The Power Of Prophecy

Between Fire and Fear

Daena had collapsed into the bed with a heavy sigh the previous night, her mind swirling with thoughts she could no longer control. But no matter how sharp her thoughts were, exhaustion had cut through them, and sleep claimed her quickly. The bed was soft, unfamiliar in its luxury, cradling her body like no bed in Winterfell ever had. There, her nights were spent beneath scratchy furs, the wind howling at the windows, the stone walls cold to the touch. Here, it was warm, almost suffocating in its comfort, but she had been too tired to care.

When she woke, the early light filtering through the window was sharp, almost harsh in its clarity. Dawn had just broken, casting long, pale rays across the room. Daena squinted against it, pushing herself up onto her elbows as she blinked, disoriented by the brightness. In Winterfell, mornings were always muted, the sun veiled behind heavy clouds. Here, everything felt different.

Now, she sat at the small wooden table in the corner of the room, staring blankly at the untouched breakfast before her. It was a simple meal: a slice of bread, fresh and still warm, a small bowl of porridge with honey drizzled over it, and a cup of water. A boiled egg sat beside the bread, its shell uncracked. But Daena could not bring herself to eat. Her stomach was a knot of nerves, twisting tighter with every thought.

Today, she would face a dragon.

Her hands clenched into fists in her lap, nails digging into her palms as she tried to steady herself. Aemond's voice echoed in her mind, his words laced with that cold, unyielding expectation. You will tame it, he had said, as if it were a certainty. As if her success was a foregone conclusion. But what if she failed? What if the dragon turned on her, ripped her apart, or worse, refused to acknowledge her at all? The weight of Aemond's expectations pressed down on her, a suffocating presence that gnawed at her every thought.

She hadn't even touched the cup of water in front of her, and it didn't go unnoticed. The maid standing quietly by the wall stepped forward, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She looked at Daena with a mixture of concern and hesitation, then spoke softly, her voice cutting through the thick silence.

"My lady... you should eat. Worse than a weak spirit is a sick body."

Daena blinked, pulled from her spiraling thoughts by the girl's words. She forced herself to smile, though it barely reached her eyes. "Thank you," she said softly, though her voice lacked its usual strength. She glanced at the girl, taking in her kind but cautious expression. "What is your name?"

The maid seemed surprised by the question, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Meris, my lady."

"Meris..." Daena repeated, rolling the name over her tongue as if it were a balm to her frayed nerves. "Have you been here long?"

The girl hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her apron. "Not long, my lady. I... I used to work elsewhere. In a... um, in a brothel. Not as one of the women, mind you," she added quickly, her blush deepening. "I'm the niece of the madam who runs it. She brought me to the capital to help my parents, and... well, she gave me a place to stay."

Daena tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering in her chest despite the heavy weight of her own worries. "And how did you come to work in the castle?"

Meris's blush deepened, and she glanced at the floor, clearly embarrassed. "My aunt arranged it. She attends to the king... frequently. She asked him to place me here."

The knot in Daena's stomach tightened painfully, and she felt a sudden rush of heat spread through her chest. Aemond frequented places like that? Of course, it wasn't surprising, but hearing it now, in such a casual manner, felt like a punch to the gut.

Anger flared, hot and sudden, but she didn't understand why. What did it matter where Aemond went, or what he did? He was not hers, not in any meaningful way. And yet, the thought of him spending his nights in such places left a bitter taste in her mouth. She gripped the edge of the table tightly, forcing the feelings back, locking them away where they couldn't distract her.