Chapter Text
There would always be people that called you mad, but you preferred when people said you were different. Different was kinder than mad.
As a girl, you talked to the cats and bugs in the Red Keep and hummed to yourself, nonsensical lyrics and poetries that only you could understand. When talked to, you did your best to keep your attention on the speaker, but eventually your eyes would drift to the side as you got carried away in your head. Your silver hair was wild as you were uncaring of the curls you had been bestowed with, and you with your frail body did not posses the stamina for much of the courtly activities you should have enjoyed.
Not many people cared to understand you.
Your father, Aerys, was indifferent to anything that was not his histories and theorems, while your lady mother was overwhelmed with your care. She was grateful to the Seven who are One for your birth, but you were hard to manage. Though, you cared not for your father's love, you understood his care was more for the written word than any person could garner. While Aerys was adept at languages, both written and verbal you had trouble reading, the letters mixing together and ruining your concentration, and writing was arduous as you were naturally used to writing with the left hand. Ink was constantly smeared on your forearms and hand, to the point your mother tried to teach you with the right hand. Only for what little penmanship you had to be ruined with shaky and imperfect lines.
As such, your father would never care for you, who struggled with the basic of literatures, and you were fine with that.
You had no siblings to rely on, and your cousins were too far removed in their own strifes and lives to care about their 'simple' cousin fading away in the Red Keep. Well, mayhaps Daeron cared at one point, seeing your struggle mirror his own, but succumbed to the wine to cope whereas you let your mind conjure happier things to distract you. Though it came at a cost, and you struggled to discern reality from your own imaginations. As such you came to rely on your own mother for most things, such as dressing and deciding your schedule, far into your elder years where you were blossoming from girl to woman.
And with your seven and tenth name day, you were greeted with a paltry amount of offers for your hand in marriage. Most offers were from minor houses from the Crownlands and surrounding realms, with one offer from House Martell for a third son of a second son. Your mother had been devastated for you, though you didn't understand why she was so sad.
Surely any offer was better than none?
Though she did not share the same sentiments you held, Aelinor Penrose was determined to secure you a fine match where you could at least be the lady of the house with a proper keep fit for a princess.
The eve for the feast held in celebration of your name day saw you in the gardens of Queen Myriah, lounging under the shade of her fruit trees. Your pale dress was dirtied from laying in the dirt and grass, and you stared blankly up at the canopy of leaves providing you shade from the setting sun. In the distance you heard the calls of your septas and handmaidens, all trying to find you to ready you for the small feast.
"~dragons rise, dragons fall, the mace brings down the best of them all," you hummed, "In the meadows, the hedge will grow, and travels with an egg in tow."
Ahh yes, you could see it in your mind's eye, the bright sheen of a bald head and a tall shadow trailing through the grass and fields, behind them a large dragon lay decaying under orange banners. Though as they often did, your sight shifted from one thought to another, this one began with a lone anvil hovering near the Iron Throne, it was stained red. It ended with the anvil, crushed and broken beneath the weight of stone and dragon bones.
You frowned, you did not like such a display.
While there were many talks about your mental fortitude, you were not so simple as to not understand the symbolism behind such a sight. Your uncle, Maekar, was the Anvil, and you were certain that the dragon was either your grandsire or your other uncle, Baelor. Though you were unsure as to the egg and the tall shadow, having seen only their backs as they forged on their journey.
"Niece? Niece, your lady mother is looking for you."
A soft, yet stern voice broke through the haze of your day dreaming and you blinked up at the tall figure in front of you.
"Ahhh, the Anvil. Have you see the hedge and egg yet?" you asked, dazed as strong hands gathered you from the dirt.
A sigh broke free from the Anvil, "No niece, I have not. You must be aware your lady mother has been tearing the Keep apart for your whereabouts."
You shook your head, staring blankly at the Anvil with his neat silver hair and pox scarred face, "Why? The glass is not yet shattered, and the dragon is not yet decayed. Maybe in the Meadows will the mace swing but here I stand with the Anvil that has its Hammer."
Calloused hand fussed over your hair, pulling twigs and leaves from the silken tresses, "You are having an episode, little dragon."
Little dragon, the Anvil does not call you that, only Uncle Maekar does.
Your eyes brightened as a jubilant smile flitted across your face, "Uncle Maekar! You have returned from Summerhall! Have you come with the egg?"
The Anvil, Maekar, looped your arm into the crook of his own, pulling you softly to walk with him, "Egg? Do you mean Aegon? Yes, he and the other fucking rascals are here for your name day, as I promised you last year." Uncle Maekar cut a nice figure, you decided, with how his body bracketed the world from you in black velvet and red silk across his torso. His facial hair had grown much since you saw him, but at least it wasn't scruffy like Uncle Baelor's face looked.
"You did?"
He nodded, "Yes, you had written about the flowers and stars, before asking if we were to attend your name day celebrations."
The flowers and stars... you couldn't recall that but if Uncle Maekar said it was then it was so. It sounded right that you had sent him letters, as he was the only uncle you had living outside of Kingslanding, and you might have asked for Little Egg though were unsure if you had. But he brought little Egg nonetheless, and that was all that mattered. Little Egg, so unlikely and yet the likeliest of them all it seemed. However that was yet one sight she had seen, not yet set in stone, mayhaps the dragon need not decay and the Anvil need not sit the throne.
Ahhh! Little Egg and egg! They were one and the same! They had to be, it only made sense that they were, but it left you wondering who the hedge was.
"Hmmm, maybe. Egg, egg, Aegon. Yes, Aegon and the hedge. Or rather the hedge and Aegon."
"Of course niece."
It was nice of Uncle Maekar to pretend you were making sense to him, but you could tell he was lost. "Did mother send for you?" you asked, the first normal sentence you uttered in his presence. "Or has mother looked to the sky for me? She need not worry, I have yet to jump or soar."
Maekar ignored the second question, all too happy to answer the first one, "She did not, and yet everyone has been searching for you since luncheon ended. Even Rhaegal and Baelor have dispatched their knights to search for you, little dragon."
There it was again. Little dragon.
Instead of the lush gardens your grandmother had prided herself on in life, your vision darkened at the edges. It was like seeing a puppet show, with how the darkness framed the stage of your vision, blurring details from the real world with your new vision. You saw a small dragon curled in your arms, and your pale purple eyes were clear for once. A coronet hanging off the dragon's head with the banner of House Targaryen behind you, framing you in the glory of Old Valyria. Upon your head was a severe crown, one with sharp and jagged spikes rising up from the gold band. A feminine crown with a masculine match elsewhere that you could not see.
It was but a possibility, for no crown would ever grace your head.
"No, the little dragon is not to be yet. You know Uncle, one might see that the Targaryen of the Dothraki could awaken three little dragons in her husband's pyre, or the dragon might be forged in glass ahead of time. It is not magnificent but it can be if you let it flourish," you chided him, as if what you were saying could be discerned by a man that had one mad son with the same delusions.
You were not his son, and as such what harsh corrections he might have had for Daeron would never work with someone as fragile as you. He grit his teeth, a noise that made you grimace, as cocked his neck to the side, popping the bones in his spine. You could tell you were beginning to fray his nerves but couldn't help but to get the sights out of your head. Speaking of them always made you feel better about what you saw, and you couldn't help how confusing you sounded.
"I am sorry Uncle, I mean not to anger you," you whispered meekly as you traversed the gardens.
"No, I am not angry niece," Maekar sighed, as the commotions of the Red Keep grew louder with each step. "Fuck, I could never be angry with you, however, for your mother's sake, please try to reign in what you say today at the feast."
You pouted, not liking the chastisement from one of your favored uncles. "I do not mean to be difficult."
"I know."
"I cannot help what I see."
"Of course."
You worried your lip between your teeth, and peered up at Maekar. His stern face was cut from stone, it seemed, but despite his frustrations with not understanding you, he still treated you kinder than most would. Your septa was mean and demanding, her words cruel and she never even tried to parse the meaning of your words. And you knew the staff in the Red Keep whispered about you, they were bold enough to do so in front of you most times, assuming that the simple princess would not understand their insults.
But that was the worst part, you guessed, you understood most things and yet could only speak on what you saw as it would change so often. In your more lucid moments, your mother saw the girl you could have been. Bright, passionate, and brilliant. She's seen your maths when you could focus on it, and eyed your stitches in appreciation as you embroidered on days unburdened. Aelinor enjoyed when you sang to her, and recited poetries that had been written by bards and mummers. She saw You, in those rare moments and knew you had the potential to be normal.
You just weren't and that was the worst about it.
"Will you dance with me then Uncle? As father will not leave his dragon hoard for my feast."
He looked shocked, glancing down at you incredulously, before gaining his composure. "If that is your wish Princess, then I will see it so." Uncle Maekar was kind enough to cover the top of your hand with his free one, patting your soft skin before shifting the arm you held to the span of your shoulders. He guided you a bit faster now towards your father's wing in Maegor's Holdfast.
It was your septa, Septa Bitch, you called her in your head, that saw you first. She rushed off to get your lady mother as Maekar walked you to your rooms. The servants beginning to calm now that their errant Princess was returned to their sight. Your mother's head of blonde hair was the first thing you had seen as she rushed around the corner of the corridor, her hands outstretched towards you as she gathered you in her arms.
"My little love, you must not leave your rooms without Septa Marian at your side, you are easily lost without her guidance." Her thumbs wiping at the dirt on your face as she cradled your face in her hands, "You cannot keep running off so."
"But I did not run off, I was waiting to be found and the Anvil was there to find me as he was always meant to," she sighed as you tilted your head cutely at her, a smile gracing your face.
Aelinor turned to your Uncle and nodded her head at him, "You have my thanks Prince Maekar, for returning my light to my side. You have been a great boon to me today, may we see you at the feast."
"Yes you are grateful, fuck off," Maekar grumbled as you smiled at him.
When he turned to escape the sudden praise, you noticed the red flush on the Anvil's ears and wondered if that was the red you had seen. You hummed the tune from earlier as your mother hustled you to your chambers, a bath steaming behind a partition with ladies ready to scrub you head to toe.
"Today you will wear the black and red of House Targaryen, I have requisitioned some of mine own and the Queen's jewels for you to wear that will compliment your beauty, my love. Dya, please retrieve my daughter's tea-" your mother's chatter was nonstop and you tensed as people other than your family grabbed at you.
They tugged at your soiled gown, hands untangling your curled silver hair and you stiffened. The feel of their hands were like ants crawling under your skin, and you were all but incapacitated as they tried to ready you.
"Princess, your tea."
You did not want to sip of your drink but with your mother's guidance you drank deeply, finishing the cup in one go.
And your sight changed from the blur of attendants and servants to that of an unfinished painting, just a blissful mess of unshaped colors and blurred lines.
No anvils, hammers, or hedges in sight.
Daeron was your favored cousin.
He understood your plight all too well, even though he pitied you for it as you were undoubtedly worse off than he, but he did not treat you as if you were glass. He treated you as a princess when he interacted with you, and you treated him with as much focus as you could.
The music was lovely, and the way he twirled you made your dress flare out in a wide circle. The spinning was perhaps your second favorite part of the dance, with the lifting being your ultimate favored move. Though Daeron was not able to lift you properly, his drunken state made it hard to lift you more than a few inches off the ground whereas other ladies were lifted high above their dance partners.
You giggled as the two of you stumbled around the dance floor, bumping into other lords and ladies that came from the Crownlands. Lord Massey was a bit perturbed when you had followed Daeron's steps and trounced his feet, though he did nothing more than grumble.
"Daeron, another spin!"
Your cousin gave you an odd look, "It is not fit for this part of the dance."
Ahh he was right, dragons danced when they ought to and not when they wanted to, though you wished that they flew when they wanted.
"Of course, if we danced too soon then the Anvil will ascend too high above all, maybe higher than the Seven," you nodded in agreement, Daeron shrugged.
"If my dreams are right, then it will happen regardless dear cousin," he shifted his grip to your waist as the dance fastened, whirling you around fast on your feet. "The dragon will die and fall on the hedge knight, and it will be the ruin of us all."
You hummed, "Well, I've seen more than you dream of, it changes quite often."
Daeron smiled sadly at you, "Then for our family's sake I hope you are right."
The dance continued for a while yet, Daeron only stopping to return you to your seat of honor near the King when he began to complain of thirst. Though you knew his thirst was more for wines than water. You hummed idly, trying hard to focus on the feast and its festivities. Nearby your mother watched you anxiously, her concern a single focus in her life, and you could not blame her. Your state made it hard for you to behave as befitting your station, though you tried hard to be present and attentive.
Nearby, your cousins were present.
Little Egg was hiding away from his older brother, choosing safety under the tables than being in the line of fire for Aerion's attention, and the girls, Daella and Rhae, were giggling amongst themselves as they ran amok. Their septa trailing behind the young girls as they flittered to and fro. As per usual, Aelor and Aelora were by themselves, engrossed in their own love, while Daenora was sent back to the nursery when she became too agitated by the noises.
Valarr and his wife Kiera were dancing as well, you adored Kiera for her beautiful pink hair. It always caught your attention and you enjoyed watched the righteous pink curls wisp around her head as the couple flowed elegantly around other dancers. And poor Matarys was too nervous to do much else than stay by his father's side.
"Are you enjoying your day, granddaughter?"
You swiveled your head to the side, and smiled at your grandsire. King Daeron was a kind man, and a good king. For as long as you had lived in the Red Keep, he had been unerringly kind to you. You, who reminded him so much of his Rhaegel, were pampered by the man and while he knew that you were different than most he still loved you dearly. It had pained him to see yet another member of his bloodline fall to the madness House Targaryen touted, it was a hard concoction for him to swallow seeing his family affected so. He had done his best to treat his son and grandchildren with grace for their conditions despite societal norms demanding otherwise.
"Yes, yes it is a lovely day. I had seen the Anvil soften today, I believe that he will not rise where he ought not. Grandsire, the dance is not yet to come, the dragons are hale and whole on this fine day," you chattered idly, your pale eyes glazing despite your efforts not to lose yourself yet to your sight.
Grandsire, bless him, was unfazed by your odd speech, "Good, good, it is a fine day indeed when the House of the Dragon is prosperous. Have you thought about what you might do, now that you are a woman grown?"
"Hmmm," you tapped a finger to your chin in thought, "A woman grown? Not a dragon grown?"
Daeron the Good chuckled, "My apologies child, now that you are a dragon grown, have you given thought to anything you might want for your future?"
The future was always spinning, confusing your sight from what was real and what could be, but you supposed your mother had spoken to you before about what your duties were as a daughter of royalty. You were to marry, of course you had to, but you fretted day in and out about your choices and what future it might bring.
"Are you speaking of marriage, grandsire?"
He nodded his head, "I suppose I am, and I am grateful you recognize this for what it is."
You knew what he was referring to, and sighed. It seemed that your mother and grandsire arranged for this feast so that you might seek out a hand in marriage and there were some lords present that had petitioned for your hand. Many lords were from the Crownlands, and a few came from the Westerlands and the Reach. All wanted the same thing, a wife of Targaryen blood to bolster their own Houses, and it seemed you were ripe for the picking.
Lord Darklyn was one such lord, the man had lost a wife to the birthing bed recently and had just come out of mourning when he sought your hand. There was also Ser Alan Redwyne, a landed knight from the Arbor, who asked for your hand. Though your mother was incensed at his proposal because his keep was beneath her standards for you and it was too far from Kingslanding for her comfort. If you were to marry, Aelinor had preferred it to be in the Crownlands where she could come to your aid.
"Mother worries," you admitted, "I have a hard time, grandsire, keeping what I see from others. She worries I will be mistreated by any man that does not understand how House Targaryen's blood can produce those like myself."
"Is that so?"
You nodded eagerly, "Mother wants me close, but she knows that I cannot always be so close when I am wedded and bedded."
The king, sensing you were not in a trance of yours, pushed a bit more, "And do you think a lord from another family will treat you right?"
You shook your head in the negative, "I think they will want little dragons of silver and purple, at any cost."
Your grandsire nodded gravely, "Yes, they would, would they not? You are the blood of the dragon, and only a dragon can understand a dragon."
"Precisely grandsire."
The Good King leaned back in his seat, "And would that make you happy? To be wed to a dragon?"
You considered his words.
A dragon would beget another dragon surely, and you knew there were plenty of dragons to be bound to. You saw that if you took the Hammer, then many would resent you for occupying a space meant for a lady of sound mind. Though the Anvil was bound by his attention to his six hatchlings, he would be kind to you and further below the throne than others, making it easy for those who thought better to forgive you taking a smaller space to command.
"I suppose so, grandsire. Maybe if the dragon married dragon then the Anvil will not be stained red, and your Hammer will survive the Meadow and the Seven who are One. Maybe then the hedge and the egg can just be that. The hedge and egg."
Across the halls, you spotted your uncles talking to one another. The Hammer and the Anvil in their glory, your Uncle Baelor was openly kind and courteous to those that sought his time and attention whereas Maekar was more reserved with his stern face. Your grandsire followed your gaze as you began to lose focus on your conversation with him.
"The hedge and the egg?"
Oh, your grandsire had not heard your musings on the Hedge and the Egg. You flushed with embarrassment as you wrangled your mind to pay attention once more to him, "Yes, the Hedge and the Egg. The favored among the Small, yet the beginning of the end. Or rather the black dragon's fall was the beginning of the end."
You looked at your grandsire and recognized that his face had softened once more, Daeron the Good understood that he had exhausted your focus.
"Of course child, I hope you will not be upset if I take my leave, I tire more easily than the youth these days."
He was kind to lean down and kiss your head in apologies before standing, when he was out of your sight you were lost once more to your musings. Not caring about those that came up to you for your attentions, and as such you didn't see him summon your Uncle Baelor with him as he left the hall. Around you the dancing and festivities raged on.
A hum echoed from your lips as you swayed in time to the music. Time passed you easily as you watched the people all around you.
It was nice, you thought, as the courtiers swayed and flowed like water. The lords of the realm all politicking under fake smiles and sharp bows, you saw as the yellow and black of the Storm surged forth in his hedonistic dance. The heir of the Storm was a riot of laughter, and despite that joy and bravado you saw how he and his descendants shattered the House of the Dragon eventually. How the boy king and his small sister bartered their heritage for safety in lands now foreign to those of Old Valyria.
"The promised will either come or she won't," you murmured, hands fidgeting with the lace on your gown. "Maybe there is much that can change before the Unlikely becomes Likely."
That small girl had the chance to grow, to rise above as the lone dragon, but would not should you make right choice. But you were unsure what the right choice was. There were so many things you saw that changed with every choice or spoken word, and unlike Daeron's dreams you were always aware of what can and couldn't be. Where Daeron could hide from his visions in wine, you were left to their mercy in the light of day.
You flinched when your mother's soft hand grasped suddenly at your own, your eyes landing on her in a panic as she rubber her thumb across the back of your hand.
"Forgive me my dove, I did not mean to frighten you," Aelinor apologized as she settled in the King's abandoned seat.
She stopped your fidgeting before you could ruin your dress, "It is alright Mother."
Aelinor gave you a gentle smile, "Are you ready to retire for the night daughter?"
You looked around at the gathered lords and ladies as they danced.
You did not see the Anvil, and he promised you a Dance.
"No Mother, I am not, I wish to dance once more."
She brightened, the lines on her face disappeared when she heard your wish, "Have you met a lord you would like to dance with? Lord Baratheon would be a good partner, or perhaps even Lord Celtigar." There was an excitement in her voice that came alive at the thought of you just being normal, at the hope you would entertain the idea of dancing with these lords.
It was a shame for her then, that you would either Dance with the Anvil or not dance at all.
"I believe, I had promised my niece a dance Lady Aelinor, if you do not mind," you brightened when you shifted in your chair to see Uncle Maekar approach. His stern face soft with affection as he reached a hand out for you to take.
When your mother hesitated, Maekar cursed, "For fuck's sake I promised her a dance, if you wish to break her heart be my fucking guest."
With that Aelinor released your hand and you bounded up out of your chair to your uncle with a smile, "You remembered Uncle."
He grunted, offering no words but guiding you to the dance floor where the nobility parted for the two of you. You tilted your head at him, analyzing his facial expressions and movements. Your uncle was not a man that was easily cowed, and yet he seemed almost bashful of the situation. His ears the same red that they were when you had been escorted by him back to your chambers to ready yourself. His face still stern and unmoving as you were led to the middle of the floor.
At once the music had changed from a slow paced waltz to a faster paced quickstep.
You were not familiar with the step and faltered as Maekar tried to guide you around the dance floor. He grunted when you trounced his foot three times in one turn, before leaning down so you could hear him, "Gods be good, stand on my feet niece instead of stomping on them." The pause in the dance was awkward, other lords and ladies bumping into Maekar's broad form as you clambered shyly onto his feet.
"Am I not heavy Uncle?" you asked as he took your hand once more and held you at your waist.
Your slippers stood on his boots, the ends of the boots were hard to stand upon but when you pressed further up they softened with the leather.
"No, what the fuck have they been feeding you? Are they feeding you?" Maekar grumbled, stepping quickly with the music as you hovered on his feet.
You were picky about what you ate, despite what your mother tried to do to feed you. Cakes, of tart lemon and sweet pear, along with small salads with piece of chicken and nuts in them. You did not like heavy meals, and disdained meat pies above all else. "Mother partakes in tea with me, and complains often that I ate not like a dragon and more like a rabbit."
"She'd be fucking right about it."
As the music rose in tempo and intensity, Maekar turned to dodge other dancers and you marveled at the way your skirts flared. You giggled as the turns and dips caused the fabrics to swish prettily and gasped in delight when the music reached its peak. His hands moved from their previous positions and grasped at your waist, in return you held onto his arm and marveled at the way the felt like steel under your touch. That same steel that may or may not swing the mace at the Hammer tensed for a slight moment and you were solidly tossed up into the air. A squeal of happiness escaped your mouth as you flew.
You were in the air for not even a full second, your uncle's hands left your body and in that moment you felt like a true dragon. Your silks and embroidered shawl flared around you like wings and you swore that you had become the dragon for a brief moment. Then you fell just as quickly, caught from hitting the ground by Maekar's strong hands finding your hips and swinging you around so that you might find your footing on the top of his.
"Again!" you called, childish in your request.
Unlike Daeron who refused you another lift as it was not proper for the song, Maekar did so again, using his momentum from the spin to launch you into the air once more. You soared above everyone once more, a jubilant smile on your face. Below you Maekar allowed himself to chuckle in amusement, a slight curve upwards on his stoic face. His violet eyes gleaming with something unnamed.
You never wanted the night to end, you never wanted the Dance to end.
"~dragons rise, dragons fall," you hummed as Dya, your handmaid removed your jewels from your hair and neck.
You were not happy to retire to your chambers so soon, but you had been tired from all the dancing you had done with Daeron and then Maekar. Your uncle indulged your nonsensical requests time and time again during the dance, letting you off his feet when the music slowed once more. Around the lords and ladies began to disperse as the night trailed on, and you were gently reminded that the two of you could not dance forever.
No amount of huffing and puffing would see you get your way, Maekar relinquished you to your mother's arms once more and bade you a good night.
Across the room, Aelinor instructed the maids and servants carefully with your gown as she readied you for bed.
Her tired eyes caught yours as you hummed your song, you fiddled with your fingernails idly as the maids rushed around. Aelinor paused in her ordering and slowly made her way towards you, as if she had never seen you before. A small cushioned stool was set next to your seat at your vanity, and she gracefully lowered herself next to you. Her movements stole your attention and your head turned to hers with a smile, your pale eyes alight with happiness, the glaze of your sights was gone for once.
You were her daughter in this moment.
Not the simple minded princess, not the crazy girl borne from Aelinor Penrose's cursed womb. You were her child, her only happiness in this moment and she smiled with you.
"You've turned a new page today my dove."
You tilted your head at her cutely, "Did you see me, mother? Did you see me fly?"
Aelinor did see you fly.
At first, her heart almost leapt from her chest, seeing the Prince Maekar Targaryen whisk her precious child away for a dance. She felt her heart stop when he launched you into the air during the dance's peak, and then again in rapid succession when you asked for it so. She saw how happy you looked as you danced with your uncle.
She would never understand the queer customs of House Targaryen.
But she understood that Maekar would rather fall on his own sword than harm you.
"I did, my little love, I did."
You would be happy with him, and that was what mattered.
And so, for the first time since you quickened in her womb with life, Aelinor let you go. She trusted that the Anvil will be there to catch you.