HĀROS BARTOSSI | DAEMON T.

[ 𝟎𝟗 ]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄

── •✧• ── ⋆⋅༻✦༺⋅⋆ ── •✧• ──

Many moons ago, Maevys had dreamt of joining her adoptive stepfather, the Seasnake, in reclaiming the Stepstones from the Triarchy. She did everything in her power to persuade him including earning the admiration of a certain roguish Targaryen prince with her combat skills, impressing the Velaryon council with her keen strategic mind, and even showcasing her unrivalled prowess in taming the most terrifying dragon in Driftmark: Vermaelyon, the three-headed dragon. Yet, despite her efforts, the Seasnake had remained resolute, unwilling to bend to her ambitions.

Thus, three years had passed since the last time she had seen the men of House Velaryon— her father, her brother, her uncle, the many knights who had become brave soldiers, and the naval fleet that sailed with her house's banners. She had not seen any of them, not even Daemon Targaryen, that elusive, complex prince who had lingered in her thoughts for longer than she cared to admit. Her name day had come and gone, and with the recent passing of another, she had turned nineteen.

In those three years, Maevys's beauty bloomed exquisitely. It was the kind of beauty that drew eyes wherever she walked around High Tide, garnering even more attention. No one could resist turning their heads away or tearing their sight as she graced them with her presence. While her true identity was still being kept under the covers, she had gathered many admirers from guests who came and left Driftmark. But her beauty had a price, and with her new age came a new expectation—marriageable and radiant, Maevys Velaryon was now the object of desire for a handful of ambitious lords. Her skills, her aura, her magnificence— everything about her seemed to call to them.

Just like a siren of the seas, luring lost sailors and men.

But Maevys felt none of the excitement that the world seemed to think she should. The attention of these suitors? They meant nothing to her, and she did not have any desire to beguile them. Even when Rhaenys had suggested a few potential matches, her heart remained untouched. There was no fluttering in her chest, no sparks of interest, no butterflies in her stomach. Nothing. Her heart had already been claimed by someone— or something— a brief connection that lurked inside her, manifesting a forbidden sentiment that she dared not allow herself to feel.

Nevertheless, if there was one thing that truly stirred her soul, other than her beloved dragon or playing the harp, it was sword-fighting.

Every single day without fail, after her father left for war, Maevys trained. She pushed herself with the quiet, unyielding hope that when they met again, she would finally have something to show him, something to prove. Although she was still inexperienced compared to seasoned swordsmen and warriors, her skill with a blade had sharpened, becoming as deadly as the edge she wielded.

Since her duel with Daemon, Maevys had grown more observant and less hesitant. She no longer relied solely on strength; she studied her opponents with sharp eyes, preying for mistakes in every move they made. She had learned to turn their advantages into flaws, to exploit every opening, and, in exchange, to transform her weaknesses into strengths. It was a strategy she had perfected, one that made her a formidable fighter who was capable of wielding various weapons— and, more importantly, a confident one.

Known for her gentle nature, Maevys found herself growing bolder in the years without her father and brother. The silence in their absence had, in some ways, given her voice. Daemon, who had resided in her Lord father's castle before departing for war, had left an unexpected mark on her. His influence honed her tongue and emboldened her spirit, allowing her to develop a sarcasm she never possessed, and a fierceness that refused to bow before those who would question or insult her. The meek, quiet girl who once shied away from confrontation had given way to a woman who could now hold her ground.