intention to make Elaenya a desirable prospect as a wife. She groaned. She glanced to the corner near the hearth where Elēdrar was propped. Her Valyrian steel sword. It had been her father’s. There weren’t many in the family so when her brother had given it to her for her eighteenth name day she had been speechless. By all rights it should be Laerys’s.

It was a bit small for him. It had more sentimental value to him as he could remember more time with their father. However, Laerys had been bequeathed his own. His had come from the Velaryon lineage; Elaenya’s from the Targaryen’s. It fit her perfectly. She could wield hers one-handed if needed and could do great damage with two hands.

She let her eyes close as she rested her head against the back of the tub. She would wash when the water was cooler. For the moment she wanted to feel the heat. She gathered her silver hair behind her head, keeping it from the water and using it as a makeshift pillow. An unbidden memory floated behind her closed eyes...

Elaenya remembered how her sword had stopped midair, striking an unyielding object. She had turned around immediately and almost dropped it.

"Well, what do we have here?" The Dragon smiled down at her. All black armor and silver hair. He let the blade slide down his forearm, then gripped it, keeping it from falling to the ground. It had struck his vambrace when she had swung inexpertly.

She swallowed and was too embarrassed to respond. She could only blink up at him, then down at her sword in his hand and his helmet in his other.

She had been ten years of age the first time she had seen Daemon Targaryen up close. He tossed the sword in the air, flipping it to catch the grip. He turned it, making a show of inspecting the blade.

“They let you train with this, little one?” He flipped it again and handed it back to Elaenya, grip-first.

“Yes, only a bit, my Prince,” her mouth was dry. He seemed overlarge and certainly his reputation contributed to that.

“You’d do well to pay attention to your surroundings, cousin,” he grinned. “Watch where you swing such a deadly blade.” She laughed at this. They both knew it was a training sword with the dullest blade imaginable. “I shall leave you to it.”

He left unceremoniously. Young Elaenya watched him walk away until he entered the castle.

Elaenya made her way to break her fast the next morning. Her excitement propelled her down the corridors. The skirts of her pale blue dress flowed out behind her as she walked.

When she arrived at the hall, Daemon and her uncle weren’t present. She hid her displeasure with a genteel smile and walked toward the table.

“Good morrow.” She greeted her good sister, Rhanora, and brother, Laerys. She took her seat next to Rhanora as a servant brought her meal.

“You welcomed Prince Daemon last night, sister?” Laerys asked as he reached for the bread. He broke a piece off and handed it to his wife before taking some for himself, then handed the loaf to Elaenya. His eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief as they met hers.

“Thank you. Yes, I was on the beach when he arrived.” She gave him an exaggerated reproachful look. “How is the babe this morning?” Elaenya nodded toward Rhanora’s rounded middle.

“He was quite restless last night, but seems to have calmed today. I am ready for the little prince to make his appearance.” Rhanora stroked her belly as she spoke. It would not be much longer. Perhaps only a month’s time according to the Maester.

“Hopefully you may both have some rest before the festivities this afternoon.” Without meaning to, Elaenya rolled her eyes. She immediately flushed, praying neither of them had seen.

“Do you not approve of our cousin’s new title, El?” Her brother graciously winked at her, relieving her of the guilt that had begun to creep in. Laerys chuckled but it was clipped off when he looked up.

Their mother, Maela, had entered the hall. She smiled at them as she approached the table.

“Good morrow, Mother.” Elaenya and Laerys spoke almost in unison. Elaenya giggled. They had acted like they were still children, caught up to no good. Her mother kissed her fondly on the forehead before she sat.

“Good morrow children, Rhanora. Was something amusing, my son?” Maela didn’t look up from her task of buttering her bread.

“Well… yes, Mother, in fact, El thought Daemon’s coronation a bit of a farce.”

“I-“ Elaenya began in a huff, but her mother and brother laughed.

“Perhaps you should keep your opinions of your cousin confined to this dining table, El, lest someone mistake you for an usurper.” Her mother smiled at her.

Maela was a delicate woman but strong and fierce and kind. Her outward appearance and demeanor were every bit as regal as was required to marry a Targaryen prince. Before their father had died, Maela had smiled more often. Since then these intimate moments were the only times she seemed to slip off the twelve years of mourning which she wore like a cloak.

Maela had loved Gaemon Targaryen, their father, regardless of the marriage having been arranged. She was devoted to her two children, often seeing their father in their humor and playfulness.

“You look lovely today, El,” she said as she appraised Elaenya’s hair and dress. “More excited for the festivities than Laerys would lead me to believe?” She smiled mischievously.

Elaenya shot a sour look at her brother. She would find a way to repay him for exposing her to their mother.

“They will be historic, Mother,” she replied, not attempting to hide her smile.

Daemon and Corlys didn’t join them. Elaenya excused herself after she had finished her meal. She decided to go to the terrace to watch the arriving ships and the dragons. They, too, needed to break their fast and could be seen diving in the sea for fish that they rarely had access to at their homes.

She walked the corridors in no hurry. As she passed the library she heard voices. The doors were closed and she didn’t enjoy eavesdropping but she couldn’t help but hear Daemon’s agitated voice interrupt Corlys.

“-to Bloodstone. Tomorrow.”

Elaenya heard boot heels approaching the door. She moved away quickly, on through the corridors.

The ocean breeze was warmer than she had expected. She took a seat on a stone bench near the parapet. The dragons keened above and below her. Caraxes dwarfed her Saelys by half. Saelys’s teal coloring shifted between blue and green as she flew in the morning light. She watched Caraxes dive and reappear. A couple of newcomers circled and dove with them.

Bloodstone. Elaenya thought. She supposed it had not occurred to her that Daemon would go away so soon. Of course he would. Driftmark was not his home and only the war with the Triarchy had caused him to visit during the last few years. He and the Sea Snake would convene here when they needed to regroup or plan a new offensive. Those times were rare. None of the visits were long but she had spent every possible moment she could listening to them discuss strategy and tactics. More than once she had been their cup bearer in these meetings. The years had seemed to pass slowly with nothing remarkable happening between Daemon’s appearances at Driftmark.

He had spent most of his time there focused on his duties but after the councils he would walk on the beach with Elaenya. He would ask her questions about her training or Saelys or walk in comfortable silence. She didn’t prattle like young women were wont to do. Yet in all that time she had never thought about where he would be after the war ended. He had been a constant part of her life for three years and three years could feel like an eternity when your days were monotonous.

Elaenya gazed out at the ocean and let her mind wander. Soon she would be required to attend her mother and brother. Alongside them she would represent the Targaryens at Driftmark. What an odd predicament, she thought, to be loyal to her uncle and cousin and yet claim to be loyal to the Crown. Surely Daemon’s and Corlys’s actions were treason but she would heed her mother’s words and keep these thoughts to herself.

That afternoon, Elaenya took her place next to her brother in the hall. They stood to the side of the dais. Their uncle Corlys Velaryon sat on the driftwood throne. Every Velaryon who resided at Driftmark was present. The hall was buzzing with conversation. A few younger men laughed, the sound echoing through the rafters. The celebratory mood overshadowed the fact that Daemon and Corlys we committing a minor act of treason. Looking at the faces around the hall, she didn’t see any that showed displeasure. Everyone in attendance reveled in the victory.

A voice was heard above the others, asking for silence, and a wave of shushing flowed through the crowd. Heads turned to watch the young prince enter. His short, silver hair was raked to the side. His violet eyes focused directly ahead, not looking at the spectators. He looked smug even without a grin, but surely that grin lay close to the surface, Elaenya thought. She allowed herself a tight-lipped smile.

Her cousin stopped at the dais, not mounting the stairs. Silence fell completely as the Sea Snake stood. He walked to the edge and a servant met him, holding out the crown. The polished bones curved like those of a man’s ribs. Elaenya swallowed dryly at the unsavory thought. Daemon didn’t kneel, only bowed his head slightly.

“Let all present bear witness,” Corlys spoke loudly to the onlookers. “Daemon Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.” The Sea Snake placed the crown upon Daemon’s head. Cheers and applause sprang up from the crowd. Elaenya wondered if it wasn’t a bit forced, overly enthusiastic. Surely not everyone was excited to see her cousin become a king.

Daemon raised his head and began to turn to face the crowded hall. As he did he caught Elaenya’s eye and proffered her a smirk that fell away as quickly as it had arrived. Heat rushed to her face but Daemon had already looked away. That single look had confirmed her suspicions: he knew exactly how much of a farce this had become.