Immolation: Marked
Story summary: The Targaryens and their dragons still rule Westeros. Every seven years, seven people, one from each kingdom, are picked by the dragons to be an "appeasement", a sacrificial lamb meant to represent one of the Seven. In exchange, the Targaryens and dragons shall not burn the kingdoms down.
This cycle, Janella Tyrell is selected as the Maiden, an unprecedented break from tradition. Despite her designation, Janella refuses to go to her death without a fight.
(AKA the Targaryens are actual factual dragons AU, DD:DNE style)
Chapter Summary: Janella finds out she's been marked. The tension at Highgarden becomes almost unbearable.
Word count: ~6.4k
Author's note: thanks to @exitpursuedbyavulcan and @margoshansons because this genuinely couldn't have happened without either of you
Warnings: DD:DNE. Aerion is a fucking creep and talks in depth about eating and torturing people. He also specifically talks about doing this to Janella, and it's got sexual assault undertones so. Be warned
Masterlist
AO3
Her eyes burn.
Janella resists the urge to wipe them. She shed every tear within her body and then some last night, crying until she fell asleep. Though her eyes prickle, she cannot cry. She balls her hands into fists. Her forearm flexes as she does so, making the swirling black and red mark around her left wrist stand out even more.
A sob nearly escapes her despite herself. Janella digs her fingernails into her palm in an attempt to ground herself. The pain isn't enough to bring her fully into her body, but it's better than nothing.
"You told me." Janella begins. She tries infusing her voice with iron, but it quivers. She clears her throat and tries again. "You told me I wouldn't be picked. That I was not in danger."
Lord Tyrell stares evenly back at her. Not her father or Leo, but Lord Tyrell. He watches her almost impassively.
The corner of his mouth is stained red from the sour leaf he chews. Janella wonders if his hands are the same color. They should be, Gods know how many innocents he has sent to their deaths.
"I did."
"You lied to me!" Janella means for her voice to come out even and calm, but instead it bursts forth from her throat as a scream. "You told me th-"
"Lower your voice." Lord Tyrell commands, and the shock of it makes her stop. She stares at him, nostrils flaring.
"You told, no. You assured me I wouldn't be picked." She hisses. "Daughters of major Houses are not options, yet you offered me up."
Lord Tyrell chews his sourleaf wordlessly. For a moment, Janella swears she sees her father's eyes shine through the mask for a moment.
His indifference makes her laugh, an ugly thing filled with malice and derision. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"
Lord Tyrell sniffs. He turns to the side and spits into the goblet by his chair.
"You are my daughter. I need not explain myself to you."
"Your daughter whom you offered up on a silver platter to dragons." Her whole body trembles with rage. She points a single finger, though whether she aims it at her father or Lord Tyrell, she isn't sure. "Tell me. Are you going to hide the fact you're a coward, hmm? Tell people you're an honorable man when you are nothing but craven, pusillanimous excu-"
"Enough!"
The suddenness of his shout makes Janella stop. She stares at him, mouth open and face burning as if she's been slapped. Despite her shock, her chest heaves. She glares at Lord Tyrell, puts all of her anger into it.
He's never yelled at her.
Lord Tyrell looks at Janella. His gaze is no longer even or impassive. Instead, glimmers of rage and grief, the same on her face and in her veins, shine through the building cracks in his composure. He turns his head and spits into a cup at his side, red saliva dribbling out of his mouth. It's not a light color but instead dark like blood, like her blood, which will no doubt be spilled within the next moon.
"I would not willingly subject you to such a fate." He hisses. Finally, finally, Janella sees echoes of the rage and grief within her on her father's face. "If I had known merely inviting the Targaryens here might put you in danger, I would not have done so." He inhales. His eyes blaze. "You were not supposed to be an option. The agreement… this was not supposed to happen."
"Then how was I chosen?" Despite shedding all of her tears earlier, Janella's voice cracks. "Why am I to be a sacrifice?"
Leo pauses and shakes his head. He looks tired, the wrinkles on his face deepening.
"I do not know." He screws his eyes shut. "I don't know why you were chosen."
"Which one? Do you at least know which one?" A tear falls from Leo's eyes. He clears his throat. Janella swallows. She fears the answer but must know.
Janella must know the name of her killer.
"They didn't tell me, but I fear..." Leo sighs. "Aerion."
"The mad one?" Janella's voice reaches a pitch she didn't know she could achieve. It makes her own ears ring. "The mad one with the man-eating dragon."
"He sent me a missive claiming responsibility." Leo's inhale comes out shaky. "I will cannot subject you to what he said, but I..." He presses his lips together. "We will make sure you do not go without milk of the poppy."
The floor sways beneath Janella. Her head suddenly feels as if she's underwater, sound coming in muffled and barely discernible. She hears his words but doesn't understand them. Her stomach churns. A high pitch ringing noise begins echoing in her ears. Her chest heaves. Everything feels tight, too tight, too damn tight. The room, her clothes, her own body and skin. It's suffocating. Janella tries forcing herself to breath but can't. Her lungs won't expand.
Janella let's out an almost hysterical giggle. She doesn't register Leo standing up, an alarmed expression on his face. The giggles turn into wheezes, soundless noises punched out of her without her permission. Her knees wobble, whole body weakening even as her muscles tighten and constrict around her.
The floor moves up to meet her.
Janella cannot tell if it's a memory or a dream she experienced.
Leo sits in his study. Janella must be young, perhaps five or six for she cannot look over the edge of his desk without craning her neck. She watches him write a missive, a strange look on his face, sorrow and resignation wrapped into one.
Janella tilts her head.
"Father." Leo makes a small noise. "Father, I have a question."
Leo looks up from his letter.
"Yes?"
Janella suddenly feels stupid and foolish, not because of the way he looks at her but because her question suddenly feels idiotic.
"I…"
Leo must see the confusion on her face for he leans back.
"You want to know why they took Ser Erren." He presses his lips together. Janella nods.
"I liked Ser Erren." She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. Leo gives her a small smile, one that doesn't quite meet his eyes.
"I did too."
"Then why did you let the dragons take him?"
Leo pauses for a moment and then sighs. He reaches into one of his desk drawers and produces a tin, one Janella recognizes.
"Mother doesn't like when you do that." Janella huffs.
"Your mother knows it helps during this time." Leo counters. He tears a small bit off of the leaf and places it in his mouth, chewing for several minutes. After a moment, he sighs. "I suppose you're old enough to know."
"Know what?" Janella's eyes widen, and she nearly starts bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I want to know! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!"
When Leo raises his hand, Janella settles. She watches him over the edge of the desk, putting her hands on it in order to lift herself up a little more to see better. Leo presses his lips together and leans back, settling his hands in his lap.
"You know the story of how the Conquerors came over with their dragons." He begins, rolling his words around his mouth before speaking. "Several kingdoms fought back, and since they did, they were punished for their… transgressions once the conquest was over. Each kingdom was to offer sacrifices every year for the dragons. In exchange, they would not burn the kingdoms down."
"The arrangement proceeded as such until all of the Conquerors and their dragons died." Leo pauses and looks at Janella. "Who took over after them? You should know this from your studies."
"Maegor the Cruel." Janella recites. After the name, she hisses like a cat, spittle flying everywhere. Leo laughs softly.
"Best keep the hissing to yourself, but yes. Maegor the Cruel. Maegor earned his moniker for a variety of reasons, but one of them was he ignored the previous agreements set in place. He did much damage to the population. He demanded seven sacrifices from each kingdom, each representing a member of the Seven."
"Maiden, Mother, Father, Smith, Warrior, Crone, and Stranger." Janella rattles off without thinking. Leo smiles.
"Good." He sighs and begins playing with his rings. "Your Septa says you are gifted with arithmetic. If he took 7 from seven kingdoms, how many is that?"
Janella pauses. She wrinkles her nose. She knows this, she does. Her Septa does say she's gifted and has begun teaching her such problems early.
"2 and 40?"
"9 and 40." Leo gently corrects her.
"9 and 40." Janella blinks. "Oh. That's a lot. How'd the dragon each that many? He must have ate everyone."
Leo gives her a look before shaking his head with fond exasperation. "How many do you think live within Highgarden?"
"Uuuuhhhhhh…. 5 and 20? No! 3 and 30!"
"More than that. Far more than that." Leo clears his throat and straightens up. "Every year, he and his dragon took 9 and 40 people. After Maegor died and King Jaehaerys was named, Jaehaerys saw what had been done and changed things. Instead, every seven years, one person from each kingdom was to be offered. Each represents one of the Seven, but each kingdom still held an equal stake. It has stayed the same every since."
Janella wrinkles her nose in thought. She bites down on the inside of her cheek.
"Ser Erren must have been the Warrior." Janella eventually declares with full confidence. "No one could ever beat him, so that must be who he was! I beat he almost beat that dragon. Made him cry."
An array of emotions cross Leo's face, none of which Janella can describe. After a moment, he nods.
"Yes. Ser Erren was the Warrior." Leo leans forward. "I want you to understand two things, Janella. First, it is not an honor to be chosen but a duty. As such, we must ensure those left behind are taken care of for they make their own sacrifices. Second. As my daughter, you are safe. You will never be chosen, and I will not allow any harm to come to you. However, this means you must treat those who make such sacrifices with respect. They go through something no one else can ever understand, and they must be taken care of for what they lost. Do you understand me?"
Janella nods. Leo's tone almost frightens her with the sudden severity.
"Yes, Father."
"Good. Now, I want you to go to your lessons. I must finish this letter to Ser Erren's family, but once I am done, we may speak with the stable master about you starting riding lessons."
The atmosphere at Highgarden is tense over the next week. People react different to staring death in the face.
Leo runs. He mumbles something about fixing this, making it right, before leaving Janella in the dust and riding as fast as he can toward Summerhall. Janella wants to be disappointed, but she can no longer ignore the truth, not when it stares her in the eyes.
Florys and Gallian raly around her. They never leave her side, not even for a minute. Both are her shadow, both ensure she doesn't spend any of her last minutes alone and wondering if she is loved.
Janella doesn't mind. In fact, their presence comforts her. They keep her grounded as each day passes. They both crawl and speed by at the same time.
Nights are the worst.
In the all-consuming dark, all Janella can do is think. She almost feels trapped in her body, fear paralyzing her as she lays in bed. She sleeps less and less.
Eventually, she can't sleep at all.
Florys lays beside Janella. Her hand rests gently on Janella's arm, just above mark. Her thumb strokes gently over the curve of Janella's biceps. Janella sighs. Slowly, she turns so she's on her side and facing Florys.
"I keep on thinking..." Janella swallows. Her voice comes out thick. "I... Father was talking about my wedding several moons ago. He said he was talking with the Crown about it." Janella pauses for a second before laughing softly. "I've never told anyone this before but. Ever since I found out about my betrothal to Prince Maekar, I've... I've taken to breaking into my father's study at least once a week so I might read his letters." Janella rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling for a minute. "It isn't I mind the outcome for I truly don't, it's more... I suppose I thought myself different, above such things. Perhaps I thought father loved me enough to, I'm not sure. Perhaps I thought I might have choices. I might get a semblance of a say." She shakes her head. "It doesn't matters what I thought, I suppose."
Janella stays quiet for a long moment. Florys doesn't speak. The bed creaks softly as Florys rolls to face her.
"You must think me ungrateful." Janella let's out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. Florys gently squeezes her bicep.
"No. Not ungrateful." She pauses before letting out a soft snort of laughter. "Naive, certainly. But not ungrateful." Florys's tongue pokes out from between her lips. "You were given the privilege of naivety in regards to your father. He loves you, a lot, and would protect you from anything. Love such as that makes it easy to forget our role. Or think we may be the exception."
Janella nods. Slowly, she reaches up and takes hold of Florys's hands, threading their fingers together.
"Mmhhmmm. I would disagree with naive. Perhaps spoiled is a better word for what I am."
Even in the dark, Janella feels the twitch of Florys's lips.
"Took you long enough."
Janella makes a mock sound of indignantion; Florys merely laughs.
"I am literally to die within a fortnight, and this is how you treat me?" Janella clicks her tongue. "For shame."
Florys buries her face into a pillow to hide her snort of laughter. Despite her words, Janella grins softly.
It doesn't take long for the somber mood to settle over them once again. The silence it brings almost suffocates Janella, yet she cannot find the right words to fill it. She's not even sure if it can be filled or if speaking would only make it worse. Janella clears her throat.
"I... several moons ago when I broke into the study and read the letters, I found my father and Prince Baelor were writing each other."
"Not a surprise." Florys murmurs.
"I was to be married next summer." Janella brings one hand up absent-mindedly to her mouth, worrying at the edges of a peeling cuticle with her teeth. "They did not want to say anything about it until after this cycle. Give everyone some goods news after all of it, I guess?" Janella laughs. Several tears slide down her face. "It isn't... I don't... is it sad I think about that? Of all the things I shall never get to see, my we-"
"Stop that." The bed creaks as Florys sits up suddenly. The change in Florys's voice makes Janella pause. Gone is the sympathy and sadness; instead, Florys sounds almost angry. "You do not know for certain you will die."
Janella let's out a bark of a laugh, no humor in the sound at all.
"But I do."
"No, you do not. More and more people survive each ye-"
"I was supposedly picked by Aerion."
Janella's words make Florys stop in her tracks. A chill breaks out across the room, though Janella knows it's not from a lack of heat.
"His is a man eater."
"I know."
"Janella. You... I..." Florys splutters for several moments. Janella let's her reel from the weight of the information for a second.
"I wonder if it's revenge." Janella sighs. She stares up at the ceiling. She knows it will give her no answers yet she looks anyway. "I found several letters that imply I might have been made to marry him instead. So perhaps as punishment..." She gestures vaguely in the dark, opening her mouth and miming throwing a piece of food into it.
The atmosphere settles over them, now even thicker and more tense. It finally feels the same as the roiling ball within her stomach, the heavy leaden weight she drags around with her in her waking hours. Funnily enough, Janella finds she can breath again, her chest expanding a little more easily than it had mere moments ago.
Florys stares at her. Janella barely makes anything out on her face because of the darkness, but she knows Florys well enough to guess as to what her expression must look like.
"How long have you known that?"
Janella shrugs.
"Several years. It didn't seem as if it would ever be relevant again so..."
Florys sighs. The sound echoes in the silence. Not even the birds sing tonight, Janella realizes with a start. She hears nothing save her and Florys.
"You see why I claim I'm not ungrateful." Janella murmurs. She means it as a joke, some levity to ease the situation, but it almost seems to make it even worse.
"Why did you not- no. Nevermind." Florys exhales again, this one slightly shaky. "I wish you had told me. You shouldn't have to bear such a burden alone."
"I've told you now, haven't I?" Janella turns onto her side. Florys stays sitting upright. "At least I shall not go to my grave without telling another soul."
"You should not have to go to your grave at all." A surprising amount of vitriol creeps into Florys's tone. She shakes her head after a moment. "This shouldn't- we-"
"It's barbaric?" Janella supplies wryly. Florys lets out an angry noise of agreement. "I agree."
"I do not understand how we have let this go on for so long." Florys turns towards Janella. "You're the daughter of a major Lord, you should not even have been a fucking option!"
Janella shrugs and stays silent. She stares at the window, not through it but simply at it.
"Not to mention, you are betrothed to a Prince so for you to be picked for this fucked up and disturbing cult..." Florys grabs a pillow and screams into it. The goose feathers muffle it more than Janella expects.
Janella sighs. She gets it; she went through this very cycle after seeing the mark, and she still occasionally finds herself falling into the spiral. She cannot lie, the more she thinks about it, the angrier she becomes.
She isn't sure if she prefers being angry or numb.
With rage, at least Janella feels something. It connects her to her body, even if it's only because her heart rate soars and hands shake. It makes her feel oddly alive, as if the very act of indulge her fury means she might win and escape what seems an inevitable fate. Some mornings it is the only thing propelling her forward, giving her the energy to get out of bed.
Constant anger is exhausting. Within two hours, Janella inevitably finds herself with no energy for anything. People annoy her when they so much as breath in her direction, and it becomes harder and harder to not lose her temper. They mean well. It may even be the last time they get to speak with her, and Janella doesn't wish to taint her own memory.
Once the fury and indignantion wash away, all Janella is left with exhaustion and numbness. It sits bone deep within her. She cannot even fight her own body, her own mind; she cannot possibly think she can win against a dragon. It seems almost pointless. Perhaps she should go ahead and give up, accept her fate with grace.
That thought rankles her to her very core.
Janella shall not be a passive martyr. While it would ensure her memory, and her life in a strange way, survive beyond her, she cannot find it within herself to come to terms with her death.
She shall not accept it with grace and aplomb. She will fight it tooth and nail.
Vaguely, Janella registers Florys speaking, rambling about the injustice of it all. Janella watches the slowly growing sliver of moonlight climbing along her floor.
How many have had this exact conversation? How many felt as she does now, torn between righteous fury and bland acceptance? How many will have this conversation in the future?
Movement catches her attention. Janella tilts her head. It's brief, a flicker of a shadow cast upon the floor. It blocks the light for a moment.
When it happens again, Janella slowly sits up in bed, the sheets pooling around her waist. She can't articulate why, but a strange sense of unease creeps upon her. Florys falls silent.
"What is it?"
"I don't know." Janella stares at the spot. Florys follows her gaze.
This time, when the shadow passes, Janella notices how the edges of it are almost symmetrical. She lifts her head and turns to Florys. Slowly, Florys looks back at Janella.
Wordlessly, both of them slip out of bed. Florys reaches the window first since she sleeps closer to the window. When she reaches, she cranes her head out of it. Florys clasps her hands over her mouth and stumbles backward.
Janella knows without even looking what made Florys jump back.
"Is it...?" Florys nods furiously. Janella steps forward. "How big?"
"Does it matter how big?" Florys snaps, which makes Janella snort despite herself. She moves toward the window and looks out it herself.
The sight takes her breath away. The dragon circles overhead, coasting upon the breeze as it turns. It reminds her of when she goes falconing with her father. She watches in silent awe as it moves gracefully through the cloudless skies above them. Despite its movement, it casts a constant shadow on the castle and grounds.
"Have you seen this before?" She asks despite knowing the answer.
"No." Florys pauses. Curiousity creeps into her tone. "Have you?"
"Not often." Janella's tongue flicks out to wet her suddenly dry lips. "The first time happened not long after my five and tenth nameday." She frowns softly. "It must have been Prince Maekar's dragon? I want to say it happened not long after the betrothal."
Florys steps towards the window. Janella moves so she might stand beside her. Hesitantly, Florys stares out the window.
They don't say a word to each other for a long moment, simply watch the dragon fly overhead. Silent awe settles over them. Despite her fear, Florys cannot tear her eyes away. Janella cannot either; she merely catches the slack jaw expression creeping onto Florys's face.
"They circle for hours." Janella breaks first. Florys makes a curious noise but doesn't look at Janella. "I stayed up all night once, watching it."
"Should they..." Florys pauses, wrinkling her nose. After a moment, she sighs. "Are you not. Afraid? That it might try to take you early?"
Janella blinks. She presses her tongue into her cheek as she thinks.
"Part of me is, but...," Janella presses her lips into a thin line, "I don't know. I don't think so? We have yet to hear of any deaths or burnings. If they were to come for me early, I think there'd be signs."
Florys hums. She has yet to look away from the sight in front of them. Janella cannot blame her, despite the fear of what may happen, the sight is rather magnificent. One rarely gets the chance to admire such a force of nature.
"I thought the sacrifices were an exchange. If we did them, they would not harm us." Florys chews the inside of her cheek. Janella shrugs.
"That's my understanding, yes."
"But the number of deaths have only increased."
Janella snorts. Finally, she turns her attention towards Florys. It's almost painful to break her gaze. Her chest hurts as she does so.
"Do you want to talk to them about it?" Janella arches an eyebrow. Florys shakes her head, a small giggle escaping her.
"I doubt they would listen." Florys's lips twitch. Janella nods and turns her attention back to the skies. For a moment, she thinks the circles might be smaller. Her heart skips a beat, a steady thrum building in her veins.
Gods, but she almost feels as if she's in a trance. The sheer power makes her head spin. She wets her lips.
"Have you..." Janella sighs. Despite the tension in her chest and ribs, she must speak. "The nights after they've been here, I have strange dreams. I've slept walk, even." She lets out a soft laugh. "One night, I woke and found myself in the far rose garden. I'm not even sure how I got there. I was still in my nightgown."
"You never told me." Florys's voice takes on a tone of reproach. Janella shrugs.
"What was there to tell? I was not hurt. I was just... disoriented." Janella runs her tongue over her teeth. "I felt strange for days after, but I thought it was because of how far I went."
Florys hums.
"I've never seen them, but I... I have such strange dreams sometimes. I never have anything like them before, and they are so rare."
Janella nods.
"The few times I've seen them, my dreams are always strange. They're more vivid than I have ever had, and they're never as memorable when they're not here."
Florys shrugs after a moment. "They're capable of breathing fire. Who's to say what else they might do?"
"I wonder if the claims of magic tying rider and dragon are true."
"You tell me. You are far more affected by them than I it seems."
Janella snorts despite herself. For a long moment, she says nothing, merely watches the dragon soar. The longer she watches, the stranger she feels, an invisible force nearly pulling her towards it. Her skin itches when she looks away, and it almost hurts for her to stay in place.
"Why me?" Janella finally gives voice to the question on her mind, the one she's been afraid to ask. "I should be off-limits, I should not have been chosen."
Florys doesn't speak right away. Even without looking at her, Janella knows Florys weighs whether or not she should speak her mind.
"The timing seems strange."
Janella raises an eyebrow. "And? You clearly have more to say."
Florys exhales.
"Fuck it." She shakes her head. "I think you might be the Maiden for this cycle."
"The Maiden? What could possibly ma-"
"Maiden and Mother are the only ones you could be." Florys points out. Her tone isn't brusque but not comforting either. She speaks as if she states obvious facts. "You are not wed, nor are you a mother." Florys's lips twitch. "Though both would no longer be true by this time next year."
"Florys!" Janella breaks her gaze away from the window. Florys shrugs, a little giggle escaping her.
"What? You can not tell me Prince Maekar does not intend to make you a mother. He has six children." Florys casts a sidelong glance at Janella. "Besides. I saw the way he looked at you when he was here last."
Heat creeps into Janella's face. "Florys. You cannot say such things."
"Can I not?" Florys raises an eyebrow.
"He did not look at me any particular way."
Florys snorts. "You didn't notice because you're used to boys oogling you and being overt." She turns her head and looks at Janella. "Just because he showed restraint does not mean he did not notice you." Florys doesn't even bother to conceal her amused look. "He looked at your tits more than once, and I saw him looking at your ass more than once."
"You overstep your bounds."
Florys presses together. She looks as if she wishes to argue but stops herself at the last second. She dips her head.
"I understand."
The night sky is beautiful.
Janella looks above her. The stars glitter and gleam. She hums and stretches out long, rolling out her wrists and ankles. Her eyes flutter as she does so.
When she looks up at the sky again, it shifts. Dark lines slowly connect the stars. Some of them drift down, wrapping themselves gently around Janella. They're soft, far softer than she thinks. Janella sighs at the sensation. She turns into it, nuzzling at the one closest to her face.
When her eyes flutter open, stark white pillars greet her. Bone white, her mind supplies. Janella reaches out with one hand and runs her fingers lightly over it. It's cool underneath her fingertips.
The sky above her moves. It almost trembles as she traces her fingers along the pillar. Janella turns and buries her face into her shoulder with a small giggle. She hears a noise, almost a fluttering, when she presses a little harder, not bearing down but with more purpose.
A low rumble sounds. The ground nearly shakes from the force of it. Janella outright laughs, a fond smile creeping onto her face.
When she rolls onto her back, the sky shifts. She's no longer underneath the stars but instead an oak tree. As she watches, the branches grow and soar upward. Limbs from another tree stretch towards them, and they intertwine above her. Janella smiles, her body sinking into the soft ground beneath her. The sight above her reminds her of the Sept in Oldtown.
She blinks. It is a Sept. Not the one she thinks it might be but a Sept nonetheless. The intertwining branches form an arched, vaulted ceiling, and the stars twinkle between the limbs. Small bits of moonlight filter through the space, bathing the area in a soft light.
Janella never feels anything, whether it's the Seven or an older God, within the Sept. She knows she should sense something in those holy spaces but never does. Yet here, in this moment, she feels a presence with her. It almost overwhelms her to the point tears begin streaming down her cheeks.
Beyond the vault, she sees movement in the skies. A sense of terror should creep over her but instead, a strange sense of security creeps over her. Whatever lurks beyond cannot harm her; she's safe within this sacred space.
Her whole body goes lax at the realization. She sniffles, fat tears rolling in a steady stream down her face. She's not unhappy or sad. If anything, a sense of euphoria settles into her bones.
Safety. Security. Janella nearly chokes, a whine almost tearing its way out of her throat.
Gods, but what bliss. She throws her head back as a soft cry escapes her. Janella's toes dig into the grass beneath her. She has no idea when she began moving back and forth, pushing her weight onto the balls of her heels and her shoulders. They're her only points of contact with the ground. Her body arches, every muscle in her body trembling.
Her whole body tenses. As her head lolls back even further than she thought possible, Janella sees the pillars from earlier.
Violet light shines from beyond them.
Euphoria slams full force into her. She couldn't even make a noise if she wanted, all she can do is gasp. Her eyes roll back into her head. Even as her whole body trembles, Janella feels the violet light stay on her.
Eventually, her whole body drops down to the ground. Janella sighs. Her whole body, from the top of her head to the tips of her feet, goes lax. She inhales once, then twice.
By the third one, she falls once again into a dreamless sleep.
She wakes before Florys.
Janella takes a moment to admire Florys in the low light of morning. Her auburn hair fans out behind her. Janella hums.
She'll miss this.
She'll miss waking up with Florys beside her. She'll miss their late night conversations and early morning silence. She'll miss Florys.
A sob threatens to leave her throat. Janella claps her hand over her mouth. She blinks. Despite how hard she tries, several tears fall from her eyes.
A noise at her window catches her attention. Janella nearly jumps at the sound. She drops the hand on her mouth to her chest when she sees a raven at the window.
"Fucking hells."
The raven croaks. It pecks at her window insistently. Janella rolls out of bed, shuffling across her room to the window. Her head hurts.
When she opens the window, the raven flutters in and lands on her desk. Janella unties the letter from around its leg, hands trembling as she does so. While nothing about the missive itself seems suspicious, a strange sense of dread builds within the pit of her stomach.
A blood red seal on the parchment makes her stop. It depicts a three headed dragon. Janella thinks she might be sick.
Janella fumbles for a knife. It takes her a minute to find one, and it takes her several for her to cut through the seal. Her heart pounds in her chest.
Maiden,
Word is you are his only daughter. It must be disheartening to know he ran off and left you to fend for yourself. Within a fortnight you will be dead, and he spent the time attempting to evade the inevitable instead of being with you.
It's come to my attention your father has yet to pass along my letters. His negligence extends beyond his children, it seems. A wonder the Reach prospers under a man like him.
I've eaten many a Warrior. They fight it, as in their nature, but a dragon always wins. It is amusing to watch them try, even as I tear into their limbs. Their fire is the only reason I do not swallow them whole.
I have yet to taste the Maiden.
The Smith I burn. They spend their lives by flames as they tinker with ultimately futile armor and weapons. It is only fitting that is how they meet their death.
The Crone interests me not. They're often far too brittle and weak. Not even the chase satisfies me. There is no fun to be had in it. They're not as clever as they think, and they're certainly not fast.
He came looking for me as a man grown. Perhaps he thought he could avenge his father. Instead, he met his end the same way. Poetry, some might call it.
The Father does fight, though he is never as fierce as the Warrior. My satisfaction comes not from the act itself but the knowledge his children are left bereft. Once, I was able to eat one in front of his eldest. I shall never forget the look on his face.
The Mother is a strange one. The weeping and wailing of her children bores me after a while. It's all the same cries of "Please, no", "You can't do this, you cannot hurt her", and of course, her children screaming for her. Occasionally, her husband may say to take him instead.
I answer to no one other than myself. He finds himself with his wife very quickly. If he is lucky, he even sees her as she dies.
I have only eaten the Stranger 3 times. I find them unpalatable. They accept their fates far too easily. It's quite boring. Even their screams lack when compared to others. The Silent Sister was by far the most disappointing of any I have ever eaten. Not even putting such false Gods in their place could salvage such a waste of flesh.
I have never had a Maiden because most bore me. Their chaste nature means they have no bite, no teeth. I imagine they tremble and plead just as they might on their wedding night. Taking what any man might is of no interest to me.
It is an honor to be chosen by me. Most women dream of having only one, do they not? A first and a last, death being the only force that can part them. A force I command. Death bends to me and me alone.
I could take my time, if I desire. I could keep you on such an edge for weeks. I could break you with nothing but my maw. Make you beg for it. You will beg. They all do in the end.
You shall not ask for life but death once I am through with you. I may grant your request, I may not. I cannot say for certain. If you taste as good as you smell, it may be quite some time. It's rare to find a meal truly worth savoring.
I hear Maidens beg so sweetly.
You were confident and defiant when we met. Even though you must have suspected what I am, you did not back down. That is what normal draws me to the Warrior; the chase never ends for they resist even as I tear them apart.
Pity this shall only happen once. There are so many things I might do. I will taste you, I know that much. But I cannot decide the how. Shall I use my talons? Or should I merely use my teeth? Do I keep you whole and swallow you or do I tear you completely apart?
Imagine my surprise when I smelled you are but a Maiden. I truly had given up on finding one worth my time and attention. My patience shall be rewarded quite soon.
I shall keep you in my maw as I decide, let you feel the flames within me. It will no doubt get uncomfortable as you wait. I have many options and must consider each of them thoroughly. Some are particularly unorthodox. They deserve the most consideration for I may never wish to try them again.
A fortnight must seem such a long time. It is no doubt pure agony as you wait and wonder. I find the wait makes the inevitable much sweeter.
I would advise spending time with your family, but it seems as if your father has made it abundantly clear what he thinks of you. What a strange choice for such an honorable man, leaving his daughter alone in her hour of need. Perhaps he isn't the man you thought he was.
I shall see you within a sennight. You do have fortnight to get your affairs in order, and I shall honor that. However, I shall not deny myself entirely during that time.
Aerion
Inevitably,