Born of spite, fostered in pity, shrouded in fear.
Malaeya Lannister was a mystery to every soul in the Seven Kingdoms and far beyond. Many a song written in her name, yet few eyes had laid upon her. Locked away in the Red Keep, a need budded within...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
~͓̽~͓̽~
54 | ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ
𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀
'𝐄𝐘𝐋𝐀' 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐘𝐄. And it didn't help that people kept blocking Malaeya's line of sight with their dancing. She didn't even stop to admire the sight of her husband dancing with his sister, or Daenerys dancing with Jon. Not even the rare sight of Arianne dancing with Lana Stane.
She was too focused on pushing her way through the crowd and dismissing the wonderstruck lowborn guests that she'd forced her sister to invite. It might have been rude, but she had to find the dressmaker before she disappeared.
She'd followed her all of the way to the back of the keep, then out of the doors to the inner ward before she lost her.
The ward had been rather empty, as it was the temporary home of their dragons. There were four of them, so that barely left enough room to walk, let alone take leisurely strolls.
So, she couldn't quite understand where Eyla had gone to. There weren't too may places she could.
Then, she saw a flicker of silver out of the corner of her eye, and she whipped around, searching with keen eyes.
The dressmaker glistened in the moon, standing closer to Rhaela than anyone with rational sense would. Malaeya couldn't see her face, but she could see Rhaela's. The dragon was surprisingly calm as she feasted on her dinner.
It only made Malaeya more confident in her assumptions. "I know who you are." She said the words with quiet confidence, not wanting any eavesdroppers to hear.
Eyla hummed, eerily calm. "Is that so?"
Malaeya took cautious steps forward until they were side by side. Only then did she see the woman's face up close. The sight shook her to the core. The crow's feet had gone, and there were streaks of gold in her silver hair. The veins were still there, but less visible. She didn't look a day over fifty, when just the prior day, she'd looked at least seventy.
As the dressmaker glanced at the beast with wonder, daring to touch it, she turned to Malaeya for once. "Do you have a name in mind? Of who you suppose I am, Your Grace?"
The Queen had grown use to the formal title, so she did not blush like she did before. "Shiera Seastar." She whispered the name as if she were giving it to an assassin.
Eyla laughed, seeming far away as she closed her eyes. "I haven't been that person in eighty-nine years."
Malaeya's heart dropped. It was shocking enough to put the pieces together, but now it was surreal to have the conformation. "How...how old are you?" She didn't want to sound rude, but she deemed it a perfectly rational question.
