𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 || Aemond Targaryen

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

19th day of the 3rd Moon, 121 AC

Lyanna Velaryon's carriage trailed at the rear of the royal procession, a deliberate choice that allowed her a pocket of solitude, away from Ser Otto's sharp eyes and Aemond's unreadable silences. Through the frost-laced window, she watched the North unfold—endless forests draped in snow, silent but for the crunch of hooves and wheel over ice-packed dirt. Winter had claimed the land in full, blanketing it in a quiet that felt ancient.

Tucked into her gloved palm was the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond had given her—a slender blade with a hilt carved from dragonglass, kissed with runes. A princely gift, but more than that, a warning. The cold was deeper here. Unnatural. And it hummed against the blade like a whispered omen.

Then came the scream.

It cut through the quiet like shattered glass—raw and human.

Lyanna's head snapped up. "Did you hear that?"

Freya stirred beside her, half-dozing. "Hear what?"

"I did," said Ser Rickard, tense across from her. "Could be a fox. Or worse."

Another scream. Closer now. This time, even the horses snorted in alarm.

"Stop the carriage!" Lyanna barked, throwing open the door before they'd fully halted. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she leapt down, skirts gathered. Rickard cursed, scrambling after her.

"Lyanna—wait!"

But she was already gone, drawn toward the treeline, dagger in hand. The forest swallowed her, muffling the shouts of the guards behind.

The sound led her to a clearing dusted with ice and shadow. And there—at the edge—stood a woman cloaked in blood red. Her face was calm despite the chill, hair flame-bright beneath her hood.

And just beyond her, something moved.

A figure emerged from the trees, tall and skeletal. His skin was pale as snow, translucent even, with eyes that burned an eerie blue. Not human—no. Something older. Wrong.

Lyanna stepped forward, eyes narrowing.

"Are you hurt?" she asked the red woman.

"I am not," the woman replied, voice like warm smoke. "But you might be."

Ser Rickard crashed into the clearing then, breath fogging, sword drawn. He moved without hesitation, placing himself between Lyanna and the creature.

"Stay behind me, my lady," he said, eyes locked on the blue-eyed monster.

The creature didn't speak. It advanced.

Rickard swung—and steel met ice. The blade cracked in two like a twig. The thing backhanded him into a tree with bone-cracking force. Lyanna gasped, stepping forward, dagger in hand.

"Don't!" the red woman hissed. "That blade—it might be enough."

The creature lunged. Lyanna didn't run. She met it. Dagger up, she drove it beneath the ribs, deep into its frozen heart.

For a beat, nothing.

Then cracks appeared across the creature's body like glass fracturing. And then—with a groan like breaking ice—it shattered.

Fragments of bone and frost fell around her, glinting in the dim light.

Behind her, guards thundered into the clearing, led by Ser Otto and Aemond astride his horse, sapphire eye glinting with fury.

"Lyanna!" Otto thundered. "What have you done?!"

"She saved us," the red woman said softly, stepping forward. "The blade she used... was forged for such things."