Ambers || Jacaerys Velaryon

12. Miara

Miara moved with quiet determination, her steps deliberate as she carried out Rhaenyra's orders at Dragonstone's docks. She spoke to each crew member, ensuring their route to King's Landing would avoid unwanted attention. The captain, a seasoned sailor with a weathered face, thankfully understood her plight. A man of few words, he knew these seas well and promised to steer them safely without unnecessary delays, or run-ins to neighboring islands.

When the princess and her family make their way to the ship with their attendants, the crew springs into action, efficient despite the early hour. The sail to the capital would take up their remaining daylight, and urgency hung in the air with the inevitable storm overheard. Rhaenyra, composed despite her worries, cradles young Viserys while her handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting usher Aegon and Joffrey aboard. Behind them, Daemon strides confidently, only slightly tempered by the presence of his daughter, Rhaena, at his side. Jace and Luke follow them, their faces solemn, the weight of approaching burdens eating away at them both.

Jace avoids Miara's gaze as he boards, jaw tight and steps swift. He disappears below deck without a word, the tension between them heavy. Miara watches him go, her face unreadable, though the distance between them grows with every unspoken word. She says nothing, focusing instead on making sure everything runs smoothly, and not daring to face the memories of him from before.

The hours drag on, the vast expanse of the sea doing little to ease the tension aboard the ship. By the time they reach the capital, the sun is already flirting with the horizon, casting a dull golden light over the city due to the heavy clouds.

As they disembark the ship, Luke staggers slightly but regains his balance, clearly relieved to be on solid ground as he never favored the sea. Two lone wheelhouses and a handful of horses await them on the docks-- no servants, no guards, nothing resembling the royal reception they had expected. A cold unease settles over Miara, but she hides it, keeping her expression calm. The red-cloaked guards that came with them begin hitching the horses to the carriages they'll have to steer, and Ser Lorent and Ser Steffon mount stallions to ride alongside them and keep guard. Miara, ever vigilant, claims one of the spare draft horses for herself, leading the convoy while scanning the path ahead for any signs of danger.

However, threats don't present themselves until they pass through the gates of the Red Keep's defensive wall. The main courtyard, once bustling with life, is eerily still. A few guards stand scattered, none stepping forward to greet them. The absence of stablehands or a welcoming party chills the air as the wheelhouse carrying Rhaenyra rolls to a stop behind Miara.

Dismounting, Miara ties her horse to a post, glaring at the ghostly guards as she passes them, a mix of gold and red cloaks pinned to their armor. She approaches the cart the princess is in and opens the door, her eyes immediately catching the frowns within. Jace, finally, doesn't dodge her gaze, both of them sharing mournful expressions. Through the narrow grates of the cart, Rhaenyra and her family had seen the barren courtyard for themselves. Their arrival, it seemed, was not to be celebrated.

"I apologize, Your Highness," Miara mutters, barely audible, though she knows it is not her place to offer such words. That responsibility belongs to those who dared to show such open disrespect.

Rhaenyra remains silent, her face a disguise of quiet determination. She inhales deeply, her posture straightening as she squares her shoulders. Her chin lifts, and she turns to Miara, her pale eyes unafraid.

"We shall give them no reason to talk, hm?" Rhaenyra says, her tone firm yet calm.

Miara nods, a light grin playing on her lips as she extends her hand to the princess. There was no stepping block given to them, another insult, so Miara ensured her princess stepped down with grace, even in the face of such a blatant insult.