Chapter Text
Aerienna was no fool, despite whatever her twin brother Aerion might claim.
He would say she was a whelp if he saw her now, with tears barely restrained and her embroidery piece lying on the ground in tatters. Well, she would suppose that would be favorable to her other conversations with her brother.
A part of her, albeit a small part, held bitterness tight to her heart like a knife to the whetstone.
Aerienna was a princess of the Seven Kingdoms; the eldest granddaughter to King Daeron II and eldest daughter of Maekar I and the late Dyanna Dayne. Had she been born with a tower and stones between her legs, perhaps she would’ve been given the respect such titles deserved. Aerienna knew what she was: just another Targaryen boodmare, destined to create little lords for her soon to be husband and expand her family’s lineage.
The door of her bedroom opened slowly, revealing her two younger sisters, Daella and Rhae. Behind them stood Shiera Seastar, her silvery gown trailing as the three stepped into Aerienna’s room.
Rhae rushed towards her, burying her face in Aerienna’s skirts. “I don’t want you to go,” came the little girl’s watery voice.
“Shh, it’ll be all right.” Aerienna said, softly smoothing her sister’s silver hair.
Daella, for her part, appeared to be trying to keep herself composed, but her violet eyes had also begun to water. “Come here, sweet girl.” Aerienna cooed, enveloping her other sister into her arms as well.
“My dreadful nephew said we should leave you be as you prepare,” Shiera said, sitting on Aerienna’s bed. Her blue and green eyes sparkled with mischief. “But I do not take orders from Maekar.”
Aerienna smiled at Shiera. “Don’t let him hear you say such treasonous things, dear cousin.”
Shiera waved her worry away, smiling softly. “He is far too worried about you to be concerned with my comings and goings.”
Aerienna snorted softly at that. “I sincerely doubt that. He approved this marriage, after all.”
“Yes, as the prince. As a father, I’m sure he would’ve put it off much longer if he could.” Shiera grimaced. “Thank the Seven that my own father could not have cared less about his children’s marital affairs.”
“It’s my duty.” Aerienna said simply. She always knew this would be her path, whether she liked it or not. Frankly, she had been relieved to not have been betrothed to a cousin or brother. “I have heard Lyonel Baratheon is not an unkind man.” Aerienna wasn’t sure if the words were to soothe her, or her family.
“Will you visit us, sister?” Daella asked, clutching Aerienna’s dress still. Daella and Aerienna were the only dark-haired children of Maekar, taking after their Dayne mother.
“Of course I will, Daella. Not even the great storms of the Stormlands could keep me from you.” She kissed Rhae’s silver hair. “Or you.”
As one of the older of Maekar’s children, Aerienna took on a more motherly role after the passing of their mother. “You both must write to me often. Everyday, even.”
That made Rhae giggle. “How could I possibly write to you everyday? Even King’s Landing is not that interesting.”
“Yes, but what if the Stormlands are even more boring? I may perish from boredom without the excitement of your tea parties and history lessons.” The girls giggled and for now, Aerienna felt a crisis had been averted.
After a while, Shiera gently shooed away her sisters. “I wish to speak to your older sister alone now.”
Without the pressure of her fragile sisters, Aerienna felt all courage leave her body. “I don’t know if I can do this, Shiera.”
“You must. You have no choice.” Shiera said softly, gently brushing Aerienna’s mahogany brown hair from her shoulders. “You are a princess of this Realm, and this is your duty.”
Slowly, a smirk spread across her face. “Besides, you are seeing this as a sentence you must suffer through. Many women find freedom in marriage, as well.”
“As a Lord’s broodmare?” Aerienna scoffed.
“No, as the Lady of his territory.” Shiera’s voice was serious now, unusual for her. “You will soon learn what kind of man your husband is, but he will soon learn who you are, as well. You are a woman, but you are a dragon. Do not let a stag force you into cowardice.”
She smiled again, touching Aerienna’s cheek. “And if he is a horrible and violent man, have his child and heir. That is all that is needed for an alliance, after all. After that, you may dispose of your husband as you see fit. You remember what I taught you, yes?”
Aerienna nodded, remembering the various spells and potions Shiera taught her from the moment Aerienna could read.
“That’s a good girl.” Shiera gently pat Aerienna’s cheek. “You are not meek, so do not be meek. You will be a dragon alone, but you are a dragon regardless. Daughter of Maekar. No one can make you bend.”
Later after she was alone again, Aerienna would sit at her hearth, staring into the flames and willing for the spirit of a dragon to find her.
How can you embody something that no longer exists?
***
The Stormlands, for their part, were not gentle in their welcoming of their new lady.
Thunder roared and lightning cracked across the grey skies for the past hour or two of their journey. When she entered the castle, soaked to the bone and freezing from the rain, Aerienna did not feel much like either a storm lady nor a dragon princess.
“Where is my lord husband?” She asked the servants as she and her troop were received into the castle.
“He’ll be in the main hall, your grace.” The servant stuttered, keeping their eyes downcast.
Irritated ebbed in the back of Aerienna’s mind. She did not travel weeks from King’s Landing to be received by a servant and not her lord husband. “Take me there.”
She supposed she heard her husband before she saw him.
They called him the Laughing Storm, which seemed fitting as his laughter boomed through the main hall, drowning out the real storm outside. The hall was alive with laughter and dancing, and thick with the smell of mead and wine. There, in the middle of the chaos, was Aerienna’s husband.
Dancing wildly, his charcoal curls wet with sweat stuck to his forehead. The grey of his hair stood out harshly against the dark. Despite her ire, her breath caught in her throat at the side of him. Aerienna had not seen him in a month since their wedding at King’s Landing, which was not long enough to forget what he looked like, but long enough to forget the way the sight of him froze her. She felt like a stupid young girl again. When she was four and ten, Aerienna began to notice the knights of the Kingsguard more and more. She developed a particular affection for a Tyrell boy. He had been a softer boy, with shoulder length blonde curls and green eyes. He was distantly related to the Lannisters, if she recalled correctly.
He had been soft and noble and honorable. Nothing like her husband, from the little she knew of him.
Lyonel Baratheon was a warrior. He stood well over six feet tall, a great staggering figure. As far as she knew, he was not cruel, but he was eccentric. She knew the Baratheon’s had a reputation for their parties and their escapades with the opposite sex. It seemed strange to match a Baratheon with a Targayen, who were known for being severe and serious people. Especially considering the man her father was, Aerienna could not conceive how her grandfather had convinced Maekar to approve this union.
Perhaps Maekar had simply desired for any of his children to finally do something right. He seemed to be disappointed in the seven children he sired.
Lyonel did not seem to notice Aerienna yet, so she continued watching him quietly. Shiera’s words echoed in her head now.
You are not meek, so do not be meek.
Slowly, blue eyes slid over to hers. They widened by a fraction in surprise, but Lyonel didn’t approach her. They stood, wife and husband, on the opposite ends of the hall. Dragon and stag, sizing each other up. Calculating, estimating. Aerienna did not know much of her husband, but she did not believe him to be a fool.
Aerienna kept her posture iron straight, standing tall, as if she could somehow stare down a man at least two feet taller than her. “I am not meek, so I will not be meek.” She whispered to herself, willing the courage into existence like a prayer.
A grin broke across Lyonel’s face slowly.