Chapter Text
Part 1: Once Upon a Dream
The first time Daeron met her, he was but seven summers.
Daeron opened his eyes, and he could see at last.
At the end of the shore, there was a lighthouse.
Its flames, bright and orange, bled alongside the twilight creeping over the vast sea in the distance, framed with unfamiliar stars.
His bare feet felt the roughness of sand beneath them, the cool water of the sea licked his heels.
The previous night, he had dreamed of a falling star in the field of pale purple, only to be caught by the jaws of a terrible sunken ship.
His mother.
He had dreamed of his mother.
He sought comfort in his mother’s arms. ‘It was only a bad dream,’ she told him. "Just a little nightmare."
He did not want to sleep again. What else might he see? More nightmares? Something fouler still? He did not want to know. Did not even want to risk going to sleep. He tried not to sleep, keeping awake, but sleep won the following day.
This time, however, he was not shown horror, but something different.
He had never seen this place before. Not in waking. Not in dreams. He did not like strange places in his sleep. In dreams, one could not call for guards.
The beach, however, was calming.
There was serenity, even if the prince did not feel that very often. Just endless waves crashing almost timidly against the sandy shores. The wind shook the flames of the stone lighthouse, and washed the waves evenly. It was calm. Almost too calm.
Daeron squinted, and he could almost see a figure hunched in the sand. A girl, mayhaps.
Bathed in the light of the stars, the prince walked up to the figure, and he realized it was indeed a girl, close to his age, with bright eyes and quick hands. She was building a rather clumsy sand castle, while she sang the strangest song:
"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…"
She was not a particularly good singer, but the cadence was impeccable.
Daeron did not know the words, yet the melody stirred something in him. It felt oddly familiar, like a tune remembered from a dream he could no longer recall.
He watched her build sand upon sand, shaping it with her able hands. There was something almost soothing in the way she did it, not a care in the world. She wore strange clothes, breeches, like a boy. Not a dress. He found that to be queer. Did she not know trousers were for men? Did she not have a Septa to tell her that? His own lady mother had never worn trousers.
And yet, this girl seemed unbothered. How Daeron wished to be unbothered like that.
"Hi." She said, suddenly stopping her music. Her voice was as sharp as her eyes.
Daeron’s breath hitched in surprise. He had not realized he had been watching the girl so intently.
"...Hello." He said, tentatively. "What are you doing?"
"Playing. I like playing here." She smiled at him. Daeron noticed she had a few missing teeth. He himself had a few missing as well, "Wanna play with me?"
Daeron did not reply, but sat in the sand beside her all the same. The waves crashed behind them among the dark ocean, the soft gusty trees whistled a song of nature. The girl remained unbothered by her new companion, molding the sand to her will. Using her hands to shape, flatten or even stack the sand in the shape of a mighty castle.
The prince thought of the castles he knew. The Red Keep, Summerhall, Harrenhall, Sunspear, the Eyrie. None of those were built on sand. Sand slipped from one’s fingers, an unstable thing. "Sand is a poor building material for a castle."
He did not know why he had said that. It was uncalled for. He did not like when others made fun of what he did, or his lack of sleep. Or focus. He should not be doing that with someone else, least of all a girl.
She did not seem angry by his jab. In fact, she giggled, "You talk funny."
"I do not speak funny!" The prince defended himself, his upper lip quivering slightly. He did not need this girl speaking to him like that. He was a prince of the realm, not a peasant boy!
"Yes, you do. Weird."
Daeron’s cheeks heated at that. He did not know what that word meant, but the way she laughed, the prince assumed it to be an insult.
"No, you are!" He could not show this girl he did not know what she had called him. "You shan’t call Prince Daeron Targaryen ‘weird’." The word felt strange in his tongue, almost misplaced. Not that Daeron had been the most diligent student, mayhaps it was a word used in the North.
The girl raised an eyebrow, "A prince? Ha, and I’m the queen of England."
Daeron did not know what ‘England’ was. She was taking him for a fool, and enjoying that, given the twinkle in her eye. He wanted to call someone to give her a piece of his mind, but he still did not know where he was, nor who this girl was. She was strange, that much was certain, but then again, so was he. Never had a talent for fighting, reading, music or poetry. His nightmares kept him awake at night, and when he was awake, he could not concentrate.
"Whatever." She turned her gaze away, diverting her attention once again to her castle in the sand.
The prince looked around once more, his gaze following the treeline along the shore, then the lighthouse. He had never been there before, "Where are we?"
The girl shrugged, "Dunno. The sky is weird. I come here sometimes, it’s quiet. No yelling. I can just play when I want. I like it here."
Again that word. Daeron looked up at the sky, trying to recognize the stars. He did not pay attention to that part of his studies. The stars reminded him of the night, and the night brought nightmares. He regretted not giving his maester sufficient attention in that regard.
"I like it here as well. It is not often I dream of quiet."
"Yup," She agreed. Or so did Daeron think, "No nightmares here."
She said that in such a way that brought the prince a tiny sliver of peace.
Nightmares. Dreams. Bad dreams. His eyes followed the girl’s fingers in the sand. He decided to ask, "Do you have nightmares as well?"
She nodded, "Yes. They make me want to never sleep again."
"We have that in common, I suppose." A faint smile found its way to Daeron’s face, "Have you been to that lighthouse?"
The girl squinted her eyes in the direction of the lighthouse, "No, but the lighthouse is how I found this place. Just follow it, you know?"
"If I want to find this place again, I need only follow the lighthouse?"
"Yes." She turned back to her building. Shaping, creating. She had quite the talent to build, not like him, who did not care to be a warrior, or study.
He watched her with curious eyes, working with the soft sand.
The girl caught his gaze, "Hey, don’t stay there looking, come build a castle with me," She gently drew a circle close to her own creation, making him space to build his own, "My castle is lonely. You can be my neighbour if you want."
He did not reply to her, instead wished to build his own castle. If it had to be close to the strange girl’s, so be it. So he started working. His hands, as clumsy as they were, not as good as his cousin’s or not as good as his father’s, carefully calculated the building endeavor.
The tide crept closer.
He stacked sand like stone walls because princes should build castles correctly, like Bran the Builder. Measuring the correct amount of sand, shaping it just so.
The tide crept closer.
Every so often, Daeron glanced at his companion. She was just piling sand however she wanted, laughing, digging moats with her hands. He could not help but think his castle would stand taller.
The tide crept just enough to lick his castle clean.
Daeron froze in place. No matter how much effort he had put in it. Once again, not good enough. Did he build it wrong as he always did? Or was it not thought of well? Even the sea hated his castle.
"Your castle…" The girl stopped to assess the damage. Her castle was still whole. The sea had not swept it away.
"I did not like it anyway." That was a lie. But the girl did not need to know that. Daeron could bear his failures alone, as he always did.
"Hmm," She bit her lip, thinking too much on the matter. Then her hands worked fast to build a connective bridge between her castle and the ruins of Daeron’s, "Here," She collected more sand for another bridge, "Now they are our castles, yeah?"
No one had ever shared a castle with him before, not even in play. It felt strange. Not unpleasant.
The girl seemed entirely satisfied with their construction, brushing sand from her palms before patting the bridge between the two keeps as though it were the most important road in the world.
"I said, neighbors!" She giggled.
Daeron studied her again. She was strange, certainly. But she had built a bridge where the sea had taken his walls.
"My name is Daeron, as I have said," He said after a moment. He wrote his name in wonky handwriting on the sand. D-A-E-R-O-N T-A-R-G-A-R-Y-E-N, "What is yours?"
"My mom told me not to tell my name to strangers, but you seem nice enough."
She told him her name, and Daeron felt certain he would remember it, even after he woke.