( FOURTEEN FIRES )
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chapter 3: dragonstone.

SLIDING down from her saddle onto the lush prairie grass of the sea-battered island of Dragonstone, Vaella landed her narrowed lilac eyes on the looming keep in the near distance. The dark stone was shrouded with a ceiling of dark clouds, more resembling smoke than a potential storm. Within the cluster of darkness, she caught flashes of shadows darting within; Targaryen dragons she guessed.

A sneer subconsciously formed on her features as she pulled her cloak against herself as if it would somehow protect her from the duties she would soon be fulfilling, her eyes still glaring. Her new home that loomed in the distance indeed matched the Valyrian architectural style of the stonemasons of Vaella's homeland, though, no beautiful glass or varying colors graced the peaks of the stone structure. Dragonstone was bleak in comparison.

Nearby, her father made his way toward her from where his dragon Gidrad remained perched on a rocky outcropping. The blue beast kept his knowing gaze wearily focused on the keep looming in the distance, frills flapping in the wind. Ever a stoic beast, he remained quiet and watchful.

Vaella's hand rested on the pale scales of Opalia as she gripped her deep blue cloak, the she-dragon humming a low rumble in acknowledgment of her riders' touch. The Paethorys woman had heard of the Freehold's westernmost outpost, this dreary island the Targaryen's for some reason fled to that was battered with sea mist and angry winds from the Narrow Sea. Rumors had spread amongst the elite about the house she would be marrying into, rumors that they'd left the Freehold due to scandal and shame. 

Her gaze focused on the tall walls of the keep, serving as practical positions during defensive measures as well as providing a sharp, intimidating presence to any who dared to challenge the Valyrian islanders that inhabited it. She'd heard of the blood-magic masonry used to form its wall, driven by dragon fire and sacrifices. But the lack of beautiful glass and shaped metal made the keep appear desolate.

Considering the eeriness the Valyrian practice had given Vaella, she wondered what spirits lingered within its halls, the stories the stone might tell if it could talk. Soon enough, she knew, she'd sleep within those very walls. Some fraction of fear pitted itself in her heart, fear of the unknown.

No matter the opportunity she was presented in the form of the marriage she was soon to enter, she was still angry. Her disdain for marrying another in place of Maegon still burned but the reality she was marrying into a lesser house of Valyria, which made her anger burn worse.

The long flight from the Freehold hadn't helped her current disposition of resentment. Sleeping on dragon-back in the few instances she tried to rest was far from easy. A day ride of swift flight had left her with little to no rest.

"Umbās," Vaella murmured to her mount, commanding her to wait where she was. The large opalescent dragon shuffled into a stationary position with her body sinking to the grass as Vaella wandered to meet her father. Not far off, her mother made her way over from her dragon, Bermitheryn, a handsome emerald-green beast.

"These are to be your new kin," her father said by way of greeting, likely noticing the scowl she'd had plastered on her features the moment they'd spotted the island from dragon-back. It was obvious he was trying to be optimistic for her, to no avail. "Try to be open-minded." Her mother arrived to stand with them, her wind-blown hair falling effortlessly over her back of riding leathers.

"I am only here out of respect for you, Father," Vaella muttered, eyes trained ahead on the keep she would soon call home. "I have no love for this lesser house. Nor do I think I will."

A distant bellowing shriek emanating from the wall of smokiness above Dragonstone drew the gathered Paethorys' attention. Vaella narrowed her eyes once more in pursuit of its origin. Suddenly, the haze ripped apart and billowed to the side at the behest of giant, booming wings, an copper beast drifting down toward the area where the Paethorys had landed on the grassy plain. The charcoal black dragon was soon followed by three other dragons at its tail.

"It appears Aenar wishes to make an entrance," Vaeron muttered as they watched. "With but five dragons, I am not sure how." Part of Vaella had to fight to stifle a giggle at her father's annoyance. It's the least he deserved for forcing her into this situation.

Sixteen dragons were within their family's yoke, but there were not enough riders to man those large enough to ride to defend them against the other houses that were poised to attack them. House Paethorys indeed possessed many dragons, but against the might of other united families and their combined yoke, Vaella almost felt thankful to be sent to Dragonstone. Her mother's own house would not come to their aid should they call for it.

"Hopefully they send slaves to retrieve our items," Daevera spoke her thoughts after her husband. "I couldn't carry my items to the keep myself if I tried. Nor did I see a place to land within its perimeters with the dragons."

"The Targaryen's style themselves as revolutionaries, it seems," Vaella's father replied to his wife, the slightest semblance of a sneer on his face. "When they made this island their new holdfast, they released them to the common folk that inhabited this island. From what I'm aware of, they hold servants as their workforce."

"Strange," was all Vaella's mother had to say on the matter.

The young Paethorys woman then thought of Marlaena, who would arrive on a ship within the coming weeks with the rest of her belongings that could not be brought on dragon-back. Within those belongings, three dragon eggs remained in constant heat. Bringing along the eggs of Paethorys dragons had been her rebellious cry, her way of letting her new family know that their dragons, nor the eggs they bore, would ever suffice for the children she would one day bring into the world. She would fight tooth and nail to ensure her children never bonded with Targaryen dragons.

As for Marlaena, she never liked to consider her companion as a slave, but the truth was what it was. She would make a point to truly give her freedom now that they were far from the Freehold, from scrupulous criticism. If the Targaryen's had done it, she could. She prayed Marlaena would choose to stay.

Soon enough, the copper dragon, the largest, landed a few hundred yards away from where the Paethorys waited. Following suit were the three remaining dragons, Vaella's heart thundering with anticipation as she tried to guess which dragon carried her intended. Ignorance for that answer would have been the answer she desired, but it would not come. They were already here.

A man, with all the normal Valyrian features of silver hair and a varying shade of violet eyes, dismounted his copper dragon almost effortlessly. Based on his lack of particularly youthful features, Vaella guessed it to be Aenar. Her soon-to-be good-father. Where Aenar stood, a woman of similar age stopped at his side, garbed in a beautiful, lengthy flying doublet of black and red. The Targaryen colors. It must have been Valaena, Aenar's wife.

Joining them were two young men, one with flowing straight locks of silver-blonde hair and a stern expression. The other, the taller and more muscular of the two, kept his platinum hair halfway pulled behind his head, the loose locks reaching a few inches above his shoulders. His eyes were a deep indigo, the polar opposite of her delicate lilac. Only once she concurred that his eyes were deep pools of midnight did she realize just how intently she'd been staring at him, and he had noticed. Her gaze was quick to fall to the grass below.

"Lord Vaeron," Aenar greeted fervently, his arms outstretched as if he were going to embrace all of House Paethorys that stood in front of him. He bowed slightly to them, the rest of his own house following suit. Once upright once more, he said, "It is an honor to have you on Dragonstone. We have been looking forward to your visit for quite some time." He looked to Vaella's mother and dipped his head politely. "As well as you, Lady Daevera."

Daevera gave him a closed-lip smile before the Targaryen lord turned to his own wife. "And this is my wife, the Lady Valaena."

Vaella was over the courtesies of this lesser lord who was eager to see his house marry higher than their status warranted. The shit-eating grin the Targaryen lord held infuriated her, enough that she had to force herself to maintain her composure. She was moments from silently returning to her mount and disappearing into the sky before her internal thoughts were interrupted.

"Lady Vaella, is it?" Aenar greeted her. Had the situation not been what it was, where Vaella was being forced into a marriage to secure a yoke of dragons to protect their house in Valyria, she might have thought Aenar was handsome. She might have had any thought other than punching him squarely in his perfect nose if her father and mother weren't there. Had this not been as equally important to her house as it was dreadful for her.

"Yes, my lord," she replied moments later after collecting her thoughts and returning to the present.

Aenar smiled, then turned toward the two young men behind him. Amidst the angry thoughts she'd had, she did wonder which of the two would soon be her husband. Who would be spend the rest of her life with? Would he be dreadful and harsh, much like she'd heard of husbands in Valyria that had made her father the rare exception? Her father was indeed the exception, as he treated her mother like a queen. Aenar gestured for the taller of his two sons with the shorter hair, the man stepping forward.

"This is Gaemon," the Targaryen lord said to no one in particular. He looked to Vaella as if he expected a love-struck smile out of her. She retained her cool expression. "He will be your husband, soon enough." He looked to Vaella's father and asked, "If it please you, Lord Vaeron, we considered having the wedding on the morrow. As to not keep you on Dragonstone too long. We are sure you wish to be present for the ceremony."

On the morrow?!  Vaella's mind roared with a sudden rush of anxiety. Marrying Gaemon, whom she'd met just moments ago and had yet to speak to, was something she'd expected to happen in the coming moons. She had yet to say a single word to her intended. But Aenar wanted them wed tomorrow. She immediately was crestfallen and infuriated all at the same time, but managed to hide her reaction the best she could.

Vaeron nodded in agreement as if the request was nothing shy of normal. Without even taking a moment to think about it. "Yes. We would like to be present for the ceremony before we make our journey back to the capital."

"Wonderful," Aenar exclaimed with a clap of his gloved hands. He looked to his other son, whom he'd yet to introduce. "And this is our eldest son, Monterys. He will show you to your chambers for the evening, Lord Vaeron."

I am not even marrying the heir, Vaella remembered. The least they could have done was allow me to be the next lady of this house. Not a novelty.

Monterys dipped his head and acknowledgement to Vaella's father, but remained silent.

"There should be horses and a carriage arriving any moment," Aenar went on. "Unfortunately, the keep does not have a suitable courtyard for the dragons to land. If it pleases you, your own mounts may be taken to the Dragonmont, where our own dragons nest. We will have supper ready once we reach the keep as well."

Vaella audibly scoffed, earning the looks of every pair of violet and indigo eyes in her presence. Unashamed of her scoff, she muttered, "Horses and carriages are useless in the capital. Not with the rivers of lava and ash."

Aenar's expression didn't falter with embarrassment, his efforts to stifle a scowl apparent. "Well, my Lady Vaella, we have found the grass of this island and salted winds just as pleasurable as the Freehold's hearty heat. We hope that you will be able to enjoy your ride in the carriage."

As promised, a carriage arrived, pulled by two hearty horses. A few armored riders bearing flapping banners of the Targaryen sigil followed close behind. The woman couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a horse, for they were rarely used by the nobility of Valyria. Travel was by foot or dragon-back; ships were not useful when one could fly.

She wouldn't be coddled by these people, a family she saw as lesser than her. Somewhere behind her, Opalia hissed, likely feeling Vaella's emotion down the bond that ran strong between them. Without a second thought, she stomped across, the grass, making her way toward one of the mounted guards. 

Grabbing the reins, she swatted at the man, nonverbally demanding he dismount. Confused, the Westerosi man slid off the saddle, Vaella taking his place almost immediately. She paid no heed to the complaints of her mother and father as she pulled the reins to turn, yet the gaze of her betrothed seemed to sear into her back.

Horses were not used in the capital, but it didn't mean she did not know her way around a saddle and reins.

With a swift kick, she was off. With little experience in riding, she gripped the horse the best she could, the wind rushing passed her. Anything to besmirch the Targaryen's, she thought. Anything to prove them who she was.