111 AC

It was quiet. The soft morning sun filtered through her window, casting long, warm beams across her room. Another day had come—another day to teach. 

The thought of teaching didn't weigh heavily on her; it was a duty she had grown used to. But the sight of her uniform—that was the dread. It hung like a sentence, stark and lifeless.

She sat up slowly, her eyes drifting to the wardrobe where the "purity" dress hung, white and plain, its fabric stiff and unyielding. Each morning, it greeted her with the same cold reminder of what her life had become. Duty, modesty, obedience. 

She was exhausted, not by the act of teaching itself, but by the weight of that dress—by the endless expectations stitched into its seams.

She used to dream of something different. She used to envy her sister, who adorned herself in luxurious silks and gowns of every color. Her sister, who walked through court like a queen, drawing eyes, admiration, and praise with every graceful step. 

The swirl of rich fabrics, the glint of jewels at her throat, the hushed whispers of awe from the courtiers—it was the life her sister lived effortlessly.

That was what she wanted. Not this.

The longing crept through her veins like a slow, steady burn. She wished, more than anything, to wear something beautiful. To feel the eyes of the court on her not because of duty, but because of admiration.

 But each morning, that damned dress hung there, reminding her of the life she had chosen—or had been forced into. A life of simplicity, devoid of the richness and adoration her heart quietly craved.

She sighed, dragging her feet to the wardrobe, her fingers brushing the fabric she despised. The sun was shining, yes, but today felt dim.

The purity dress was waiting. As it always did.

Aelinor rose from her bed, her body heavy with reluctance. Each movement was slow, each breath a quiet sigh as she dressed for another day of service—a day she dreaded. 

Painfully, she went through the motions, pulling on the same plain gown she had come to loathe, the fabric rough against her skin. It was the uniform of her duty, the uniform of her place beneath the Lannisters.

Another faithful day, she thought bitterly. Another day spent serving the whims of the noble house that commanded her life.

Ser Jason Lannister had dragged his entire family to court, and with them came Aelinor—his daughters' tutor, their guide in the "ways of life," as they so elegantly put it. 

The irony tasted bitter on her tongue. As if she had any experience with the life they lived. She was little more than a shadow in their presence, an echo of the world they occupied. How was she, cloaked in a life of modest servitude, supposed to teach these girls whose lives were gilded with privilege and power?

Her hands trembled as she fastened the last clasp of her gown, her movements jerky with frustration. She was exhausted, not just from the daily grind of serving under the Lannisters, but from the weight of her own unfulfilled desires. 

The life she led was not one she had chosen—she was forced into it, swallowed whole by obligations that weren't hers.

As she made her way to the door, a flicker of rebellion sparked inside her, but it was smothered by the reality of her situation. For now, all she could do was endure.

Aelinor stepped out of her dull chambers, her footsteps echoing down the long, lavish halls of the Lannister estate. The grandeur around her felt almost mocking, a reminder of the life she didn't belong to, but was forced to serve. 

She took a deep breath as she reached Cerelle Lannister's door, steeling herself for another day of lessons.

The eldest Lannister daughter sat by the window, bathed in the soft morning light, her golden hair shining like the very house she belonged to. 

Cerelle was immersed in a book, but the moment her bright eyes caught sight of Aelinor, her face lit up with excitement.

"Aelinor!" Cerelle exclaimed, her voice full of the innocent enthusiasm that Aelinor could barely summon anymore.

Aelinor managed to pull a smile across her face, soft but practiced, as she stepped into the room. She set down a small wooden box on the table and carefully pulled out needles and spools of thread. The little girl's excitement only grew as she watched.

"Today," Aelinor said, her voice calm but betraying none of the weariness she carried, "we will be doing something a little more exciting than just sums."

Cerelle's eyes widened even further, her curiosity piqued. Aelinor's heart ached for a moment. The girl had no idea how heavy the world could be, how stifling the expectations laid upon her were. For now, Aelinor thought, let her be joyful, even if I cannot be.

She laid the materials in front of Cerelle with delicate care, all the while hiding the bitterness she carried beneath her forced smile.

"Shall we begin?" she asked, already knowing the little Lannister's answer.

The little girl nodded as Aelinor taught the ways of sewing and embroidering to the little girl. The most important skill for quite literally anything. 

The lesson began as the impatient girl poked her finger about a hundred times. Tears would come here and there and frustration started to begin.

"I can't do this! I give up!" Cerelle stomped her foot, her small face scrunched in frustration as the needle and thread slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. Her cheeks flushed with the heat of her tantrum, and her voice whined, escalating into a full complaint.

Aelinor watched calmly, though inside she felt the familiar pull of weariness. She had grown used to these outbursts, the way the young Lannister girl struggled against anything that didn't come easily. 

"You must be patient," Aelinor said, bending to pick up the fallen needle and thread, her movements steady despite Cerelle's impatience. "The only way you can learn is by patience, little one."

She threaded the needle with practiced hands, guiding Cerelle to try again, though the girl was still pouting. Before they could resume, the heavy oak door creaked open, and Aelinor turned to see Lady Johanna Lannister step into the room. 

Her presence was as commanding as ever—dressed in soft, flowing fabrics that shimmered faintly in the morning light, she moved with the effortless grace of someone born to command attention.

Aelinor rose to her feet immediately, motioning for Cerelle to do the same. The little girl scrambled up from her seat, her tantrum momentarily forgotten as she ran to her mother. 

Lady Johanna bent to greet her, pressing a kiss to her daughter's cheek and playfully tickling her ribs, earning a chorus of delighted giggles. Aelinor couldn't help but smile softly at the sight, though the familiar pang of longing tugged at her heart—this world of love and tenderness wasn't hers.

"The Queen has requested our presence," Lady Johanna said, straightening up, her tone smooth but carrying the weight of expectation. "I wish to see my daughter in her finest gown, and I would have you escort her."

Aelinor nodded, keeping her voice measured as she responded, "Of course, Milady." She took Cerelle's small hand gently, leading her toward the wardrobe where her most beautiful gowns hung in neat rows.

But what should have been a simple task turned into yet another battle. As soon as the dresses were brought out, Cerelle's face crumpled once more. 

"I don't want to wear a dress!" she protested, stomping her foot again. She tugged at the fabric of one, her brow furrowed in distaste. "It's itchy!"

Aelinor sighed inwardly, her patience thinning as the minutes ticked by. Cerelle twisted in her grip, fussing and whining, her small voice filling the room with complaints. 

Aelinor knelt down beside her, carefully smoothing out the gown, her voice gentle but firm.

"Cerelle, the Queen is waiting. You must wear this, and I will make sure it's as comfortable as possible. But we can't keep your mother or the Queen waiting any longer."

Cerelle huffed but reluctantly allowed Aelinor to help her into the gown. As Aelinor fastened the final buttons, she felt a brief moment of satisfaction—a small victory in the daily struggles of her duty. But as she smoothed the fabric over Cerelle's shoulders, her own heart felt heavier with each moment.

At last, Cerelle was ready. After what felt like hours of fussing and complaining, Aelinor had managed to smooth the gown and tame the little girl's wild energy. 

She brushed Cerelle's golden hair, fingers working quickly to weave it into a simple but elegant braid. The young Lannister sat still, at least for now, her earlier tantrum forgotten as the anticipation of seeing the Queen took over.

Aelinor couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief. The battle was won—for now. Cerelle looked every bit the noble daughter, her finest gown sparkling faintly in the soft light, her braid neat and perfect. She was ready to face the court.

Taking Cerelle's small hands in her own, Aelinor led her from the chambers, walking down the grand hallways to meet Lady Johanna. Together, they made their way toward the Queen's chambers, the air thickening with unspoken expectations.

As they neared the Queen's door, Aelinor bent down to whisper in Cerelle's ear, her voice gentle but firm. "You must curtsy when you see her, Cerelle. Remember—grace and respect."

Cerelle nodded, her wide eyes showing a mixture of excitement and nervousness, and Aelinor gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

The great doors creaked open, and the trio stepped into Queen Alicent's chambers. The room was filled with warm light, and the scent of lavender hung in the air.

 Lady Johanna, with Cerelle at her side, gracefully approached the Queen, but Aelinor's steps faltered for the briefest moment as she crossed the threshold.

There she was.

Queen Alicent sat at the center of the room, radiating power and calm. Her gown was a deep, regal green, the color of House Hightower, and her crown gleamed in the sunlight. But it wasn't her status that made Aelinor pause—it was the woman beneath the crown.

Her sister. After all these years.

The years had changed them both, but the recognition was instant, and a quiet tension filled the space between them. Memories of their shared childhood, of laughter and warmth, but also of bitterness and rivalry, flooded Aelinor's mind in an instant. 

She hadn't seen Alicent in what felt like a lifetime. Now, she stood before her not as a sister, but as a servant.

Aelinor kept her head bowed, her heart pounding in her chest, her hands suddenly clammy despite the calm facade she forced herself to wear. She was nothing more than a septa now, bound by duty. And Alicent—she was the Queen.

Cerelle curtsied obediently, her face a picture of innocence and admiration as she greeted Queen Alicent, while Aelinor stood slightly apart, her gaze fixed on the floor, unwilling to meet her sister's eyes.

The Queen's voice, cool and composed, broke the silence. "Lady Johana, welcome to court... and this must be your daughter...?" she said, but her gaze lingered on Aelinor for just a moment longer than necessary. It was brief, but enough. 

Enough to remind Aelinor of all that had been lost between them—and all that remained unsaid.

Lady Johanna looked at the Queen as she smiled and she looked proudly at her young daughter, "Lady Cerelle," She stated as eyes stayed with her eldest child. Then Lady Johanna's eyes traveled up towards Aelinor's... "And her Septa Aelinor,"

Aelinor kept her gaze fixed on her sister's feet, unable to meet her eyes. The tension in the room was intense, a silent acknowledgment of unspoken truth between them.

Alicent's eyes lingered on her elder sister's, a mixture of respect and resentment swirling between them. While she owed everything to Aelinor's sacrifice, the knowledge cut-deep- a betrayal wrapped in selflessness. 

"Septa Aelinor," She began, her voice catching, "it is..." She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "It is a pleasure to be reunited with you."

Aelinor's eyes lifted slowly, reluctantly meeting the Queen's gaze. "Your Majesty," she replied, her tone measured, her lips pressed into a thin line.

This was not the sister she had grown up with, the queen herself, was not what her mother raised her to be. Alicent had only acted the way she did to shield herself from her delusions. 

Aelinor saw it plainly- she saw through the cracks of her sister's facade. Something was tense, as she wanted to speak, to find words that might bridge the chasm between them. The effort left her frozen, her throat constricting around unspoken truths.

The tensions thickened until Lady Johanna Lannister broke it with soft authority. "I believe it's time for my daughter to return to her chambers," she said, her voice calm yet resolute.

Alicent seized the opportunity to restore order, nodding quickly, "Of course," She agreed with the Lady. She glanced at the little Lannister girl, who was trying not to itch her way out of her dress. "Cerelle go on,"

The little girl rushed from the room, her little runs leaving an echo. Aelinor turned to follow Cerelle, but a gentle touch on her hand stopped her mid-step.

She froze, glancing back to find Alicent's gaze-- pleading, vulnerable.

"You promised to be Helaena's Septa," Alicent said, her voice trembling. "Come back to us. Come back to the family."

Aelinor's heart twisted at her sister's words, but she shook her head, her resolve unyielding. "Cerelle will be my last girl." she said softly, "I have already talked to Lord and Lady Lannister about my departure. I have chosen to have a quiet, pious life."

Alicent's head went down, as knew there was no way of getting her sister back. Her tone left no room for argument, yet the weight of unspoken emotions lingered in the air as she slipped from Alicent's grasp.

As Aelinor left Alicent's chambers, her steps slowed when she saw Lady Johanna kneeling beside Cerelle in the corridor. The woman's gentle voice carried softly as she explained Aelinor's resignation to the little girl.

Cerelle's wide, tear-filled eyes darted toward Aelinor, her small face trembling with confusion and hurt. Aelinor sighed, her twisting at the sight. She lowered her head, unable to meet the child's gaze, knowing how deeply Cerelle adored her.

For a moment, she hesitated, her resolve faltering. She wanted to turn back, to offer more comfort, but she knew prolonging the moment would only make the separation harder-- for the both of them. 

Swallowing her emotions, Aelinor quickened her pace, disappearing down the hall with heaviness in her chest that words could not ease.

Cerelle rushed to Aelinor, her small hands clutching the Septa's dress with desperate urgency. "YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!" she cried, her trembling voice breaking through the stillness. 

Tears streamed down her face, her lips quivering into a pout as she looked up at Aelinor, her eyes pleading.

Aelinor knelt to the girl's height, her gaze softening as she gently wiped Cerelle's tears. 

"Listen to me," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Another Septa will come to guide you. She will be just as wonderful as I am. Now repeat after me: 'I am beautiful, I am smart, I am unique.'"

The familiar phrase hung in the air, the affirmation that Aelinor had taught the child long ago. Cerelle's small voice echoed the words back, faltering but resolute, her sobs subsiding as she spoke. 

She threw her arms around Aelinor, clinging tightly to the woman who had been a constant presence in her life.

Aelinor embraced her in return, holding her close, as if trying to pour all her love and reassurance into that single moment. She pulled back slightly, brushing a stray curl from Cerelle's face. "I must go now," she said gently. "But never forget your affirmations, my sweet girl. Practice them every day."

Reluctantly, Aelinor stood, her gaze shifting to Lady Johanna Lannister. The woman's gratitude was evident, her eyes brimming with unspoken thanks. 

Aelinor offered a small nod before stepping away, leaving the room and the little girl's tearful grasp behind her. The heavy door clicked shut, the sound of the final farewell.

Her pace quickened as she walked the halls of the Red Keep, the weight of her decision pressing on her chest. She reached the quiet sanctity of the Sept and closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment. 

Slowly, she removed her veil, revealing the cascade of auburn-red hair that frame her face.

Aelinor began pacing the room, her thoughts a whirlwind. This wasn't the life she could keep living. It wasn't enough. She had recently turned nine and twenty and in a year she will be thirty. 

No husband. No children. Just years spent guiding young girls in their studies, always watching life unfold for others while her own reminder is stagnant.

Her breaths quickened, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to steady herself. Tonight, she knew, it was the night she had to make a choice. One that would alter her path forever.

EVENING

That evening, Aelinor slipped out of her chambers, her thin dress clinging to her cool night air, her auburn hair loose flowing down her back. She moved quickly, her footsteps soft but hurried, her heart pounding as she passed other Septas in dimly lit halls. She kept her gaze down, avoiding their eyes, knowing the risk she was taking.

Someone might notice her absence. Someone might betray her.

Reaching the sanctuary's edge, she drew a deep breath and stepped into the night. The streets of King's Landing were cloaked in shadows, but her path was clear: the Street of Silk.

She knew what awaited her there--the catcalls, the prying eyes of drunken men, the danger of walking unaccompanied in such a place. But none of that mattered. 

She had no protector by her side, no shield against the night, but she had a purpose. There was only one man she sought, and she would find him no matter the cost.

Aelinor pulled her cloak tightly around her, her fingers clutching the fabric as if it were armor. She raised the hood over her head, concealing her identity as she navigated the labyrinth of sin and secrecy. Her steps faltered only briefly as she approached the more dangerous corners of the district.

The brothels loomed ahead, their dimly lit windows and red-painted doors beckoning to passerby. She steeled herself, her determination outweighing her fear. Aelinor entered the one chamber that she knew that was common from him to be at.

She stepped cautiously into the brothel, her eyes dating around the dimly lit space. She kept her head down, praying she could move unnoticed, that no one would see her- or worse touch her.

The heavy scent of sex and stale ale clung to the air, mingling with muffled laughter and the sound of coins exchanging hands. Before she could take another step, a group of men approached, their grins lecherous, their eyes gleaming with intent.

"Lost are you?" one of them sneered, his hands brushing against her arms.

Aelinor flinched, batting the hand away, but another grabbed her at her waist, pulling her closer. Panic flared in her chest as their touches grew bolder, rougher, their jeers bleeding into a cacophony of lewd laughter. 

She whimpered in pain, her voice catching in her throat as pain shot through her arm from a tight grip.

Just as fear began to overwhelm her, the door slammed open, the sound reverberating like a thunderclap through the room. A sharp intake of breath rippled through the crowd, and a deep, rough voice cut through the chaos.

The men around her recoiled, releasing her as they turned the source of the voice. Aelinor dared to lift her head, her wide eyes meeting the unmistakable figure, the love of her life, The Rogue Prince standing in the doorway, his presence radiating menace and authority.

Daemon's sharp eyes flicked over the room, cold and calculating. His eyes landed on the men first, their guilty smirks vanishing under his glare. Then his gaze shifted, settling on the girl they had grabbed. His expression changed, hard edges softening for just a moment as recognition dawned.

Aelinor.

"Take your hands off her. Now!"

The words cut through the tense air like a blade, his voice dangerously calm yet unmistakably commanding. Every man in the room understood the unspoken threat.

The men released her immediately, their cowardice apparent as they backed away. One dared to glance at Daemon for a moment too long, but the Rogue Prince's expression silenced him before he could speak. They moved aside, casting uneasy glances at others, muttering under their breath.

Aelinor stumbled as they shoved her legs weak beneath her, but daemon was already there. His hands found her shoulders, steadying her with firmness that startlingly gentle.

Her breath hitched as she looked at him, her wide eyes meeting him. Time seemed slow, she hadn't seen him in many years. Now he stood before her, unmistakably real, his presence as powerful and overwhelming as ever.

"Daemon," she whispered, her voice fragile, as if his name might dissolve into the air.

The Rogue Prince's features softened further as he looked down at her, studying her face as though to confirm she was truly there. Her auburn hair framed her pale, tear-streaked cheeks, her lips trembling with unspoken words.

She reached up tentatively, her hands trembling as it hovered near his face. She hesitated, her breath catching as she wondered if she had the right to touch him after all these years. Aelinor felt him relax into her touch, as she couldn't pull off his purple eyes.

Daemon's lips curved into a faint smirk, as he pulled her into a private room. His eyes remained intense, searching hers for answers. "What are you doing here, Septa Aelinor? You have no place in a den like this."

Her cheeks flushed, as she let his cheeks go, "I-I had no choice," she stammered, "I had to come find you."

The prince's brows furrowed, feeling her hands leaving, but he hands shifted from her shoulder to the chin, tilting her face to back up to meet his gaze. "You've found me," he whispered, his voice tinged with curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place. "Now tell me why've you come to find me."

Aelinor swallowed hard, her throat dry, her heart pounding as though it might escape her chest. Her words caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe as though the weight of everything she could be holding in had finally crushed her.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She tried again, but the words remained trapped, suffocating in the silence between them. Her eyes darted to the floor, then back to Daemon, her chest rising and falling with each frantic breath.

"I am wasting time being a Septa," She finally whispered, the words escaping in a rush, "I am not doing anything for myself. The Sept... it is becoming more torturous and horrible every moment. I cannot do it anymore."

Her voice trembled, the weight of her unspoken years, her body trembling as the burden she carried out for so long finally spilled out. She took a step closer to him, her eyes traveling up to his, there was desperation in her voice.

"I am wasting myself," she said, the rawness of her admission hitting her like a physical blow. "I want to be a mother. I want to be a wife. I want to live --truly live-- not exist in that cold empty dull place. Please Daemon, you remember when life was like when we were together. How we were happy... you can set me free again."

Daemon stood there, silent, it had been years since they had seen each other; this was what she was here for. His sharp eyes never left her face, but they seemed to study her every word, every movement, as if weighing the depth of her pain and her plea.

There was silence, between them, tension, she knew that his reputation and she still wanted to be his wife. His lips curled into a faint smirk, but there was no warmth in it, only unsettling intensity.

"And what do you expect from me, Aelinor?" Daemon's voice was low, almost mocking, but there was an edge to it. His eyes swept over, taking her disheveled appearance, her once pristine cloak, now wrapped tightly around her trembling frame. 

There was truth and rawness in her expression. "You think I will just let you leave all of that behind? To cast aside your vows, your duty, your very identity?"

She flinched at his words, but she didn't black down. She had known him, she had know Daemon was harsh and to demand things of others with little regard to their desires. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to become a septa! My father almost forced me to marry your brother! To be his queen, I refused! BECAUSE I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU!"

Her voice broke with each one of her words that came out of her. She started to break down as she looked at him, knowing she could only trust her.

Daemon stepped closer, his presence looming like a storm ready to break. He reached out, fingers brushing against her cheek with gentleness, and for a brief moment, the harshness of his eyes softened, though only slightly.

"I know," Daemon murmured softly, his voice heavy with a quiet, almost dangerous understanding. "You never asked for any of it. It was all the scheming of your foolish father. He thrusts into this life, this cage of vows and duty. I can see it in your eyes-- you never wanted any of it."

Aelinor's breath caught in her throat, the words striking deeper than she could anticipate. She flinched, but not from anger. It was a pang of something darker, something she had long buried beneath layers of control. 

His words hit too close to the truth, she never allowed herself to acknowledge. Her pulse quickened, her body instinctively leaning toward him, desperate for something to steady her, to give her a reason to keep going.

Both of them looked at one another, as they realized one another grounded each other, they knew the depths of each other that others didn't know. She looked up at him, her gaze searching for him, her eyes needing desperation.

Daemon's fingers gently traced her jaw and she found herself closing her eyes at the sensation, her leaning even closer to him. 

She needed him. It was more than that, she craved his touch. His touch, his presence, the way he made her feel seen made her feel as though she wasn't just a duty to be performed, a role to be filled.

His hands slid down her neck, his touch sending shivers across her skin, as she looked at him once more. They both looked at each other, there was something dangerous in his eyes, she felt the presence she needed.

Daemon leaned in slightly, his breath arm against her ear as he spoke, his voice low and intimate, his words laced with an undercurrent of something she couldn't quite name. "You're tired of pretending aren't you? Tired of this game, this facade of duty and honor. You're not meant to be a Septa, Aelinor. You're not meant to live this quiet, restrained life. I've always known it. You were always meant to be my wife,"

Aelinor's chest tightened, her breath shallow as the weight of his words, as she looked up at him. She reached for him, her hands brushing against the fabric of his cloak. "Let me be your wife, Daemon,"

Daemon had a smirk that came across his face as he cupped her face with his other hand, this thumb gently tracing her lower lip. "I will let you... I will show you a life beyond this life. You will never be a prisoner again, Aelinor. Not with me."

The Rogue Prince leaned closer, as he lifted her face up towards him as he gave her a tender kiss. Aelinor closed her eyes as she kissed him back, as her hands tangled into his hair as the sensation sent a rush of warmth through her. She wanted more, she needed more of Daemon. 

Their kiss deepened as he pulled back, as he couldn't take anymore time not to tell her. He held her cheeks as their foreheads touched, "I have been dreaming about this since the day, I gave you that necklace. I am going to take you to Pentos, and that is where we will be having our wedding," 

Aelinor nodded as she also kept her hands on his cheeks, as she looked at him nodding. "I still have your necklace... I'm still wearing it..." She whispered, her voice in love. She was finally going to be free.