"It is not about just saying the words. Anyone can speak High Valyrian, but the power within you is what causes the magic. Without that inner strength those words are just words and nothing more. You have to focus and believe. Now," Malora broke her speech as they sat within Lord Leyton's hidden chambers. The old maid was teaching Shona incantations and charms from the water damaged spellbook they had been focusing on for the past three days. Malora pointed to the word underlined in red: dracarys and said, "Dracarys is fire. To any normal person it is just a word, but to us it is so much more."
Malora turned to the empty fireplace where a fresh log sat waiting. Malora narrowed her eyes and held out a long fingered hand with her palm facing the wood before she whispered the word in a low tone almost inaudible to the girl beside her. Flames swirled around her open palm and shot in a forward arch towards the waiting log. The flames hit the white wood, and Shona watched in awe as they danced against wood making crackles and pops all the while. The log was now ablaze, and Malora looked towards Shona with a slight smile twitching at her thin lips.
"Now you." Malora spoke and stepped away. She waved Shona forward to where she had previously stood and extinguished the flames instantaneously. Shona took a deep breath before standing in a wide stance. She brought one shaking hand upward with the palm facing outward and said the word: dracarys. Her eyes had been closed when the word rushed forward from her lips, and when she opened them she frowned at the sight of no flames flickering in the fireplace as expected, "What did I do wrong?"
"You didn't do anything wrong, but you need to feel it. Focus on it in your mind. Tell your mind what you want to happen and it will occur. Now, again. Dracarys."
Shona sighed and turned to face the fireplace once more. She imagined a crackling fire in her mind. She smelled the charred wood. Felt the warmth on her pale skin. Shona inhaled and could almost smell the scent of fragrant wood. She held up her open palm once more and in a firm whisper snapped, "Dracarys." The feeling was something she could not describe. She felt the heat of flame dance over her palm, swirling over her wrist, and pop under her fingertips. Sparks flew forth as she opened her eyes. Just as the flames were almost shooting outward she lost her train of thought and they billowed out with a crack of smoke clouding the room. Lord Leyton coughed loudly from his desk waving away the smoke from his grimacing face.
"Can't a man work in his own chambers without dying from smoke inhalation?" Leyton grumbled. Malora shot her father a quick glare and he laughed at her, "Don't forget who is still Lord of this keep, girl."
"Yes father," Malora spoke sweetly. The room aired out slowly once she opened the doors. Shona was exhausted suddenly and slumped down onto the embroidered cushion featuring the Targaryen sigil, "Do not feel disheartened. You are doing wonderfully for practicing for such a short period of time. It would take years to master the magic we possess and devices even I do not possess to harness it properly. Hightower women have been practicing Necromancy and Alchemy for centuries."
"I do not feel the power within myself strongly enough to harness it," Shona muttered bitterly staring strangely at her still throbbing fingertips sore with effort, "The most I can do is cause a smokescreen."
"That is impressive in itself," Lord Leyton spoke then with a crooked brow in her direction. The official Lord of Oldtown sat stoically atop a plush chair cushioned by heavy velvet pillows. He laced his slender fingers together and leaned back comfortably with a frown, "Malora is borderline useless at Necromancy. I believe your talents lie elsewhere. It's unusual for our family but you might be more adept at Animancy."
"Father," Malora spoke softly with her own brows knitted tightly together in silent frustration but she was interrupted by Lord Leyton once more, "Quiet, Malora. I know what I am talking about! Get the book."
"If she cannot master the elementals she surely cannot master life magic," Malora scoffed as she shook her frizzy head. Her puff of curls swayed forward as she bobbed sending her hands upward to push them back into place.
"Do as I say and refrain from back talk," Lord Leyton drawled slowly with his nostrils flared in anger. Malora gave her father one last look of frustration before she was on her feet and out of the room supposedly heading for her own chambers above Lord Leytons connected only by a gilded spiral staircase that spanned three stories. She had made the trip several times within the past week and a half they had been home within The Hightower and knew the steps like the back of her hand by then.
"Are you scared?" Lord Leyton asked of his granddaughter who was chewing her lip and twirling hair around a sole finger in wait. Shona was quick to nod without making a sound. He smiled softly, "Courage is knowing what not to fear."
His words did nothing for her for she truly was terrified. Terrified of herself, of her feelings, and even for the unknown. She was scared for Tyrion Lannister. Shona Hightower was even scared for Daenerys Targaryen whom she had never met.
"Is Daenerys… kind?" She wondered aloud to which her grandfather scoffed, "Targaryen blood does not often breed kindness. I have never met the girl only her father. Now that man was a right piece of work. The Mad King, they called him, and for good reason. The man was a loon."
"Was he always that way?" She asked in curiosity. She turned in her oak chair towards her grandfather who was sitting with a fierce look upon his handsomely lined face with fingers still laced just resting above his stomach. The corners of his mouth were turned deeply down as if speaking of Aerys Targaryen caused him some deep inner pain.
He rubbed at his chin in thought before speaking plainly to his youngest grandchild, "Aerys Targaryen was always strange; even as a boy. He heard things nobody else could hear. Whispers. He was truly crazy and everyone could see it. Rhaegar would have been a fine king had he lived."
"You knew Prince Rhaegar as well?" Shona asked in surprise to which her grandfather sent her a look of annoyance, "Do you not listen, girl? Our family has been loyal to The Targaryen family since before even I was born. Of course I knew Prince Rhaegar."
"Did he really steal away Lyanna Stark?" The blonde haired girl whispered with eyes wide. This was the first time she had heard anyone speak openly of Prince Rhaegar. Her curiosity was almost bubbling up out of her throat causing words and sentences to form without consulting her mind first.
"A rumor and a bad one at that. Something made up by Robert's supporters to warrant a war nobody but Robert wanted to fight. Nobody knows what really happened between the Stark bitch and Rhaegar but those personally involved, and they are all long gone," Leyton had snorted sounding utterly perplexed by the notion that Rhaegar was anything but a proper prince unable of something so vulgar.
"But-" Shona was this time caught off guard by Malora who was rushing down the golden steps with her dress dragging the floor. The hem was ragged and riddled with dirt. She spoke just as Shona stumbled to her feet, "Shona, your father is in your chambers."
Shona blinked and uttered a simple, "My father?"
"Baelor, girl, your father?" Leyton hissed pushing at her shoulder sending the young girl stumbling towards the steps, "Go before we all get caught in a bad lie."
"Goodbye, grandfather. I shall return later."
With that Shona was flying up the steps from which her aunt had just descended fleeing as quickly as her corseted dress would allow her to. Her legs were aching by the time she climbed the three flights and made her way to her own chamber with its open balcony where Baelor Brightsmile sat without his trademark grin. Her father looked exhausted and for good reason. She almost felt poorly for keeping Lord Leyton's life a secret from him.
"My sweet daughter."
He smiled softly as she sat across from him at the table. Blaze was situated at his feet getting his ears scratched. The pup had grown two feet since Baelor had last seen him. Bigger than any other of his litter mates by far with long slender legs and pricked ears that heard all. He was a fine animal and he couldn't help but smile wider when the animal left his side for his master's with tail flinging in apparent happiness. Shona tugged at his soft ears with her own grin so much like his own. It made his heart ache even more for his little girl who had always rode in front of himself on long horseback rides around Oldtown was truly a woman grown. He couldn't be more proud of her tender heart.
"Father. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you came for me. I was reading."
"Anything interesting?" Baelor questioned as his eyes skimmed her sullen and tired features.
"Oh," she gulped in surprise. Her eyes widened in fear and she did not even try to make up a lie at that moment, "just alchemy and such."
"Alchemy?" Baelor boomed with a laugh, "You are just like your grandfather. You might be spending too much time with Mad Malora."
"Aunt Malora is wonderful and teaches me quite a lot. I enjoy my time with her. I am learning how to make potions for health and wellness," It was a variation of the truth though not the whole thing. As such the words were not a lie for which Shona felt pleasure. She did not entirely enjoy lying right to her smiling father's face.
"Malora is a special woman," Baelor agreed lacing his fingers much like Leyton had in his hidden chambers, "She was always very adept at Alchemy which pleased father to no end. I never did grasp the concept but Malora could craft the most intricate metal figurines. She was an expert at transmuting metals by the time she was your age as well. She used to work with the blacksmiths before she started spending so much time locked away with Father."
"What did she do with the blacksmiths?" Shona asked in surprise, "Make weapons?"
"Exactly that," Baelor nodded at her guess, "Malora was rather talented at crafting weaponry. It's something I haven't seen her done in years, unfortunately. Maybe you could get her to teach you a few things? Get out of the tower more."
"That sounds delightful, father, truly. I must ask," Shona sat down atop the chaise lounge that faced the wide open awnings draped in sheer curtains that billowed in the breeze, "have you heard news from King's Landing?"
"We have discussed this," Baelor sighed settling beside her with a hand braced upon her shoulder, "I find it in your best interest as to not be knowledgeable of the charades of King's Landing. You are home safe and that is all that matters now."
"How is it in my best interest to be willingly ignorant? Margaery is my friend. King Tommen is my friend. Tyrion Lannister is, or rather was, my friend. I have every right to know."
"You remind me of my father when you have your mind set on something," Lord Baelor said softly running a quick hand over his daughter's soft curls. The tilt of her head, set of her chin, and the downturned corners of her mouth were all so Lord Leyton Hightower. Her brains were even more so alike to his deceased father. He had rarely seen the old Lord in his old age but a sinking pain still settled deep within his gut at the thought of him. Being the new Lord of the Hightower was something he probably would never adjust to being and within reason. Lord Leyton had ran his tower like a well oiled machine for many years, long before Baelor was even a babe, and he often feared what was to become of his holdfast for he doubted his ability to sit as Lord. Then again he never possessed the chance to try. Looking at his daughter gave him light in his eyes, "Margaery and Tommen are to wed. Tyrion Lannister has vanished into thin air. Sansa Stark has yet to be seen. King's Landing is, overall, in shambles and worse yet Daenerys Targaryen has gained momentum in Essos. Something tells me that war is coming much like the winter and for that my fear grows in bounds on the daily."
Shona turned her bright eyes to her father in that moment. She could no longer let fear consume her much like how her father could no longer allow it to interfere with his judgements as Lord. They both had mountains of pressure on their shoulders. She straightened her spine and stood slowly her body silhouetted by the setting sun outside illuminating her face in shades of orange making her hair gleam. She spoke with more wisdom than Lord Baelor had ever heard come forth from the lips of youth as she repeated her grandfather's words, "Courage is knowing what not to fear."
And the old Lord had been right