✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
"In the distance, the sky darkened, a quiet warning of the storm that was yet to come."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
❀ 122 AC ❀
The morning sky was overcast, heavy with thick, gray clouds that hinted at an approaching storm, though the rain had yet to fall. The ship waited at the docks, its sails furled, and its wooden hull creaked softly against the mooring lines. A cool, salty breeze swept in from the sea, carrying whispers of distant lands and mingling with the quiet sobs and muted conversations of the gathered crowd. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries a haunting lament that echoed Daeron’s own emotions.
Daeron stood at the edge of the quay, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and sadness. At only 11, he was on the cusp of leaving behind the familiar comforts of his home and family. The prospect of serving as a cupbearer and squire to Lord Hobert Hightower in Oldtown loomed before him—an honor, yes, but one that felt more like an insurmountable wall. He cast a nervous glance at the horizon, where the sea met the sky, vast and unknown, much like his future. He couldn’t help but wonder: Would his family forget him? Would he be lost in the shadows of his older siblings, his accomplishments unnoticed and uncelebrated? The questions gnawed at him, turning his stomach into a knot of anxiety.
Alicent stood close to Daeron, her hand resting on his shoulder. Her grip was firm, yet her eyes were filled with the pain of letting go. Sending him away was the right decision; she told herself that over and over. He would learn, grow strong, and one day, make them all proud. But the thought of her youngest son so far away gnawed at her. She had once been young, thrust into a world of expectations and duty, and now her son was facing a similar path. Guilt flickered in her chest, and she struggled to keep her voice steady. “Remember, Daeron,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “we are all so proud of you, my son. This will be good for you. You will be well cared for, and they will treat you right.” She was reassuring herself as much as him, her grip tightening as if she could keep him close just a moment longer.
Daeron nodded, but his gaze lingered on Naerys, who stood nearby, her tears a reflection of his own hidden fears. Having just celebrated her twelfth nameday, she was still a child, and the thought of her brother leaving made her heart ache. “I’ll miss you all,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly, betraying the courage he tried so hard to muster. He looked at Naerys, his eyes pleading for comfort he wasn’t sure he’d find.
Naerys stepped forward, pulling Daeron into a tight embrace. She clung to him, her small frame shaking with the force of her tears. He was her little brother, and the thought of him leaving felt like a piece of her own heart was being pulled away. “I’ll miss you so much,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his cloak. She pulled back, pressing something into his hand—a small wooden dragon, worn and faded from years of play. “Take this with you. You used to love it, remember? I know you might not play with it, but maybe it can be something to remind you of home.” She had kept it for him, long after he had outgrown it, as a reminder of simpler days.
Daeron clutched the wooden dragon tightly, a lifeline to his childhood, to home. His fingers brushed the familiar grooves and scratches, each mark a memory of laughter and play. “Thank you, Naerys. I’ll keep it safe. I promise.” His voice was thick with emotion, the weight of his words sinking into the pit of his stomach. He squeezed her hand, the warmth of her touch grounding him in the midst of his swirling fears.
Helaena, at 14, drifted forward, her movements slow and deliberate. She offered the handkerchief she had embroidered with a dark-cobalt dragon resembling Tessarion. “I made this for you,” she said softly, her gaze distant as if she were watching something only she could see. Her eyes were unfocused, as though peering into a world beyond the docks. “Dragons soar far, and sometimes they don’t return.” Her words were simple, but they carried a weight that lingered in the cool morning air—a prophecy wrapped in familiar imagery, hinting at Daeron’s journey and the challenges he might face.
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The Blue Princess ☆☽ Aemond Targaryen
Fanfiction"Blue flowers bloom in the garden, fragile petals in the breeze, A butterfly dances, unaware of the storm that's coming. Blood will spill in shadows, where laughter fades to cries, The butterfly's wings are clipped, as the blue flower dies."
