HĀROS BARTOSSI | DAEMON T.

[ 𝟏𝟒 ]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

── •✧• ── ⋆⋅༻✦༺⋅⋆ ── •✧• ──

A small smile played on Maevys's lips when Vermaelyon purred, its peridot-hued eyes growing heavy while she hummed a short tune. Three of its head curled toward her, nuzzling against one another and pressing close, all eager for the comfort of her warmth as sleep tugged at their senses. 

The skies had darkened, the sun had fallen on the horizon, and the stars had pricked the velvet sky, scattered like seashells along a tide-wash shore. A chill wind stirred, howling softly together with Maevys's lullaby, while wisps of her silver hair danced like waves rolling onto land. Despite the distant echoes of explosions rumbled from Bloodstone, Dwarfstone was cloaked in serenity.

One of Vermaelyon's head shook, grumbling low as a voice interrupted its rider's melody. A single eye cracked open, gleaming. A heavy snort followed as all three heads snapped to the intruder, and narrowed its gaze on the man behind Maevys, a silent warning in every breath.

Ser Aezal cleared his throat, his presence awkward and long-withheld. He had stood watch for hours, forgotten, perhaps deliberately, and now found himself under the examination of a beast who did not welcome trespassers.

"Pardon me, my lady," he interjected with much difficulty, his gaze traversing uneasily between the formidable dragon and the daughter of his lord. Vermaelyon let out a resonant growl, its eyes fixed on him with disquieting keenness. Ser Aezal stiffened, realizing too late that he had impeded upon something sacred— time between rider and dragon.

Maevys did not turn. Her fingers continued their gentle trace along the steely, iridescent scales of Vermaelyon, her touch steady and familiar as she tended to her restless dragon. "What is it, Ser Aezal?" she asked, her voice cool and composed, but her focus remained entirely on the creature in her care.

"The hour has grown rather late," the knight replied after a deep swallow. Despite the discomfort prickling at him— standing guard in the existence of the vermilion beast— he could not tear his gaze from Vermaelyon. The dragon was both majestic and fearsome, a living contradiction, and he found himself equally captivated by the sight of the young woman before it. There was just something so spellbinding about the both of them— an intensity that exuded a discernible menace, beauty, and fire. Dragon and rider mirrored each other.

Maevys nodded absently, still engrossed in her dear dragon. "Yes, it has. What of it?" she wondered. She had been so preoccupied with Vermaelyon that time had slipped past her without notice. Just moments ago, the sun had still bathed in the cliffs in gold, and now the night had secretly taken hold. The fiery orb had long since set, awash with stars. The transition from day to night had gone unseen, unnoticed, lost in the lull of her melody and Vermaelyon's purring. 

Ser Aezal pursed his lips at the young lady's nonchalant response. "Might I ask when you intend to retire for the night?" he ventured, doing his best to mask the stiffness in his joints and the ache in his boots from standing vigil. Serving as the sworn protector of the daughter of the legendary Seasnake was an honour beyond measure. But it was not without its challenges.

As much as he held Maevys in high regard, deeply so, guarding her often felt like grasping smoke. Her moods were erratic and extreme, fluctuating like a true Targaryen; one moment tender and wistful, the next stormy and unyielding, as fierce as her bloodline foretold. She could be sweet and clement, yet in a blink of an eye, she could easily transition into a ruthless warrior cloaked in an implacable facade.

"You are welcome to retire as you please, Ser," Maevys said at last, turning her head over her shoulders to the young knight. "Truly. Do not trouble yourself. I'll be sure to tell my father how faithfully you have fulfilled your duty."