naelysvelaryon

[naelysvelaryon]

- on childhood loneliness

@aphexxtween on tiktok/ @mazzystarjpg/ mastermind- taylor swift/ the virgin suicides/ @heavensickness/ if you’re anything like me- taylor swift/ pen15/ @mango-season

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys’s fingers brushed lightly against the cool stone of the balcony railing as she gazed out over the riverlands, the fading moonlight casting a silver glow across the landscape. "lucky kora." there was a slight smile on her features, dark hair in the chilly riverland wind; knowing all too well the both of them would love to be at home right now. not the most outgoing or social creatures, she looked at adam and sometimes wondered if that was what people thought of when they thought her depressing or low.

the name of his son lingered in her mind, curling around her thoughts like the soft breeze that stirred her jet black hair. she turned slightly, her lilac eyes catching adam’s as she spoke, her voice soft and thoughtful. "hadrian," she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue with a quiet curiosity. "it’s a strong name... a name of kings, perhaps?" she tilted her head, a small, contemplative smile playing at her lips. "it’s strange, isn’t it? to think of you with a son now." her gaze softened, the faintest trace of a wistful expression crossing her features. "it makes us all feel so much older."

her fingers traced absent patterns on the railing as she continued, her voice carrying the lilting quality of the sea breeze. "....what does it mean, hadrian?" she glanced at adam, her eyes shimmering with genuine curiosity. "it sounds like a very heavy name." for a moment, her gaze drifted back to the horizon, the distant hills bathed in the silver glow of the ruling moon.

she turned back to him, her eyes glimmering with quiet warmth. with comfort. there was something about the starks that seemed to feel like home, even if the thought never truly crossed her mind. "tell me about him, adam. about hadrian. what is he like?" her voice was gentle, inviting, as if she wished to weave his story into her own understanding of the world. she wondered what a stark baby was like. was it just a baby? was it as fierce and loyal?

"if you would like me to." her smile lingered, delicate and sincere, as she waited for his response, the quiet evening settling around them like a comforting embrace.

Adam’s gaze softened as Naelys repeated Cassana’s name, her lilac eyes shimmering with a faint light that even the fading sun couldn’t rival. “You remember what matters to you, Nellie, and that’s more than enough,” he replied with a subtle grin, his tone light yet sincere. There was no trace of reproach about her forgetting his siblings' names. For a long time, he'd been acquainted with Naelys' airy, daydreamy nature and not once did he consider it a fault.

The Northern prince smiled at her next remark, about still having her head. It was an unexpected response and Adam appreciated the conversation even more for it. Then, her remark about the Northern air drew a quiet laugh from the prince, a sound as rare as sunlight breaking through clouds. “You’d be welcome at Winterfell anytime,” he said, his voice steady but genuine. “Though I’m not sure it’s height you’d gain there. Perhaps a new appreciation for the cold, or an even stronger appreciation for hearths and hot cider”. His words were tinged with amusement, for he was too aware that only Northerners truly enjoyed their wintry land. But the invitation carried an earnestness beneath the mild tease. He would be glad to welcome the Velaryon lady in Winterfell anytime she wished to visit, and he was certain Dacey would welcome her friend gladly as well.

As she spoke of her meeting with Dacey, Adam couldn’t help but marvel at the way Naelys’s entire demeanor shifted. Her quieter, shier demeanor gave way to a kind of joy that was unguarded, luminous. “I'm most fortunate for the siblings I have. Dacey is a wonderful person. Keeps to herself, as some of us Starks tend to do. I’m glad the two of you had the chance to truly talk. It was long overdue, after all those letters”. Nellie's mention of her own sister made him tilt his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his expression, but he chose not to press. Instead, a faint smile crossed his lips when she mentioned his direwolf.

“Kore? She stayed behind in Winterfell. But I'll tell her you were asking about her,” he said in a gentle tone. Both Saga, his first direwolf, and Kore had taken a liking to Naelys. It was not hard to figure out why. Adam was certain that the large creature would be behaving like a sweet pup around the Velaryon lady if she were here, laying down by her skirts with her belly upwards to get some cuddles and scratches. “She's grown quite protective of my son, Hadrian. I feel better knowing he's well-guarded while I'm away from home”. The little prince was still too young to make trips like this one to the Riverlands, and Adam had done everything in his power to ensure his son was cared for and protected. “I'd like you to meet my boy one day. If you and your brother do make that trip to Winterfell, I'll introduce you”.

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys shifted uneasily in her chair, the soft rustle of her deep indigo gown barely audible over the hum of the grand hall. the flickering candlelight played across the polished surface of the table, casting wavering reflections on the untouched plate before her. the scents of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air, yet her appetite had vanished, replaced by a growing sense of unease. she could feel his gaze on her, a persistent, unspoken weight that made her pulse quicken. she kept her eyes down, focusing intently on the delicate pattern etched into the edge of her plate, as if it held the answers to her swirling thoughts.

she had seen rhaegar targaryen before, of course, but only in passing, years ago, never like this—never so close, never with the stark intensity of his attention fixed solely on her. the silver white of his hair, the piercing violet of his eyes, so distinctly targaryen, yet there was an unfamiliarity to him that unsettled her. she adjusted the rings on her hand, a nervous habit she couldn’t seem to shake. she didn’t dare glance up, not yet. instead, she focused on the rhythmic clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of voices around her, trying to ground herself in the normalcy of the scene. but normalcy felt distant, almost unreachable.

and then his voice broke the silence that lingered across the table; only it did more than linger, it seemed to swirl and suffocate and she had no idea why. naelys found herself wondering whether she had done something to insult him; perhaps the slip of her tongue to jaehaerys was something he took upon himself to feel slighted against. after all, he were daeron's son, was he not? his question hung in the air, delicate and probing. naelys forced a small, polite smile, though her heart raced beneath the surface.

“oh, no..not tiresome at all,” she replied, her voice soft, almost distant, as melancholic and hazy as always. the words felt hollow, but she couldn’t admit the truth—that the splendour and the grandeur often left her feeling like an outsider in her own skin. “i enjoy these events.” it was the right thing to say, wasn’t it? the expected answer, even if it felt like a mask she was struggling to keep in place. steeling herself, she finally lifted her gaze, meeting his for the briefest of moments. his eyes, a deep violet that seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, were fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch. there was something in his expression, a quiet curiosity, perhaps even a hint of recognition, though she couldn’t fathom why. her curiosity stirred, unbidden and unwelcome.

who was this man, truly? what lay beneath the calm exterior he presented to the world?

quickly, she looked away, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. the warmth of the room suddenly felt stifling, the air heavy with unspoken words and lingering gazes. she took a small sip of her wine, hoping it would steady her nerves, but the tension remained, a persistent undercurrent she couldn’t shake. or perhaps she were doing what she always done: saw things that weren't there, listened to whispers at the back of her mind. “it is… curious,” she ventured cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper. could he even hear her? “so many faces.” her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her napkin, twisting the fabric absently. “do you not enjoy them, my prince?”

her question was tentative, a subtle invitation for him to speak, to fill the silence that stretched between them. yet beneath her composed exterior, her mind raced, questions swirling like leaves caught in a storm. she couldn’t deny the strange pull she felt toward him, the inexplicable need to understand the man behind the gaze that seemed to see more than it should.

Rhaegar’s gaze lingered on Naelys, though he made no attempt to draw attention to himself. She had grown, as had he, but there was something in her eyes, something that unsettled him, the barest flicker of recognition - or perhaps suspicion? He couldn’t be sure, but he had seen that look before, when the lines between past and present had blurred. Perhaps it was paranoia. A reminder of a time where revealing his identity meant a sure, cold death.

The memory of his mission, of the cold resolve that had driven him to her in the first place, pressed down on him. His task had been clear: kill her. Send a message to her brother, Lord Deimos Velaryon. It had been simple, clean, and necessary, or so he had convinced himself. But during those weeks, when he had watched her without revealing himself, pretending to be Luco, the son of a swordsmith, had been… different. They had spoken of inconsequential things. Laughed together. He had felt something. A strange connection, a warmth that had no place in the cold assignment that had brought him here.

The night she had confronted him, the night after she had been to the swordsmith’s shop, demanding the truth, it had shattered the careful mask he had worn. She had caught him, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he had hesitated. She had pushed him away in anger, but there was something in her voice, in the way she had spoken, that made him want to tell her the truth, even if it meant revealing everything. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t betray his goal, even as the weight of his affection for her grew too heavy to bear.

And then came the night after: Luco was dead, his body found where he had fallen, with no trace of the man he had once been. The lie had been complete. He had left Braavos that night, disappearing as swiftly as he had arrived.

And now here they were, two strangers in a room full of onlookers, each bearing scars from a past neither had fully shared.

When their hands brushed briefly over the platter of almonds, Rhaegar could almost taste the tension between them, the unspoken history that clung to the air. She did not know. She could never know the truth of what had happened in Braavos.

Rhaegar offered her a polite smile, though it did not reach his eyes. “Apologies, my lady,” he said, his voice low, almost distant. He gave her space, but his gaze lingered, studying her as if searching for the faintest clue as to what she had remembered, or what she might still believe. If anything at all.

He glanced around the room, taking in the dancers twirling under the shimmering chandeliers, the subtle hum of conversation, the laughter echoing against the walls. It was a world that felt so far removed from the one he had once inhabited. He gave a small, almost wistful smile. “It’s curious, these grand events. So much focus on appearances, on masks, and yet… the faces behind them are rarely known. Do you find them… tiresome, Lady Naelys? These endless gatherings?”

His gaze met hers again, searching her expression for any hint of response. He was trying, trying to engage her, but it felt like a fragile thing. The words hung awkwardly between them, not the easy flow of conversation they once shared, but something more tentative, as if the past could not help but linger in the space between them.

[naelysvelaryon]

who: @rhaena--velaryon when and where: driftmark, rhaena’s private chambers, adorned with her collection of trinkets and treasures. context: little sisters. that is all.

naelys stood at the threshold of rhaena’s chambers, hesitating for a moment before stepping inside. she had come to deliver one of her sister’s new necklaces, a delicate piece of silver and sapphire that gleamed faintly in the low light. the room was quiet, empty, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth and the sound of the wind rattling the window pane. it felt strange to be here alone, surrounded by rhaena’s things—each item carefully curated, each corner of the room a reflection of her sister’s composed elegance.

placing the necklace gently on the dresser, naelys’s eyes were drawn to the collection of glass model dragon eggs resting on a nearby shelf. she approached them hesitantly, her fingers hovering above their smooth surfaces, feeling as though her fingertips were scalded for merely doing such a thing. as though these were not hers to touch, but it were more than that; she were as much glass as they were. they were beautiful, fragile things, their intricate swirls of colour catching the light in mesmerising patterns. she couldn’t resist the urge to touch them, to feel the cool glass beneath her fingertips.

her black nightgown whispered softly against the polished floor as she moved, the fabric clinging lightly to her frame. naelys felt the familiar stir of envy as she thought of rhaena, of the grace and poise her sister carried so effortlessly; the glimpse of portraits, the sparkling of seemingly everything around her; it made her swallow back her guilt. why did she feel so green suddenly? rhaena had once been a dragonrider, a living symbol of their family’s valyrian heritage; the majesty of it all, someone who could have helped when it were needed the most.

naelys, in contrast, felt small and ordinary, her anxieties and insecurities leaving her trapped in a cycle of self-doubt. and this room only heightened that feeling. as though each time she caught her reflection in some object, the walls closed in an inch more.

she picked up one of the eggs, turning it over in her hands. the glass was smooth and cool, a calming presence against her restless fingers. as she examined the delicate craftsmanship, she let her mind wander. what was it like to be rhaena? to walk into a room and command attention without a word? to carry the legacy of their family with such dignity and strength? naelys longed for that kind of confidence, yet it always seemed just out of reach; it would forever remain out of reach. lost in thought, her grip on the egg slackened.

before she realised what was happening, the fragile object slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor with a sickening crash. shards of coloured glass scattered across the room, catching the firelight in a dazzling, heartbreaking display.

naelys stared at the shattered remains, her heart pounding in her chest. she knelt down, gathering the pieces with trembling hands, whispering to herself in a voice barely audible. "oh no, no..." her mind raced, a flood of guilt and panic washing over her. they had been a gift, a gift from a ghost that caused her heart to twist at the thought of it. she knew how much rhaena cherished these trinkets, each one a part of her carefully curated world. what would she think? what would she say? as she gathered the shards, naelys felt the sting of tears welling up in her eyes. she wiped them away hastily, determined to fix what she could before rhaena returned.

but the damage was done, and no amount of careful rearranging could undo it. and so, when she heard the door open, she knew she had made a mistake. there was a slow turn from the position she remained in, attempting to collect small broken pieces of glass; and yet, it were clear as daybreak. the glass was fractured, and there was no collecting the smallest of pieces. "...i'm sorry." there was guilt and regret, feeling as though she had been caught once again trifling through her older sister's belongings.

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

"...i can't go anywhere!"

naelys stumbled back as the door crashed open, her heart pounding wildly as the man—her unexpected saviour—stepped through the splintered frame. relief flooded her, though it did little to calm the frantic beat of her heart or the tremor in her voice. naelys gasped as the man before her fell, the thud of his body against the wooden steps a sickening sound that seemed to echo through the room. without thinking, her feet were already moving, the instinct to help pushing through the fog of her own confusion and relief. she rushed forward, her hands outstretched, but he was already at the bottom, crumpled in an ungainly heap.

but then, instinct kicked in. she rushed forward, her heart hammering in her chest as she moved to where he lay sprawled on the ground, one arm instinctively reaching out to him. "oh, gods, are you all right?" she gasped, her hands hovering uncertainly over his body, unsure where to touch. "can you see me?" she asked, in a voice that was probably too loud and there was no need for it. his tumble had been violent, his body now twisted in an awkward position on the floor, his face contorted in pain. and then he suddenly jumped back to his feet, and she found herself needing to jump back to avoid clashing.

“thank you, thank you,” she gasped, her words tumbling over one another in a rush of gratitude and lingering anxiety. “i don’t know what i would have done if you hadn’t heard me. it was so—so suffocating down here. the air, the dust, and those dreadful... things.” her eyes flicked nervously to the strange, unsettling artefacts scattered around the dim room, each one seeming to pulse with an unspoken menace. her hands fluttered to her dark violet gown, brushing at invisible dust, a nervous habit that did little to steady her.

“i didn’t even realise the door had locked behind me. one moment i was admiring the tapestries, and the next... i was trapped. and the shopkeeper, he just vanished. i thought... perhaps he’d left, or something worse had happened. or he was planning to rob me with many many others."

her gaze shifted to the man before her, noting his calm, almost casual demeanour despite the chaos he had just broken through. he didn’t seem fazed by her predicament, which only heightened her embarrassment. as she spoke, the sound of footsteps echoed above them. the shopkeeper, evidently unaware of the commotion below, returned with a wrapped bundle—his lunch, naelys guessed. her eyes widened as he approached the stairs, balancing his meal in one hand, oblivious to the broken door and the scene unfolding in his storeroom. “wait, no! the stairs-” naelys cried out as the shopkeeper began his descent, his foot catching on the edge of a loose step. in a horrible, slow-motion moment, he pitched forward, his lunch flying from his grasp as he tumbled headfirst down the stairs.

without thinking, naelys rushed forward, her hands outstretched in a futile attempt to catch him. “oh, gods, again?” she exclaimed, her voice high with panic as the man landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom. “are you all right?” she knelt beside him, her fingers trembling as she reached out, unsure of what to do. her eyes darted back to her rescuer, her voice filled with desperate urgency. “he fell—what do we do? we should... we should check if he’s seriously injured.” her mind raced with a thousand thoughts at once, the relief of her own rescue quickly overshadowed by the shopkeeper’s misfortune. she looked and noticed his head was not bleeding, and let out a low exhale. she then crawled backward, as though she had decided she would no longer touch the shopkeeper.

“this day,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “i don’t think i’ve ever had a day quite like this.” she watched as the rescuer seemed to struggle with the shopkeeper, and naelys then realised she had piece of his cheese in her lap; she brushed them off absentmindedly. her words were nervous as she got to her feet, clambering back up the stairs carefully to try get some help. "and my mother was burned alive, so this...this is saying something...one second, i'll get help. stay there!"

the expression on ben's face was one of utter boredom. his sister had wanted to visit lannisport, asked him to accompany her, but had caught sight of a long-lost friend from the north and dashed off, leaving him to wander the streets alone. the bustling street had little to offer him - just clusters of fine wares and overpriced indulgences that he did not need. and when he listened carefully, he thought he could hear something in the din, a woman's voice that carried with it a tinge of distress. his brow furrowed, and he moved down the street, wandering if he was hearing things upon seeing nothing untoward.

but no - there it was again, a little louder this time. but still faint upon the sounds of the merchants calling out their prices. he was sure he had heard something now, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword in anticipation. perhaps it were a mugging in an alley, something he would be better off ignoring, but the urgency pulled at his instincts.

the rattle of iron, and the voice was louder again. you there. was it coming from the ground? he turned his gaze downwards, blinking as his eyes met another pair, wide and desperate, at the level of his boots. he moved closer without hesitation, crouching as he did so, wheels turning in his head as he attempted to make sense of her situation. "locked in?" he repeated, reaching out to rattle the iron bars himself, testing if there was a way to loosen them, but they held firm. knees in the dirt of the ground, he peered through the bars at her. "all right. i'm coming to get you. just... wait there." it did not seem to occur to him that she had no other option but to wait. she could not go anywhere else.

he rose to his feet, tracing a path around the building until he came to the shop's entrance. his hand shot out, testing the handle of the door. locked. of course it was. he did not pause to think, instead taking a step backwards, drawing back his boot, and kicking hard. the door shuddered, the wood letting out a groan, but the latch held. a second, heavier blow saw it crack, crumbling in on itself enough for him to step inside.

his footsteps echoed on the warped floorboards, gaze canning the narrow shop and faded tapestries upon the walls. the light from the window barely reached the back of the room - but he could make out a second door on the wall. "stand away from the door, my lady," he called out to her, hoping that if she was behind it, she could hear him. he took a moment to press against the door - it looked sturdier than the one at the entrance, without an obvious lock to kick, and he wanted to test it's resistance, how much give it had in it.

he took several steps back, putting some distance between himself at the door. and then, he ran, aiming his shoulder at it. the first solid hit cracked the frame, and the second caved it in entirely. ben stumbled into the basement, all but tumbling down the stairs and into the room and finding himself sprawled upon the ground, fragments of wood from the door and bits of whatever it was he had crashed into under him.

he rose to his feet, brushing splinters from his clothing as he straightened, and then, there she was, stood in the far corner of the room, looking a little worse for wear, but thankfully unhurt. "you all right?" he asked, moving to her and offering an arm to guide her out of the basement and back to the street above them. "not hurt, are you?" his own shoulder was smarting from his collision with the door, and his back and knees from the fall down the stairs, but it was nothing that would leave lasting damage.

"... how did you manage to get locked down here?"

[naelysvelaryon]

who: @cellaceltigar when and where: the bedchambers of marcella celtigar within the apartments of house celtigar in the red keep, naelys velaryon spends the night with her best friend - as is perfectly normal. context: set following marcella's involvement in the six plot, and after naelys made her slip up to jaehaerys.

naelys stood in front of the mirror, her fingers trembling as she carefully unbuttoned the intricate laces of her gown, the fabric sliding away from her skin in smooth, familiar motions. the nightgown she was about to put on was soft, a pale lavender hue with delicate lace trim—marcella’s nightgown. she always found comfort in borrowing her friend’s things, though marcella never seemed to mind. everything about her was comforting, like a shield against the world and its many dangers; as though she were the key or the candle to many of the intricacies and complexities that naelys would simply not be able to understand.

"cella," naelys murmured softly, her voice tinged with an almost childlike affection as she heard her friend confirming with a page sent by deimos velaryon of nellie's whereabouts. it were the first place she seemed to wander to, like an aimless ghost; her legs carrying her where her brain did not - to the doors of the girl who meant the most in the world to her. "i’m so sorry. i don’t know what happened..." she winced as she undid the final laces of her dress, letting the heavy fabric fall to the floor. her heart raced, pounding as though it might burst out of her chest.

her family would be furious. her mistake—referring to jaehaerys as the prince, not the king—had made it seem as though their loyalty was questionable, and the consequences were already beginning to unfold. the whispering, the cold glances, the tightening of her brother's jaw; he had already lost so much, they had already lost so much, and her foolishness could cause them more issue. she had to hide. hide away from all the judgement, all the sharp eyes that were now fixed on her.

slipping into marcella’s nightgown felt like a small reprieve, a chance to pretend she was somewhere else, in a world where no one cared about the mistakes she had made. the fabric was cool against her skin, and for a moment, she allowed herself to breathe a little easier, letting her hair out of the messy updo and letting it hang on either side of her shoulders. she had seen her friend wear this nightgown so many times before, she were surprised it were the one she offered for her to wear - and yet, she couldn't help but look at herself in the mirror. she felt closer to her, as though she were her saviour. she had trusted her to wear it. "i just… i didn’t mean to say it. i didn’t mean to upset anyone."

as the minutes ticked by, she felt the anxiety crawl beneath her skin like a restless tide, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling marcella’s steady presence appear beside her. "cella," she murmured the name so naturally again, a soft plea in her voice. "please, tell me what to do. tell me how to fix this." she knew she wasn’t supposed to burden marcella with everything, but she couldn’t help it. she needed her. "how long do i have to hide?" she asked, voice cracking slightly. "how long until they forget? do you think i should apologise to the king? what if he thinks my family are treasonous?"

[naelysvelaryon]

who: @benblvckwood when and where: semi flashback, a bustling side street in lannisport, lined with elegant stone townhouses and vibrant market stalls. she finds herself in a lesser-used storeroom filled with dusty tapestries and supposedly cursed items and, without realising it, manages to lock herself inside the lower level of the storeroom.

naelys had never felt more out of place in her life. a woman of noble blood, standing in the dust-filled basement of a forgotten shop in lannisport, of all places, in a room brimming with relics that had seen better centuries. this wasn’t her world—this musty little storeroom, the forgotten tapestries, the strange trinkets that gave off an unsettling air of antiquity. she had thought it would be quaint, just a quick stop for some idle amusement while she wandered the busy streets of the city, waiting for marcella to be finished with whatever it was she was doing.

but now, she was locked in. she had been poking around, mindlessly trailing her fingers over dusty, ancient fabrics, when the door had somehow shut behind her with a soft click. one small, harmless push. she hadn’t realised the latch had caught until it was too late. her heart had leapt into her throat the moment she tried to leave. there was no response despite how much she banged on the basement door, how much she insisted that something was wrong with the door. and now she was here, standing on a rickety stool, her fingers pressed against the iron bars of a small window, peering out into the world she couldn’t reach.

what if no one could hear her? was the shopkeeper was gone? asleep, or worse, dead? had he died somehow? how long would it be until someone found her? the panic swelled in her chest, twisting like an iron band, no doubt because of the dark stuffiness of the basement room and the dust she continued to breathe in. the strange objects looking at her only inflamed her sense of panic. she tried to swallow it down, but it only made her throat dry, her palms slick against the bars. she was faced with the boots of passers by, the hooves of animals, and the dirt on the streets of lannisport. it made her push back a gag.

she let out a shaky breath, the sound of bustling market life outside the storeroom doors strangely distant. voices, the clink of metal, the murmur of pedestrians all seemed muffled, as though she were sinking deeper into something she couldn’t escape. “hello?” she called out, but the words seemed so small, so desperate, even to her own ears. she hated the way her voice quivered, the way it trembled with rising dread. “can anyone hear me? i—i’m locked in here!” there was little use in trying to shake the iron bars, though over the sound of the wagons and the loud chattering and the sound of the flutes, she could audibly hear her voice drowning.

her breath hitched as her eyes flicked to the dim room, half-expecting one of the objects to come to life and mock her for her predicament. she caught her reflection in a dusty mirror, her wild hair and pale face, and wondered how she'd let herself be trapped in such a ridiculous situation. “hello-hello? i need help!” she tried again, her voice slightly more firm this time, though she could feel the panic bubbling beneath. she stood taller, the wooden stool creaking dangerously beneath her, and tried to peer through the small window at the world she had thought she could easily walk back into.

and then—through the bars—she saw him. a man, with dark, unruly hair, standing just outside the shop, a casual air to his stance as though he didn’t quite belong to the city either. he was probably just passing through, perhaps a traveller or a nobleman on his way to somewhere important.she was sure she had never seen him before, but she found herself banging on the iron rails and increasing the loudness of her voice. “you there!” she called, waving her hand frantically, her voice much louder now, a sharp contrast to her previous hesitance. “can you hear me? i—i need help!” her words felt thick and clumsy in her mouth, the embarrassment heavy in her chest. she wasn’t used to pleading. to asking for help. it felt so… vulnerable. but there was no other choice. the helplessness made her stomach twist painfully.

“please,” she added, almost breathlessly as he finally met her gaze, a look of confusion crossing over his features. “i’m locked in here.the shop keeper knew i was down here, i don't know where he's gone...the door, the door is broken and he won't respond.”

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys nodded softly, her eyes fixed on the lute in her lap. her fingers brushed the strap absently, a motion that felt more like habit than intention. elenda’s words lingered in the air, warm and steady, but naelys found no solace in them. they only deepened the weight in her chest, pressing down until she felt she might break under it. she glanced at elenda’s hand, still hovering near hers, and resisted the urge to pull away. "no arguments." she repeated, sounding distant; she felt her stomach at the thought of performing. but she agreed nonetheless, for she did not wish to disappointment elenda.

it wasn’t that the touch was unwelcome—it wasn’t. but it felt wrong, as though the warmth of it no longer fit the shape of her. she wanted to say something, anything, but the words never came. they tangled in her throat, a knot she couldn’t untie.

instead, she nodded again, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. her lips parted as if to speak, but she closed them quickly, unsure of what she might say. she couldn’t ask the questions that burned in her mind—why everything felt so different, why elenda’s kindness felt like pressure instead of comfort. she couldn’t voice the doubt coiling in her heart like a shadow, dark and unyielding. she clutched the lute strap tighter, the motion grounding her even as it betrayed her unease - she nodded towards the instrument, “it’s not just cracked. it’s broken. i… i don’t think it can be fixed.” the words felt heavier than she’d intended, but once they were out, she couldn’t take them back.

she glanced at elenda again, noting the faint smile on her lips, the sadness hidden just beneath. there was a part of her that wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap between them, but she couldn’t. not yet. "it's fine." she spoke, her voice intended on seeming casual, on seeming unbothered. it were impossible for naelys velaryon to be anything but an open book - she were disturbing elenda, she had made it obvious she was not comfortable with them anymore. why had she been stupid enough to continue speaking?

her gaze drifted to elenda’s face, her good-sister’s faint smile lightening her features. naelys tried to mirror it, but the effort felt hollow, like a mask she couldn’t quite wear. instead, she looked down again, her fingers tightening around the strap until her knuckles turned white. there was an expectation in elenda’s tone, in the way she spoke of fixing things, of making them right again. naelys felt it pressing against her, a quiet demand she didn’t know how to meet. she should have been grateful—she was grateful—but the thought of leaning on someone, even elenda, made her chest tighten.

how could she explain that accepting help felt like admitting she couldn’t hold herself together? that the cracks in her weren’t something anyone else could mend? "it's fine. i'm going to go and find deimos."

.

ellie’s heart tightened at the way naelys said her name, soft and uncertain, as if testing the waters of something they’d both once taken for granted. there was a vulnerability in her voice that reminded ellie painfully of their time together on driftmark, those long nights when loneliness had gnawed at them both in different ways. and yet, now, there was a distance between them, one ellie hadn’t fully noticed until this moment.

“i know,” ellie murmured, her voice as gentle as she could make it. but there was something else lingering in it.shame maybe. “i’ve been… distant. too distant, i think. it wasn’t my intention, nel, truly. i just…” she trailed off, searching for the right words to bridge the growing chasm. but how could she explain something that she didn’t fully understand herself?

her gaze dropped to naelys’s hands, the way her fingers clutched the strap of her lute like a lifeline. that simple movement was enough to pull ellie from her own tangled thoughts. this wasn’t about her. it couldn’t be. naelys was here, fragile and aching in a way that ellie recognized all too well. if she could do anything, anything at all, it was to be the steady presence her former good sister needed now.

“i’ll help,” she said softly, her tone steady with quiet resolve. though it was clear she was speaking more about than just the lute. ” ellie shifted her arm slightly, her hand giving a small, comforting pat against naelys’s. “sometimes things feel… off, even when we want them to be the same. that doesn’t mean they’re broken forever.” she said. “i….i’ll try to explain more. but not here” she said looking around wondering who might be listening. she looked at her hoping she might understand. “i’m not trying to keep anything from you.”

ellie smiled faintly, though the sadness in naelys’s eyes made her chest ache. were they really one kingdom? one kingdom whos king taxed the stormlands. where some valyrians looked down on them like they were nothing. none of that could she say here. “you’re right. we’re one kingdom now—one family, in a strange way. you’re still my family, nel. that hasn’t changed, and it never will.”

her gaze flicked to the lute again, her voice lightening just slightly. “now, come on. show me where it’s cracked. between the two of us, we’ll figure it out. and once it’s fixed…” she leaned in, just enough for her words to feel like a special secret for just them. “you’ll play something for me. no arguments.”

[naelysvelaryon]

ANA DE ARMAS photographed by Greg Williams at the 2023 BAFTA Film Awards

[naelysvelaryon]

how to disappear for a month with no repercussions

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

the moment the princess of house stark had asked for naelys velaryon's hand, a quiet jingle of amethyst bracelets filled the air as her hand moved to slip into that of the princess. the agreement was wordless, said without a moment of hesitation; and yet, she did not even speak on it. the godswood stretched around them, vast and ancient, its leaves a sea of red and gold, rustling softly with a breeze that carried the faintest trace of the city beyond. “it is strange, isn’t it?” naelys began, her voice quiet, nearly swallowed by the rustle of leaves.

“to know someone so well... and yet not at all.” naelys velaryon stood beside dacey stark, her hand still lingering where it had been given. she had not expected the request—certainly not from a woman so cautious, so deliberate in the weight she added to the world.

but dacey’s grasp, firm yet tentative, felt grounding, like an anchor pulling her to the present. a small part of naelys could not help but wonder as to how lucky the stark sisters were to have dacey as their sister; how much she wished she could simply put her hand within her sisters as though they were merely babes in a cradle once again. "you have such a sweet face." she gave little explanation as to what she meant by her comment; only that in their discussion, naelys had always envisioned dacey to look older, more tired. and yet, there was a beauty of life that continued to bloom in her; as though her good nature reflected on her face.

naelys turned her vivid purple eyes to dacey, a slight furrow in her brow betraying her unease. it wasn’t the godswood, or the stillness, or even the woman beside her that unsettled her—it was the realness of it all. years of ink-stained words, thoughts bared and carried across leagues, had led to this moment. for so long, dacey had existed only in letters: a voice distant and safe, her confidant in a world that felt too often fraught with expectation. and now, here she was. solid. breathing.

she looked down, her hair slipping into her eyes. she made no move to brush it back this time, letting it obscure the flush she felt creeping along her cheeks. she paused, the stillness of the godswood settling in her bones. her hand in dacey’s was warm, and that small tether steadied her. “but i think you do know me. or—” she hesitated, looking up at dacey, her gaze softening—“at least, you see me in a way i’m not sure anyone else has. you always have. even when i did not have the courage to see myself.” after all, it had been dacey who had assured her that the north would be a welcome home for her, back when there were discussions of her joining house stark.

and for a moment, whilst looking at dacey's face, she had the quiet realisation she would have been happy. that all would have been okay; even if she did need to handle a great amount of change. her lips curved into the faintest smile, the weight of her own words surprising her. “and i would have found you, no matter where you prayed. no sept or godswood could have kept me from you had i heard you were here, dacey stark.” the smile lingered, but her gaze drifted to the towering trees above them, their branches reaching toward the heavens. “you’ve been my sanctuary,” she said softly, her voice carrying only to dacey’s ears. “and if your gods brought you to me, then perhaps they’ve shown me mercy too.”

she squeezed dacey’s hand, a gesture of quiet solidarity, before falling silent once more. the godswood seemed to echo their unspoken understanding, the whispers of its leaves carrying their truths to places only they could hear. naelys velaryon did not like change; it were as though she kept peeking back at dacey through the curtained thick waves of her hair as though to verify she were here. in the flesh, and they would be able to spend some time together - until they did not. until dacey needed to return to the north. the idea caused a quiet pang to ring out within naelys, who already found herself detesting the image that formed in her head. of watching dacey get into her carriage, and not knowing when they would see one another again.

she made a mental note to ask a maester how many leagues there were between driftmark and winterfell.

"i swear upon the old gods and the new, that you will never lose me." her words were solemn, taken in style of an oath; under the shades of the godstree, whilst her hand remained linked with daceys. the words seemed to tumble naturally from her mouth; how often had she seen oaths be made. how often had she watched the consequences as oaths were broken. not this one. "not now."

there was a peace to the godswood that dacey had not felt since they had passed the neck, and left the north, the leaves above whispered to one another, any trace of the city far removed from where the two found themselves. when she fell quiet, she thought she could still vaguely hear it - the sounds of chatter and life, carried on the wind, so faint that it may have been her imagination. and when she listened even harder, she was sure she could hear the faint, nervous thump of her own heartbeat.

"it's not," a wry sort of smile came over dacey's face. "the further we came from the north, the more i wanted to turn around and run back." it was never an option, not really. even if it had have been possible, dacey never would have asked for it, never would have made such a fuss that such an arrangement would be necessary. "i don't know how you did it. in braavos." there were some who thought little of travel, who found it within themselves to fly from their home like birds migrating from winter. she did not this that was naelys. and yet, she had done it, something dacey could not say for herself. "i think you're very brave for that."

that feeling of kinship only deepened as naelys continued to explain herself. how often had dacey bit her tongue, allowing her own thoughts and feelings to go unspoken because she was afraid of asking for too much, of taking space that wasn't hers to take? how often had she felt the urge to be seen, battling with the urge to go unnoticed. her gaze dropped to naelys' hands, restless and clasped together, and it was a gesture she recognised all too intimately. for a moment, dacey said nothing, standing in the quiet of the godswood with no sound but her own breath and the steady beat of her heart.

"may i take your hand for a moment?" the question was quiet, and she made no movement with her own to do so until naelys' response was given.

"i see you," dacey said, softly. "or at least... i think i do. and i think i see myself, too, if that makes sense. or at least, someone who understands me." she hesitated, as though the right words were shrouded to her, stuck somewhere behind the trees and between the leaves. "even when i can't quite explain myself. i feel as though you might know already."

dacey was a woman who moved through the world with caution, as though her mere presence would disrupt the very balance of it. it was smaller with naelys, as though she could breathe, as though she could add a little more of her own weight to the scales before they tipped. as though it was all right.

"i see you," she repeated, a little more confidently. "the parts that are quiet. the parts that are loud. and none of it is too much. it's just... right."

and she was glad to have been a comfort to naelys. it made her feel less selfish, that she had taken comfort from naelys, too, to know that she had been able to give a little back. "and you to me," she murmured. "more than you know." a soft laugh escaped her then, a small shake of her head that sent dark hair rippling in the afternoon breeze. "i know my gods are not yours, and i did not think to find them on the steps of a sept... but perhaps they were more present than i thought they could be in the city. they brought me to you."

[naelysvelaryon]

who: @fromthcfires when and where: set two days after her encounter with king jaehaerys targaryen, naelys velaryon runs into a relatively unknown individual to her. context: she never knew rhaegar well....

the ball was a labyrinth of light and shadow, laughter and whispers swirling together under the vaulted ceiling of the red keep. naelys velaryon sat at one of the long, polished tables, its surface gleaming like dark water beneath the flicker of candlelight. the hall was stiflingly warm, though she felt a strange chill along the back of her neck as her gaze wandered over the faces she did not know. so many strangers, so many secrets cloaked in silk and wine. her own gown, pale violet edged with silver, brushed against her ankles as she shifted in her seat.

her hands rested lightly in her lap, fingers curling and uncurling with restless energy. her dark hair fell loose about her shoulders, the strands often spilling into her eyes. she would sweep them back absently, only for them to tumble forward again.

she had not meant to look at him. not at first. but something about the man sitting across the table—a few seats down—drew her attention. the stark white of his hair, the sharp lines of his profile, the faint gleam of violet in his gaze when the candlelight caught it. he was unmistakably targaryen, yet unfamiliar. that alone was strange. her brow furrowed slightly as she glanced away, uncertain why she felt unsettled. she sipped her wine, letting its warmth spread through her chest, but the unease lingered.

his presence gnawed at the edge of her mind like a half-forgotten dream, elusive and insistent. they must have run into one another as children.

when their hands brushed, she immediately darted her hand back, having not seen him reach for the same platter of candied almonds—had been too lost in her thoughts. her fingers froze against his for a moment, the contact feather-light yet startling. her eyes flicked up, and there he was. closer now, his face framed by that ghostly hair, his gaze fixed on hers. “...apologies,” she murmured, withdrawing her hand as though burned. and she remained silent despite being sat across from him, remained silent for the rest of the night.

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys remained frozen in her curtsy, her fingers trembling against the silk of her gown. the coldness of the stone beneath her seeped into her knees, but she barely felt it over the pounding of her heart. his voice echoed in the hall, sharp and commanding, reverberating through her as though he had struck her. look at me, he had said. tell me what you see. who you see.

the words puzzled her, their meaning slipping through her grasp like smoke. she did not dare lift her head, her breath caught between panic and shame. “...i see you, your grace...?” she said softly, unsure, clear there was a lingering air to her statement as she was unsure. the words came haltingly, her voice barely audible against the vast silence of the throne room. she could feel eyes upon her, and prayed that her brother was somewhere; perhaps he was pushing through the crowds.

“i see…” she trailed off, frowning slightly, her mind racing. what did he want her to say? surely he knew she saw him. jaehaerys.

the boy she had known, the man she had not. the king. never having been close, only the distant relative that would always laugh at her lack of a dragon. her lack of mythic, her lack of...everything. the glass dragon, he had called her; did he still call her that? she found herself letting out a soft exhale from her lips, her hands clenched together beneath her velvet indigo gown. she swallowed hard, the weight of his presence pressing down on her as she struggled to understand. who you see. the question lingered in the air, hanging over her like a blade waiting to fall.

“i see the one who…” her words faltered again, confusion deepening. why was this so difficult? why could she not find the answer he seemed to seek?

and then it hit her, sudden and sharp, the realization unfurling with a wave of dread. he was not asking about his person, or it being some sort of trick question as it would be when she was a mere girl—he was asking about his station. her stomach twisted as the implications of her earlier slip sank in further, her blunder laid bare before her like a wound. “your grace,” she whispered, the words rushing out in a soft exhalation. “forgive me. i… i misspoke.” the hall’s cold air seemed to thicken, pressing against her chest as she finally dared to correct herself, her voice barely above a whisper. “i see my king.”

he still appeared the bully.

As Jaehaerys walked through the grand halls of the Red Keep, the silence of the throne room weighed heavily on him, contrasting sharply with the turmoil that churned within. The lull in the fighting in the Marches—so brief, so fragile—did little to soothe his restless mind. He had returned to the Keep hoping for a moment of peace, but the thoughts that plagued him refused to settle.

Vermithor. Silverwing. His dragons, his burden. Cursed. The word flickered like a shadow in his mind, unbidden, yet undeniable. The loss of Vermithor had already broken something within him—how could it not? The bond they had shared was deeper than most understood, and yet it had been severed in the cruelest way. Then Silverwing—her death, years later, lingering as if the curse had followed him, a constant reminder that he could not outrun the ghosts of those he lost. First his dragon, now his dragon's mate.

Could it be coincidence? Or was it fate?

His steps faltered as he heard the words. The King glanced to his right to ensure his cousins Rhaegar wasn't there and then he looked behind him for someone else before he looked at her. "Your prince? I see no Prince here." There were moments where the world flashed before his eyes and could not remember the year and unfortunately for the woman -

Naelys. Nervous Nellie, the glass dragon of House Velaryon. Something popped like a leather band pulled to hard.

"Look at me." His voice was low but in the silence of the throne room his voice carried. "Look. At. Me." The King felt the shaking of his words deep in his chest. Deimos sat on his council. House Velaryon was important. "I am down there, look at me. Tell me what you see. Who you see."

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys walked beside dacey, feeling the weight of the years they had spent in letters and distant words now coming alive in the space between them. the cobblestones beneath their feet grew quieter as they neared the godswood, the rustling of trees above them blending with the soft rhythm of their steps. there was a tension in naelys, a quiet discomfort she couldn’t fully shake. her hands, clasped tightly in front of her, were an admission of that, an attempt to hold herself steady in a moment that felt almost too real.

dacey, half a step behind, seemed to mirror that same restraint. there was an understanding in it—something familiar, something shared.

"i understand," naelys said quietly, her voice carrying that familiar warmth, though there was a trace of uncertainty beneath it. "it's not easy, is it? to leave behind what’s familiar." her gaze shifted briefly to the horizon, the trees in the godswood standing tall like silent sentinels, and she wondered if dacey, too, saw the same thing—if, like her, the unknown had felt daunting at times. naelys had taken much courage to remain within braavos during those unstable, fearsome days; but she had made it through to the end. "i—" naelys took a breath, not expecting the weight of that assurance to settle so deeply within her. she hadn't realized how much she had carried with her—the fear that the person in her letters might not meet the person standing in front of dacey now.

"thank you," she said quietly, but the words felt like they didn’t quite capture the weight of what she felt.

"it's just," she continued, her hands tightening, "i never knew if i was...too much." it was a simple admission, but one that felt like it had been waiting in her chest for years. the letters had been easy, safe, but now standing in front of dacey, the fear of not living up to those words felt more real than ever. she found herself looking at dacey, the way her voice had softened as she spoke, the warmth in her words that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. "i think," naelys said after a long pause, "i've always wanted to be seen. truly seen, for who i am, not just the words i write or the persona i create." she smiled faintly, unsure if it was even the right thing to say, but trusting dacey enough to voice it anyway.

"and for some reason, i look at you and think...she sees me. do you get that too?"

"you’ve been a comfort to me, dacey," she continued, her words becoming more certain now, "even when you didn’t have to be. and i don’t think i’ll ever forget that." the truth of it felt like a weight lifted from her chest, something she had been carrying without even realising how much it meant to her. they were almost to the godswood now, the trees ahead standing like quiet sentinels, their leaves rustling gently in the wind. "i suppose," naelys said, her voice quieter now, "it’s strange, isn’t it? how we’ve come this far. from letters to here." she felt a warmth spread in her chest. "but i’m glad ever you went to the wrong place of prayer."

dacey's steps fell into line with naelys', half a pace behind as she followed. there was a careful way to the way the lady velaryon moved, a tension in her frame, the way her hands clasped as though to hold herself into place, that was all too familiar, like looking at a mirror of herself, and all the times she had tried to shrink herself in the background, unwilling to take up too much space. she longed to offer some reassurances, but her own nerves snared the words in her throat. the last thing she wanted to be was too much, too eager.

"neither did i," she admitted. "that is my own fault. it is only recently that i have felt..." she paused for a moment, trying to grasp for the right words. "comfortable enough to leave the north, i suppose." there was a world outside of winterfell, and dacey was like an infant, taking her first steps out into it. for naelys it was different, she knew. life had taken her across the seas, to braavos as well as these shores. dacey had wondered if her letters were boring, in comparison. "but i am glad that we have." she added.

naelys' next words came so quietly that they would have been easy to miss, but dacey did not. a frown crossed her face - not one of anger, or the disappointment that naelys spoke of, but of disbelief, and a denial that it was true. if anything, it was naelys that should be disappointed. dacey knew she did not cut much of a figure, mousy and quiet as she was. "you could never disappoint me, naelys." her voice was firm, but lost none of its warmth, its tenderness. "the thought hadn't even crossed my mind."

but the more she thought about it, the more she understood. was she not worried herself that in the flesh, she could not match up to words written on a page, those she had given thought to curating and ensuring they were perfect? that she had somehow deceived naelys by presenting a version of herself that she was not? or that the opposite was true, that she had shown her too much, allowed too much of herself to be seen, even the parts that were hard to like? "i know how much we shared in our letters. for me, it almost felt like bearing my soul to you. but you never judged me, and i never judged you. i don't think either of us are about to start now." she paused, as though waiting for naelys to confirm or deny it, to give her an opportunity to correct her if she was wrong.

there was a time where naelys could have been her sister. it wasn't to be, but the idea they had found some sort of sorority within one another regardless struck a deeper chord than dacey had expected. "i would have been honoured to call you a sister," it was a statement meant truthfully. "you have been there for me in a way that not many people have been, even when you did not have to be. i'll never forget that." was she gushing? it felt like she was gushing, being over-effusive. desperate.

they must have been nearing the godswood. the noise of the city was falling away, cobbled streets replaced by something nature had half-reclaimed. it was not quite the domain of the old gods, but it was closer to it. "it's funny. sometimes, when i went to pray, i'd find myself thinking about what i might say to you, the next time i sat down to write." now, naelys would be standing there beside her. it only felt right.

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys velaryon’s fingers stilled on the loose strings of her corset, though the small, contemplative smile on her lips lingered as she processed adam stark’s words. her silver hair, catching the soft amber glow of the setting sun filtering through the chamber windows, framed her face in a way that accentuated the brightness in her lilac eyes—a brightness that sparked with a faint flicker of amusement at his reply. “cassana,” she repeated, her tone thoughtful as though tasting the name for the first time. “your sister.” her voice softened, her confusion melting into understanding.

“i suppose i should remember that now. forgive me—there are so many names to keep track of. the sea does not trouble itself with such things,” she added, her words carrying a lilting, almost wistful quality.

her gaze shifted to him, her vivid purple hues bright as they spoke. for all his gloom and for all her anxious unsettled nerves, she never found herself needing to second guess, or think too hard. as natural as the waves kissing the chore. “grown shorter? well, i hardly think so...i still have my head.” her voice lended a musical quality to her words. “perhaps it is merely the northern air giving you some sense of height. maybe i shall have to visit winterfell with deimos to see if it works on me. maybe.”

she let her fingers trail absently over the pendant now hanging around her neck, her movements deliberate yet unhurried. there was something grounding about his presence, though she would never say so aloud.she were too shy for that. instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips quirking into a small smile, nodding. when she brightened at the mention of dacey stark, her face seemed to transform, her earlier calm replaced by an unmistakable warmth. “dacey? she’s... wonderful,” naelys said, her voice tinged with an almost unusual girlish excitement. her hands clasped together as she recounted their meeting.

“we talked for hours. about everything—your family, my family, the big wide world. she is just as generous in person as she is with her words, if not more so. you have a very nice sister, adam. much nicer than my sister.” her smile softened, the radiance in her expression dimming only slightly as a trace of introspection seeped into her tone.

she then looked behind him, as though to expect to see his companion. "oh. where is your pup?"

Adam watched her, a small smile tugging at his lips as she fiddled with her corset strings. It was the sort of absentminded habit he had observed in her a few times before, the sort of action that made him wonder just how comfortable she might feel around him. Naelys had never appeared to be much of a social creature, perhaps leaning toward solitary sea shores as he did to wintry, lonely woods. But the prince did hope she found the same ease in his company as he did hers.

The furrow of her brow at the mention of Cass amused him. “Cassana. My sister,” he clarified with ease, tender, never mocking of her confusion. There had always been something light, airy and dreaming about the Velaryon lady in how she moved about the world and how she spoke. For the gloomy Northern prince, it was something soothing, never something to deride or make fun of.

“I don't think I've grown since we last met,” Adam murmured, considering her assertion. “Perhaps you've grown shorter, Nellie,” he offered in return, a warm chuckle accompanying his words.

“Do I?” he raised an eyebrow, glancing toward her. Her teasing about his opportune presence pulled yet another genuine smile from the lone wolf of House Stark. “If that is indeed a talent I possess that I was unaware of, I cannot say I can complain about it”. Naelys said he appeared when she least expected it, and Adam could only hope his appearance was a surprise of the positive kind.

Adam's usual solemnity had vanished entirely around the Lady of Driftmark, for when she brightened about meeting his sister, the prince's smile widened ever so slightly. “You two had been exchanging letters for some years now, correct? I'm glad to hear you have finally met in person”. Naelys' eyes sparkled as she spoke of Dacey and he could only hope the meeting had brought similar joy to his sister.

“How was it? Meeting each other at last?” he inquired, inviting her to share more about an experience that so evidently brought her some excitement. He was pleased to know two people so dear to him had found some happiness in crossing paths at last.

[naelysvelaryon]

who: @jaehaerysiitargaryen context: she aint been back since jaehaerys became king, until now

the great hall of the red keep loomed vast and unfamiliar, though naelys had known it once. the echoes of her footsteps, soft against the stone floor, seemed to mock her, each sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of her own thoughts. everything felt different now—the banners, the faces, the throne itself. it was not the court she had left behind, and she was no longer the girl who had once played a small part in its endless schemes.

the weight of her finery sat heavily on her shoulders, her silver-threaded gown feeling more like a chain than a symbol of her house’s pride. she clutched the edges of her sleeves tightly as the herald’s voice rang out: “his grace, jaehaerys targaryen, first of his name.”

naelys felt her body move before her mind had caught up, sinking into a deep curtsy as the sound of the king’s boots echoed across the hall. she kept her gaze fixed on the cold stone beneath her, her heart thundering in her chest. her brother’s children, her reason for being here, sat silently at the edge of her mind, their future tangled with the king's whims - they too seemed to bow and curtsy beside her. as jaehaerys approached, the murmured greetings began to rise around her, a symphony of "your grace" and "my king."

naelys opened her mouth to join them, her voice trembling before it had even formed the words. “my prince,” she said, barely above a whisper. and the moment the words rushed out, she seemed to feel her skin go cold. that was not what she meant. it were all but automatic, the title she had called him for years.

the hall fell deathly silent. the words hung in the air like an accusation, her mistake a thunderclap in the hush. naelys felt the blood drain from her face, her lips parting as though she could somehow call the words back to her. her hands gripped her skirts, knuckles white, her body frozen in place. what had she done? the title—so small, so seemingly harmless—was anything but. her mind reeled, the memory of his childhood cruelty surfacing unbidden, an image of the boy who had mocked her, laughed at her tears.

she dared not look up, dared not breathe. panic clawed at her throat as she heard his footsteps stop directly in front of her. still sunk low in her curtsy, she could only wait, her thoughts spiraling into darker and darker corners. what would he do?

[naelysvelaryon]

¿

naelys stood still for a moment, her fingers still toying with the undone string of her corset. she could feel the weight of his words, but it didn't quite feel like the heavy, pressing thing she'd feared. there was something almost comforting in his presence, something familiar and grounding. she let her shoulders relax, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as he stepped back, his work done. her brow furrowed as he mentioned a name she did not recognise; her face was painted with confusion.

"i don't think i know a cass...?"

"yes... it is very nice," she repeated, more to herself than to him. the word felt simple, but it was enough. they didn’t need to say much for it to mean everything, not when so many of their conversations had been left unsaid between the lines. "you look taller." putting the necklace around her neck felt like a small but significant thing, a reminder of moments like this one—quiet, unexpected, and somehow more real than any of the grand gestures.

"i didn't expect to see you here," she said, her voice quiet but warm. there was a soft, teasing edge to her words. "but then again, you’ve always had a way of showing up when i least expect it." she could almost hear his dry laugh in her mind, the one that always came after his half-smiles. but there was something more there now, something that made the air between them feel lighter.

and then her face brightened slightly more, visibly. "oh! i finally met dacey!" he knew the two were close friends, but over written form only. despite her betrothal to adam once upon a time, she never managed to meet the second oldest stark princess.

“Consider your attempt successful,” he replied with a nod, still somewhat amused by her very unusual yet very effective method. Adam had expected to gain some time alone earlier, though admittedly he didn't feel robbed in any way as he fortuitously ended up in the company of Naelys. Hers was a company he liked to keep, even if the occasions when that could happen were sporadic and far between. For the good bonds between Starks and Velaryons, it was a shame Winterfell and Driftmark were no closer together on the map.

“I like to think it would take more than a mere jeweled necklace to wound me. Cass would agree my head is thicker than that,” the prince uttered with a half-smile. He could nearly hear his sister's words mocking or chastising him. Out of the pack, his little sister had always been the one more willing to speak to him so openly, even to the detriment of his reason or pride.

The Velaryon lady stood in place and Adam Stark let the precious gem rest on her collarbone as he clasped the necklace's brooch, her precious jewelry back where it belonged. “There,” he murmured and took a step back, offering Nellie a smile. “Hello,” he echoed her words, a light-hearted tone present as they finally greeted.

“I am honored when I receive invitations to come,” he replied. It went beyond the expectations of a prince, or the commonalities that could exist between River folk and Northerners. There was something deeper about his connection to this land, as Naely's well knew. Returning to the land of Rivers oftentimes felt like paying respects to the dead, and a part of his soul resonated with that. “It is nice to see you and your family here”.