The Power Of Prophecy

Courtly Ties

The journey to King’s Landing had been grueling. As Daena dismounted from Vhagar, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of their arrival. The dragon, too immense to be housed in the Dragonpit, had to remain outside the city gates, her scales shimmering under the fading afternoon sun. They had been met by a handful of knights on horseback. Daena had clung to Vhagar’s saddle longer than necessary, watching as Aemond dismounted. Her legs trembled when she finally slid down, and a sharp ache flared in her bruised muscles.

They mounted the horses the knights brought for them, and though the saddle offered some relief from the journey, it did little for her tension. As they rode toward the Red Keep, the city sprawled before her — larger, louder, more overwhelming than she had imagined. The walls of the city loomed high, casting long shadows over the streets. It was too much, and yet not enough to drown out the whirlpool of emotions brewing within her.

They passed through the gates of the Red Keep, dismounted and as they approached the entrance, a lone figure stepped forward — a lord with a severe face that Daena couldn't quite place. His eyes flicked over her, almost dismissively, before locking onto Aemond. "My King, urgent matters await your presence in the council room."

Aemond’s gaze barely lingered on her. "Go with the maid. Rest. We will speak later." His words were a command, not a promise. Daena opened her mouth to respond, but he was already gone, swept into the castle with an entourage of knights.

She stood, feeling hollow, her limbs heavy from both the journey and his indifference. Before she could gather herself, a maid appeared at her side, bowing respectfully. "My lady, if you’ll follow me."

Daena hesitated, her eyes tracking Aemond's retreating figure. She wanted to scream at him, but exhaustion weighed her down. Nodding slightly, she let the maid guide her through the castle’s towering corridors. The grandeur of the Red Keep was stifling. The walls were adorned with banners of black and red, sigils of House Targaryen proudly displayed, and the scent of incense lingered faintly in the air. Everything around her screamed wealth, power, and history. Yet she felt none of it belonged to her.

Her mind raced with each step. It wasn’t just the grandeur that unnerved her, but the overwhelming sense of isolation that came with it. She had once dreamed of King’s Landing, of belonging here, among her father’s people. Now that she was here, all she felt was a gnawing emptiness, an estrangement that left her raw.

The maid led her to a room that was larger than she had anticipated, with high ceilings and a grand window that overlooked the city. The bed was immense, draped in rich, dark fabrics, and the furniture carved with ornate details. It was beautiful — too beautiful for someone who felt so broken.

"I will prepare a bath for you, my lady," the maid said softly, slipping away into the adjoining room.

Left alone, Daena moved toward the window. King's Landing spread out beneath her like a beast ready to devour. The streets were alive with activity, but the sight of the bustling city only emphasized her sense of isolation. The Red Keep loomed over it all, a symbol of power and dominance, and Daena felt small and insignificant against its imposing silhouette.

She touched the red stone arch. Her body ached, the bruises and cuts a reminder of the fight, the escape, the uncertainty of what was to come. She wondered if she’d ever truly feel safe here. Aemond’s coldness stung more than her wounds. Was this her life now? Cast into the shadows while he ruled, alone among strangers who expected her to play the part of a dutiful bride?

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. The maid had returned, bowing slightly. "Your bath is ready, my lady."

Daena nodded and moved slowly, shedding her cloak and the layers of travel-stained clothing. She caught sight of herself in a mirror across the room — her pale skin marred by dark bruises, the scratches on her arms still red and raw. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers tracing the marks. The pain was a dull throb now, but the real hurt lay deeper.