Chapter 31: A Debt of Life and a Stirring Heart
Time: 87 AC
POV: Princess Viserra Targaryen
The Red Keep, for all its stone and steel, felt oddly muted in the days following my disgrace and salvation. The clanking of distant armor, the murmur of servants, the very laughter from the feasting halls—it all seemed muffled, as if my ears were still ringing from the wind that had nearly claimed me. My body ached, not from injury, but from the raw shock of it all, the terrifying plummet, the breath-stealing impact that never came, and then… him.
Prince Aerion Silvanor.
My memories of the night were a terrifying blur, punctuated by flashes of searing clarity. The wine, the thrill of Meraxes's daughter, Scorn, soaring drunk above the city, the sudden lurch, the wind tearing at my gown, the sickening certainty of the ground rushing up. And then, a shadow, impossibly fast, a hand, strong and unyielding, plucking me from the very jaws of death.
When I had looked up, dizzy and disoriented, into his face, I had seen emerald eyes, unnaturally bright even in the stormy night. His silver hair, usually so meticulously coiffed, was wild around a face that was both utterly calm and intensely focused. And those ears… pointy and elegant, unlike any human's, lending him an otherworldly grace even as he held me, a trembling, terrified heap, in his arms.
In the days since, trapped in the quiet confines of my chambers, receiving visits from my relieved parents and stern Maesters, my mind had replayed the moment endlessly. The sheer impossible audacity of it. The leap. The way the rock spire had risen from the cliff face, like the earth itself had bent to his will. The enormous green dragon, Veridian, landing as silently as a cat, her luminous eyes fixed on me with a strange, intelligent concern.
I had met Prince Aerion once before, during his diplomatic visit years ago. He was handsome then, in that aloof, Elven way, with a quiet dignity that set him apart from the boisterous lords and boorish knights of my father's court. He had spoken eloquently of his Emperor, of living cities and boundless Sothoryosi forests. I'd found him intriguing, like a rare, beautiful gem. But now… now he was etched into my very soul. He was the man who had pulled me back from the void.
My life at court, for all its gilded cages, often felt stifling. The constant pressure to be a proper princess, to smile, to charm, to endure endless suitors chosen for political gain. I had sought freedom in reckless abandon, in wine and the thrill of dragon-flight, chafing against the rigid expectations. Yet, in that plummet, I had found no freedom, only terror. It was Aerion, the mysterious prince from the ends of the world, who had granted me true freedom—the freedom to live.
He was so utterly different. Not just his strange, beautiful ears, or his skin that seemed to glow, or his eyes that held ancient depths. It was the way he carried himself, a stillness and a grace that spoke of power contained, not flaunted. My brothers, for all their strength and dragon-riding prowess, were loud, boisterous, often predictable. Aerion was like a deep, still pool, hiding unimaginable currents beneath its surface.
My father, the King, had thanked him profusely, offering a boon. And Aerion, in his infuriating, elegant way, had simply refused. A duty, he'd called it. Any man. But no other man could have done what he did. No other man could have commanded the earth itself, or leapt from such a height to catch a falling princess. His humility, juxtaposed with such impossible power, was bewilderingly attractive.
I found myself lingering at windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I inquired discreetly about his movements, learning he was preparing for his return to his distant Empire. A pang of something sharp and unfamiliar struck me at the thought of him leaving. My nights were now filled, not with nightmares of falling, but with dreams of emerald eyes and silver hair, and the feeling of strong, safe hands.
My ladies-in-waiting, sensing a shift in my demeanor, whispered amongst themselves. "The Prince is truly remarkable, Your Grace," Lady Elara ventured one afternoon, as I idly traced the pattern on a tapestry, my mind miles away. "So exotic. Did you see his dragon? Like a jewel."
I nodded, my heart quickening. "He is, indeed, remarkable," I agreed, my voice softer than usual. I resisted the urge to demand more. I didn't want their trivial observations; I wanted his presence.
I knew the stories of our Valyrian ancestors, of the few times they had taken non-Valyrian brides. My own mother, Alysanne, had brought a softness and a human wisdom to my father's reign. But this was different. Aerion was not just a different lineage, but a different species, it sometimes felt. An Elf-Prince, with the powers of the earth and life itself. He seemed to embody the very magic that had once flowed through our dragons, a magic that felt almost forgotten in the daily grind of court.
The debt I owed him was immense, a debt of life itself. But increasingly, it was not just gratitude that stirred within me. It was a profound curiosity, a desire to understand the quiet power behind his eyes, to explore the mysteries of the Empire that had shaped him. He had rescued me from my fall, but in doing so, he had also awakened something new within me, a fascination that transcended the practicalities of alliances and the expectations of my royal birth.
He was leaving. Soon. And the thought of him returning to his emerald homeland, a place I could barely imagine, filled me with a sudden, desperate longing. A longing not for escape, but for connection to the man who had effortlessly bridged the gap between life and death for me. My interest was no longer quiet; it hummed beneath my skin, a vibrant, unfamiliar song.
Viserra's thoughts are clear.