HĀROS BARTOSSI | DAEMON T.

[ 𝟏𝟐 ]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑

── •✧• ── ⋆⋅༻✦༺⋅⋆ ── •✧• ──

A few weeks had passed since Maevys joined the battle against the Triarchy and the Crabfeeder to reclaim the Stepstones. Much to the astonishment— and occasional dismay— of her family, she had quickly adapted herself to the rigours of war.

Nevertheless, it was difficult to deny the hardship of being away from home. This was the first time she had been so far from Driftmark, the only world she had ever known. But Maevys endured and overcame the struggles. It was as if the moment her boots touched the scorched, iron-laden lands, still stained from bloodshed, something within her shifted. A part of her awakened.

She missed her mother and sister dearly, but she understood what needed to be done. The war had to be won, and she would see it through.

Still, despite being a Dragonrider like Laenor— skilled in wielding twin blades, trained in the art of war, and bonded to a great beast with the strength of three— Maevys's role in the Velaryon army remained secondary. She was often kept behind the frontlines, serving as reserve strength rather than a vanguard.

She was a bastard, yes— but she was also the Seasnake's daughter. And perhaps, in Corlys's eyes, that made her far too valuable, far too irreplaceable, to be risked at the bow of his fleet.

It was bitterly ironic. Once, she had felt like a spare left behind in her family's ancestral seat, unclaimed and overlooked. And now, out on the battlefield, that same sentiment echoed... Just veiled in the name of protection.

Regardless of her limited role in direct interference, Maevys quickly proved herself to be a significant asset to the Velaryon fleet. Her contributions at the Battle of Bloodstone alone left substantial trails of destruction in their wake, but it was her presence, more than her power, that left the deepest mark on the men.

Being the only woman in a sea of hardened male soldiers, she stood out not just for her grace and strength but for her gentleness. Maevys was known for her kind heart and steady nature, garnering a special affinity not through fear, but through camaraderie. Thus, with each passing day, their admiration for her only grew, just as much as their adoration.

On the battlefield, she was cold-eyed and valorous, cutting through enemies with the precision of a gifted warrior. But once the blood dried and the armour shed, the fierce dragonrider drastically gave way to someone softer— a familiar lady.

To some, she felt like a little sister, bright-eyed, sweet and brave, too brave, sometimes even too daring. To others, she carried the warmth and quiet wisdom of a maternal figure. It was hard to believe that the woman who fought like fire could smile like spring, so much so that at times, it felt as though the warrior who tackled their foes they had seen was nothing more than a ghost conjured by the flames of their imagination.

Often at night, the Velaryon soldiers, wounded and weary, young and old, would gather around the campfire, drawn not just by the warmth of the flames, but by Maevys. She sang for them, a quiet offering of gratitude for their kindness, a prayer for protection, and sometimes, a requiem for those who had fallen.

With a voice both haunting and melodious, she sang sea shanties and ballads in tongues most men could not understand— songs passed down through Driftmark's tides, and the old Valyrian blood in her veins. The men, seasoned sailors and hardened warriors alike, came to listen. Just as the moniker foretold, she became their Siren of Driftmark, luring them with notes spun like silk.