She is Daemon's daughter but she wants nothing from him, rides a dragon and doesn't shy away from a fight. She also hides a dangerous secret and has her own reasons for coming to King's Landing.
Aemond wonders if he can tame her.
✧...
Lia doesn't know how long it takes — to get out of the castle, wander into the city, through crowds, masses of colors and bodies, faceless and fire-lit. She must've run most of the way because by the time she reaches the Dragonpit, she is short of breath and her whole body burns. And it feels like she's about to fall into pieces. She can't tell what exactly hurts so bad — she's afraid to find out; she bites her lip and rushes past the guards and the dragonkeepers without saying a word, almost stumbling over her gown as the silk glides over the ground, a reddish hue swallowed by the darkness of the caves.
Olwen meets her fully awake, sensing her turmoil, already troubled by it. Lia commands him to follow her in a voice that doesn't sound like her own. One of the dragonkeepers tries warning her against taking the flight so late at night but she doesn't even turn to him, already holding the rope in her hand. The second they get outside, Lia climbs up, tearing the hem of her dress as she sharply sits in the saddle, as the shudder sprawls in her, gets to her every finger.
And then Olwen soars up into the sky that looks pitch black, void of any sparkle of light.
They fly against the wind, straight toward the thick curtain of clouds, its layers hiding tiny stars dimming in the distance. She waits for the wind to cut to her bones, for her limbs to go cold, to feel numb, but the ache in her chest is blazing. The flame of it goes higher and higher, spills into her veins — and the lump in her throat bursts into a howl. The pain rips through her like a wave, overwhelming and crushing, and the last bits of her restrain crumble, dissipating into the air, into nothing.
Did you think you had a chance?
How could you dare to hope?
The agony is engulfing, and Lia can't refrain from letting out a choked cry. And once she does, she doesn't know how to stop, the loud sounds coming out of her mouth uncontrollably like vomit as she breaks down and starts screaming into the darkness of the night, surrendering completely to her grieving that's hours old, months old, rekindled all over again. The distant stars are the only silent witnesses of it. They offer her no comfort.
Loving you is a hardship that no one can bear.
Her anguish is unfathomable, and her voice cracks but she screams and screams until her throat is sore — and then her cries turn into sobs. She is wailing and the tears are blinding, her vision blurry, and Lia can't care less if she slips and falls into the sea spread beneath. She wants to pull out her own heart, scrape it out with her bare hands so that her sorrowful weeping will stop. She wants the waves to swallow her, drag her to the very bottom if only it can bring her some relief, a glimpse of peace. But there is no solace for her tormented soul.
You have always been alone and you always will be.
Her body bends under the weight of her pain, fingers slipping off the edges of the saddle as she's bawling her eyes out, and the time is a current she's lost in. Hopeless and helpless, Lia is drowning in a whirlwind of emotions she forbade herself from feeling, locked deep inside and nailed shut — they are all erupting now, tearing her apart, cutting open her old scars and leaving new ones. She doesn't know how to patch these. She is so tired of cutting and bandaging, of the blood pouring and smearing and staining.
She is so tired of being all by herself.
Lia falls forward, slumped over the dragon's back, her suffering exhausting, sweltering, tied around her limbs like a rope. The wind dies down to a cold breeze that doesn't bite but strokes her cheeks, gentle in his attempts to wipe off all her tears. She doesn't have any left, she feels emptied. The wildfire of feelings in her chest cools down, turns to ashes, her heart beset by ice. She can't say if it's been an hour or two or three; she can't say a word or utter a sound, numbness covering her like a blanket.
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Lia barely comes to her senses when Olwen tilts to the side, and only out of some deep-routed, life-saving instinct, she grabs the reins. The dragon doesn't roar but rumbles, a deep sound resonating through the night sky as he descends, the clouds under his wings dark and crumbling like coal. She wants to tell him to fly her back to the mountains, to the graveyard left in place of her house, her village, to the ruins and hollowness that will only match how she feels inside. He instead flies to the place he knows can give them shelter, the one he now associates with warmth and comfort, and Lia can't find it in her to protest.
Olwen lands in front of the Dragonpit, shattered cobblestone crunching under his paws. The only source of light they are met with comes from a torch held by the dragonkeeper, the same thin and tired man, now looking not scared but concerned, trying to guess from Lia's broken state if she's in need of help. But there's no cure for heartache. Whether he gets the right hunch or knows it from some unfortunate, painfully unforgettable experience, he chooses not to pry and instead routinely commands the dragon to follow him.
The darkness pours from the canvas of the night into the caves, their walls muting the outside world. Lia doesn't really register the change, her cheek pressed to Olwen's back, her face blank, glassy-eyed. She lays not moving while fatigue pecks at her, grows in her, seizes her body, her skin tingling in the warm air. Other dragons' breathing echoes in the distance, a sound that's akin to the murmuring of waves, a soporific lullaby that pulls Lia's eyelids close. She doesn't see Olwen curling at his usual spot, doesn't notice the dragonkeeper glancing at her, discreetly and sadly, before leaving.
But her loneliness never leaves, the only constant in her life, the companion she can't get rid of or forget about. So Lia gives in to her somnolence willingly, obediently, the way a sinking boat gives in to the swirling sea waves.
The first dreams that come are freshly woven but they bring a poor offering: in them, she sees Aemond's empty seat, then Aemond's silent face, Aemond's rejection no words are needed for. And then she has to watch him talk and laugh and dance with someone else, a lady she's never seen who is undoubtedly prettier and smarter and better than Lia could ever be.
But the real horror creeps into her subconsciousness and then barges in, nonchalant as an old friend, audacious as a sworn enemy. Except, this nightmare isn't made up, this one she had to live through.
