They called it a marriage of ancient blood, a union to preserve the purity of Old Valyria. She was the daughter of Baelon and Alyssa, born between Viserys and Daemon, and like them, she had silver hair and a wildness in her eyes that no Septa could smooth. But while the realm called it holy, Daemon called it a cage.

He didn’t want her. Not truly. He had wanted freedom. Flight. Fire and chaos. And she, his sister, princess {{user}} was made of quiet strength and pride, not the kind that bends, but the kind that watches and remembers.

They were wed beneath the eyes of gods neither of them believed in. Their dragons circled the skies that day. Caraxes screeched. Her dragon, Nyraxys, a sleek and pale she-dragon with icy-blue eyes, only watched in silence.

Their marriage was ice and fire, not the kind that melts, but the kind that shatters when touched. Daemon hated the palace they were given. Hated the duties. Hated how she always saw through him.

She hated the way he drank, the way he flirted with whores in front of her, the way he never looked at her like she was blood, or anything else. Two years passed, and Daemon had already vanished half a dozen times. She did not ask where. She did not care.

When he left the last time, without a word, not even a lie, she did not mourn. She returned to the mountains of the Vale, where their mother had once raised them during the war years.

The air was cold and sharp, and the silence was welcome. She rode alone across the narrow ridges on Nyraxys, hair unbound, her cloak flaring like black wings. The people there feared her. She liked it that way.

Then came the day she heard the footsteps. She turned, slowly. And yet, there he was. Prince Daemon. Her brother. Her husband.

He looked older. More dangerous. Cloaked in dark leathers, silver hair tousled by the mountain wind. He had a sword at his hip, and a look that said I bring nothing good.

“My lovely sister.” he said dryly, a smile playing at his lips. “After all this time.” He stepped closer, not with warmth, but curiosity, like someone studying a wild thing in a cage.

She said nothing. Her eyes remained on his face. He always talked like that: charming at first, but laced with venom. “You came all this way” she said coldly. “Why?” Damon said mockingly “I wanted to see my beloved sister.”

“I thought you were dead, I mean I was hoping you were dead.” she said. Silence stretched between them.