the dragon must eat the serpent. the serpent will poison the dragon.
❪ blood moonlit ❫ in which lady taenysa of qarth is thrown to the maws of the great targaryen dragons, and she must fight if she is to survive.
⁺ warning : typ...
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TAENYSA FOUND HERSELF being ushered into a grand, open hall — a cavernous spaced adorned not with the crimson banners of the three-headed Targaryen dragon that flew in the wind outside, but rather a great seven-pointed star, of what she assumed was the Westerosi Faith.
The great stone star seemed to reverberate throughout every corner over the vast chamber, echoing itself into the very fabric that ran the Red Keep in this age. The tapestries on the walls depicted, not scenes of the Old Gods of Westeros alongside the Great dragons, but rather of divine worship at the altar.
But nevertheless, the architecture of the Red Keep was an ode to a century of unbroken Targaryen power. Strong, unyielding and of ancient stone, the palace had high, vaulted ceilings with their ribs forming a skeletal structure that seemed to support the heavens themselves.
Grand columns, carved with motifs of the Faith, rose from the floor like ancient sentinels, bearing the weight of an age past — and an age that was yet to come.
She was being ushered forward by Queen Alicent's kind, but firm hand, and with her entourage of attendants trailing behind her, before fluttering by in flighty fabrics and the sweet scent of rose and precious resinous woods.
At her side was Tycho, his long limbs loose and carefree in his usual gait, but his sharp, dark eyes were more careful than usual — and he exchanged a silent, apprehensive glance with her before being shepherded away to his own, new quarters in a different wing of the castle.
Now alone with the lovely Queen Alicent, Taenysa was led through endless labyrinthine corridors, with each turn revealing more of the Red Keep's majestic, yet awfully expansive interior. Oh! How she felt herself slowly becoming short of breath, and she kept her words short so the Queen would not hear her desperately trying to replace the air she lost on each flight of stairs.
And how she was relieved when the Queen suddenly stopped, her voluminous skirt stilling just a second after her movements. These new chambers were clearly a sanctuary of faded grandeur, where echoes of old glory lingered in the air like a ghostly reverie.
The room was vast and dimly lit, with heavy velvet drapes drawn against the cold daylight, casting deeper shadows that seemed to dance upon the walls. The scent of old parchment, and heavy medicinal herbs mingled with the faint aroma of a burnt incense, and Taenysa suddenly found the room all too somber and stifling.
Each wall was lined with towering bookshelves, each crammed with ancient tomes and scrolls that Taenysa wagered most book-keepers would pay a fortune to get their hands on. And there, a massive and intricately carved desk dominated one corner of the room, its surface cluttered with sketched maps, letters and one half-eaten meal, as the meat still hung off the bone.
And here, in front of her, and under the fretting hand of the Queen, was an elderly man who sat stiffly in a high-backed chair. His eyes were clouded with age, like a thin layer of fog had settled over them. It seemed that the room, just like its occupant, was no more than a relic — desperately clinging to a prayer.
