Aella Targaryen wed on the anniversary of her father's death. To her cousin, nonetheless, continuing the long-standing tradition of her family to marry their relatives. It was a day that was meant to bring joy and overshadow the sorrow that had purs...
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So this was how you died; in whispers that you did not hear
– Ernest Hemingway
°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°
The sky above Aella was dark, faintly sprinkled with dull stars, but the earth beneath her was ablaze with dragon fire. The air was hot and rippling, sending sweat rolling down her back beneath her black-scaled steel armour. Sweat wasn't the only thing coating her skin. Soot and grime covered her in layers, and she was faintly aware of the stickiness of blood running down her shoulder and arm.
Karnax rumbled a low roar beneath her and Aella felt it course through the entirety of her body. The world tilted as Karnax banked left, towards the Velaryon banners billowing in the distance. It took only a minute for them to cross the distance, gliding over the ocean between the islands with ease.
Aella had long grown numb to guilt after returning from a fight. Dragon flame was so searing, so volatile that she never knew how many lives she'd taken. And she would never know, because there was no way to tell. The first time she bathed the Triarchy's men in Karnax's flame, she stumbled from her saddle and vomited the second she touched the ground. Corlys held her hair from her face, and Daemon silently helped her back to her tent.
Now she barely reacted to the smell of burning flesh and the screams of dying men.
Karnax hit the ground with a loud thud and furled her wings close to her body. She lowered herself so Aella could climb off, and she did so quickly with only one misstep when her bleeding shoulder pulled too hard. The muscles wrapped around the arrowhead still stuck in her and Aella bit down on a cry.
The walk to the main war tent was frustratingly slow. Each step sent electric shocks up and down her arm, which hung loosely beside her body. The hour was late and many men were sleeping, but those who weren't bowed to her and muttered their greetings. Aella tried her best to nod back to them, but she was tired and everything hurt.
She managed her breathing, trying to keep herself from thinking of the silent but comforting walls of Dragonstone. She'd needed to get away, but now that she was here, and for so long as well, she didn't want to be there anymore. The only light at the Stepstones was Corlys and her nephew Laenor, and sometimes even Daemon, though she didn't dare indulge in any of her cravings and desires with him. There was only the occasional slow kiss when they were sure they were alone, but even those seemed to be dwindling in number, and Aella continued to wither away just as she did back at Dragonstone.
She pushed the canvas flap to the side as she entered the tent, stumbling a bit as she almost tripped over a stool placed by the map table in the centre. She cursed her nephew in her head, knowing it was most likely him who left the piece of furniture so carelessly strewn across the tent. Her anger quickly turned to fondness though, and she smiled through the ache in her body.
