dancing with our hands tied | r. targaryen

lxix.

170 A.C.
KING'S LANDING
•••

IN THE REALM OF LIFE, TIME PAINTS LANDSCAPES WITH ITS BRUSH. IT GIVES BIRTH TO NEW BEGINNINGS, where hope blossoms like flowers in spring. It is the builder of growth and transformation, sculpting each moment into a stepping stone toward the future.

Yet, as time weaves its intricate tapestry, it too carries the weight of impermanence. The vibrancy of life, once so radiant, slowly fades with the touch of its caress. The luster of youth diminishes, and the once-boundless energy yields to the inevitability of age.

In this cycle, life becomes intertwined with death, for they are two sides of the same coin. As time marches on, it unveils the fragility of existence, reminding us that everything has its season. The once-pulsating heartbeats begin to wane, and the melodies of life are replaced by the solemn dirge of mortality.

Through the passage of time, the fleeting nature of the mortal coil is witnessed. The vibrant hues of the world transform into muted shades, as the years etch lines upon faces and weigh heavily upon weary bones. Dreams, once held aloft like kites in the wind, begin to fade, as the sands of time slip through grasp.

But within this passage, there is also beauty to be found. It is in the embrace of loved ones, the laughter shared, and the memories woven into the fabric of ones being. It is in the knowledge that, though life may end, its echoes continue to resonate through the hearts of those who remain.

Death, the inevitable companion of life, is not an end but a transformation. It is a reminder of the preciousness of every breath we take, urging us to savor each fleeting moment, for they are the threads that weave the tapestry of our existence.

Death was upon Queen Rhaenyra. She did not know it. No one did.

It was the second name-day of Princess Aemma, the youngest daughter of Princess Laena and her husband Rickon Stark. A huge tourney had been thrown in the young Princess's name with lords and ladies of the realm travelling from all about to celebrate her. For the first time in years, all of the children of Rhaenrya and Alayne would be in King's Landing.

Lucerys Velaryon, a man of 45 years was tall and handsome. He was beloved by highborn and lowborn alike. With the years he'd gained the confidence of his elder brother and his diplomacy. A time came when Alayne Hightower stepped down and allowed the crown heir to take her place as the queen's Hand.

And though Luke was a man, he was still a boy at heart when it came to seeing his family.

"This castle is still the same," Elissa mutters to her husband, "It's as though I never left. But I did leave. I left and had four children."

Cregan chuckles, "I'm well aware."

"And you'd think that we're special and that someone would be there to greet us," Elissa mutters, "I mean it is our grandchild's nameday. Our grandchildren who shall someday sit the Iron Throne."

"Elissa!" Lucerys exclaims as he rounds a corner.

"Luke!" Elissa yells at the sight of him. All complaints are forgotten as she abandons her husband and takes off running and jumps into Lucerys arms. He scoops her up and spins her around. It had been two years since they'd last seen one another at the birth of their granddaughter who they were celebrating today.

Luke places her back on the ground and looks over at Cregan, "Lord Cregan."

"My Prince," Cregan greets.

"Yes yes," Elissa says dismissing the formalities between the two, "Luke, is that a grey hair?"

"What?" Luke asks as he begins running his fingers through his hair. Elissa laughs at the panicked look.