Beyond the Veil

Celeste moved through the corridors of the Red Keep with a purpose, her heart heavy with the weight of her last encounter—or lack thereof—with Sirius. Days had passed since she had seen him in the distance, his laugh a haunting echo in her mind. She had replayed that moment over and over, berating herself for her hesitation, her inability to move, to call out to him. The thought of him being so close yet so unreachable gnawed at her, driving her to distraction.

Since that moment, she had scoured the keep, her eyes constantly scanning the halls, the courtyards, and the dining chambers for a glimpse of him. She learned to listen for the murmurs of the courtiers, their gossip becoming her lifeline. His name—though they called him "the foreigner" more often than not—was sprinkled through their conversations like crumbs leading her toward him. But each time she thought she was close, fate seemed to twist cruelly against her.

It started the very next morning. Celeste had been assigned to help serve breakfast in one of the smaller dining chambers—a task she usually dreaded for fear of drawing the wrong kind of attention. But when she overheard two stewards mentioning that Sirius would be attending, her nerves turned to a sharp edge of anticipation.

She carried a tray of fruit and bread into the chamber, her heart racing as her eyes darted over the seated lords and ladies. She didn’t see him at first, but then—there he was, entering through the far door, his presence commanding even in the simple act of walking. He looked as confident as ever, his movements graceful and fluid, his face animated as he spoke with one of the courtiers beside him.

Celeste’s breath hitched. He’s here. I can do this. I can speak to him. She steadied the tray in her hands and moved toward him, her steps careful but determined. But just as she reached the table where he had sat, a hand clapped down on her shoulder.

“Not for them,” barked one of the head stewards, jerking his chin toward the far end of the chamber. “You’re serving the lesser lords.”

Celeste opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. Her fingers tightened around the tray as she reluctantly turned away, her chest tightening as Sirius faded into the crowd of nobles. When she dared to glance back, he was already deep in conversation, his head tilted with that familiar, wolfish grin on his face.

The next time, she had been assigned to assist in preparing the courtyard for a gathering. She overheard two guards saying Sirius would be present, and she spent the entire morning anxiously perfecting every detail, hoping it would keep her close when he arrived. But by the time she saw him from across the courtyard, she was trapped lugging a heavy basket of supplies through a side gate.

He was seated on a stone bench, his head tilted back to bask in the sun as he listened to a bard strumming a lute. The sight of him so at ease made Celeste’s heart ache, but as she tried to work her way closer, she was intercepted by another servant.

“Where are you going with that? The kitchens need it immediately,” the man barked.

Celeste’s lips tightened. “I can bring it after—”

“Now,” the servant snapped, already turning away. With a huff, she did as she was told.

By the time she returned to the courtyard, Sirius was gone.

Every missed chance seemed to deepen her frustration, her desperation growing with each passing day. It wasn’t just her inability to reach him—it was the feeling of being trapped by the expectations of her station. She wasn’t just Celeste Black, the daughter of Sirius and heir of the Noble Black Family; here, she was nothing more than a scullery maid, a shadow in the background of the grand stage that was the Red Keep.

The final straw came during an evening banquet. Celeste had volunteered to serve wine, knowing it would put her closer to the lords and ladies in attendance. As she moved through the room, her eyes darted constantly toward the high table, where Sirius sat beside King Viserys himself, or the weakened and ill version of him anyway as his health rapidly deteriorated. Sirius looked every inch the nobleman, his laughter mingling with the king’s weak one as they shared some private joke.

Celeste’s chest burned with longing and frustration. This is it. I’ll speak to him tonight. I have to. But as she approached the high table with a fresh decanter of wine, one of the other servants tripped, sending a platter of roasted meat crashing to the floor. The sound silenced the room, all eyes turning toward the hapless maid.

In the chaos that followed—cleaning the mess, soothing the angry nobles, and trying to avoid drawing the ire of the queen—Celeste lost sight of Sirius. By the time she had the chance to look again, he had already left the banquet hall.

That night, Celeste sat on her narrow cot in the servants’ quarters, her head in her hands. Her fingers ached from the day’s work, but the ache in her chest was far worse. The weight of her failure pressed down on her, her resolve cracking under the strain of missed opportunities and mounting doubt.

Why can’t I reach him? she thought bitterly. Why does the universe seem so determined to keep us apart?

She closed her eyes, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. She had crossed the Veil for him, risked everything to find him, and now that he was here, it felt as though fate itself was conspiring against her.

But even in her frustration, a spark of determination remained. This isn’t over, she told herself, her jaw tightening. I didn’t come all this way to give up now.

She lay down on the cot, staring up at the dark ceiling of the servants’ quarters as she tried to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—Sirius, laughing with the king, basking in the sunlight, moving just out of her reach. The weight of her failure pressed down on her like a stone, and she clenched her fists against the scratchy blanket that barely kept out the chill.

Finally, the tension became too much to bear. Celeste sat up abruptly, her breaths shallow as she swung her legs over the side of the cot. She glanced around the room; the other maids were sound asleep, their soft snores filling the air. The dim moonlight streaming through the small window cast long shadows across the cramped space.

I need air. I can’t stay here.

Grabbing her cloak, she slipped it over her shoulders and padded silently to the door. The cold stone floor sent a chill through her bare feet, but she didn’t care. She eased the door open, wincing at the faint creak of the hinges, and stepped into the dark corridor.

The halls of the Red Keep were eerie at night, the flickering torchlight casting long, shifting shadows on the stone walls. Celeste moved quietly, her footsteps barely audible as she navigated the maze-like corridors. Her anger propelled her forward, each step a defiant rejection of the helplessness she had felt all day.

She wasn’t sure where she was going until she found herself in one of the open courtyards. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of the sea. Above her, the stars stretched endlessly, their cold light glinting like shards of glass scattered across the velvet sky. Celeste pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and crossed the courtyard, her footsteps echoing softly against the flagstones.

She stopped near a low stone wall, resting her hands on its cool surface as she tilted her head back to gaze at the stars. The sight was both beautiful and painful, a reminder of the nights she and Sirius had spent stargazing in the upper window of Grimmauld Place. He had always pointed out constellations with a childlike wonder that belied his often brash demeanor, weaving stories about their origins that were equal parts mythology and mischief. He’d share snippets of her heritage as, even though painful, he believed Celeste had a right to know the family which had shaped Sirius into the man he was. It had helped Celeste understand him better, and more importantly, how her views of the world, Pure-Blood Supremacy, was a lie.

Her throat tightened at the memory, and before she could stop herself, a tear slipped down her cheek. She quickly swiped it away, but another followed, and then another. The dam broke, and she let out a silent sob, the weight of her emotions spilling over. She didn’t cry often—she had learned long ago that tears solved nothing—but tonight, she couldn’t hold them back.

“Why?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked up at the sky. “Why can’t I reach you?”

The stars offered no answer, their distant light indifferent to her pain. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as anger mingled with her grief. She had crossed the Veil for him, risked everything to find him, and yet fate seemed determined to keep them apart. It felt cruel, unjust.

“I came here for you,” she said, her voice breaking. “I gave up everything for this, and you’re… you’re right there. Why can’t I—” She choked on the words, her head dropping as fresh tears streamed down her face. “I crossed worlds for you, and I’m still… still stuck.”

She didn’t know how long she stood there, trembling and alone under the vast sky. The cool night air stung her skin, but it did little to soothe the storm raging inside her. Her tears eventually slowed, leaving her feeling hollow and spent.

Her chest tightened as she dropped her head. Her fingers clenched against the stone, her knuckles white. The stars above offered no comfort, their distant light indifferent to her pain.

“You’re pathetic,” a cold voice cut through the quiet.

Celeste spun around, her heart lurching in her chest. Standing at the edge of the courtyard, barely visible in the shadows, was Prince Aemond Targaryen. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the moonlight. His expression was inscrutable, his single blue eye fixed on her like a blade.

She tensed, her stomach twisting. “What do you want?” she snapped, wiping at her face quickly, though she knew it was pointless. He’d already seen her crying. She braced herself for the ridicule she was certain would follow.

Aemond stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the flagstones. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture straight and commanding. “You’re out here weeping like a child,” he said, his tone clipped. “If you’re trying to draw attention to yourself, you’ve succeeded.”

Celeste’s cheeks burned with humiliation. “I wasn’t—” she began, but he cut her off with a sharp look.

“Save your excuses,” he said, his voice lowering but losing none of its sharpness. “If you think anyone here will pity you for your tears, you’re a fool. This is not a place for the weak.”

Her anger flared at his words, masking her vulnerability. “What would you know of it?” she shot back. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Aemond stopped a few paces away, his gaze narrowing. “I know enough,” he said coldly. “I know this world will chew you up and spit you out if you don’t learn to control yourself. Do you think the lords and ladies of this court wouldn’t revel in tearing you apart if they saw you like this?”

Celeste’s breath hitched. His words stung because they were true. She turned away from him, her hands tightening on the edge of the wall as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Why do you care?” she muttered. “If I make a fool of myself, that’s my problem, not yours.”

There was a beat of silence before Aemond spoke again, his voice softer but still firm. “You’re right. It’s not my problem. But if you want to survive here, you’ll listen to me.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, surprised by the shift in his tone. His expression was still harsh, but there was something else there now—a flicker of something that almost resembled concern.

“I don’t need your advice,” she said stubbornly, though her voice wavered.

Aemond’s lips curled into a faint smirk, though it lacked its usual cruelty. “You clearly need something. Look at you.” He gestured toward her tear-streaked face, his tone still cutting but now laced with an edge of exasperation. “You think those tears will fix whatever it is you’re running from? They won’t.”

Her shoulders sagged, her anger ebbing away as the weight of his words sank in. “I’m not running,” she said quietly, though she didn’t sound convinced.

Aemond stepped closer, leaning slightly against the wall beside her. He studied her for a moment, his eye searching her face. “Whatever brought you here, whatever’s haunting you—it doesn’t matter if you let it break you.”

Celeste looked at him, surprised by the unexpected harsh kindness in his words. “And what if it already has?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softened, just for a moment. “Then you put the pieces back together. Quietly. Without making a spectacle of yourself.”

She let out a bitter laugh, though it held no real humor. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “But nothing worthwhile ever is.”

The two stood in silence for a while, the tension between them ebbing into something quieter, more reflective. Aemond straightened, his usual composure returning as he folded his hands behind his back.

“You’re stronger than this,” he said, his voice steady. “Even if you don’t believe it.”

Before she could respond, he turned and began walking away, his steps measured and deliberate. At the edge of the courtyard, he paused, glancing back at her. “You’d do well to remember that.”

And then he was gone, his figure swallowed by the shadows of the keep.

Celeste turned back to the stars, her tears dry now, though her chest still ached. Aemond’s words replayed in her mind, their sharp edges cutting through her frustration and grief. She didn’t know if she could believe him—didn’t know if she was strong enough to face everything this world had thrown at her—but for the first time in days, she felt the faintest flicker of hope.

“Put the pieces back together,” she murmured to herself, her voice carrying softly into the night.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

The faint glow of dawn began to stretch over the Red Keep as Celeste returned to her quarters. The quiet corridors felt different now—less like a maze designed to trap her and more like a path to something tangible. Aemond’s words still echoed in her mind, their harshness lingering but their truth undeniable.

“You put the pieces back together. Quietly. Without making a spectacle of yourself.”

She clenched her fists, determination flooding her chest. No more waiting. No more missed chances. It’s time.

For the rest of the morning, Celeste worked with a purpose that surprised even herself. She moved quickly through her tasks in the kitchens, her mind carefully weaving a plan. Sirius was often seen in the council chambers, deep in discussion with the King’s Hand, Otto Hightower, and other prominent lords. If she could find a reason—create a reason—to be there, she could put herself directly in his path. She wouldn’t waste this opportunity.

By midday, her chance came. One of the stewards, red-faced and frantic, burst into the kitchens, barking about a spilled pitcher of wine in the council room that needed cleaning immediately. Lyra, already swamped with demands for the upcoming banquet, waved Celeste over.

“Take care of it,” she said, thrusting a bucket and cloth into her hands. “And be quick about it. The lords don’t like waiting.”

Celeste swallowed the sudden rush of nerves and nodded, gripping the bucket tightly as she made her way toward the council chambers. Her heart thudded in her chest, the sound echoing in her ears as she climbed the winding staircase. This is it. No hesitation. No turning back.

The doors to the council room loomed ahead, slightly ajar. Celeste paused outside, taking a deep breath to steady herself before pushing them open just enough to slip inside. The room was grand, its high ceilings and stained-glass windows casting colorful patterns on the polished stone floor. A long table dominated the space, its surface covered in maps, scrolls, and goblets of wine.

Her eyes darted around the room until they landed on him.

Sirius.

He stood near the head of the table, one hand braced on the edge as he leaned forward to speak. His voice was low, smooth, commanding—it carried an authority that made the other lords listen intently. Even now, after all this time, he had a presence that demanded attention. Celeste’s breath caught, her resolve faltering for just a moment as she took him in.

Up close, she could make out his eyes clearer, a sharper and harder look than the Sirius she remembered. But there was a warmth in his expression, a hint of mischief in the curl of his lips, that hadn’t faded.

Her heart ached at the sight of him, but she forced herself to focus. You’re here for a reason. Don’t waste it.

She dipped her head, keeping her face hidden as she approached the spill near the far end of the table. The lords barely noticed her as she knelt to clean the dark stain spreading across the floor. Her hands trembled slightly, but she worked quickly, her ears straining to catch snippets of the conversation.

Sirius’s voice cut through the others, confident and clear. “We need to act now, before the cracks in their alliance become irreparable. Waiting will only strengthen their position.”

The room murmured in agreement, but Celeste barely registered the words, willing herself not to become emotional as she heard his voice for the first time in years. It was still raspy and rich, yet she could make out the gentle undertones still.

All she could think about was how close he was—how her plan, flimsy as it was, might actually work.

When the spill was cleaned, she stood, careful to keep her head down as she collected the bucket and cloth. She began to retreat toward the door, her mind racing. Do it now. Make him see you.

But before she could speak, the bucket slipped from her hands, the metal clanging loudly against the stone floor, causing her to flinch and a sheepish look overtook her features. The sound silenced the room instantly, all eyes snapping toward her. Her pulse quickened, her cheeks flushing as she bent to retrieve it.

Sirius turned at the noise, his sharp gaze locking onto her. Celeste straightened, her heart hammering in her chest as she finally met his eyes. The recognition was immediate, the colour draining from his face as his expression shifted from confusion to shock.

For a moment, no one spoke. The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on her like a physical force.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Sirius spoke, “Celeste?”