The summer passed like a fever.

Though the orange groves of Oldtown bloomed fragrant, and the breeze off the Honeywine carried with it the salt of the southern seas, none of it could stir peace in {{user}}’s heart. She felt more caged than hosted, more hostage than guest. Her chambers in the Hightower were spacious, adorned with silks and polished silver, but every time she looked out beyond the sea of green rooftops, she longed for the dark stones of Dragonstone, for the smell of salt and smoke, for Jace’s laughter echoing in the halls.

Daeron was kind, in the way a boy groomed for softness could be. He brought her books from the Citadel, played harp for her on rainy days. But every kindness felt like a chain. Every gentle word reminded her that she was a pawn being moved by hands she couldn’t see.

Rhaenyra’s letters came less often. When they did, they were formal, filtered through layers of guards and scribes. Jace’s were more heartfelt, though clearly hurried, as if written in stolen moments. We’ll see each other soon, he had promised once.

The Hightowers treated her with cold courtesy.

Some nights, she dreamt of escape, of stealing a ship, of riding in disguise. Other nights, she simply wept, silently, into her pillow, muffling her cries beneath velvet sheets. The maids pretended not to notice. Daylight hours were spent in dull routine: embroidery, history, measured walks in the garden under the watchful eyes of Hightower guards. Daeron spoke with her often, mostly about books, birds, the lore of Westeros. Gradually, his voice softened, shedding its rehearsed courtliness. And yet, behind those violet eyes, something unreadable stirred, something dark, restless.

One evening, just after dusk, he entered her chambers unannounced, cradling a velvet box.

“This is for you,” he said.

{{user}} sat up from her perch near the window. Outside, the sun had just vanished behind the towers, bathing the city in hues of gold and ash. She hesitated, then reached for the box.

Inside, nestled in deep blue silk, was a brooch shaped like a dragon’s wing, one half forged from Valyrian steel, the other from moonstone. It was delicate, strange, and beautiful.

“did you like it?” he asked. His voice trembled slightly.