Aenyra I
The night before the royal party was set to depart, Aenyra dreamt of dragons. She knew, standing there, that it was wrong to dream this. House Targaryen was dead, and so were their dragons. But she had never been able to stop those dreams since they first started, so she flew.
Climbing on the dragon's back took no effort that she could feel and the gigantic beast rose once she was properly seated. Her dragon—the one she had ridden almost every night for years—took especial care to ensure she did not feel any discomfort despite not having a saddle and she rewarded him with gentle brushes behind his horns. A commanding roar was all it took to summon two of its brethren from their caves, though one came slowly, reluctant to leave the shelter of the cave for anything except hunting. Another roar was all the warning she had before they soared through the skies.
The morning air was cold and cut like knives. She could feel it striking at the edges of her face, feel her mask slipping away piece by piece. Clouds were hanging low over the sky, so low that she felt she could touch them if she dared. Aenyra reached for the sun, nothing more than a bright silhouette hidden behind the grey. Urging her dragon to go higher and higher, Aenyra only looked above, as had become her habit the past years. The royal court had once gone to the Vale on one of Uncle Robert's many progresses. She had climbed a high tower of the Eyrie, until the air felt too thin to continue onwards anymore. She felt like that now, the rush in her blood not diminishing the lack of air and her dragon understood. Gliding downwards like a gift from the seven heavens, she could feel him tire from the exertion, her dragon's muscles straining beneath the hard scales.
Aenyra let out a shrill sound, filled with all the exhilaration her body could not contain anymore. The king's ward would never be heard uttering such a thing but she had left that mask somewhere in the clouds above. Fortunately, there never was anyone else in this part of the world in all her dreams of this place. They fell through the clouds together, beast and girl, both dragons of a kind. Now was the time she looked down from the azure sky, and regardless of the repetitiveness, she felt …wonder, perhaps. Or the three siblings, Aenyra had always been the best with words yet she could not describe the feeling of riding a dragon. Only a dragonlord would know how to describe it and only Old Valyria would have bothered. Shireen or Kaeron might know…..but I can't ask either about it. I suppose I will have to settle for simply feeling the word, she sardonically said to herself, as if it wasn't the grandest thing in her life.
The land was darker than any shadows the dragons could cast over it. Slowly but steadily, the three dragons descended on a rocky cliff and Aenyra climbed down from her beast, trying not to feel any guilt over not confiding in Cel or Kae about her dreams. They would enjoy it, she knew. Kaeron would love having all the power of a dragon at his command and Celaena would love the freedom it afforded her, just as she herself loved seeing the sights from above. It wouldn't be fair to tell them, not when they can never experience it themselves. I am the one who is satisfied by dreams and fantasies, they will yearn for more. A mighty bellow shook her out of her reverie and she walked to the edge of the cliffs, leaning over the edge to look below. Pale white stalks of a plant grew as far as she could see, taller than she would be even on horseback. It was the same in all her dreams.
"We're going to the North," she told her dragon, as if he could understand. "The only kingdom the court hasn't ever visited. Alongside Dorne, of course but only a mongoose would like to go there." Aenyra sat down, leaning on her dragon's side and continued. It was the only creature she could take freely to, after all. "Celaena is excited to go anywhere new as always, and Edwin is hoping to make a good impression on Lord Stark and his children. Elyana is excited, if only because it will delay her wedding for a few moons. But Kaeron is discomforted since Shireen isn't going. Well, he'll have to adjust to at least pretending to be like us mortals," she remarked, scratching the spot beneath its scales that the dragon loved, if the satisfied noises made were any indication.
"Edwin has gotten the bizarre idea of having Kae be his companion for the entire journey to Winterfell and back. I love my brother but Edwin should know better by now. All he'll do is read and be polite enough, when the Crown Prince is used to the sycophants hanging over his every word. His mother is outraged and my brother quietly disapproves, but when has the queen's anger ever deterred him? And most of Kaeron's emotions are too subtle for anyone to even notice their existence, let alone realize what he is feeling. Some days even I think I was overthinking it all and that he is simply an Other," she japed, the lack of noise telling her that the listener was already asleep. Wonderfully ironic; my dragon falls asleep just as I have to wake up.
The hard, quick knocks on her door told Aenyra that Lady Shara was in an unstable mood, as likely to scream as to laugh. She was out of her bed barely a second later, years of practice teaching her to not dwell on dreams. Getting dressed by herself—something she knew Celaena's beloved princely cousins would never think of doing—Aenyra stood in front of the mirror, reclaiming the mask she had discarded in her sleep. Her eyes did not look solemn enough, not as sorrowful as King Robert would want them to be in mourning his foster father, so she lowered her eyelids and thought of her mother. The best lies have hints of truth, she thought to herself. Whenever she needed to show herself as someone she was not, she would think of things that would make her feel as needed. Somehow, it worked. It is not a lie, she justified. If saying it helps the listener, it is not a lie. She chose to wear a blue dress, dark enough to not attract attention and light enough to not be considered black. If there was one thing worse than attracting attention, it was attracting attention as a Targaryen. Deciding to braid her hair down her back, despite the fact that it would show more of her face because it would be more practical, Aenyra took a deep breath.
The king's ward walked out of the chambers, the Maiden's Book of the Seven-Pointed Star in her hand. It always paid to be prepared and Celaena would doubtless want to chatter on about someplace in the east if given the chance. In addition to that, the text of the book was not bland and being a septa would be easier if she knew the holiest book of the Faith. Unlike her sister, Aenyra did not see the Faith as chains since it freed her from the prospect of marriage. She would not be her own mistress, true, but no men are unfettered in this world anyway. Only fools and bards believe otherwise.
The Tower of the Hand housed Aenyra and her siblings, just a floor above the chambers for the Lord Hand, and as she made her way downwards, she glimpsed Lady Lysa going to her son's room, her swollen belly requiring her to wear looser clothes that did not suit her well. The widow of Lord Jon was one of the few notable members of the court that would not be travelling with them to Winterfell, though their party would be joined by her daughter when they passed the Vale. Aenyra was one of the first to arrive at the great possession of carriages, horses, and wagons laid out near the gate of the Red Keep and she took her place near the one she would share with her sister and Lady Arwyn Arryn, once she joined them.
Standing with the carriage to her back and the view of anyone arriving, Aenyra could soon glimpse the lesser lords and knights arriving and checking that all their belongings had been packed by the servants. Their faces were expectant and the lords looked more impatient than the knights used to waiting for their superiors, though they all still looked sleepy. Her first hint that people of higher standing were arriving was the straightening of the servants' backs and the changes in their expressions. Kaeron arrived then, walking with a slight limp that wasn't noticeable unless you knew it was there. It must be the cold, she reasoned. The morning air was too crisp for autumn and it seemed to be enough to inflame his old injury. She had seen the portrait of Aegon and his sisters once, in a history lesson. Kaeron's face was all harsh lines, ethereal features like Queen Visenya's, with a Targaryen's inhuman beauty. Face set in a mask of neutral politeness—her brother was the only person she knew who wore a guise even more than she did—as it always was, his eyes darted to the procession of horses and men lined around her, seeing Aenyra before she had seen him. His silver hair, only curly enough to suit him and not so much as to be cumbersome, did not hang to his neck as was the fashion in court but was cut delicately. The shape of his pink, bowlike lips was wasted on a mouth that never smiled. His unsettling eyes were purple, not lilac, not violet but the true purple of the dragonlords of Dread Valyria. He was dressed too heavily she knew from looking at his heavy cloak yet Aenyra did not point it out to him. The other children—and even grown men—in the Red Keep never understood the purpose Kaeron had for doing things. In all fairness, neither could she, but she did know that they were wrong when they said he didn't have a reason for it. Kaeron Targaryen always had a reason. She could just never be certain they were good ones.
One of the royal family must be close behind, she reasoned. The servants would never have been so ready to attend to Kaeron. Another reminder of how far the line of the Conqueror has fallen, a treacherous voice in her whispered. Kaeron should have been a prince of House Targaryen and his sisters princesses. The king's ward banished the thought from her head but she could hear the rumbling growl of her dragon, dissatisfied with her.
Her prediction came true twice over when two quarrelsome princes walked out from the gate, waving the elder waving his hands around in annoyance. Prince Edwin and Prince Tommen, though brothers, looked as alike as day and night. Prince Edwin's straight, square jaw, aquiline nose, and warrior's frame made him the fantasy of many maidens in the Keep. Even the gazes of the young—and sometimes not so young—serving girls turned slightly wishful while looking at him. His father's fine straight hair and his deep blue eyes were only enhanced by his mother's beauty that could be glimpsed from the elegance in his features. Prince Tommen was Ser Jaime writ small, curled hair the colour of beaten gold and emerald eyes. All in all, Aenyra appreciated seeing the two beautiful princes as one might appreciate a beautiful sky on the day they plan to have a picnic. What she appreciated less was their heated argument that could cearly be heard as they came closer.
"Why can't I ride with you and father in the front?" The younger boy asked, in a tone perilously close to whining.
"Because mother will kill you, if you don't fall from your horse and manage it yourself," Prince Edwin answered impatiently. "As father has said before, you'll be riding in the wheelhouse."
"But I don't want to ride in the wheelhouse! You just aren't letting me because you know father will realise I'm a better rider," Tommen accused.
"You spoiled brat—" Aenyra spoke up as if she hadn't heard him, more worried about forstalling an argument than interrupting the Crown Prince.
"Prince Edwin, Prince Tommen. What I lovely day it is today, is it not?"
"It will be an even lovelier day when you stop referring to me as 'Prince' Edwin, Nyra. I've told you to call me by my name," he said.
"You are the Prince. I'm supposed to call you so," she reminded him before turning to his younger brother that was stilling glaring at his brother and the wheelhouse. "Is Her Grace eager to visit her cousin in Riverrun, Prince Tommen? I believe Lady Cerenna's son is around your age as well."
"Mother wants to visit Casterly Rock too, but Uncle Jaime will meet us there instead," the prince mumbled, his anger diffusing a little. "Ceryanne will be there too then, won't she? How far away is Riverrun? Can we reach it in a few days?"
"We'll likely reach it in something close to a fortnight," she said with a smile, watching with a little amusement how the little prince's ears turned red before he went to find his sister. It would be Myrcella, of course. The younger of the queen's children always had a thorny relationship with the elder.
"It's a wonder how any one can work around you without going as red as a Reyne," Edwin mused from behind her.
Aenyra just directed a bright smile at him and turned towards the door as a faint pink coloured his cheeks. Celaena ran out from the door, likely having run from her room judging by her panting. She gave a casual greeting to Edwin before explaining how she had overslept, her unruly hair serving as evidence. Her sister had all the looks of their supposed father, a Dothraki khal from across the Narrow Sea. With black hair and black eyes, her fair skin colour was the only thing she had in common with Kaeron and Aenyra, having none of the surpassing beauty the rest of their house were famous for.
"So," her sister said. "Excited to meet your betrothed, Edwin? Had any beautiful maiden coming to you in dreams?"
"She might have, though I wouldn't have recognised Lady Sansa since I have never met her," he quipped.
"Oh, but I'm not talking of Lady Stark. There is someone closer to home in your dreams, isn't there?" Celaena directed her attention to Aenyra on receiving no answer from the prince. As if everyone this side of the Narrow Sea doesn't see him making moon-eyes at Talla Tarly. "What about you, Aenyra? Had any good dreams recently?"
Her heart raced, but she forced herself to maintain composure. They can't see me, no one knows it. "No, I'm afraid not," she said as lightly as she could manage. She knew to never mention the dragon dreams—that's what she called her strange dreams—to anyone. The rage in the King's eyes when he spoke of dragons never dulled, even after all the years and it frightened her, though the man had never scolded her harder than he did any of his own children. She had been beaten and left without food for a day by the maester and Lady Shara when she had expressed a desire to ride the dragons the way her ancestors had. Still, she knew she was being treated better than she deserved, being a 'dragon bastard of incest' as Queen Cersei was always quick to remind her.
Her mask was close to slipping so she looked downwards, adjusting the folds of her dress to buy her time. Uncle Robert saved her by his arrival, a hand clasped on his nephew's back. Boremund's eyes met hers for a moment before she could look away and she all but ran into the carriage in the hopes that he would not seek to speak to her. He didn't, and soon they were off, leaving the Baratheon boy behind but not her guilt.