It Was Supposed To Be Anonymous

Chains of Flowers

Vaelara and Aegon flew for hours, touching down somewhere at the edge of the Riverlands to rest for a while. In an emerald field, they sat and talked while she braided flowers into a crown.

"What's Dragonstone like?" Aegon asked.

"Dull," she replied simply, continuing to work. "To be honest, living there is much like living in the Red Keep, only there is less to see. At least, here, we can go into King's Landing. All Dragonstone has is a small fishing village with little to see. It's hard to understand why the Targaryen House made it their home for hundreds of years before the conquest..."

Aegon hummed in agreement, watching her as she worked. "So, what are you planning to do with that?" he asked, nudging her arm. The chain of flowers was nearly finished, her dainty fingers connecting both ends.

"Crown a prince, of course." she replied with a grin, plopping it on his head. Aegon laughed, shoving her away playfully, his eyes shining with amusement.

"Come on, let me braid your hair, too!" Vaelara teased, grinning at him.

"Fine, but I'll murder you if you ever tell a soul, he acquiesced, sitting back on his bum and tilting his head back. Realizing he was serious, Vaelara scrambled across the grass and knelt behind him, running her fingers through his silver hair.

How cruel it was, she thought as she worked, that their mothers' bitterness had eaten away at the family like maggots in rotting fruit; that House Targaryen, seen as mighty and great by all the realm, had been crumbling from the inside out for years. She longed for the days of her childhood, before the word 'bastard' had ever entered any of their young minds.

Aegon sighed, his shoulders relaxing as she wove his hair intricately around the flower crown. Vaelara wondered if he had ever felt this serene in the Red Keep, or if the poison of Maegor's curse had seeped into him as it had so many others. She'd heard all the rumors over the years, that Aegon was a drunken rake; that Aemond was as cruel as he was studious. Even Helaena seemed unable to avoid the poison, as strange as she was sweet. And Daeron... Daeron had spent a decade in Oldtown; perhaps he was the only Targaryen who had made it out of the capital unscathed by their parents' feuding.

"There..." she whispered, kissing the top of his head and sitting back on her haunches with a proud smile. "You look like a king." she stated happily.

"Don't lie to me, princess. I look like a damn sword swallower." Aegon replied, rolling his violet eyes at her.

"If the rumors I've heard about you are true, uncle, then I would hardly call that an insult, but a fact." Vaelara teased, cackling with amusement and he shoved her shoulder and sent her toppling over into the grass.

Her laugh was cut short as he sprawled over her, effectively pinning her in the grass. "I should spank that ass of yours for speaking to your uncle with such disrespect." he growled, though his eyes were shining brightly.

"Aegon..." she whispered his name in nervous warning, knowing they shouldn't be doing this. And yet, she was drawn to him, unable to refuse the siren song that threatened to pull her out into a raging sea of trouble.

"Shut up and kiss me, V." And so, she did...

It was nearly sundown, the sky painted in an array of golds and pinks, when they returned to the Capital. They entered the inner gates arm in arm, laughing and smiling at one another, only to find Queen Alicent standing at the entrance of the keep, her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. Behind her Ser Criston stood, his expression grim.

Vaelara dropped her arm, the grin falling from her face as the queen glared at them. "Where in the name of the Mother have you been?" Alicent demanded, her question pointed at her son.