naelysvelaryon

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys velaryon stood because he told her to, in a movement that was quick and sudden, as though she almost scrambled upward. because there was no other choice. the sharpness of his voice made her visibly flinch, and she gripped onto the sleeves of her dark velvet dress, trying to ignore the faces of the other courtiers - those who had not overheard her slip up no doubt wondering what she had done now. her limbs moved like seaweed pulled by the tide—without will, without direction—her body obeying even as her mind fluttered elsewhere, seeking shelter. the cold air clung to the silk of her skirts, the dampness of the stone now pressed into the soles of her feet instead of her knees.

you are a valyrian, he had said, and the words had been a command, not a kindness. she could feel the weight of them still, sharp-edged and unrelenting, like a name spoken with too much force. valyrian. not girl. not cousin. not naelys. not even nellie. merely a creature, warped in history and twisted in present; if she were a true valyrian, she detested it with every fibre she had in her being.

she did not speak. not because she was stubborn, nor because she wished to punish him with silence—though gods knew there was something bitter enough in her chest to wish exactly that—but because there was no voice left in her. it had burned up somewhere in the heat of his scorn, had dried into dust between her teeth when he berated her before the eyes of the court. she had thought she might find it again if she stood, if she gathered herself with dignity, but dignity was a thing long since stripped from her, peeled back like gold leaf until only nerves remained.

the air was too loud. every breath seemed to echo. the scrape of leather, the shift of cloaks, the subtle, poisonous quiet of an audience watching and waiting—hungry for a misstep, for a tremble in her lip or a faltering blink. she kept her chin angled just enough to seem composed, just enough that no one could see how tightly she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from shaking. her eyes would not meet his. they hovered somewhere around the level of his chest, as if she might find refuge in the weave of his tunic, in the familiar thread of the house colours he wore so differently now.

she swallowed hard, once, because if she didn’t she might choke. not on grief. not on regret. but on the taste of being small. as though she were nothing more than the worms which hid beneath the rocks on the shore, desperate waiting for the tide to return and hoping the very edge of the waves weren't going to drag the entire rock down upon her. the king had spoken. and she, a lady of a defeated cause, had no reply that would not break her. so she stood. still. quiet. shamed. valyrian, perhaps. but not unscathed. "yes, your majesty." was all she could manage to utter, waiting for him to walk away, and to leave her stood there.

the public disgrace and embarrassment would be far more a comfort than this - this lecture, this command. he looked upon her as though she were the sea snake's navy, or her mother atop of meleys - an actual threat. in reality, she was nothing. perhaps even less than nothing in this moment. and so, when he finally turned and left her stood there, various of his courtiers following after him as the trails of their dresses and cloaks swept her to the side like some collection of dust, she finally let out a low, broken exhale as though she had been holding her breath for days.

end of thread.

Jaehaerys had seen that look before. Once, long ago, across a grand table where power and pretense were served alongside roasted meats and Dornish wine. He had been a boy, young but not blind, when his mother’s face had betrayed her. Just for a moment—distress flickering in her eyes, a silent plea for help in a room full of people who would offer none. His father had sat at the head of the table, slurring between bites of overcooked venison, while his grandmother steepled her fingers, watching, always watching. The Lord Commander had been silent, his expression carved from stone, and Jaehaerys had gripped his fork, calculating.

He had thought, even then, of the quickest way across the table, of how he could move like a shadow, climb like a cat, and bury the silver prongs of his utensil into his father’s throat before anyone could stop him. The thought had burned bright and real in his mind, a child's quiet rebellion against a world that had forced him to watch. But before he could move, a heavy hand had landed on his shoulder. His grandfather’s voice had boomed, sharp and unyielding, and the tension had vanished, snuffed out like a candle. The table had carried on. No one there to touch his shoulder now.

The memory passed like a phantom, leaving behind only the weight of his own silence.

For a fleeting moment, if one were watching closely, they would have seen the king falter. His expression did not change, nor did his stance waver, but there—beneath the firelight’s flicker—was a pause. Barely a breath. A crack in the iron. He had called her Nervous Nellie as a boy, laughed at the way she flinched at shadows, at her quietness. But now, looking at her, he could see through the glass dragon, through the thin layer of dignity she held onto so desperately. He saw what lay beneath, and he did not enjoy the way it felt.

And in that feeling of guilt, he felt anger.

"Stand up," he ordered, his voice carrying through the hall, sharp as Valyrian steel. "You are a Valyrian."

Jaehaerys straightened as she rose, his gaze locked onto her, unyielding. There was no softness in his expression, only command. "Do not let it happen again," he continued, each word measured, deliberate. "Times have changed since your going. Catch on."

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys velaryon had always thought of marcella as something otherworldly. not the way men spoke of beauty, or how courtiers spun tales of noblewomen with teeth made of pearls and hearts of frost, but something deeper—a creature shaped by the tide, made of smoke and crimson silk, forged in the same fire that birthed dragons. nellie, by contrast, was something softer. she knew it—moss instead of stone, seafoam instead of flame. and yet, when she sat beside marcella, when cella’s touch smoothed down her hair with such casual grace, she felt like the most dangerous girl in the world.

because cella had chosen her. looked at her, spoken to her, shared secrets with her in those hushed twilight hours when the court slept and they were just two girls tangled in a thousand silences.

there was a quiet then, one that only existed between them. the kind of silence she never had to fill. but still, something tugged at her, something she’d been meaning to say and never quite had the words for until now. “i think i’ve grown closer to the northerners,” she admitted softly, shifting back onto her side, her head resting against her hand as she looked at cella’s profile in the mirror. “dacey... she’s exactly like she was in her letters. just, good. you can tell, i think. and seeing adam again—i didn’t realise how much i missed him until i saw his face.” her voice lowered, uncertain, as she continued to speak and open up.

she listened now with quiet reverence, curled up on the bed like a child half-lulled to sleep, her cheek pressed to her wrist, eyes fixed not on cella’s face but the curve of her lips, the dip of her throat. the way her voice moved. every word from marcella’s mouth seemed to settle over her skin like snow—cold, lovely, a little too sharp. boys are cruel because no one expects anything different of them. gods, that was clever. gods, that was true. and it was another reason why nellie didn't want to bring another boy into the world. nellie’s lips parted, as if to agree, but no sound came. she didn’t need to speak when marcella was speaking. there was something holy in the way she thought, the way she saw things—like she had always known more than anyone else dared admit.

“it’s nice, you know? having friends who don’t know me here. who don’t expect me to be anything. who don’t know what i’m like when i’m standing next to my sister. they don’t ask me to go anywhere, don’t look at me like i’m wilting when i say no.” she comfortably laid back, her arm folded beneath her chin as she looked up at her closest companion, her eyes widening slightly a little bit as she heard herself speaking. she would never want her to feel as though she preferred any other to her cella. "but you will always come first. who else will i come home to?" she asked, a genuine, bright smile momentarily smile crossing her features, as though it were the most innocent of questions. because it was.

and then marcella said she was afraid. just a small thing, really. slipped in with such ease nellie almost missed it. but it snagged in her chest like a fish-hook. afraid. marcella. the two didn’t belong in the same sentence. and yet, it lingered. not in her words, no—but in her posture, in the way she avoided nellie’s eyes for half a breath too long. something shifted in naelys, then. she pushed herself upright slowly, dark hair tumbling like ink over her shoulders, her fingers twisting in the fine fabric of the covers as though anchoring herself. like a selkie emerging from the depths, she cared not for the way her nightgown slipped from her shoulders - marcella was afraid. and she couldn't see it.

“oh, but i would always keep you safe, my heart.” she said, and though her voice was gentle, the promise in it was unnerving. endless. infinite. it was not spoken like a knight’s vow, nor a lover’s plea, but something in between. something truer. "let me see it."

there was something awfully harrowing about the idea of losing marcella celtigar, in any way; letters would not be enough. the promise of seeing her again would not be enough. she was not akin to her sister, not akin to a twin; but a part of her. an extension. and the idea of something happened to her, like something happened to everybody else...she could not even name it. could not even put it upon her tongue. “sometimes i dream—” she hesitated, her fingers curling tighter. “i dreamed something happened to you. and when i woke up, and it were as though i had no more tears left to cry.” she let out a small laugh at that, but there was no real humour in it. “i thought something had really happened. i thought i’d lost you.” her gaze met cella’s then, wide and solemn. “but i won’t. i won’t let that happen. whatever it is—whatever you’re frightened of...

i’ll stand in front of it, and i won’t move. okay?”

marcella let herself absorb the warmth of nellie’s touch, the way she clung to her sleeve for that single, fleeting moment before letting go. it was an instinct marcella knew well, though she never gave voice to it. dependence, longing. these were feelings she saw as weaknesses in others, but it felt different when it came to naelys. she did not recoil, did not think to weaponise it. no, with nellie, she allowed herself to indulge. she pressed a hand to the back of her friend's head, smoothing down the dark waves as though taming something wild.

“the king was only a boy then,” marcella murmured, though her tone held little defence for the king. “boys are cruel because no one expects anything different of them.” ladies and lords were not raised with the same expectations. boys were not taught to conceal their true selves as girls were. “and when no one stops them, they grow into men who think the world is theirs to take.” she tilted her head, studying her friend as she sprawled across the bed. but cella did not judge neither max nor jaehaerys for their ambitions. the world was a cruel place, and she'd rather those who shared the blood of valyria ruled. she longed to see valyria come again, for valyria to become more than the pages in her books, and the stories told through generations. “but he has always been childish. even now, with a crown on his head and dragons at his back.” she did not say more, did not need to. she had spent years whispering secrets, letting them slip through the cracks of court like ink seeping into parchment. jaehaerys was only predictable in his unpredictability.

“if you were pathetic, nellie, i’d tell you.” she allowed herself the barest smirk. marcella had a sharp tongue when need be, and naelys was the only person, where a lie seemed to have a bitter taste on her tongue. it never did stop her from lying though. lying came as naturally to the silver-haired lady as breathing. “but you’re not. you made a mistake and hurt his pride, and jaehaerys was in the mood to punish you for it.” she allowed herself a moment of silence, watching the way nellie’s fingers curled into the sheets, small and fragile against the vastness of her bed. it unsettled something in marcella’s chest, something she refused to name. nellie was always too much, and yet never enough. she did not know how to exist in moderation, and marcella, for all her precision and control, had never wanted to make her learn.

“you think i’m fearless.” marcella let out a quiet breath, something between amusement and something else, something darker. “i’m not. you just don’t see the things i fear.” and that was the truth, wasn’t it? the fear was there, it simply had no place in her carefully crafted mask. she was afraid of being powerless, afraid of losing what she was carefully building. and sometimes she still feared what lived inside her, the darkness sealed away on claw isle. “i will handle it,” she promised again, her voice softer than usual. she purposefully avoided answering why she wished to speak the with the king. “and i will not allow you to float away, sweet girl, you will stay here with me.” there was a possessive edge to her voice, her words both tender and almost threatening. marcella would never allow anyone to take naelys from her. “we will keep each other safe no matter the cost, won't we?” she asked, her voice sweet as honey, all while knowing she had to ask her closest friend for a favour that might cost her later.

nellie’s hand moved, brushing marcella’s hair from her face, her touch light, almost reverent. it was a strange sort of intimacy, one that lingered too long, made the air between them shift. marcella did not move away. she let her gaze settle on naelys, the lilac of her eyes dark in the candlelight. then, the moment broke, shattered by the name of strangers. the starks. marcella's brows lifted, the change of subject unexpected, and almost annoying. but her natural curiosity got the better of her, the hunger for whispers. “of course, i do.” in fact, she had something that seemed to belong to their house hidden away in a chest. “the north clings to its wolves as tightly as we did our dragons.” her lips curved, not quite a smile. “have you grown close to them?” and while marcella had once sworn to herself, she would try to keep naelys away from her business as much as possible, she could not help herself from prying. perhaps to store the knowledge away for later in case it was useful to her, maybe just because she hated the thought of nellie being close to anyone else.

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

as ben blackwood of raventree hall spoke, naelys was mainly focused on the way her sandwich seemed to threaten to collapse in on itself - she was careful with her sandwich, overly so. she held it with both hands like it might dissolve if she dared bite too hard, as though it would crumble and betray her with the mess she dreaded—so she nibbled instead, mouse-like - a sight that was no doubt odd, but she placed a hand over her mouth when she chewed. despite her efforts, a smear of goat’s cheese lingered on the corner of her mouth, unnoticed. it gleamed faintly in the sun, catching on her skin like an unwelcome spotlight. she did not know it was there.

had she known, she would have made a terrible fuss about it and probably hidden behind her sleeve for the next half hour.

still, she kept nibbling, listening to him, trying to ensure she kept note of everything he said so if he asked a question she knew what to say and would not need to ask him to repeat himself. his words were sparse but not unkind, and for that she was quietly thankful. there had been no war stories, no grand recountings of blood and ash and fire. so many men loved to slip into those tales, as though war was some great competition and each memory was a badge they polished for admiration. but not him. not yet. and gods, she hoped not ever. it wasn’t that she didn’t respect those things—she did, deeply—but there was a sadness in such memories that made her feel like an intruder.

sometimes she wondered if that was why she found war stories so difficult to stomach: she felt too much for people she didn’t know, imagined all the mothers they left behind. war wasn’t glory. it was grief. and then their was her own mother - now was not the time to think on such a topic.

she nodded softly, a little more relaxed now that their names had been exchanged. it always felt like the most awkward hurdle, didn’t it? once names were said aloud, it was as if they’d been granted permission to properly exist in one another’s company. and it was easier now, not easy, but easier. her fingers tightened slightly on the bread between them, and her lips pressed together before she shrugged at his question, that sheepish gesture she used when words failed her. she hated how accurate his question had been—did she get into trouble like that often? yes. the answer was yes. always something. always something about her that people had to be delicate around, as though she were made of spun glass and even speaking too loudly might cause her to crack.

she didn’t want to explain it because it made her sound ridiculous, like a girl still trying to find her footing in a world that had moved on without her.

so instead she offered a small, sheepish embarrassed sound of agreement. it was neither yes nor no, but something in between. something like: i know. and then she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shifted her weight as if to reset the mood. and then he was making strange circular movements with his fingers, and she looked at him as though he had grown another head; a momentarily panic as she looked around her, wondering if he was pointing to something. what did that hand gesture even mean? and then she realised he was simply chewing, and was waiting to swallow his food before talking - she let out a little chuckle.

“...um. i broke one of my sister’s eggs,” she began, her voice quiet but clearer now, not thinking to clarify it were a glass egg, but continuing as though this was the most understandable thing ever. for all ben blackwood knew, it was a real egg. “she collects them. delicate little ones. they’re all blue and silver, and she leaves them by the windows where the sun can get to them.” her brow furrowed faintly as she glanced down at her sandwich. “i knocked one over yesterday. it fell. cracked." her lips curved in a frown, and her eyes flicked up to his briefly, then back down again. “so i thought i’d try to find her something.” she gave a tiny shrug, more to herself than him. “the shop’s tucked down by the fishmonger's. you wouldn’t think there’d be treasures in it, but it’s crammed with them."

"....are you allowed to touch your siblings things?" she did not even think to ask if he had siblings; she only recalled her squabbling with rhaena and how they would make up over the dinner table by silently offering eachother food. she sighed, delicately licking at her thumb before finally noticing the smear of cheese on her fingertip. she stared at it, mortified, and wiped it quickly with her sleeve, pretending like it wasn’t there in the first place. her face flushed faintly as she mumbled to herself, “they should put warning signs up for cheeses. they’re sneakier than people think.” her eyes flicked back to him, uncertain but not quite afraid.

“thank you, again. for helping me out. i’d probably still be down there if you hadn’t.” and though she didn’t say it, not aloud, she thought: you don’t look like a legend. but you do look kind.

it was obvious by the shift in her tone that she recognised his name. it happened often enough that it should not come as a shock, the way people's faces changed when he uttered his name. ben ought to be used to it by now, but he wasn't. there were men who revelled in their reputation, but ben wore his awkwardly. no matter how well earned it was, it always threw him. the ben blackwood, she said, and he once again felt like the boy in the war camp, nothing but determination and armour that didn't fit, trying to speak with a voice big enough to make up for how small he was.

"yeah." when he eventually spoke, it was a single word of confirmation. "that's me." there was no use denying it - he was the ben blackwood, no matter how much it set him ill at ease to hear his name spoken like that. he knew not what else to say to her about it, instead taking a big bite of his sandwich to fill the awkwardness of it all, chewing longer than necessary to carry him through the silence.

ben looked at her in renewed interest when he own name was offered. velaryon was a house familiar to him, if only because, during the dance, they had found themselves upon the same side, yet even that felt complicated to think about in a way that meant ben often avoided thinking about it all together. nellie velaryon, though, sounded strange for him. it was a name that was almost ordinary - didn't the velaryons go in for the valyrian names that spoke of their ancestry? where had nellie come from? he couldn't make sense of it. his brow furrowed slightly as he considered it, as though trying to work out a puzzle with missing pieces. had she been named for someone? or maybe there was nothing to it at all, and he was thinking too hard about something that didn’t matter.

"i know deimos," he said, when he had finally swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. "well, no, i don't know deimos, but... name's familiar, you know? lord of the tides, and all." he was talking a little too quickly, and it occurred to him then that he sounded utterly witless in his speech. aemon velaryon, too, was a name that brought with it faint stirrings of recognition, undoubtedly due to some war-time achievement of her brother that ben had long since forgotten. it all seemed to bleed together at points. "can't say i know the other one," he admitted, pausing to glance at her again to see if she took offence at the admission. she didn't seem the type, but then, valyrians could be funny about that sort of thing.

he wasn't quite sure what to make of her yet. he'd never thought her to be anything but a high-born lady, but the name velaryon carried with it a different sort of lineage. it made it all the more curious, what exactly she was doing in a shop like that to begin with. and then there was the rest of it, the way she spoke with an odd sort of uncertainty that he wasn't sure he'd ever really seen in anybody. was she always like this, or was she just as unsure of him as he was of her? it was almost as though she was waiting for something - for him to speak? for this conversation to end? for the ground to open up and swallow the both of them whole? ben couldn't tell.

he put the last of his sandwich in his mouth, cramming in what was a little too big to be a single bite. where he had used eating as a way to fill the silence between them before, this time, the amount of time he took to chew was purely unintentional. ben raised a finger, circling it in the air to indicate he had something to say, and was going as fast as he could to get to the point of saying it.

"so," he crumpled the paper the sandwich had come in into a ball, and dropped it on to the floor. "d'you often find yourself in trouble like that, nellie velaryon? or was today a one-off?" the question was in earnest, though the half-grin that he shot her made it plain he was not entirely serious about it.

"i’ve got to say," he pressed on, his tone shifting slightly into something more thoughtful. "That shop’s the last sort of place I’d expect to find in lannisport. all that stuff... can’t imagine I’d have stumbled across it on my own." he studied her for a moment, more curious than before. "how’d you manage to find it?"

[naelysvelaryon]

Have you heard the rumour about the supposed "Glass Velaryon?"

whispers travel faster than ravens, and in the case of lady naelys velaryon, they drift through the taverns of driftmark and the lower alleys of king’s landing like sea-mist curling around gullied stone. the smallfolk say she’s not truly one of them—not quite mortal, not quite sane.

they say she’s a mermaid.

not in jest, not in poetry, but in half-believing, wide-eyed mutterings passed between fishwives and stable boys, cooks and candle-makers. “i heard she sleeps all day,” says one washerwoman to another over a bucket of soapy water. “never opens her shutters ‘til the moon’s up. what sort o’ person lives by night unless they’ve got sea-blood in ’em?”

“or gills,” the other replies grimly, crossing herself.

the stories vary, of course. some say her father the sea snake laid with a selkie on a storm-tossed shore and brought her home. others claim she was born of a pearl, found nestled in the reef below high tide, swaddled in seaweed and crying salt tears. a stableboy swears he once saw her at dusk, barefoot and strange, walking the cliff’s edge with wet hair clinging to her shoulders, humming a song not fit for human throat. he says he couldn’t sleep right for days after.

she doesn’t take suitors, they say. never bathes where anyone can see. and when she disappears for days at a time, they swear she’s slipped back into the sea. a few even claim—stupidly, proudly—that they saw her scales once, shimmering faintly beneath the moonlight at her ankles. but those few are either drunk or trying to impress kitchen girls.

still, the rumour clings. nobles scoff, of course—except for the more ridiculous ones. a certain lady of house crabb reportedly ordered a septon to sprinkle holy water on naelys’s doorstep within her apartments in kings landing, “just to be sure.” another loutish young knight declared loudly at a feast that he’d marry her and keep her in a golden tub, “like a prized fish.”

but naelys? naelys says nothing; for naelys has not yet realised or heard of these comments, and her family continue to shield and protect her from the rumours. sensitive, soft, too fragile - and so the tale grows, as tales always do.

[naelysvelaryon]

New Girl – 2.18: TinFinity

[naelysvelaryon]

via instagram

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

"no, i am quite well th-" nervous amethyst orbs glanced up and down at the emerging figure and the bracelet caught in a thread of her silken gown, desperately trying not to tear it. only when she looked up again, it happened seamlessly - the world narrowed to a single point.

it was not the soft hush of evening, nor the distant laughter of courtiers that reached her ears. it was not the flickering lanterns that bathed the world in shifting light, nor the gentle murmur of fountains that whispered against the cool stone. all of it faded, dimmed to a hollow silence, as though some great hand had reached down and smothered the night in thick velvet which had gone on to wrap itself around her throat. wrap around her throat, and shake her. she saw him - she saw only him. her breath did not catch in her throat—it did not exist at all.

for a moment, for an eternity, she was nothing but an empty vessel, bereft of air, bereft of sense.

her fingers, delicate and trembling, curled against the fabric of her sleeve as if she might anchor herself to something real. but what was real? what could be real, when the dead stood before her, whole and breathing? her lips parted, but no sound escaped. his face—luco’s face—was lit by the torches, and gods, it was not merely a resemblance. it was the same face she had traced in the dim candlelight of a braavosi chamber, the same sharp cut of cheekbone, the same slant of a mouth that had once murmured words of devotion against her skin, had once sworn that he would never leave her. the same voice, smooth and edged with some quiet mischief, that had promised her forever.

forever had ended in blood. would her blood have eventually been the end of forever, regardless of what fates the gods had decided?

her stomach twisted. it was a cruel, impossible trick. she had buried him—no, she had not buried him, for there had been no grave, no body to mourn. only whispers in the dark, only the cold realisation that he was gone. and yet—was he ever gone at all? was he here? truly? or had she been deceived from the start?

and then the world lurched.

she had been standing, she was sure of it—only a moment ago, she had been whole, steady, thinking of nothing more than the cool air against her skin, the quiet hum of the night. but now—now there was nothing steady at all. her heart pounded, a beating, fateful drum against her ribs. her legs trembled beneath her, weak and traitorous. the night tilted, the torches blurred, the very ground seemed to slip away— her lips moved, forming something soundless, something broken, but the darkness surged before she could speak.

she did not feel herself fall.

nor did she register how long the world went black as her head thundered into contact with the ground beneath their feet.

| for @naelysvelaryon | what: cato is in the crownlands guarding the prince when he sees naelys. | when: during this gap of the regions not being in the same place.

Cato moved quietly through the palace grounds, the hush of evening settling like a soft cloak around the manicured lawns and gently cascading fountains. Lantern light flickered against the stone pathways, illuminating the crimson and gold of his fitted tunic—colors of the Westerlands, worn in deference to his temporary post of guarding Prince Arron Lannister. Despite the official nature of his presence here, his thoughts wandered with a touch of private amusement; the night was far too beautiful to be spent on strict vigilance alone.

His gaze drifted until it landed on a figure standing near a low stone wall. Dark hair framed a face lit by the subtle glow of torches, and pale eyes met his own with a quiet curiosity. Something about her bearing—graceful yet slightly distant—stirred his attention more than any polished court intrigue could.

He slipped closer, the measured steps of a man accustomed to both stealth and confidence. With a light vault, he came to rest against the wall, a polite distance kept between them. A hint of a smile curved his lips, betraying the ease with which he handled himself around women.

“My lady,” he said softly, his tone smooth but tinged with earnest concern, “no one should wander such vast grounds alone. May I walk you somewhere?”

Even as he spoke, thoughts of past encounters drifted through his mind—a reminder of the weakness he often indulged. In that moment, the promise of a new intrigue felt more compelling than any duty-bound patrol.

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys seemed to peer over at him with cautious eyes through her dark fringe, trying to keep her thoughts from running too wild as she considered what had transpired. there was no need to think about everything over and over again; some things did not need thinking about, some things simply needed forgetting. she could not help but briefly grimace upon noticing his shoulders were broad and tensed, with his back slightly hunched under the weight of the shopkeeper - was he truly in no pain at all? had she somehow resulted in the man doing serious damage to his spine?

and yet, it wasn’t just his physical effort that had her momentarily distracted—it was the way his face had shifted when he understood what she had meant. what she had not realised she had said, until she saw his expression morph - obvious enough even for naelys to notice. "oh...whatever are you apologising for? you don't need to apologise to me." she quickly uttered, fiddling with the buttons on her cloak as she took another bite, swiftly removing a crumb from the corners of her mouth.

it was subtle, but in the brief flicker of his expression, she realised something she hadn’t yet fully grasped until just moments ago: and they both knew what the topic briefly danced along the line of. there was a moment of silence between them, filled only with the sounds of the marketplace—carriages rumbling, distant voices shouting, the rhythmic clink of metal against stone—but to her, it felt too heavy, too awkward, with no fault of his own. only hers, naturally. naelys didn’t know how to respond, so she just nodded, turning her gaze away from him, the brief spark of discomfort making her fingers tremble as she adjusted the hem of her skirts.

what had she said? had she overstepped, shared too much of her own hidden worries? she had not meant to lay such things bare in front of him, a stranger—well, almost a stranger. it had probably made him uncomfortable, to be subjected to the grim and dark nature of how her thoughts could wonder. she had wanted to laugh off the moment and dismiss it entirely, but the soft, unspoken understanding in his eyes had stopped her. she walked beside him, conscious to keep up with his steps whilst her steps remained light, though her grip on the sandwich in her hands was anything but. it was a very good sandwich indeed.

the marketplace stretched ahead, golden in the late afternoon sun, but she was only half-aware of it. the smell of roasted almonds, the distant chatter of merchants, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith’s hammer—none of it seemed as important now. because she had finally placed him. bloody ben. it sat unspoken on her tongue, like a secret she wasn’t meant to have. she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, taking in the cut of his features, the shadow along his jaw. he didn’t look like a legend. no, he looked tired. not in the way a man is tired after a long day, but in the way a man is tired after too many years of never knowing when the next battle will come.

"you’re ben blackwood." she repeated, the words slipping out before she could stop them, her hands remaining crossed over her torso as his own indicated toward his own chest as though he needed to indicate to himself. "...as in, the ben blackwood?" she quietly asked, still glancing at him from behind her fringe as her tone turned more inquisitive - she did not know of another ben blackwood, nor had she heard of one. but it was quite the name in these years. still, she wanted some sort of confirmation.

bloody ben, the child soldier - the one who led the riverlands when the blacks turned their backs on them. the one who told the queen herself what she didn’t want to hear. she thought he would have been taller; much taller. she had always wanted to know what he word he had sent forward to queen rhaenyra when they were being burned by the greens; she knew better than to ask.

what was graceful to do in such situations? what did maidens do when they had been rescued? was she supposed to invite him for dinner for her family to thank him? she felt it would be rude to offer him payment; he did not seem as though he needed her alms. she hesitated then, visibly realising belatedly she had not introduced herself, though the thought seemed laughable now, after all that had already been said. she had repeated his name, without even offering him her own.

“nellie,” she said instead, her hand gesturing to herself mirroring his own gesture to himself. “nellie velaryon.” her gaze flicked to him, gauging his reaction. “you wouldn’t know me, but you might know my brothers. deimos and aemon, depending on which battles you served in.” she did not say which sides he had fought them on. she did not need to. still, she sounded almost reassuring and rushed to ensure he did not need to know of her - glass was glass, at the end of the day.

ben grunted a no to her question, despite the smarting in his ribs. he'd taken worse tumbles than this and come through unscathed ; it did not seem worth comment or fuss to bring up. he was too busy assessing the crumpled state of the shopkeeper to truly register her words at first, but something in her tone had him glancing up, brows furrowed in confusion as to what could possibly be worse than kidnap and ransom.

and then it hit him.

a dawning look of horror grew on ben's face as he caught hold of what it was she was referring to, speaking of so casually as though the worry was second nature. for all his experience on the battlefield, for all the horror he had witnessed, ben had spent precious few moments in his life in the company of women. there were things he would never have to fear the way she did. he had always thought of violence in terms of war, of blades and blows clashing and blood spilling under tattered banners. she spoke of quieter cruelties, and it were enough to bring a flush of red creeping up his neck at the fact it had not occurred to him what could happen behind locked doors in shadowed corners.

"...right," he said, at last, voice a bit quieter than before. "yeah. sorry."

and then she was laughing, and ben couldn't say he wasn't grateful for the distraction from the topic at hand. the corner of his mouth lifted in a grin, and he didn't bother to hide his scoff as the shopkeeper continued to bemoan the loss of his lunch. ben had seen men spill their guts with less fuss than was being made over a bit of bread. he said nothing of it though, his jaw clenching with the effort of hauling him up the stairs while naelys darted around, her attempts more frantic than useful, but ben said little of that, either.

you've done this before, she said, and for a brief flash of a second, ben wasn't on the stairs of a dusty westerlands shop with an elderly shopkeeper leaning on him, but back in the riverlands, mud sucking at his boots, wet with rain and blood. an open gash on his forehead, a dead body slung on his back. it was only for a moment, and then he was back, nodding his head and giving her a noncommittal grunt of a response. the tension in his arms, the ache in his back, it was all too familiar. only this time, the man clinging to him wasn't an inch from death.

by the time the shopkeeper was deposited back into his stall, ben was more than happy to take his leave from the whole situation. "you're all right, man." he clapped the shopkeeper awkwardly on the shoulder, barking orders across the street to other vendors to find someone who would know what to do with him. he didn't bother waiting for a response.

he'd already turned to leave when naelys returned, and he realised he hadn't noticed she'd darted off. he blinked as she pressed a sandwich into his hand. it was a small gesture, but he found it endearing all the same. it warmed his hands, and thought it might have seemed silly, he could not help but feel gratitude for it. perhaps that was why, instead of returning to his business, he fell into step beside her, walking away from the chaos of what had occurred side by side.

he took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "not bad," he said, more to add something to the conversation than anything else. it was a fair trade, all things considered, but he shook his head anyway. "you don't need to thank me. anyone would have done the same." he truly believed that. in ben's world, that was what men did - came to the aid of those who needed it. it was the dogma he had lived by since he was ten years old, the thing he clung to in order to make sense of it all.

it was a very good sandwich, he decided, taking another bite.

"anyway, wasn't much of a rescue, was it? went crashing down those stairs like a bag of flour," he barked a laugh, loud, even amongst the bustle of the street. he glanced sideways at her. she still seemed on edge, nervous. perhaps it was the events of the day, or perhaps it was ben's presence itself. he didn't know.

"ben," he said, finally. then, realising he'd given little indication as to what he was talking about, he gestured to himself with his free hand. "ben blackwood. that's... well, that's my name."

[naelysvelaryon]

@rhaena--velaryon

Since I’ve been here, I’ve learned many wonderful things. Most importantly, I’ve learned about friendship and loyalty and trust. And that those are not things that are just given, but things we must earn. So I want to thank Carter Mason for teaching me these things. And for being my friend. Princess Protection Program (2009) Dir. Allison Liddi-Brown

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys wished she could swallow down the heat burning beneath her skin, but it sat there, stubborn and stinging, curling in her stomach like something bitter. "you could come into my room and touch anything. they are things." she could feel rhaena’s irritation, the way it pressed in the space between them, thick as a storm about to break. she did not mean to sound argumentative or combative, and yet, here they were. the silence that followed was not comforting, nor was it gentle—it was taut, strained, the kind that made naelys feel small no matter how straight she sat, how much she tried to keep her chin up. she was tired of this. tired of feeling like no matter what she did, she always managed to be the foolish little sister, the one who ruined things, the one who was careless, reckless, thoughtless.

naelys merely looked at her as she talked. angry, yes. more concerned? she was not more concerned than angry, it was clear by the signs on her face and the way she was irritated with her. angry with her. it was okay to just be honest - there was no need to lie.

rhaena was careful, measured in every way—she knew the worth of things, held them close, treasured them in a way that naelys simply could not. and she knew she had made a mistake, a foolish mistake, but why? why did it matter so much? it was all naelys could think about as she looked down at her hands being cleaned, listening to the stern voice of rhaena as it blended and morphed the way it always did; trying to be measured, whilst making it clear a line had been crossed. she wished to murmur how an attachment to material things would do nothing to make them feel better, and how even glass that was gifted was simply just glass in the end, but she knew better.

knew that the moment the words left her mouth, she would see the flicker in rhaena’s eyes—an almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw, the way her fingers curled at her sides. naelys knew she'd have said the wrong thing. but she didn’t understand why. her hands curled into her lap, fingers pressing into the small cuts left by the broken shards, but she barely felt them. her heart still raced, her breath uneven, as though her own body was trying to punish her for something she hadn’t even meant to do. “...you’re acting like i did it on purpose.” she tried to keep her voice steady, but there was something fragile in it, something breaking apart at the edges.

“i know it was important to you, i do—but it was an accident, rhaena. and you—” she faltered, staring at her sister as though searching for some answer she couldn’t find. and she didn't find it; not in the moment nor the days that came after.

naelys did not understand why rhaena was looking at her like that. as though she had done something irredeemable, something wicked. as though a shattered ornament was an offence that warranted this cold, leaden silence stretching between them, this weight that pressed against naelys’ chest, making it harder to breathe. her fingers twitched where they lay in her lap, raw from the tiny cuts, little beads of red welling up, but she did not brush them away. she lifted her chin, just a fraction, though it did little to steady the unsteadiness inside her. “i just don't think i fully understand,” she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them. she wasn’t even sure if she meant to say them aloud. but it was true. she didn’t understand. how could rhaena care so much about something that was not alive? something that could not love her back?

naelys had seen the way rhaena looked at her dragon, the way she spoke to her, as though moondancer were not just an animal, not even just a companion, but something more. something deeper. at least the dragon was alive. what was this? and naelys, her own blood, her own sister, could never seem to earn that same kind of devotion. her throat tightened, and she pressed her lips together, suddenly aware of how hot her face felt, how her hands trembled where they rested in her lap. she shouldn’t be crying. there was nothing to cry over. it was just an argument, just one of many, just another moment where she and rhaena could not seem to meet in the middle.

but it wasn’t just that, was it? naelys had never told her. had never told anyone. she had come back from braavos with a weight in her chest so heavy she thought she might drown in it, but she had not let it show. she had stepped off the ship and smiled, and let the world believe she was the same naelys she had always been. because how could she explain it? how could she explain that she had loved someone without knowing their name? that she had lost them without even knowing who they truly were? the confusion was making naelys far more sensitive; overly sensitive, and exhausting. how could she tell rhaena, who treasured the past so fiercely, who clung to what she knew, that naelys had given her heart to a ghost?

so instead, she wiped at her face, furiously, forcing a smile that did not fit right on her lips. “it doesn’t matter,” she said, and she hated how brittle her voice sounded. “it was a mistake.” a mistake. that was all. nothing more. but inside, something still churned, something restless and aching. was she a bad sister? was she thoughtless, selfish, incapable of being careful with the things that mattered? or was it rhaena? rhaena, who could love a dragon and a glass egg more easily than she could love her? she did not say it. instead, she exhaled slowly, her fingers pressing into the cuts in her palms, grounding herself in the sting. "i know. i will not touch your things again." and she didn't mean for it to sound like defeat, yet it came so naturally to her tongue. it was not an apology. it was just a truth. she stood there for a moment longer, using the back of her sleeve to wipe away at the stains on her cheeks one final time as she sniffed.

she felt a growing emptiness in her stomach, feeling it shift in hunger as she stood there in silence, almost as if she was waiting for something else to be said. "i will go to the feast hall early...get a good seat." she half murmured, as she turned on her heel and made her way through her sister's door, into her quarters of driftmark.

rhaena stopped herself from huffing quietly as she listened, the mere forced exhalation through her nose would be enough to set her sister into more of a spiral, which would merely exasperate the elder velaryon further. it was a feedback loop she'd fallen into plenty of times before, as she was not always as patient in her youth as she was now. a joy of having a dragon was that she could fly off before she said something she'd regret in teenaged fury, or get on moondancer's back and go somewhere -anywhere- that had people she didn't have to tenderfoot around. but now that luxury, underappreciated at the time, was gone and so she had to stand there like stone, allow naelys to spin herself up and hope she would say something that would get her sister to calm down.

but she was still angry about the unsolicited touching of her things. how many times had she instructed naelys to not touch her possessions? even their nephew and nieces were better behaved than this. she was more than aware that her treasures were eye catching and desirable, but even the small children understood they had to ask, that there was a special way that rhaena wanted them to handle the delicate breakable items. did she have to instruct naelys to do the same? that she needed to ask, to sit in a chair, to have rhaena hover over her constantly and half hold the item to ensure it would not be broken? all the thoughts crossed her mind, running across the icy stone she turned to in order to keep from allowing something unintentionally venomous past her lips.

and then she brought up moondancer.

her tenderest spot, the ache that surpassed losing their parents and brother, the pain she could only voice to the last few dragonriders and be understood, and it was deeper than that. she raised moondancer; let her perch on her tiny shoulders until she was too big for it, teaching her the words for fire, for flight, and sadly for war as she grew. moondancer was her child, her second half, the hole in her that would never fill again and would be her own secret sorrow. the two times moondancer had been stolen from her, as an egg and by death, she had screamed bloody hell, her face red and tears down her eyes, like someone had beaten her and ripped her very soul from her. the mention of her cracked her shiny stone surface.

"naelys, i don't come into your room and touch your things without permission, do i?" the tone was even, but the broiling heat in her belly made rhaena clench her fists, and it was good it was not naelys' wrists in her hands but the makeshift pouch of glass which cracked and crushed further, punctuating her words with an underlying anger that threatened. the question did not need to be answered, for they both knew that rhaena respected her sister's things. they had no need to take from each other, not in her mind, but yet here her sister was, kneeling amongst broken glass. "come now, you are a woman grown, i shouldn't have to talk to you like you're six." the elder lady stood and deposited the glass dust and ruined fabric into a waste basket, forcing herself to unclench her jaw, her hands, to loosen all the tension in her shoulders and neck. just breathing, no matter how hot her breath felt as in came in her nose and out her mouth. "you know better than to do what you did." it was not just about the egg, it was bringing up moondancer, it was making excuse after excuse, it was being in this room with all these temptations that she knew she couldn't have. if naelys wanted her own things, their family had more than enough money to get them, and her name ensured she'd get a nice husband who could pay for more. if they could find a husband for her.

rhaena looked back at her sister, kneeling there on the floor, looking as small and childish as she could, and she knew naelys didn't have a single iota of manipulation in her. she looked sad and nervous because she was, and rhaena hated the mix of pity and sympathy in her belly as she watched her for a moment. she hated that she made her own little sister feel this way. "i am angry, yes, but i am more concerned that you didn't get hurt, nellie. that's the nature of glass, eventually it would break, and so will the others. whose hands will do it is the only unknown." she moved and took one of nellie's hands in hers, gently urging her to her feet. "now stop worrying before you start crying over inevitability."

[naelysvelaryon]

who: @devotionturns when and where: semi-flashback to casterly rock, naelys is excitedly nervous to finally meet a stark princess whom she has never met before, but heard so much about. context: imma say nellie went out on ride with adam stark and dacey stark, if thats not ok pls check me but the idea of it is killing me

the sun dipped low over the sea, its golden light spilling across the jagged cliffs of casterly rock as naelys velaryon guided her mare through the lion’s mouth, the vast archway carved into the base of the stronghold. sea breeze tugged at her dark hair, strands slipping from their braid, the salty air catching sharp in her lungs. hooves echoed against worn stone, the rhythmic clatter fading into the hollow hush that always came when the cliffs swallowed the sound of the waves.

she was a slower rider, considering she was not the most confident in her abilities on a horse - they were wild creatures, and were never truly able to be tamed. prince adam stark rode ahead, his dark furs heavy against the breeze, though he sat easy in the saddle, reins loose in one hand. beside him, dacey stark grinned wide, her wild curls tangled by the wind, eyes bright from the ride. they’d raced the coastline, the sea a constant roar below them, cliffs blurring past as hooves kicked up salt and sand.

there was a question shot in her direction as they both paused upon their horses, looking at their companion, almost as though they waited for her to catch up. "i would really like if we did this again before we all needed to go home, i am sure we can break our record." her voice trailed to the pair as they engaged in conversation, during this time naelys had laughed until her sides ached, the sort of breathless, foolish joy that still lingered now, humming beneath her skin. "maybe. maybe this is safest, any faster would be a danger to our wellbeing." it had been months since she had giggled and laughed in such ways, perhaps at her own expense considering there were multiple times where she nearly slipped from her saddle. she peered toward the clouds that surrounded them.

"falling from here is...unfortunate, and i do not trust i would not ride my horse straight off the edge."

she slid from her saddle, boots striking the stone with a solid thud, hands quick as she loosened the girth strap. her mare snorted, hot breath curling in the cool air, and naelys patted her damp neck, murmuring soft thanks. the scrape of iron-shod hooves drew her attention, though, her gaze lifting just as a figure stepped out from the far end of the yard — a woman, auburn-haired, the sun catching fire through the loose waves that tumbled down her back. she walked with a certain northern sharpness — direct but unhurried — and naelys, without meaning to, stiffened.

there was something in the set of the woman’s shoulders, the quiet strength of her stride. naelys’s mind worked quick, faster than her heart could follow, piecing things together — the colours she wore, the twist of the house crest pinned to her shoulder. she remained quiet as the woman spoke to her siblings about some plans for the day, and naelys suddenly remained very still, as though she were afraid moving would make cyrene's attention fall upon her. cyrene stark. her throat tightened before she could stop it. lady of the twins now, she remembered, the thought brushing sharp and fast. there was no reason for the sudden sweep of nerves, but it surged all the same — a quick, foolish flutter in her chest.

she busied herself brushing dust from her riding leathers, as if that would help. beside her, dacey let out a soft huff of laughter, low enough that cyrene wouldn’t hear. “just be yourself,” ginny had said that night, somewhere between wishes and the sounds of the river. it echoed now, stubborn in her mind. yes, well, that’s easier when i’m not tripping over my own thoughts, naelys thought bitterly, but she squared her shoulders all the same. naelys forced a breath deep into her lungs, steadying the wild flutter of her pulse. “you must be the princess cyrene,” she said, voice light but not too much so — aiming for warmth without losing grace, the very same way her sister rhaena was able to exercise it so.

“i am lady naelys of house velaryon.” a pause, quick but heavy. “i’ve heard much of you." the words landed, hanging there for a beat, and naelys felt the weight of cyrene’s gaze — clear, steady, unreadable. it pressed against her nerves, though she stood tall beneath it, her smile softening just enough. she could only hope she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself.

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys velaryon stood frozen halfway up the staircase, her hand curled tight around the banister, though whether it was to steady herself or keep from flinging it at someone was anyone’s guess. "no no, not hurt i don't think. are you hurt?" she called down to him as her heart still hammered in her chest, each beat loud enough to drown out the muffled sounds of the street beyond the dusty shopfront. the air smelled of old parchment, mildew, and something vaguely metallic—probably from the grotesque collection of artefacts strewn about like some ghastly attempt at decor.

she had been halfway to finding help—already imagining the words she might have used when she found someone—but then the shopkeeper sat up as though he were the living dead, rising from the dark pits. "well, you know, actually... i think this situation would scare most women more than any other." naelys responded, her tone not challenging, if anything entirely earnest and hurried as she walked back down one step at a time - the subconscious fears of a woman revealed to a war hero, all whilst she knew little of the truth. "ransom would be a nicer scenario, yes. not as traumatic as what most of us would be afraid of happ..." she trailed off after she realised the look on his face, a strange dawning moment.

and now, here she was, watching him haul the crumpled shopkeeper from where he’d fallen in a pitiful heap at the bottom of the steps. naelys pressed a hand to her lips, her shoulders trembling—not with fear this time, but with the sudden, uncontrollable urge to laugh. it broke out before she could stop it, a sharp, breathless sound. the shopkeeper, moaning about his ruined lunch rather than his bruised bones, was simply too much. she could not help but echo the words of her would be rescuer, the ultimately glistening white knight.

“you’re worried about your lunch?” she blurted, voice caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. she tried to stifle it, fingers splaying across her mouth, but another laugh slipped through. the young man crouched low, tucking his arms under the shopkeeper’s bulk and hoisting him up with a grunt, like he’d done this sort of thing far too many times. naelys, still jittery with leftover adrenaline, scrambled forward, uselessly brushing debris out of the way. “oh—wait—here, let me—” she darted ahead, though it became immediately clear she wasn’t helping in any meaningful way. still, she busied herself by clearing the path, pushing aside a crate and kicking a dusty scroll out of reach.

she hovered a little too close as ben maneuvered the shopkeeper up the creaking steps, her hands fluttering as though she might catch him if he slipped again—not that she had the strength for it. “you’ve done this before, haven’t you?” she murmured, more to fill the space than anything else. the man didn’t answer, though the flex of his jaw hinted at the weight he was carrying. once the shopkeeper was finally dumped—less gently than she thought polite—back onto his stall, he immediately resumed grumbling about the state of his robes, crumbs still clinging to his lap. her saviour barked across the narrow street for someone to fetch proper help, his voice clipped and efficient, leaving little room for protest.

the shopkeeper opposite gave a reluctant nod before ducking into the crowd. naelys lingered by the doorframe, fingers drumming against her skirts, the awkwardness of the moment creeping up her spine. she should say something—proper thanks, perhaps—but instead, her eyes snagged on the bakery across the street, its shutters half-drawn, the scent of fresh bread still warm in the air. without thinking, she crossed over. the baker was already sweeping the last of the day’s crumbs from the counter, but naelys managed to talk him out of the final three rolls—all filled with prosciutto and creamy goat’s cheese. still warm. she tucked them into her hands and hurried back across the road, where the man was finishing his curt instructions.

“and this is for you, for the fact you did intend on letting me out of your basement,” she said, holding one sandwich out to him. the other, she dropped onto the shopkeeper’s lap—more of a gesture to stop his whining than anything else. “figured you both deserved something for... all that.” she gestured vaguely to the splintered door, the ruined staircase, and the shopkeeper still muttering about vinegar. naelys didn’t wait for more conversation. instead, she turned toward the street, the afternoon sun painting golden slants across the cobblestones. ben followed, his boots heavy beside her light steps. she felt her shoulders ease, though the day’s chaos still pulsed at the edges of her mind.

they stood at the edge of the road, side by side but not quite close enough to touch. naelys fiddled with the sandwich wrapping in her hands, her dark violet eyes flicking toward the young man, then away. “well. that was... i'm very sorry for disrupting your day,” she said, the words laced with a lightness she didn’t quite feel. she tried for a smile, though it was nervous and fell off quickly. there was a pause, filled with the sounds of the market—vendors shouting, the clang of hooves on cobblestones—before she added, softer now, “thank you. truly. i think i owe you more than just lunch but...it is a very good, fresh roll. my favourite in the city.” she bit into her sandwich as they walked toward the wagons, knowing he probably didn't care and sought to just get on with the rest of his day.

it was for that reason she fell quiet as they ate, too anxious and nervous to ask him for his name and half hoping he would just give it.

her words came pouring out in a frantic rush, and ben found himself having to concentrate to make sense of them. his brow furrowed, expression on his face completely nonplussed as he gazed around at the artefacts she gestured to. he liked to think he had a strong sense of intuition, and though logic dictated there was nothing to fear in here, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention just looking at them, never mind being trapped in a musty basement with them.

"i'm fine, i'm fine," he waved off her question, sidestepped around a particularly grotesque statue that he had overturned in his little tumble, head cocking as he examined it. "they have a talent for bad decor, i'll give them that. what sort of madhouse is this?" his tone was light, meant to distract her from her anxious state, though his humour faltered as she explained how she got in this predicament, the frown returning to his face. "well, that's convenient timing, isn't it? stepping out just as you come down here?"

it was as though one could see the cogs physically turning in his brain as he thought, going over the scenarios she presented. "locking you in a basement full of tacky ornaments and leaving isn't the most efficient way to go about robbing someone," he pointed out. "more likely he meant to ransom you." he regretted the words almost as soon as he spoke them. she was clearly shaken, and he did not think his words would help with that. "you're not hurt, though?" he added, hurriedly. "a bit of fresh air and you'll be all right, yeah?"

there was a thud from behind him, and he turned just in time to see a man hurtling down the stairs like a sack of grain, a sandwich coming apart as it arched through the air. for a moment, ben could only stare as the man crashed to the ground, in almost the exact spot he himself had fallen, before the absurdity of the situation set in. it was all he could do to press his lips tightly together to keep from laughing.

"fucking hells," he muttered under his breath. he strode to the shopkeeper and crouched, checking his pulse in a way he had done a thousand times before in the aftermath of battle until he felt the steady thud of it in his neck. not dead. he opened his mouth to tell the woman as much, though her next words quickly silenced him. when he looked at her once more, his expression was back to confusion.

"you're telling me," he began, taking steady breath to calm himself," your mother was burned alive, and this," he gestured to the shopkeeper's crumpled form. "this is what's doing you in?" she shook his head, as though trying to register what she had just said. was she mad? was he mad? ben didn't even know anymore.

he straightened as she made her way up the rickety staircase, not relishing the idea of being left with an unconscious man. but then, the man groaned at his feet, and ben was leaning down again. "wait!" he called after her. "he's alive, he's awake! come back!" he reached out a hand to help the shopkeeper to a sitting position, the man muttering something he couldn't quite hear. "what was that, mate?" he asked, his attention on the shopkeeper. he could see no blood, and no obvious breaks, his head and his neck seemingly intact. it was a good sign.

"my... my lunch..." croaked the shopkeeper, and this time, ben couldn't help the laugh that escaped him as he brushed a stray piece of bread from the man's shoulders. he looked to naelys, hovering upon the stairs like some sort of nervous sparrow, in disbelief, as though to confirm she had heard what he had.

"you nearly broke your neck, man, and you're worried about some bread and cheese," ben pointed out, almost completely deadpan in your delivery. "come on. put your arm around my neck and i'll help you back up the stairs. then you can explain what you think you're playing at, locking girls in your cellar."

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys velaryon had never been one for stillness. it was something she often wrestled against—like the tug of tidewaters pulling at a ship’s anchor—but here, beneath the red boughs of the godswood, with dacey stark’s thumb brushing soft, lazy circles against the back of her hand, there was a strange, disarming peace. her breath slowed, caught in that quiet space between heartbeats, as though the air itself had grown heavier with meaning. “you make it so hard not to fall into this moment,” naelys murmured, the corners of her mouth curving in the faintest, almost shy smile. her words tasted soft on her tongue, like something delicate and half-forbidden. she could feel the sting in dacey’s eyes before she even saw the tear slip free.

it traced a glistening path down dacey’s cheek, and without thought, naelys reached out—her fingers brushing it away with the back of her knuckle, feather-light.

“oh, you will start me off. i cry so easily.” she whispered, though her voice trembled with the tenderness she could not quite swallow. “or you’ll start me off, and then we’ll both be quite undone.” there was something so unbearably human about dacey in that moment—bare, open in a way few allowed themselves to be—and naelys felt the pull of it deep within her chest, a knot tightening. she took dacey’s hands again, their fingers woven together as though they had always fit that way, and drew in a slow breath. “i know this isn’t the sept. no marble pillars or candles, no seven-pointed star watching over us.” her gaze flickered up toward the weirwood’s carved face, its bleeding eyes staring back, ancient and unknowable.

“and i know your gods… they don’t know me. they wouldn’t know my name if i whispered it into the roots of this very tree.” she didn't think her own gods either, though.

her voice dropped, almost to a hush, but there was a firmness there too—an anchor in the soft swell of her words. “but i swear to them, anyway. old gods, new gods… or none at all.” her fingers tightened around dacey’s. “i swear i will never lose you.” it felt strange, saying it aloud. oaths were not foreign to naelys—velaryons had made them for generations—but this one was different. not for duty. not for house or name. this was hers. she could feel the weight of it settle in her bones, heavy but good. and then, as though the depth of the moment had startled her, naelys exhaled a breath that broke into a soft, self-conscious laugh, the sound light in the hush of the godswood. “i didn’t think i’d be so serious the first time we met properly,” she admitted, eyes gleaming with a kind of rueful affection.

“i always imagined i’d trip over my skirts or say something ridiculous and you’d write me later, teasing me for it.”

her fingers still played absently with dacey’s, tracing the shape of her knuckles, the lines of her palm—small, idle things to keep the heaviness at bay. “tell me about your family,” naelys said suddenly, her voice brightening as though she were sweeping the leaves off a garden path. “i think of them often, you know. cyrene—she’s back in the north now, isn’t she? you must feel whole again, having her there, it has been so long.” her smile softened, something knowing in it; she could imagine the stark sisters could be so good to one another as wolves did travel in packs. it made her think of her own sister, and then she thought she would much rather not. her hand paused then, a beat of hesitation before she added, quieter, “and… any word of alysanne?” she hesitated to say more, aware of the wound that name might stir.

“you always painted her so vivid in your letters, like i could see her even if i’d never met her. for some reason a wolf's howl does remind me of her, so much. how does that work, considering i never met her. one day, i hope—” she broke off, shaking her head, almost as though she needed to physically shake herself to stop. and stop she did, considering that remained so up in the air and empty. “well...i hope.”

dacey's thumb brushed faintly over the back of naelys' hands, tracing soft circles in a touch light as fallen leaves. it was the sort of calm she could not recall feeling in such a long time that settled now, the feeling that it was safe to breathe, and to be, was one that was entirely unfamiliar to her, something she could not remember ever carrying in her heart, but it was here now, as comforting as slipping into your own bed, warm and inviting, at the end of a trying day. there was the feeling that the two of them could remain here forever, undisturbed by time or pressure, and it would all be all right.

"i know what you mean," she agreed after a pause, her voice hushed as though fearing to disturb the peace, for she had long since learned such things were fragile. "new and familiar all at once." she had thought she knew what it was to know naelys, had built such a picture of her in her mind, constructed from words upon a page, but it paled in comparison to the real woman who had wrote them. it was different, but not worse - different in a way that was a welcome surprise.

"i think," she began, gaze drifting upwards to the boughs of the weirwood. "i have always found it easier to keep people at a distance. and our letters... that was a sort of distance, even as i told you all that was in my heart. i am not used to being known in person." she could not look at naelys as she spoke, but the entire time she did, the fingers that laced themselves with hers did not waver, holding on in a way that was steadfast. "i don't think i mind it," she said, after a pause. "not with you."

naelys' next words brought her eyes down from the trees, flicking to naelys' violet hues as though looking for the jest in her words. you have such a sweet face. "oh." her lips parted in a breath of surprise, and it was not that she was uncomfortable with the compliment, but that she could not recall anybody ever saying such things to her before. her cheeks had grown warm, and the hand that was not nestled in naelys' was pressed against dacey's own face, an attempt to conceal the flush that bloomed there even as a smile grew on her lips. "i - well, thank you." she let out a self-deprecating laugh. there was something disarming in the simplicity of the moment. it was not flattery for flattery's sake. it just was.

her gaze flickered for a breath too long, tracing the the subtle furrow in naelys' brow. how many letters had been exchanged between them now? too many to count, enough to line the distance between winterfell and king's landing and back again with the confidences they had swapped between them that had never been shared with another. it was enough to make something stir within her, a softness and certainty at once. "i am honoured to see you, naelys." she spoke the words with an utter sincerity. "and even when you don't see yourself what a gift that is to me, i see you still."

the smile was back upon her face, gentle and warm. "i don't doubt that," she said, and she didn't. "with our letters, we found each other even when we knew nothing more than the other's name. the gods willed this, mine and yours. they wanted us to find one another in this place. to stand here together." it was not often dacey spoke of her faith. in the religion of the old gods, prayers were done in silence. she held that close to her heart, a private, personal thing that was hers alone, but she did not mind sharing it with naelys now.

for a moment, she said nothing. an oath in the godswood was not a vow to be broken, not to a woman of the north, and naelys spoke hers with such conviction that it were obvious that she knew it, intent in every syllable. words carried power, but in that moment, dacey felt it immediately, as though the gods themselves had deigned to visit and bind them together in a way that could never be severed. she nodded, hand tightening around naelys' just a little.

"and i will never be lost to you," she murmured in return. "as the gods are my witness." her eyes searched naelys' face, memorising the way she looked under the canopy of the trees and dappled sunlight. it was almost cruel, that after this, they would go back to their letters, parted once more and left with only words, but it made the the importance of their promise matter all the more. "i swear it now, and the godswood will remember."

it was not until she felt the wetness on her cheeks that dacey realised she had began to shed tears. she was not a woman easily provoked to crying, had never once allowed herself to weep before another person, but she did here. "look at me," she let out a sigh that was half a laugh, before turning away, as though to hide her face from naelys, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "happy tears." she explained. "i'm just happy."

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys’s throat felt dry, as though dust had coated her tongue. the command echoed in her skull—speak with conviction, or do not speak at all—and yet her voice withered before it could form, leaving only a fragile silence hanging between them. the stone beneath her knees bit deeper, cold seeping through silk and skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat rising behind her eyes, the desperate sting of tears she could not let fall. not here. not now.

she wanted to speak—to say something—but every word dissolved before it reached her lips, slipping through the haze of humiliation that clouded her thoughts. the weight of the hall pressed upon her, the air thick with expectation, the shuffle of boots on stone, the rasp of someone clearing their throat—all of them watching. the rush of blood pounded in her ears, so loud it drowned even jaehaerys’s voice for a moment, leaving only the hollow roar of her mortification. she dared a glance upwards, just for a heartbeat, her lashes damp as they lifted. his face was there—so close, too close—every line of it sharp and sure, nothing like the boy who had once teased her in the shadowed corners of driftmark’s gardens.

and yet, the smirk lingered. she could feel it, like a blade dragged lightly over skin. he wants me to break, she thought wildly. he’s waiting for it. “i…” the word caught, thin and useless. her throat ached with it. his eyes were still on her, heavy as iron. the throne room blurred at the edges, her shame so fierce it made her dizzy. if only he would turn away, step back—anything—but he stood, still and steady, waiting. her hands curled into fists at her sides, trembling against the velvet folds of her gown. she swallowed, hard, forcing down the knot lodged in her throat.

“i see the king,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow, drifting into the vastness of the hall. it were different to what she had said just some moments ago, and whether that was intentional was something even she did not know as the words came from the tip of her tongue the way the shores were never able to push away the embrace of the ocean. not her king. the king.

it was the best she could give him. and yet, even as they left her mouth, she hated them—how thin they sounded, how brittle. it felt as though she could feel the gaze of all those who had died for the claim of rhaenyra staring at her with those same eyes of disappointment, if she looked up she was sure she would see them stood in the hallowed halls of the red keep. she could not look at him anymore. her gaze broke away, falling to the gleam of his boots, to the cold stone, to anywhere but the face above her. the pressure in her chest swelled—she would shatter if he didn’t leave soon.

please, she begged inwardly, the word burning behind her teeth. just dismiss me. or walk away from me, even if it is in front of everyone.

The words hung in the air, thin and fragile as spun glass, threatening to shatter under the weight of the moment. Jaehaerys remained still, his expression unreadable, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed an intensity that could cut through the chill of the hall. He studied her, the trembling figure before him, and for a fleeting moment, he was no longer standing in the Great Hall. He was a boy again, smirking as the glass dragon faltered, mocked by a boy emboldened by cruelty. Yet the memory felt distant, foreign, and unwelcome now.

“Your king,” he echoed softly, his voice barely louder than her whisper, but it carried across the hall with the weight of a hammer striking iron. “How convenient.”

Jaehaerys stepped forward, the echo of his boots reverberating through the vast chamber. His gaze never left her, pinning her in place as though his presence alone were a vice tightening around her. “Do you think words are so easily forgiven, my dear lady? A misspoken title? A slip of the tongue?” His tone was deceptively calm, but the edge of danger beneath it was unmistakable.

He halted just before her, towering over her bowed form. “You see your king,” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate, “but I wonder if you truly see. Do you see the man who commands this hall?”

Jaehaerys leaned down slightly, “Or do you still see the boy you once knew?” He straightened, his expression a mask of restraint. “I do not ask this to humiliate you,” he continued, though his tone suggested otherwise. “I ask because words have power. And yours has always been too soft, too uncertain. Speak with conviction, or do not speak at all.”

He stepped back, a smile coming on to his face as the mischievous feeling took over all else. “Now rise, Lady Velaryon. Show me if you still shatter so easily.”

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys leaned into marcella’s touch, her dark lashes fluttering as the soft kiss grazed her temple. there was something so grounding about it, like the world had slowed for just that moment. her fingers clung to marcella’s sleeve, delicate and instinctual, before she let go, unwilling to make it too obvious how desperately she needed her. “you always know what to say,” she murmured, though her voice barely carried, soft as the silk that clung to her. in the mirror, their reflections sat side by side—naelys in marcella’s nightgown, hair loose around her shoulders, and cella in crimson, her lilac eyes cool and watchful.

naelys smiled faintly at the sight, the kind of smile that tugged at the edges of worry but didn’t quite let it go as her gaze swept over marcella's appearance; she seemed to radiate in shades of red, catch the attention of any who would look in her direction. she appeared a true queen, and perhaps she would have uttered it, if she were not afraid that the gods would cruelly put her other half in the path of the tyrant king for such thoughts. with a soft breath, she turned, slipping her arms around marcella in the briefest hold, before pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. her lips lingered for a moment, warm against skin,

before she stepped back, pretending it was nothing. it always was—until it wasn’t. she let herself believe it was simple, the same way she always did. naelys moved to the bed, climbing onto it with a sigh, sprawling onto her stomach as the soft lavender fabric pooled around her legs. her cheek pressed against the plush covers, her fingers twisting into the folds. “i don’t know why i was surprised,” she admitted, her voice muffled by the bedding. “he was always cruel, wasn’t he? jaehaerys, i mean. when we were children.” she shifted her head to the side, staring at the edge of the room, the golden sconces casting low shadows along the walls.

“he used to push me into the sand at driftmark. call me ‘seaweed’ ‘cause of my hair. pulled my braids so hard once, i thought he’d take the whole thing off.” a dry laugh slipped from her. “and i still wanted him to like me because he used to take people on his dragon.” and after all, it were the only way naelys would ever be able to be upon a dragon, considering the beasts rejected her time after time. she only wished that once in her life she would be able to see the world from such tremendous heights, but with each passing day it felt like that dream became dimmer and dinner. “and still, i was pathetic enough to slip up.” she pressed her forehead against the mattress, completely faceplanting upon the pillow for a moment. her fingers curled tighter into the sheets, her body small against the vastness of marcella’s bed.

“but you—” she glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of cella’s silhouette in the mirror, still seated close.

“you’re not scared of him. you’re never scared, you'll walk to him and say you have a matter to discuss. what matter do you have to discuss?” there was a wistful ache in her voice, that same old envy curling at the edges that was not spiteful or malicious in any method. “you always know how to fix things. how to make people bend to you.” she rolled onto her side, her dark hair spilling across the covers as she propped her head up. "you don't have to help, cella. i know that. you always do, i'd understand if you think this is just beyond even what you are able to do.” there was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her voice quieter, almost as though she were quietly confessing what would always remain in her heart.

“sometimes i think i’d just float off somewhere if you weren’t here to hold me down.” the confession was light, but the weight of it pressed deep into her chest. “you’re the only place that ever feels... really safe." she rolled onto her side beside cella, her hands resting beneath her chin as she looked at her friend sitting beside her, quietly moving a streak of her silverish hair from her features. her face never deserved to be blocked from anything, let alone her gaze. and then, it were like something burst, a strange haze of a moment. "well, you of course, more than any other....and the starks of winterfell, do you know of princess dacey and prince adam stark?”

word had quickly reached her about what naelys had accidentally said to the king. jaehaerys was a proud man, childishly proud, and she knew that he would not let the insult go easily. she had cursed underneath her breath when told. but instead of confronting nellie and asking what she had been thinking, she extended an invitation to spend the night in her chambers. she would shield nellie from the world if she had to. she knew the velaryon girl was her weakness. the one crack in her armour that could be exploited. when she was alone, marcella often despised feeling so close to another being. but then she saw nellie's face, and she could never bring herself to feel anything negative about her. the black hole inside her refused to extend to her feelings for naelys. but she rarely spoke of it. if she pretended not to notice, she did not have to try to put a stop to it.

marcella was sitting on the bed in her red nightgown, her lilac eyes fixated on nellie in her favoured nightgown. she felt a strange kind of satisfaction at the sight. the beastly possessiveness she felt over the dark-haired valyrian purred inside her. her enjoyment was spoiled by how obvious it was that naelys was restless in her worry. cella swung her legs off the bed and rose to stand beside her friend. “from what i've heard, then you have already apologised, nellie,” she reminded her softly. “i need to speak with the king on another matter, and i will speak on your behalf… or i will ask max to do so.” if he agreed to it, there would be a price to pay for that, she already knew it. if she had to take care of it herself, she would do so too. it was not the best way to approach jaehaerys, but if it was needed, marcella would pay the price for nellie. she was arrogant enough to believe that she could talk herself out of it, she could with most things.

she pressed a gentle kiss to her closest friend's forehead. “do not fret, dear, we will make it right. you can hide in here as long as you wish, but then you will need to face court again.” she put an arm around nellie's shoulders, putting her chin on her other shoulder, as marcella stared at their reflections in the mirror. “your curtsies will be extra low from now on, and you will remember to always say 'your grace' when speaking to him, but do not apologise any more unless he asks you to.” her words were not suggestions, it was more a barrage of orders delivered sweetly. it was a delicate balance with most men. jaehaerys needed to feel like he had put naelys in her place, but she also could not come off as too nervous, and risk being viewed with even more suspicion due to looking guilty. cella cared little for intentions, all she cared about was how it looked.

it was strange how much easier it was to deal with nellie's mistake than her own. marcella had restless nights thinking about the situation. she did not care for the body rotting in the sewers, but she cared about the behaviour of the others involved, whether they'd crack under the weight of a deep dark secret. she could understand nellie's worry, the nervous drumming she probably felt inside. cella felt some of that. the fear was not what it had been in the past. it was somehow… less. but it was still very much there, present and lodged in the back of her mind. she had a favour to ask of nellie, but she wanted to wait until her friend had calmed down enough to think clearly.

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys’ hands trembled as she scooped the shards into her palms, the jagged edges biting at her skin, though she hardly noticed. the sound of the glass shattering still echoed in her mind, an ugly, violent crack that had torn through the stillness of the room. it rang in her ears like a bell of guilt, hollow and deafening. she knelt there, knees pressed against the cold floor, the fine fabric of her nightgown pooling around her as though trying to hide the scene of the crime. the glass was beyond saving—splintered into cruel, glinting fragments that cut more than just skin.

she’d been foolish. again.

“i promise didn’t mean to,” naelys blurted, her voice trembling more than she’d intended as it seemed as though she instantly resorted to the defense, fixing her gaze with her older sisters and furiously wiping away at the panicked tears which began to roll down her cheeks. why was she even crying, it were not as though any physical harm would be done to her? why was she crying? her hands hovered uselessly over the shards, as though she might still piece them back together if she only tried hard enough. but the damage was too much—fractured glass catching the firelight in sharp, glittering slivers. it looked like it was still alive somehow, like it was still falling.

and then rhaena ordered her to stop, and naelys all but froze in an instant, listening instantly. she wordlessly extended her hands out for inspection, looking down at the tiles beneath her feet as she did so, letting her dark shoulder length hair fall on either side of her shoulders.

she swallowed hard, feeling the sting at the back of her throat. “it— it just slipped. i was only—” her breath hitched as she dared a glance towards rhaena, though she didn’t really want to see her face. she could feel it, though—that cold, heavy weight of rhaena’s gaze, the kind that pressed down until naelys felt as if she might fold in on herself. “i was just leaving the necklace, the one from king’s landing, and then i—” her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting into soft skin. there was something awful about the silence between them. it was louder than the glass breaking. “i thought i could—” she cut herself off. there was no point. what was she going to say? that she’d thought she could hold it, that she could just touch it for a moment without consequence?

rhaena would see right through that. she always did.

naelys chewed at her bottom lip before forcing the words out, soft and uneven. “it was so beautiful. the way the light caught in it. i didn’t think it would—” her voice cracked, her throat tightening. she hated this. hated how it pulled her back to being a girl again, small and clumsy, always second-best. "oh rhaena, do you think i was going to steal it? i was going to put it right back, i promise. i would't do that, not again." she could feel it in the way her legs trembled beneath her, in how her heart thundered in her ears. “i know—” she laughed then, a brittle sound. “i know i tried to take the dragon egg. the real one, i mean. moondancer’s. do you remember? i thought—” she bit her lip, a bitter smile flickering for half a second as she wiped at her cheeks.

“i thought if she saw me first, she’d pick me. i thought that was how it worked. i know this egg couldn't pick me, i wasn't trying to steal it...i just wanted to look at it. you always said to look at them through the light.” she indicated toward the window, as though it were not obvious. she did not know why she was talking a million miles a moment, or why she was so desperate to make rhaena believe she was not trying to steal it. "but this isn't like that, this is just a glass egg." she did not want her to be upset with her, but she always managed it, didn't she? she was silent for a moment, but the quiet pressed in, heavy and suffocating, until she had to fill it.

only, it was not just a glass egg, was it? not to rhaena, who had it gifted from their father in a large set for her nameday. in her panic, naelys forgot to mention she kenw how important it was, too focused on her desperation to assure she was not trying to steal anything from rhaena. she let her hands fall into her lap then, the last of the glass slipping from her fingers, a few stray pieces cutting tiny lines into her palm. she didn’t bother brushing them away. “you can be angry,” she added quietly, “i think you are angry with me.”

she’d been at the desk for hours at this point, moving between the work of a lady and her own personal papers as her whims changed, her fingers stained by charcoal and ink until she would notice and feverishly wipe away the stains on a handkerchief, only just to go back to the papers and repeat the process again. it kept the thoughts of loss away, how yet again house velaryon had more carved from it, how the wish to do something roiled in her belly like a whirlpool, ready to suck her down into foolish decisions for the sake of sating the hunger and hurt. it was up to men like deimos to enact revenge now, it was her duty to now sit and wait and seethe until truth and justice were found and dispensed by others. for all her composure, her elegance, her years of holding her head high, there was still dragonfire within rhaena threatening to burst forth.

rhaena stretched as she finished the last word on the paper, pen down and her arms stretched upwards, her body protesting the change of position by the sounds made by her bones as she moved. again she rubbed the black off her fingers, the fine white of her handkerchief gone grey long ago and getting greyer as she did so. she knew tomorrow a new one would replace this one, whether that was because her maids cleaned them so well or had a horde to draw from, she was unsure. however, it was the least of her cares as she got up from her chair, deep green velvet robe swishing around her feet with her movements as she set it and her work aside and began to walk back to her rooms.

she did not expect to walk through an ajar door to see her sister, nor did she expect to see her sister knelt over, cradling the remnants of a glass egg that should have been on her shelf safely. rhaena stared at the scene, at naelys' wide watery eyes, at the loss to her hoard that she was unsure of ever being able to replace.

"stop." the elder velaryon commanded softly, jaw clenched around the words as she moved automatically. the anger flared low in her belly, but this was not a maid or non-family member. this was nellie. nellie the fragile, nellie who didn't mean to do what she did. how many times had rhaena already excused nellie's carelessness? too many to count.

the nearest piece of fabric that could be sacrificed was some embroidery practice she was not bothered enough to finish, and rhaena used it to collect the glass gently from her sister's hands and the floor. what was too small to be picked up would be swept up by maids later. placing the shards to the side, she immediately looked over her sister's hands, looking for shards or cuts to nellie's. her grip was firm but soft as she flipped and examined each side before violet eyes found their match in naelys' face. "how many times do i need to tell you not to touch my things without permission?"

this was the eternal trial of having naelys as a sister, one rhaena had long ago accepted. it had started with moondancer's egg, and it had never stopped. and while rhaena usually gave a person a single chance, her family was some of the few that she was willing to forgive. even if seeing the destroyed egg made her eye twitch and her teeth gently grate. that egg was part of a set gifted by her father, their shared desire to collect and display rare treasures being one of the few things they shared. "what were you even doing in here?"

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys’ lips parted slightly, as though to respond, but no words came at first. she only stared ahead, lilac eyes reflecting the silvered glimmer of the currents below. ginny said it so easily—be yourself. "sometimes you can, yes." her response was earnest and genuine, wrapped in kindess and uncertainty; it had always been so. there had been times where nellie had to ask ginny to repeat herself, or talk slower for the vale accent was a funny quirky thing. but that had never been a winning strategy for anyone, had it? her fingers twitched where they rested against the railing, tightening for a moment before relaxing again.

the words stirred something uncertain in her, a quiet discomfort she did not know how to voice.

“myself?” she echoed at last, the word tasting strange on her tongue, as though she were testing its weight before committing to it fully. her fingers traced absent circles against the cool stone, movements slow and deliberate. “...i do not think that would work any wonders, ginny.” the words were not harsh, nor were they said in jest. they were merely a quiet truth, one she had long accepted. she turned her gaze towards her companion then, watching the way moonlight caught in the warm strands of her hair, how she stood with a natural ease that naelys had never quite mastered.

ginny made it look effortless—the way she stepped into the flow of conversation, how she shaped the space around her with a few well-placed words and a knowing smile. naelys could not do that. she had never known how.

“i have never known how to make people listen,” she admitted, her voice softer now, though not without thought. “not the way you do.” she did not mean it with resentment; if anything, there was an odd sort of admiration in the way she spoke. ginny could weave words like fine silk, light and enticing, drawing people in before they realised they were already ensnared. naelys was not woven from that same cloth. her words were often left drifting, lost to the tide before anyone could hold them.

the night air carried the scent of damp earth and river mist, mingling with the distant murmur of unseen revelry. naelys let out a small breath, fingers trailing along the railing once more. “perhaps that is why i do not speak as much. i have never had much faith that people would care to listen.” a small, wistful smile flickered across her lips before fading just as quickly. “but you... you have never had to wonder about such things, have you?” she fiddled with the jewels on her hands as she exhaled, watching a cloud of smoke fill in the air in front of her; now she was a real dragon. the thought caused the corners of her lips to turn upward, almost half laughing at herself in her own head. beware vhagar.

"what would you say shows... finesse? how do i enter conversations if i am not being directly spoken to?"

Ginevra’s lips curled into a soft, knowing smile as she listened to Naelys, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. She never failed to find a quiet amusement in the way Naelys spoke, her words laced with that unassuming honesty that Ginny had come to appreciate.

“Do I talk too much?” she mused, her tone light but with a knowing edge. “Perhaps. But it’s a skill, really. It’s not just the talking, but the knowing when to do it and with whom. People are remarkably receptive when you take the time to listen first, and then speak with just the right amount of… charm.” She flashed Naelys a teasing smile, her words carrying a playful ease that seemed effortlessly poised. “It helps, of course, to have a certain finesse when slipping into conversations.”

Her gaze lingered on Naelys as the Valyrian woman continued to observe the path ahead, her quiet, thoughtful nature as distinct as ever. Ginny, ever the observer, caught the vulnerability in her friend’s question, a flicker of doubt hidden beneath the surface. “Talking to strangers is hardly a challenge,” Ginny said with a light laugh. “It’s all about finding the right hook, something they care about, even if it’s something as simple as the weather. People love to talk about themselves, and once you’ve discovered that, well… the rest is simply a matter of timing. I don’t do it because I like hearing myself talk - though I do enjoy that part too - but because people are fascinating. Every little quirk, every little thing they say, it’s like they’re handing you a piece of themselves. All you have to do is listen and ask the right questions.”

At Naelys’ reflection on people’s darker actions, Ginevra’s expression shifted, her elegance not lost even in serious moments. “Ah, yes. People can be… tiresome at times. But there is beauty in their chaos, isn’t there? Just like these currents. They continue to shimmer even after storms have passed. It’s proof that, even in the wake of disaster, something enduring remains.”

Ginny’s smile softened as she stepped closer to her friend, offering a comforting presence. “You don’t have to change, Naelys. Not one bit. But perhaps, if you ever find yourself uncertain of how to speak, you might consider simply being yourself. It works wonders.”