But Elenei would not to so easily dictated to. The wind could howl all it pleased with her mother's ire and the seas could swirl and spew and blacken with her father's anger, she would not be bowed. Holding her head up high, the young daughter of the summer breeze and sweet waves swam from her father's halls once more to the shore.

As they had planned, Durran awaited her on the steep rock, looking far into the horizon. Young and strong was he, Durran Godsgrief, imposing with the heavy sword at his hip. And yet upon glancing to fair Elenei the blue depths of his eyes lost their frost and warmed. For to see Elenei was to love her. Daughter of the gods, perfect in every way, she had stolen more than the human's heart with her smiles.

In their grief the gods decided that he was to be punished. And so every castle Durran made by the sea that had created his Elenei would fall with the sun. The King of the Sea called to his horses, demonic beings born of the foam and seaweed, and they rode one and one until they touched the rock, until they jumped over jagged edges and onto freshly lain stone. Hooves beat upon the blocks, fissuring and cracking the work of a hundred days. And each time Durran's castles fell.

In the ruins Elenei held him close to her, weeping her despair, steeling her heart and further defying those who'd breathed life into her. And each time Durran swore he would build a bigger castle, one that could withstand the storm, one that not even the gods with all their power could break into pieces. Fed by his own fury, he bellowed his plans to the heaven, issuing a challenge that could not be ignored.

"Should my seventh castle fall under your attack, I shall give back your daughter. But if my castle holds, Elenei remains with me!" So said he onto the gods that watched him with contempt. Elenei pledged herself to her husband's wishes, she would follow his oath.

Thinking they had won, the parents of fair Elenei waited for the seventh castle of Durran to be raised. But the man had learned from his past experiences. He would not meet another storm unprepared. So it came to pass that Durran left his lady wife in search of a power that rivalled the gods and also to find a man capable of outwitting the divine.

Seven long years he wandered the earth, slaying creatures of darkness and bringing light to people who had never thought they would see it. Until on the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year he came upon the hut of an old witch.

"I know what you search for, Storm King," she told him. "And if you lend me hand in my time of need, I shall repay you in kind. There is someone, aye; someone who not even the gods can match in his craft."

"Ask and I shall provide what it is you need," Durran made her the promise. It seemed that luck had finally found him. Victory close at hand, the human lover of Elenei sat upon the hard ground and listened to the hag.

Aeron's voice cracks slightly as he reads. Rhaegon sits on the settee next to his brother and listens intently to the legend of Durran and Elenei. There are times when he regrets not having sight, but this is not one of them. There is a sort of comfort to be found in the presence of his siblings.

"I like this story so much," Alysanna whispers from his left, her voice soft as to not interrupt Aeron. Her arm touches her brothers and she is quiet after.

Rhaegon breathes in at the contact. Having been born without the blessing of sight his other senses are, perhaps, more developed that one would have thought. For instance he knows that his sister wears a dress with circular patterns as his fingers brush the brocade and the sewn shapes. He can also tell that she's had lemon cakes again. There is the faint scent of lemons coming from her side. And then there is the warmth of her hand against his.

Jon had chosen to ride with father which leaves the rest of them with mother. Lyanna sits next to her only daughter, her longer limbs making it possible for her hand to rest on his shoulder. Rhaegon relishes in her touch. His mother understands him like no one else. The young Prince supposes it is to be expected, for she gave them all life. If she does not understand them, then who would? He can hear her humming her approval at Aeron's skill, and Rhaegon smiles. Aeron does not find much pleasure in reading, but he does it anyway. He reads because he knows that Rhaegon does love the tales.

As children, Rhaegon remembers that cruel whispers made him sad. He would often hide away in his rooms and weep over what came from the mouth of others. At that time he cursed being born with this flaw. Aeron had been the one to find him, and upon extracting from him the reason of his distressed he'd done something which had then baffled Rhaegon. Quite seriously he had grasped his brother's hand and said to him, "Symeon Star-Eyes had jewels to replace the eyes he lost. But you don't need those. You have something better. Me! I'll be your eyes."

And as he had promised all those years past, Aeron sees for both Rhaegon and himself. Only in dreams does Rhaegon ever see the shapes of the world surrounding him. When he flies over the hills and valleys, when he touches the water with thin wings; then he can see. That is the strangest thing is that he flies always in the shape of a dragon, never as his human self. But these visions he keeps to himself.

"He is really good," Lyanna praises her son who continues reading. "Are you enjoying this, Rhaegon?" There must be a special place for her blind son in her heart, for Lyanna is especially careful of him.

"Very much, mother." And Rhaegon loves her back just as much. It is for this reason that he is shy of speaking to her or father about his dreams. He has already burdened them with his blindness. Should be provoke them further pain with promises of madness? Nay, the Prince will not do so. His secret he will carry himself. Nobody but he can know.

"I'm glad." He hears the words as they leave his mother's lips and Rhaegon smiles returning his attention to the story, waiting for Durran to come upon Brandon Stark, the one whom they call the Builder.

Just now, Rhaegon is glad they are heading North.

A/N: I've been thinking of starting a small piece dedicated to the legends circulating around Westeros (and not only). What do you think? Would you be interested in reading something like that?