LAENYS VELARYON, Lady of the Tides, princess of Dragonstone, youngest daughter of Corlys Velaryon-Lord of the Tides-and Rhaenys Targaryen-the Queen Who Never Was.
No one in all the realms believed that Rhaenys was with child when she announced it pu...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
🐉
(gore)
The grand halls of Pyke were as imposing as they were dark, the stone walls seeming to absorb the flickering torchlight rather than reflect it. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and iron, a constant reminder of the harsh environment of the Iron Islands. The long table was laden with the remains of a hearty feast, though the atmosphere was far from festive.
Laenys Velaryon stood tall, her presence commanding attention despite the weariness that clung to her from the long journey. Lord Dalton Greyjoy, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker, had just given instructions to a redheaded servant girl to take the princess to her chambers.
The servant girl, her hair a vivid contrast to the dim surroundings, bowed her head and approached Laenys. "This way, princess," she said softly. Laenys followed the girl through the winding corridors of Pyke, the stone beneath her feet cold and unyielding. As they walked, Laenys observed the girl, noting the tension in her shoulders and the hesitance in her steps. After a few moments of silence, she decided to speak.
"What is your name?" Laenys asked, her tone gentle.
The girl glanced back, her blue eyes wide with surprise. "Eleyna, my lady," she replied.
"It's a beautiful name," Laenys said with a warm smile. "Have you always lived on the Iron Islands?"
"All my life, princess," Eleyna answered quietly. "I was born on the Iron Islands." Laenys nodded, sensing the girl's reticence. "How is it being in your lord's company? He is a strange man, is he not?" she asked softly, trying to joke with the servant girl, however, a soft frown adorned her lips.
Eleyna hesitated, her eyes darting around as if afraid someone might overhear. "It is not... perfect," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lord Dalton... he... he is not a kind man. I cannot seem to escape his grasp. He... his hands... they are always reaching." her words caused a feeling of nausea to settle in Laenys' belly. Her words only reminded her of when she had to provide Moon Tea to one of her very own servants.
"I am... deeply sorry, Eleyna. Truly," she spoke genuinely, however, she could not do much in her position, keeping Dalton in a position where he'd be willing to provide his men was not an alliance to toy with.
"Thank you for your sympathy, princess," she whispered.
They continued in silence until they reached Laenys' chambers. Eleyna pushed open the heavy wooden door, revealing a spacious room lit by several candles. The bed was large, draped in rich fabrics, and laid out upon it was a set of armor.
Laenys approached the bed, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the sight of the armor. It was smelted out of iron, the sharp shoulder plates giving it a fearsome appearance. The Targaryen sigil was emblazoned on the front, the three-headed dragon standing out in stark relief. On the shoulders were the Velaryon sigils, a proud reminder of her heritage. Attached to the back was a black cape, adorned with the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
