She woke with a start, a wailing cry echoing close, close, close. “Mother,” she rasped out, stumbling up out of the bed in a panicked haze. “Mother!” The floor moved unsteadily beneath her feet, and she tumbled to her knees in her misguided alarm. The pain that bloomed in her limbs served to wake her, however, and shapes slowly came into focus in the dark as she drew in erratic breaths. She was not in the Red Keep, or even in Sunspear. No, she was still on the Dornish causeway, headed back to the Dornish court, and of course, the sound of her mother’s cries were but a dream.
When, however, had those words ever truly comforted her? Swallowing, she picked herself off of the wooden floor, fumbling for light. The weak glow of candle soon illuminated the small cabin that had been prepared for the voyage, and the princess limply took a seat on the bed. Even now, the ghost of her mother’s voice haunted her, ringing incessantly in her ears. Her stomach was churning, as if she was travelling on a rough storm-struck sea instead of the calm canal. A dream, yes, but her unease remained. She had heard her mother’s cries more often than she could count, but the wails she had woken to had not been ones of fear or pain. It’d been a sound she’d only heard once before--when Daeron had breathed his last. Grief and loss; bottomless loss. A chill crept over her, her skin raising into goosebump as her dread only deepened, sinking into marrow. Loss. It’d always been a frightful word, but now that they were at war, it was more than just a syllable on a tongue.
Yet, there was nothing she could do, at least for the time being. Nightmare or not, Aeranys knew that she needed her sleep. After all, she had been informed that they would be arriving in Sunspear by midday tomorrow. While she didn’t yet know what events or duties awaited her there, she would be foolish to try to meet it without all her wits about her. Releasing a heavy sigh, she stiffly lowered herself back onto the mattress, loathe to look away from the flickering candle. Her fingers slipped beneath her pillow, seeking out the king piece that always stayed with her. Having found it, she drew it out and held it close, her hands clasped tightly about it as if she was praying for the comfort that her brother’s memory had often imparted unto her. Still, even as the moments grew into minutes, the tightness in her chest did not fade, nor did her stilted breathing seem to calm. At last, the young woman sat up again, huddling into herself.
She slipped out of her bed once more, crossing the small quarters to where her satchel sat. She reached within it, carefully drawing forth a slim cloth bundle. When she had unwrapped the silken cloth, what was left in her hand was the dreadful knife he had placed in her care. She ran a tentative finger along it, catching the edge of the fangs that protruded from its ivory handle with the pad of her finger. Slowly, she returned to her bed, curling up onto her side. Wrapping the blade with the cloth once more, she placed it under her pillow next to the black king piece, right at the edge where her hand could feel its presence. Despite her conflicting feelings regarding the things the knife had seen, despite it all, Aeranys found that she could at last let her eyes close. Then, even as she was pondering the curiousness of it, she managed to slip back into a restless sleep.
******************
The Dornish sun was bright as she stepped from the cabin, and Aeranys briefly allowed herself to squint against the harsh rays. Of course, she was never alone for long, and soon a somewhat familiar voice was greeting her. It was Dame Natari who waited for her, reaching out to help her step off of the longboat with a sturdy arm. “Thank you, Dame Natari,” she thanked the young woman, nodding at her with a gracious smile. “Indeed. The troops set off according to plan, with Prince Mors and my brother leading them,” she offered, though she suspected that the knight was likely already aware. “And of course, Ser Devran was well, last I saw him,” Aeranys went on to add, aware that her husband’s trusty shadow was Dame Natari’s twin brother. What sister would not worry about her brother?
Indeed, Aeranys’ thoughts were on her last surviving brother, who was marching off to war alongside her new husband. There was the feeling of worry, of course, but something else crept alongside it, an unsettled discomfort. Confusion, perhaps. The brother she had once known as her own mind seemed like a stranger to her now. Just when she had believed they had come to an understanding, aired their grievances and bridged whatever gap had formed between them during their time apart, things had gone awry once again. She could still see the look in his indigo eyes in the light of dawn, cold as the long winter itself. “When we meet next, you’ll realize your mistake, little sister,” he’d intoned against her ear as he drew her into a stifling embrace. He’d turned away from her then, striding off before she could ask what it was that he meant. Perhaps it did not matter what he meant. There was only one thing that mattered: she had slighted him somehow, and while in her youth she would have done anything to immediately make amends, with him halfway across Dorne, there was nothing she could do. It was now a constant thorn digging into her mind, rubbing it raw.
“I understand that perhaps you are tired from your journey,” Dame Natari spoke, bringing her thoughts back to the present. “But there is someone waiting for you in your chambers who would very much like to speak with you.”
This news was somewhat unexpected, but Aeranys did not show a flicker of surprise, only turning to the female knight next to her with an accommodating smile. “Of course.”
When the pair of young women reached the chambers designated for the princess, Dame Natari stepped aside and stood by the doorway, gesturing for her to go ahead and enter the rooms. Taking only a moment to compose herself in preparation for whoever and whatever lay in wait for her, Aeranys gently opened the double doors, stepping inside.
Immediately, an excited shriek went up, and a figure that had been seated at the window seat came bounding up to her, throwing her arms around her shoulders without a moment of hesitation.
Nearly bowled over by the enthusiastic greeting, Aeranys could only stand there as the girl pulled back, beaming up at her with a set of familiar purple eyes. “Allyria…?” she murmured, disbelief on her face. It could be none other than Allyria Dayne, youngest sister of Arthur Dayne, but for a moment she had doubted her own eyes. In a few years’ time, the skinny girl who had nearly thrown a fit at being told that she was too young to remain in King’s Landing along with her older sister had grown into a young woman herself.
“Aeranys, I missed you so!” she chirped brightly as she squeezed her hands. “I mean uh, Princess,” she added, glancing about as if she was just waiting for a stern Septa to scold her. That brought a smile to Aeranys’ stunned face at last.
“I missed you as well,” the fair-haired princess returned, warmth in her voice as she took in the sight of the youngest Dayne sibling. “It’s been quite a while.”
“Since your brother’s wedding,” the dark-haired girl agreed.
“Yes. I thought I’d see you at the wedding, but your father said…”
“I know,” Allyria rolled her eyes. “It’s all because of Mors.” Aeranys’ brows quirked up in surprise--Prince Mors? Before she could give voice to the sentiment, however, Allyria was continuing on. “He wanted it to be a surprise, he said. I suppose it was worth the wait, but I wanted to be there to see you on your wedding day!” the girl complained, pouting.
“A surprise?” she echoed, mystified.
Whatever consternation had been in Allyria’s expression was then replaced by a gleeful smile. “Well. You stand in the presence of Princess Aeranys’ chief lady-in-waiting,” the young girl said proudly, curtsying gracefully.
“Oh,” Aeranys breathed, her smile growing wide to match the energetic girl’s grin. “I’m glad to have a familiar face here,” she remarked earnestly. “It’s been--”
A piercing screech interrupted the princess in the middle of her words, and a large mass of dark wings swept into the chamber through the window, coming to a stop upon the highest corner of her wooden wardrobe. Before Aeranys could get another word out, Allyria screamed in terror, snatching up a nearby candlestick to brandish it threateningly at the formidable creature. “Get out! Out, you foul beast!” she shouted, her voice fierce despite how pale she had gone.
“It’s alright, it’s alright--” Aeranys began, but the doors flew open to reveal Natari, ready to charge at whatever intruder had appeared. “We’re alright, Dame Natari!” she called, standing before the agitated girl with her hands outspread placatingly. “Allyria, he’s mine.”
“Yours?” she demanded, her expression nothing short of incredulous. “That creature?”
“Yes, he was a gift.”
“A gift?” Allyria repeated, her voice pitching even higher, almost accusatory in tone.
“From Prince Mors,” Aeranys explained, turning and stepping closer to the wardrobe from where the bird was regarding the three women. Immediately, he dropped down to perch on her shoulder, sliding its deadly beak along her hair in what appeared to be an affectionate nuzzle.
At that, Allyria’s tense shoulders dropped, a sigh escaping her as she placed the candlestick unceremoniously back onto the drawers. “I’d say I was surprised, but then again, I’m not,” she remarked, eyeing the bird.
With the fuss resolved, Aeranys turned apologetically towards the female knight. “I’m sorry, Dame Natari,” she offered, along with a grateful nod.
“As long as you’re both safe, there’s no harm done, Princess,” the young woman answered generously, looking more amused than not. Aeranys had not quite expected the female knight to have kept guard outside her chambers, but then again, it seemed foolish to let her go unguarded. Allyria, for her part, had shaken her fear rather quickly, approaching the princess and the bird to observe the preening bird.
“What is it, exactly?” she asked curiously.
“He’s a
zaldrīzes hontes, from across the Narrow Sea,” Aeranys explained, gently stroking the downy feathers that graced the bird’s head.
“Does he have a name?”
“Balerion,” she admitted, slightly reluctant to admit that she had named the bird after what was perhaps the most famous dragon. It felt a bit childish, and she’d half-expected the response to be wry, but that was not at all the mood that came afterward.
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Allyria clasped her hands together, grinning widely. “Balerion the Bird!” For all of her previous fright, there wasn’t a spot of it on her visage now.
“I just hope he was able to hunt on his own,” she mused, more to herself than not, but it was Natari who stepped closer with some thoughts of her own.
“They’re fierce birds, I doubt he’d go hungry, milady,” the knight assured her. “But I imagine the kitchens may have some meat carcasses, if you’d like me to arrange for them to be delivered.”
“The kitchens…” she murmured thoughtfully, her hand stilling as she processed the information that had been given to her. At once, the bird made a chirp of protest, nudging at her hand almost demandingly. Immediately, Allyria broke into amused laughter, and it didn’t take long for both Natari and Aeranys to join in--three young women of varying stations and temperament laughing along at the antics of what should’ve been a terrifyingly odd creature.
Indeed, for a moment, she almost didn’t feel the sting of loneliness at all.
******************
Aeranys would’ve been content to spend her evening in her chambers in relative peace and quiet, even if it meant missing out on the rich feast prepared for dinner, but the thought barely skimmed past her mind. Of course, that wasn’t what was expected of her, and Princess Elia Martell had invited her to dinner in the Water Gardens. Not any dinner--another dinner held in her honor. So it was that when the red sun began its descent into the shimmering waters, Aeranys, accompanied by Allyria and Natari, made her way down to the Water Gardens.
She was warmly received by the Martell royals, particularly by Elia and Arianne, and she was promptly seated between the two women for the dinner feast. Allyria, on the other hand, was seated on the other side of Arianne, and the two chattered away gleefully over their plates. The feast was already in full swing, the attendees supping and drinking and they gossiped and joked. Many a toast had been raised in honor of the brave men and women who had gone off to war, of which one was heartily raised for their beloved heir to the seat of Dorne and his uncle.
“Did the trip treat you well, Princess Aeranys?” Elia asked of her, her warm brown eyes fixed attentively on the pale girl who had married her nephew.
Of course, the formal greetings had already been conducted, and the friendly cadence and the quiet volume of her words implied that this conversation was only for those seated at their charmed table. Still, it was not easy for Aeranys to quite let go of the courteous mask she’d grown into since childhood.
“Yes, the time it took was shorter than I expected,” she replied with a polite smile. “I was glad to see my brother and Ser Arthur. It’d been too long.”
“How is he?” Princess Elia asked expectantly, the eagerness with which she spoke reflected in the spark in her eyes.
Taken aback by her sudden spike in interest, Aeranys blinked. “My brother?” she inquired.
“N--” the older woman began, only to swiftly correct course. “I mean, yes,” she managed with a smile that was meant to hide the mishap. Aeranys would’ve played along if it weren’t for the sound of giggling, and she turned to see Arianne and Allyria staring at the Martell princess with glee in their eyes. Elia Martell gently cleared her throat, a rosy blush rose to her cheeks. The younger girls continued to laugh, smothering their giggles behind their hands, and a smile flitted by Aerany’s face as well. So that was it.
“Ser Arthur seemed well,” Aeranys answered, the light of amusement in her lilac eyes a contrast to her ever-diplomatic tone. “He was overjoyed to see Prince Mors again. He was less happy when my brother asked him to remain with Lady Lyanna at the tower, but he was in good spirits when he saw me off.”
“Is that so,” Elia Martell remarked, but the relief that spread across her face was palpable. A soft sigh escaped the woman, as if she’d been holding her breath. She had already sent off a brother and a nephew to the battlefield along with a large number of her beloved people, and it was apparent that she had at least been spared one more potential heartbreak.
As the feast continued and plates were emptied, Arianne was the first to rise from the table, eager to find her friends and what young boys had not gone off to war. Aeranys had been invited, but as she was engaged in casual conversation with Elia about the Water Gardens, she was left behind. Allyria, on the other hand, had chosen to stay by her lady’s side, likely taking her new duties with a hefty amount of responsibility that Aeranys hadn’t quite expected from the youngest Dayne. Still, it was plain to see that the dark-haired girl longed to be wandering about just as Arianne was, and it wasn’t long before Aeranys took pity on her. Rising from the dinner table, she politely excused herself, explaining to her gracious host that she desired a bit of fresh air. Of course, Elia, perceptive as ever, caught on to the situation and gave the younger women her leave.
Allyria was all smiles and excited energy as they headed towards the corridor that would lead them outside. “I want to show you my favorite part of the gardens,” she was chattering. “Ashara and I would pretend it was our secret hideout whenever we visited.” Aeranys nodded along good-naturedly, but as they stepped into the halls, she felt her mind wander. The last time she was here, she had come across the green-eyed beauty in the midst of heartbreak. She had seen her in the crowd during the feast, just as she had that first night, green eyes shining like emeralds in the light.
Then, just as the pair turned the corner, Vellysa Sand materialized within the corridor, as if conjured from her memories. She stood with her back to the princess and her lady-in-waiting, far too intent in her line of questioning to notice that someone had intruded. “Well? How is he? Did she say anything?” she demanded of another girl, who was none other than Arianne.
“Nothing in particular…” the Martell princess replied, her voice sympathetic. Still, she had nothing to give Vellysa, and so in her discomfort, her gaze wandered--only to land on the figures of Aeranys and Allyria, stopped still.
Unaware of Arianne’s discovery, Vellysa continued, a hint of desperate frustration tinging her voice. “Surely, she must’ve said something about Mors. What about--” Finally having caught Arianne’s expression, the pretty young woman whirled about, her plump lips parting once without sound before managing to speak properly. “Princess Aeranys,” she uttered. Immediately, her expression settled calculatingly, her moment of surprise masked expertly.
“We were just...” Arianne started with false cheer, but if either young woman had expected any sort of unpleasantness, they’d be wrong.
“Anyone in Dorne would be sick with worry for news,” Aeranys began calmly. “I should’ve been more considerate. Prince Mors was well when I saw him last. He and his men were in good spirits, and eager to join the rest of the Dornish host on the front lines.” While both of the younger girls seemed uncomfortable with the situation, caught between a past paramour and wife to one prince, neither Aeranys nor Vellysa seemed unsettled. “That is all I know, but I am sure he will send word soon,” the Targaryen-born princess concluded encouragingly. With a demure nod, she moved to step past them, but as Allyria hurried to keep up with her, Aeranys would give pause to turn to the green-eyed beauty once more. “Lady Vellysa--next time, you needn’t hesitate to ask me in person,” she offered, her ever-gracious smile firm on her lips. Then she walked off, her pace steady and her posture straight, not once looking behind her. Allyria, on the other hand, continued to sneak furtive glances at the princess and paramour in the distance, uncharacteristically silent.
It was only when they were strolling by the abundance of fountains that the dark-haired girl spoke up, sounding rather reluctant. “That girl, Vellysa Sand, she…”
“I know,” Aeranys said simply.
“You do?” Allyria queried, shock in her round eyes. “Well, why’re you being so nice to her then?”
For a while the princess was quiet, keeping her gaze on the beautiful scenery around them. At last, she turned to look upon Allyria’s expressive face, where disgruntled confusion had settled into her furrowed brows. “I don’t see what I’d gain from being unkind to her,” she answered placidly.
“She might not be so generous in return,” Allyria pointed out, the curve of her mouth grim.
A breath left her lips, but it wasn’t a sigh of weariness--rather, it was the long-suffering countenance of her mother. “I know,” she repeated.