ℒove always wakes the dragon (Aemond x OC)

Mysaria

She finds no solace in her dreams, and falling asleep feels like being plunged into a swamp — full of haunting reminders, of viscous dolor. Lia wakes up to reality, sits up, tightly clasping her knees, her back pressed against the warm scales. Olwen's curled up around her, screening her like a living fence, and she allows her respite to last a little longer, letting her body soak up more heat. It's been four days since the fight that left a bruise on her shoulder, and the blue turned darker and spread — she bites down her lip not to wince at the slightest movement but pushes through it, as she always does. Her body witnessed far worse, and her clothes hide reminders of it — fading scars and patched-up cuts — and they all heal, but the wound inside her doesn't. It goes deeper under her skin, roots in her bones, feels like a fracture and hurts even more than that.

Lia hauls herself out of somnolence when the dragon wakes up, the routine of their mornings bringing him joy while hers is marred by the tedious waiting. She tries to be hopeful but it's something she's never succeeded at, and embracing uncertainty isn't a skill of hers either. That's why it does come as a surprise when on her way from the Dragonpit Lia suddenly notices her — the little girl she once saw stands in the crowd and looks straight at Lia with the same sly smile. This time it seems like she didn't come to follow but to lead, and Lia darts off to her, dead set on finding all the answers she's been losing her sleep over.

While the little girl quickly wades through the crowd, Lia tries not to lag behind, and the path that only one of them knows the end of takes them deeper into the city. The environment becomes more congested, streets are cut with alleys and window shutters, and Lia hates every obstacle but manages to overcome each of them — until she rounds another corner and plows into a gathering of citizens at a fair. It spreads around as far as the eye can see, with stalls filled with food, trinkets and materials of all sorts, but the child seemingly vanished into thin air. Lia peers into faces and moving bodies, peddlers carrying wooden boxes and barrows with fruits and —

"They say the apple never falls far from the tree," out of the crowd comes a voice, low and honeyed, and Lia turns to see a dark-haired woman looking at her. She unashamedly examines the girl from head to toe. "It seems that you've got the best of what prince Daemon's children can inherit."

Her words are not insinuating but rather laced with certainty, with an ominous threat of her knowing the truth and knowing the value of it. But Lia doesn't scare easily.

"For a city of this size, rumors spread surprisingly fast," she says with a face that reveals nothing.

"It is too small when it comes to hiding secrets," the woman retorts with a subtle smile on her lips.

"And I have heard that the White Worm is the one to guard them. Aren't you?"

The woman hems, her delicate features briefly touched by amusement.

"You can call me Mysaria. Shall we take a seat?" she gestures at a tavern at the end of the street. "However weak are the signs of your kinship with the prince, we wouldn't want anyone to figure it out."

"My guess is that you didn't figure it out just now," Lia muses while they walk.

"When the word of a greatly unequal fight reached me, I found it to be of interest," Mysaria reveals, the soft accent making her voice enchanting. "But it was the description of a brave young lady that truly puzzled me."

"Wasn't long til you solved the puzzle."

"Your appearance may fool some but the Targaryen's blood always leaves its mark," she takes a look at Lia again. "Even if it's just the color of the eyes and only one strand of hair."

"He did take part in conceiving me, so..." Lia shrugs.

"Most people would seize the opportunity to boast about their connection to the prince."