Chapter Text
It was understood that a marriage would unite two kingdoms, that the act would bind family names together in the history books, a symbol of unity and power. That was what was expected of Loraena. Once, she had believed unity could be something gentler. This was a lesson she’d learned as a child, before the split, when she still had a friend across the border. She now stood resting over her balcony, idly contemplating the fact.
From where she stood, Loraena watched the mechanical ticking of the drawbridge as it opened, a mix of white, blue and gold fluttering in the wind, the Maerion flag, emerging as her transport arrived. It had been decided that the Tiruna and Aurethas Kingdoms were to meet, with houses from across the kingdoms gathering in Aurethus.
The true purpose of this assembly was to build allies and forge connections where in the past they had once thrived, with the men of the houses meeting at the King’s Table to confer strategic measures, as her father put it. Disputed governance and conflicts in areas of the east meant that the Crown was being challenged, and so the Kingdoms were rushing to strengthen their perceived bonds in an effort to squash any potential threats to the Crown’s sovereignty.
Once, such gatherings had meant something far simpler to her.
Countless summers were spent racing through palace corridors beside him, before politics had torn their kingdoms, and their friendship, apart. Her heart lurched at the memory, one she often found plaguing her mind during her most sleepless nights. In these times, she didn’t know whether it was remorse or rage that tugged at her chest the most, or perhaps a mix of the two.
Her sleepless nights had no doubt increased in frequency leading up to the assembly of the Kingdoms. As the day drew closer, she found herself becoming more irritable, snapping at her brothers without cause. Most prominent of all was her silence towards her father, a quiet testament to her pain.
To strengthen bonds between the Kingdoms, her father saw it fit that she be married soon, using the gathering as an opportunity to find suitors, much to Loraena’s disapproval.
Her mother had been present when her father delivered the news and seemed in favour of it, however reluctant she was to let her child go. “Do not marry hastily, dear. I will see you content,” were her mother’s firm words as she held Loraena’s arms, a concerned expression across her face.
Ideally, Loraena would not see herself married at all, but she supposed if she could find someone who would bother her little, she would not mind it. Public appearances were one thing, but beyond that, she was not willing to surrender her freedom, as she knew marriage often entailed the raising of children, carriers of the bloodline.
A knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts, and she quickly responded, “Enter!”
Soon, she was inside her chambers, surrounded by a mob of lady maids dressing her in the regal dress of House Maerion, all blues and whites and golds. She was proud of where she came from, her home province of Tiruna being the only tropical Isle of the continent, brimming with the callings of nature from the Giants nestled within the jagged outcrops of mountains to the crystalline lakes and waterfalls, to leave it all behind was to lose a part of herself. Ever since her father informed her she was to find a husband, she’d been in a sort of detached mood, slowly spending her days sauntering about the palace or finding solitude on Tynirs, who would glide her above the Isle, granting her a break from the court’s watchful eyes.
Perhaps it was because Aurethas held memories she had long buried. Memories of a boy she had once trusted above all others, before the rift between them grew so large she could no longer look at him without tears brimming in her eyes and running away to find solace on Tynirs.
Of course, all the waiting had drawn to a close with the arrival of this day.
Loraena regarded her reflection in the mirror, draped in her house colours, the gentle reveal of her collarbone and shoulders offering just enough allure to entice potential suitors. A lady’s dress was a declaration of status: black for mourning, white for virtue, and the particular cut she wore now marked her as eligible for the eyes of the court.
“Ma’am, is everything up to standard?” The voice of one of her lady maids cut the silence which she realised had settled over the room for the moments she had been silently staring in the mirror.
She inhaled sharply, and her eyes fluttered as she returned to herself, “Yes, thank you,” she replied with a faint smile, though her eyes betrayed her unease.
It was at that moment when Joffrey, Daemon and Jaecerys came bursting through into her chambers, tumbling over one another as they spilt in through the door, where they had clearly been told to wait outside. Her lady maids filed out after the boy’s grand entrance, keeping their heads ducked low. Loraena’s mood immediately brightened at the sight of them, “Brothers,” she smiled, crouching down to ruffle Joffrey’s fair hair, whose nose scrunched up in protest. Daemon had already taken to playing with the folds of her skirts, lifting the layers and watching them ripple as they fell with a childlike wonder.
Jaecerys raised his hands in apology, “I told them to wait outside, but their excitement won out.” His hair, a golden brown similar to her own, had a longer tuft at the back, in accordance with Selkhar custom. Men across the continent were required to keep this tuft until they were married, as a symbol of eligibility. He wore black linen, high black boots, and a leather belt at his hips. On the breast of his tunic, their house emblem sat embroidered in gold, the slanted eyes of the Griffin ever watchful over its beholder. Jaece’s brown eyes gleamed with pride as he looked her over, “Loraena, you look beautiful,” he said with a soft laugh, drawing her into an embrace.
She rested her head on his shoulder, her arms squeezing round him tight as she shut her eyes, “Thank you.”
His warm embrace allowed her mind to drift from the present to the past.
She could recollect warm summer days in meadows humming with milky-white pignut and vermillion poppies. A boy’s laughter echoed in her memory; she could feel the heat radiating between their arms as they lay side by side in the long grass.
The vision splintered, his laughter warped into a distorted chime as the sunlit meadow morphed into a rocky plain, barren of any wildflowers.
This place was bare, infertile, it would not allow for the roots of friendship to take hold. No, this is where it happened. That fateful day. She could feel the rain pelting down on her, soaking her clothes until they clung to her skin. Yet she did not feel the cold. She was burning hot with rage, it seeping into every fibre of her being, claiming her as she lashed out with her dagger and-
Loraena blinked hard, the memory shattering as quickly as it had risen, leaving her breathless in Jaece’s arms.
“I do not wish to see him again, brother,” she whispered, a confession she was sure he already knew.
He exhaled slowly and stepped back, holding her at arm’s length as he surveyed her gown once more. “Neither do I,” he murmured, his eyes solemn as though remembering the ordeal himself. Then he leaned closer, cupping the back of her head, “But remember this: We are Maerions. Bound by blood. They cannot take that from us, try as they might to sow division between our Kingdoms. We need only endure their presence for a few days.”
She exhaled softly, a tentative smile flickering across her lips as she gathered her composure. “I suppose you are right, Jaece,” she murmured, placing her hand atop his and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “As for me marrying… I simply did not expect it to happen so soon.”
Her voice fractured on the last word, a quiet tremor betraying her as her eyes brimmed with tears at the thought of leaving her family behind. She quickly turned away and wiped at her eyes, not wanting Daemon or Joffrey to see her despair. When she turned back, Jaece wore a look of empathetic concern. He was, after all, the oldest sibling, so letting his sister go was a burden of its own.
She must steel herself. If she is to let this mindset take root, she will appear a withering flower before the suitors, resulting in disapproval from the court; ‘I pity the man she is to wed’, she can already imagine it.
Perhaps a worse fate was to be arranged a match. Then she would have no say over whom she wed, and that would be the truest loss of freedom. She will not follow the path of her elder sister, unwillingly wed to a man she did not know at the age of just ten and seven, thrust into a tumultuous and loveless marriage. Oh, how Loraena had pitied her sister’s circumstances. The fairy tales and stories she thrived on as a child did not speak of such cruelty, leaving her bewildered by her sister's situation. She held on to the hope that a charming prince would rescue Haelena, but as the months endured into years, she realised this would never happen. That the happy endings her fairytales spoke of were illusions. Lies told to soften the world for little girls.
However, time has stripped her of that naivety. She is now aware of the ruthlessness by which the world is governed. One either played one’s part or was swallowed whole, as her sister so unfortunately was. Loraena cannot recall the man’s house’s name, nor does she want to. Her sister’s legacy remains one kept firmly behind shut lips. However, she knows the whispering of the courts will revive her sister’s haunting memory these next few days, as the Maerion household unveils their second daughter to the court. Haelena’s story stood as a painful reminder of what awaited her should she not act wisely in the days ahead.
A part of her has long despised her father for it, for allowing Haelena to be swept away from their family and left to suffer in isolation. Her mother will visit her once every few moons, always returning pale-faced, a quiet fury shadowing her features. She refuses to speak to Loraena’s father afterwards, unwilling to reopen old wounds. Loraena never accompanies her on these journeys; her mother feared for her safety in crossing the Eastern border, where tensions have risen sharply these past few years. She had grown fiercely protective of her children since Haelena’s ordeal; she must have seen it her task this time to ensure history was not repeated. I will see you content.
Loraena would not share Haelena’s fate.
“It will all work out, I am sure,” she said, nodding, if only to reassure herself more than Jaece. They held each other’s gaze, a moment of unspoken understanding passing between them as Haelena’s memory hung between them both.
She felt a gentle tug at her skirts and glanced down to find Daemon staring up at her with wide, expectant eyes, swaying his little body as though waiting for permission. Loraena’s expression softened; she knew precisely what he wanted. With an exaggerated huff, she bent to lift him into her arms.
“Sweet Heavens, you are getting heavy,” she teased, bouncing him lightly. Daemon giggled at her playfulness and wrapped his small arms around her neck, nestling against her with unguarded affection. Loraena pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and rested her cheek against his, her free hand reaching down to curl around Joffrey’s shoulders. Her eyes met Jaece’s and he gave her a reassuring nod, stay strong.
This, she could be strong for. Her family was all that mattered. And if marriage offered her brothers even the faintest chance at a more peaceful future, she would not falter.
They made their way toward the courtyard, Loraena carrying Daemon while Joffrey bounded ahead, brimming with excitement at the prospect of visiting “the dragon land.” Loraena’s views were much more sinister. She could not quell the knot that formed in her stomach at the thought of Aurethas.
The courtyard opened before them in a sweep of stone arches, one side overlooking the lake far below, the other carved into a rugged wall of mountain that rose like a natural fortress around the keep. In the centre, the wheelhouse awaited with their mother and father seated, the house flag glimmering on both sides of the transport, the gryphon emblem a symbol of strength and unity. She set Daemon down, who hurriedly waddled over to their mother, allowing her to swoop him up in her arms and set him down in the wheelhouse. Joffrey followed soon after.
The air was thick with humidity today, leaving Loraena grateful for the loose chiffon she wore. Jaece, however, was not so fortunate: sweat beaded at his brow, his riding leathers clinging uncomfortably to his skin.
He caught the smirk tugging at her lips and nudged her with his elbow.
“I hear it is cold in Aurethas this time of year, sister. I’d temper your delight in my discomfort if I were you.”
She scoffed, unable to resist. “I had not yet commented on your dripping physique, brother,” she jived.
“You truly jest at my expense?!” he retorts, tugging at the neck of his tunic in a futile attempt to fan out the heat.
“Not a jest, just a mere observation. I’m sure all the ladies at court will be swooning over you once they notice how red a hue your face is,” she laughs, quickly taking refuge on the wheelhouse before he could lunge at her.
The reason for his wearing riding leathers was custom. Being the eldest, he was to ride his gryphon above their transport, surveying the skies for any potential threat. It was a task Loraena wished she could claim for herself, certain the wind and height would settle her nerves on the journey to Aurethas. Nothing was more euphoric than the freedom of gliding through the Isle.
But it was not to be done. Her dress, carefully tailored to echo the 'avian grace of a gryphon', was not to be damaged or ruined on the journey, and instead displayed for their procession throughout their home province. Tynirs would fly riderless alongside Vaelor, Jaece’s mount, a thought that soured her mood further. To say she was displeased was an understatement.
Her sister’s memory hung thick in the air as they journeyed towards the Kingdom of Dragons.
Haelena was not dead, yet in so many ways it felt as though she were. Perhaps it was easier to think of her that way than to live with the knowledge that she is forever a broken shell of who she used to be, however selfish that may be. Loraena could not bring herself to meet her father’s eyes for the rest of the journey.
By the next day, they had arrived in Aurethas, having crossed the continent by wheelhouse and boat without pause through the night. Loraena had glanced up through the boat cabin window to find Tynirs gliding overhead, his great pearlescent wings catching the moonlight with every effortless sweep. The gryphons had, thankfully, found rest aboard the ship; it had been fitted with grand perches so the beasts could regain their strength during the passage across the Knir Sea.
Jaece, Joff, and Daemon had also managed some sleep in one of the cabins, huddled together with Loraena for warmth. They rarely needed to do that. Raised in the warmest region of the continent, they were accustomed to a tropical climate. But the farther north they travelled, the sharper the chill became, a creeping cold that slipped between the cracks on the boat and whispered of the land awaiting them.
Aurethas was by no means as bitterly cold as Norrhallow in the northeast; however, it did adopt some of its traits, with climate patterns and jet streams from the coldest province influencing Aurethas’s own weather. Loraena shivered as a draft slipped through the door, prompting her to nestle closer to her brothers and pull the blanket further up to shield Daemon and Joffrey from the chill.
When she finally found sleep, she dreamt of the meadow. A boy’s voice as familiar as the back of her hand sounded in her ears as they lay within the long grass, arms touching. The scene was soon transformed into the inevitable ending. Blade in hand, she lunged forward.
When they awoke, a soft tan light brightened the cabin, filtering through the door’s threshold and casting a misty glow across the room. Loraena’s gown hung draped on a mannequin at the far end, the morning light giving the pale blue skirts an almost ethereal sheen as they rippled in the gentle breeze. She had removed it the night before after their procession through the Kingdom, where smallfolk lined the streets to marvel at the spectacle and cast offerings upon their transport and other Houses’ in hopes of safe passage and good fortune.
The townfolk knew that good fortune for the Houses of Tiruna was good fortune for the Kingdom. Changes in regal society always trickled down to them, in one way or another. Loraena could remember the ruinous cyclones that battered her community on the day her sister wed. As if the Gods themselves had sensed a shift in balance, a cataclysmic mistake such as sending a young girl to her ruin, they had punished the land. The skies tore open as lightning had thrashed the earth, ripping open scars in mountains large enough to swallow crops that had been cultivated on the terraced landscape.
That night, Loraena had buried herself beneath her quilt, her eyes squeezed shut as she endured the deafening thunderclaps that trembled the very foundations of the keep. She could recall observing as a brilliant flash of white had pierced the sky, tendrils of that electricity spearing down to earth in barbed lines, as though searching for the sinner who had disturbed the natural order.
The people of Tiruna were left devastated by the cyclones, which only served to strengthen their faith, as they believed that to please the Gods was to put an end to their suffering.
Loraena did not know whether it was the Gods or the townsfolk’s newfound sense of purpose that had driven the subsequent prosperity of the region.
That same devotion had been on full display during yesterday’s procession. The offerings cast toward the wheelhouses were not merely gestures of celebration, but quiet prayers for protection. Whispered hopes that the Gods would look kindly upon them in return. Loraena had seen the worry etched into every face they passed.
The smallfolk had showered the procession with petals of wisteria and lotusflower, no doubt gathered from the natural abundance throughout the Isle. She could lift a hand to her hair and find a soft petal tucked between the strands.
She found herself doing this now, sat up in the bed with tiredness clinging to her frame, slowing her movements. Her brothers were all still asleep around her, their small limbs tucked into her warm sides, save for Jaece, who she presumed was already on Vaelor, observing the new Kingdom.
With great care, she removed herself from the quilt and crawled to the edge of the bed, conscientious not to wake Joff or Daemon. The frigid morning air caused her shoulders to stiffen as her toes touched the floor. Aurethas was certainly not as tropical as her home province.
Donning her woollen shawl, Loraena cracked open the door to the cabin and slipped out, closing it quietly after her exit so as not to wake her sleeping brothers.
She made her way to the bow of the vessel, wrapping her shawl ever tighter over her shoulders as the maritime winds nipped at her, a cold reminder of the foreign land she was in. A shrill squawk sounded up ahead, and her head flitted to the noise, grinning as the familiar silhouette of winged beasts flew up ahead.
Where one may have been perturbed by the sudden shriek, Loraena had only ever felt delight, for the cry of a griffin was one she had known since childhood, as familiar to her as her own breathing. Vaelor’s stark black feathers opposed Tynir’s ivory ones as they soared in tandem, Jaece riding his mount with confidence as he discerned the land ahead.
She glimpsed his lips parting slightly as his eyes squinted at the misty landscape, suddenly swooping Vaelor into the cloud. Through the haze, she could make out Vaelor’s inky plumage flapping as Jaece led him-
Where to, Loraena did not know.
Moments ticked on. The mist regained its still body, plumes of fog spilling in to replace the air Vaelor had disturbed. Her anxiety grew as Jaece was yet to return. She gripped the railing of the bow and leant out, eyes searching frantically for any movement within the haze. Visions of sweeping dragon pinions and a curling inferno consuming him flashed in her mind. An act so severe was one she would not put past the Thaloryn House. Perhaps they had received word of their arrival and decided to end the Maerion bloodline here, retribution for years past.
There it was, a shift in the stillness. Her eyes widened in hope at the prospect. There was silence for a split second, then Vaelor came plunging through the fog, fanning out his wingspan to bring himself to a halt, accompanied by a stricken Jaece, looking slightly windswept.
She ran over to where they had landed, “Jaece, you mustn’t scare me so!” She hit his arm as he dismounted Vaelor, though he surprisingly didn’t try blocking her blow, and instead walked her to the bow of the boat, eyes transfixed on the fog. “Jaece? Whatever is it? What made you leave your post just now-”
“Loraena, we are here.” Her words were silenced by Jaece turning her to face the incoming haze, which she noticed they were moving through at a considerable speed now, the fog ahead thinning as it brushed past her.
It was then that she saw it.
A shift in the fog revealed what appeared to be a rocky outcrop some 100 metres high from where she stood. She craned her neck up and, in that instance, the fog dissipated to become a light mist settling on the surface of the water the boat glided through.
The fog had parted to reveal a deep river valley carved within the mountains’ interior, with the kingdom of Aurethas unfolding before them in all its glory. Jagged peaks rose like the spines of some ancient creature, their crowns dusted with pale frost even at this time of year. The slopes fell away into sweeping valleys where the cold air pooled, carrying the faint metallic scent of stone and distant storms.
Yet the harshness softened as the river wound on, the boat softly groaning as it navigated the valley. The mountains opened gradually, their walls giving way to broad stretches of dark‑barked pines and green‑leafed trees that clung by their thick roots to the forest floor. Wisps of mist curled between their trunks, catching the diffused sunlight like drifting embers.
This was a land shaped by winter but not claimed by it. A kingdom where cold met life, where the wildness of the heights surrendered to the quiet vastness of the forests beyond. A place she used to call home.
Loraena marvelled at the landscape that had emerged from the shroud of fog, not realising that half an hour had passed since she had been transfixed on the scene. It was bittersweet, she thought, to revisit the realm that guarded many childhood memories, yet was also a site of heartrending pain. She knew this valley well, for how could she forget. Once, Loraena would have been an excitable juvenile, her anticipation of reaching Stormhallow Citadel, to see her beloved friend, driving her to run laps around the boat. Now, she found herself clutching onto the railing, knuckles white, as her treacherous mind stirred thoughts of him. Of words spoken and unspoken, of deeds done and left undone.
Any efforts to push this memory aside were futile. This bad omen would haunt her thoughts over the next few days, and she knew there was no casting him out.