PHOENIX RISING, aemond targaryen

CHAPTER ONE

What could of been.

There was a gentle breeze upon the horizon that morning, a mere soft brush of the winds to dance over fragile skin, for the invisible caresses of fingers to intertwine through crimson hair, all sweet and delicate and almost loving in a way divinity could never hope to be. It was almost as if the heavens themselves feared that anything stronger than that tender embrace would leave the girl sitting beneath the willow tree to crumble like the ruins of the childhood still held in her deadly grip. And perhaps, there was some truth in those fears...because, after all, Maelyrra was and always would be disease made flesh.

She had been born upon a night like no over with a sickness frayed beneath her veins like bloodied roots of rot, clinging to her mortal corpse like a shadow, like an ever haunting ghost of ruination, screaming in her ear like a banshee welcoming her home to the sweet stench of death...where the only truth of her being was her infliction. From the moment she could walk with a crutch held in trembling fingers that ached with the burden of survival, she was forced to hear the damning whispers full of accusation that were cast down upon her like an echo by the masses.

Somehow, all saying the same thing through different mouths, different tongues, different ideals and blood...that she simply didn't belong.

Rumours had danced around her, winding around the young girls throat, choking her upon their cruel speculations that grew worse as she did in the dying light that were never confirmed but always denied until blood had swelled between perfect teeth...that she was a curse sent to ruin the Targaryen line, that the only reason the Princess had taken her beneath her scaled wing was to claim a marriage proposal to her father, that she was nothing more than a orphan, maybe she was nothing at all except for blessed with luck through fates amusement that pulled the mortal realm like it was a mere puppet hanging from its golden strings of absolution.

All because of the cursed red of her hair that shone like bloodied sin in the swell of the burning sun and moondrunk sorrows of the night, a massacre of red agonies condemning her with its devastation, its desire to ruin her most completely with the truth of her heritage, her life. The only thing that was truly beautiful about the frail corpse of her sickly body those dreadful whispers liked to remind her, that was wasted upon the death made flesh and delicate bone...and it was the there to simply serve the reminder that she was simply Rhaenyra's pitied ward that should of been left for dead.

"Mae! Mae! Seven hells, where are you? Come out now, your princess demands it! We're all waiting for you, you little pest."

And just like that, Maelyrra was pulled from the dark thoughts that had forsaken her most cruely at the strong voice calling out to her through the shadows, leaching her away from the book in hand that had long since gone limp in her delicate fingers, breath catching in her birdcage chest that erupted in agony as she winced and hissed through her teeth. But of course, it only took her a few moments to recognise such a calling, that familar nickname that only one creation loved to call her...and she looked up just in time to find her Jacaerys standing in the garden she had taken refuge in, looking around in a frantic desperation as the sun flickered behind him.

Ah, it seemed that the ever grinding sands of time had slipped away from her once more, that she had lost herself in the stories of old, of valiant knights and all powerful beasts, of slaughter and curses and magic that had long since abandoned the mortal realm and leave it to rot, of true loves kiss bestowed upon those who didn't truly appear to ever actually deserve it...but then again, the young girl was sure she was just being rather bitter indeed. The colourful pages fluttered limply against one another as she closed the book, tracing the leather bound edge with a quiet hum, before finally dragging her gaze to that head of curls once more, and grinned in a way a child about to cause mischief only could.