tethered by Fate | Lucerys Velaryon | Aemond Targaryen

◇ four ◇

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I wake early to the sound of shuffling feet and muffled voices. My handmaidens have arrived far earlier than usual.

“Guys… what is this?” I groan, my words muffled as I push a pillow off my face.

Jora, a brunette with buck teeth and a knack for unnecessary enthusiasm, steps forward. “Lord Ormund ordered an early breakfast. He’d like to speak with you, Princess.”

I let out a long, theatrical groan and flop back onto the bed before finally sitting up.

“Can I wear something lighter today? I can already feel the heat, and it’s not even midday.”

“Yes, Princess,” Jora and Hyra reply in unison, already bustling around to find the right dress.

I shuffle over to the full-length mirror as they dress me in a flowy gown of pear green. It’s light and airy, but even that feels like a punishment this early.

Jora pulls up a stool, and I sit, letting them braid my long silver hair. They secure it with a small, glimmering jewel.

“Thank you, truly,” I say through a yawn, waving lazily at them as I head out the door.

The courtyard is bathed in golden morning light as I arrive. Lord Ormund, seated with an array of breakfast foods in front of him, smiles warmly.

“Good morrow, Daelina,” he greets, ever formal.

I rub the last traces of sleep from my eyes. “Gods, call me Lina. No need for such formality all the time.”

He chuckles, a sound I’ve grown to associate with his patient attempts to manage me. “Yes, of course. Lina. I called you here to ask you something important.”

I plop into the chair beside him, grabbing a piece of bread from the spread and taking a bite. “Mmh?” I mumble, mouth full.

“About that letter,” he begins. “Princess Rhaenyra’s proposal—what do you think of it?”

I pause mid-chew, unsure how to answer. I know what everyone expects of me, but still…

“Well, I’m not sure. I’ve never met Prince Lucerys, so how could I decide?” I finally say, taking a sip of juice to avoid further comment.

Ormund nods thoughtfully, but I can tell he’s not entirely convinced. “Do you want to know what little I’ve heard about him?”

I raise an eyebrow, more curious than I care to admit. “Go on.”

“He’s the second son, after his brother Jacaerys. He’s heir to Driftmark, and he’s about sixteen, I think,” he says, suddenly looking awkward as he coughs over his eggs.

“Wow, such riveting details,” I tease, grinning. “You know more about him than I do, so that’s something.”

He turns serious, his brow furrowing. “You’re not betrothed yet. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

| Later That Evening |

After enduring yet another mind-numbing lesson on the history of Westeros, I escape to the library. Four hours of Maester Greyl droning on about past kings has left my brain feeling as dull as a butter knife.

Sitting at the desk, I stare at a blank piece of parchment. It’s been a day since I received my mother’s letter, and I know I need to reply. With a deep breath, I dip my quill into ink and begin:

◇

To My Dearest Mother,

I must admit, your letter was the most exciting thing to happen this week—unless you count Vaerion accidentally scaring the life out of a shepherd near the city gates. He’s fine, of course. The sheep? Not so much.

Now, about Lucerys Velaryon. Marrying him feels a bit like agreeing to wear a gown I’ve never seen before—it might be lovely, or it might itch in all the wrong places. How can we make such a decision without meeting him first?

What if we hosted a feast? Bring him here—or better yet, let me visit King’s Landing. That way, I can meet him, see Aemond, and remind Daeron why I always win our little debates. Besides, wouldn’t it be lovely to have the whole family together again?

Think of it as a test. If he can survive one meal with our family, he might just survive a lifetime with me.

Yours always (and far too curious),
Daelina

◇

I sign the letter with a flourish and sit back, satisfied. A small smile creeps across my face as I imagine the chaos of a family feast. At the very least, it would be entertaining.

I fold the letter and take it to the rookery, handing it off to the maester there. “Please send this to King’s Landing—and quickly.”

The old man nods, and I turn to leave. Maybe my suggestion will work, and I’ll see them all again soon. It's been far too long, and, truthfully, I miss my family.

And if nothing else, I’ll have the chance to decide if Lucerys Velaryon is worth all this fuss.