Verkyra Targaryen, eldest child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, born within the darkness of the 7 realms, gods sole heir to eternal tranquility.
A child, destined for war, not for love.
Yet she loved, so love was taken from her.
Will she conquer the world...
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02. Blood and honor
Having spent hours soaring high above the world on Vermithor's collosal wings, Verkyra had felt an elusive sense of peace. Yet now, lying restless in her bed, that fleeting tranquility seemed as if a distant dream. Despite the exhaustion etched into her features, the princess remained wide awake, her thoughts spiraling into dark corners. The fear of her mind unraveling, of the darkness within her unleashing fiery ruin upon King's Landing, gnawed at her, a byproduct of the insomnia that haunted her each night.
Verkyra swiftly got up from her bed, only to immediately regret her choice as a sharp pang of pain surged through her muscles. The strain of dragon riding, even after years of mastering the skies was an unforgiving endeavor. Engaging in dragonriding proved to be an extremely challenging activity, despite years of doing so.
With a lackadaisical demeanor, she meandered towards her warderobe, exchanging her nightwear for an uncomplicated dress. Contemplating the prospect of remaining in her chambers throughout the night, gazing at the ceiling while plagued with sleeplessness, she feared an imminent descent into madness.
A hefty sight escaped her cupid lips, her breath like a whispered lament as she decided upon wandering around the Red Keep.
She bothered not being heard or seen as she proceeded with assertive footsteps that resonated loudly on the floor. Six years away had left the castle's layout a blur in her mind, she felt adrift, her directionless steps a mirror to her own inner turmoil. Now her only hope was to avoid yet another bitter encounter.
She cursed herself for returning to this place, a realm of ghosts and shadows where the past clung to her like a shroud. Memories of whispered accusations and cruel judgment echoed in her mind — how small folk portrayed her as a figure so devoid of love that her gaze caused the demise for men.
Her mind began to claw her soul, threatening to drag her into the abyss, but she fought against it, her rapid heart pounding as she approached a door that seemed to beckon her. It was familiar, hauntingly so — the door to mother's chambers. She hesitated, battling with ghosts of her past, before finally summoning the courage to step inside.
The room was shrouded in darkness, thick and suffocating. It steeped her in memories as Kyra patiently waited for her eyes to acclimate to the lack of light.
"What brings you here, Verkyra?"
The voice startled her, slicing through the night like a knife. It was her mother, Rhaenyra, who had somehow known it was her daughter who had granted her a nocturnal visit.
"Sleep escapes me." the princess murmured, voice barely a whisper, laced with the weariness of her endless struggle with the night. She slowly crossed the room, seeking refuge in mother's embrace, a rare comfort she had longed for but seldom allowed herself.
