[1] SEVEN SINS, Aegon II Targaryen

[9] syrax

[9]
SYRAX

The day came when Maera Targaryen met her betrothed in flesh once again.

Just the day before, she had been knee-deep in the aftermath of chaos—cleaning up after Vhagar's destruction, her hands stained not with blood but with the duty of mending what had been torn asunder. She had tended to the poor souls affected by the devastation, offering a hand where she could. Between calculating budget linguistics and drafting plans for shelters, her mind had been consumed with the pragmatic needs of rebuilding.

Yet, as if the demands of one realm were not enough, Maera now stood at the precipice of another duty—one far more personal; Rhaenyra and her sons. As the crown hovered just beyond her grasp, so too did the shadow of family, of politics, of promises that could not be broken. And amid all this, Jacaerys—her betrothed—stood waiting, another obstacle in the intricate challenge of her fate.

     She raced through the halls of the keep, her breath quick, dress gathered tightly in her hands as it billowed behind her like the wings of a fleeing bird. Her violet eyes, wide with urgency, swept the corridors, searching for that familiar mop of brunette curls.

Eventually, her feet carried her to the training yard, where the clash of steel on steel echoed through the crisp air. She spotted the two Velaryon boys at once, their thin forms darting and weaving as they sparred with wooden practice swords. Though the ground was slick with mud from the morning's rain, she didn't hesitate. With skirts gathered and determination in her heart, she ran toward them, her steps light but swift, barely faltering despite the muck beneath her boots.

She was beaming. Lucerys was the first to catch sight of her, his young face lighting up with recognition. "Aunt Maera!"

Without a second thought, she swept him up in her arms, his smaller body easily enveloped in her warm embrace. Though their childhood interactions had been marked by the usual rivalries and mischiefs, Maera had grown deeply fond of the Velaryon boys. Perhaps it was because they were Rhaenyra's children, and her loyalty to their mother ran deep—an unspoken bond, a shared history.

Pulling away gently, Maera watched as Lucerys' cheeks bloomed with a soft flush, the tender blush of a boy too sensitive for the world around him. His shy grin warmed her, but when her gaze lifted, her breath stilled, and her heart, she swore, skipped a beat.

For a moment, she wasn't sure if the sudden flutter in her chest was from the exertion of running or from the nervous thrill of seeing him. It wasn't just the sight of him—Jacaerys, standing tall with his unruly dark hair catching the breeze—but the knowledge of what he meant to her, what he would mean, forever.

The weight of that future pressed softly against her chest. His smile unfurled like a sunrise, and in that moment, she felt the unspoken pull between them. It was a smile that held both the sweetness of the past and the gravity of a promise yet to be fulfilled—a smile that reached for her across the distance, a rope they could not break.

After a lingering moment, their eyes spoke the words they hadn't yet uttered, savoring the quiet joy of reunion with just staring.

It was as though time had stretched too long between them, and now, drawn back together, they found comfort in each other's presence.