The Burnt Prince-GOT SI (OC x Ashara Dayne)

Part 29

Chapter 29

INTERLUDE

ALLYRIA DAYNE

Allyria Dayne had rarely ever seen anything so beautiful as the love between her sister and the Prince Daemon Targaryen. Her sister's affection for the Prince had been evident from the first letter she had received from her after she had accompanied Princess Elia to the capital.

The Gods had blessed Ashara with a haunting beauty. The Prince himself had described it as 'beauty enough to topple kingdoms' much to her and Elia's laughter and Ashara's embarrassment. Not that there was ever a lack of compliments, but few ever saw beyond the beauty, unlike the Prince who saw the caring and loving nature of the girl underneath.

The Prince himself was the crown jewel of the Targaryen family, which had begun to reveal itself as a dysfunctional mess. The King's madness, the Queen's helplessness, and Prince Rhaegar's obsession with obscure prophecies, the Royal family had many problems, but Prince Daemon was not one of those problems.

He was, in many ways, the ideal Prince. Hailed as a prodigy in both letters and the sword, he was more read than many maesters and was said to be blessed in the ways of the sword as well as madly in love with her sister.

It was the kind of love woven into songs and plays, and that is why when word of the Prince's demise had reached Runestone, she knew the toll it would take on her sister and their family as a whole.

Arthur, Asahra's brother, and Daemon's friend was forced to duel him for his life, and the King ruled afterward. It was cruelty—sheer cruelty.

And it took its toll. For years, the Dayne's suffered from the consequences of that duel. Watched as Arthur could scarcely lift his head after that disgrace, giving up on Dawn for what he was forced to do.

But most of all, it was Ashara. The pain and agony her sister went through was something she only ever wished upon the Mad King himself, and then had come the accursed disease, making her sister into a barely alive coffin.

There were days that she prayed for death—begged for it. And yet the Gods refused to answer her, despite her pleas. And only now she realized that it was a blessing that they had not accepted her prayers.

The castle was in uproar, hundreds were dead, a quarter of the castle turned to rubble because of the attack. And yet she cared little for it, for her eyes laid focused on the form infront of her.

There she was, Ashara Dayne, alive, weak, and thin, yet full of life. All traces of greyscale eating away at her gone from her skin except the wrinkly cracks on the side of her face, eating away at her beauty.

Yet she knew that those scars would matter little to the man whose face she held in her hands as she lay beside him, caressing her face and gazing at him with those haunting purple eyes of her.

The Targaryen were always known to be paragons of beauty, and Prince Daemon had been no different. And yet how he wore a mask and from what she had been able to gleam out about him how every nook and cranny of skin was covered up told about the secrets that lay hidden underneath.

She had seen those secrets for herself when his mask had slid off his face as he stood triumphant over the corpse of a dragon he had slain nearly by himself. Allyria had been forced to shift her gaze because of the sheer revulsion and state of his face.

And yet it was gone, those haunting scars, that charred crinkled skin, gone. This leaves behind soft and bright skin, along with a scar much similar to Ashara's own scar, yet this one occupies the left side of the face, unlike Ashara's, which is on the right.