Threads of Fate
The last time Celeste had felt like this was when Narcissa was preparing her for a party with the other Pure-Blood families, the idea of an arranged marriage lingering in the air.
The tailor’s workshop, located in the upper market, was a haven of luxury, its walls lined with bolts of fabric in every imaginable colour and texture. The air was rich with the scent of lavender and beeswax, and sunlight danced across gilded mirrors and finely carved wooden furniture. Celeste’s eyes sparkled as she took it all in, her excitement palpable.
It had been years since she’d been in a place like this, surrounded by luxury and artistry, but it felt like slipping back into a part of herself she had almost forgotten.
“Oh, look at this!” she exclaimed, running her fingers over a bolt of deep sapphire velvet. “And this!” She moved to a shimmering silver silk, holding it up against herself as she twirled slightly. “Dad, these are exquisite!”
“Lord Sirius,” the tailor said, bowing low, his attention brought to the pair as he heard Celeste admiring the different fabrics. He was a wiry man with keen eyes and a sharp jawline, dressed impeccably in a doublet of midnight blue. “A pleasure, as always. And who might this be?”
Sirius straightened, his voice steady and commanding. “This is my daughter, Celeste,” he said. “She’ll need several gowns befitting her station.”
The tailor’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he recovered quickly, turning his full attention to Celeste. “Lady Celeste,” he said, bowing again. “It’s an honour.”
Celeste smiled, inclining her head graciously, her hand dropping from the fabric. “Thank you. I’m eager to see what you can create.”
“Of course,” the tailor said, clapping his hands sharply. His assistants, a pair of young women dressed in simple but well-made frocks, immediately stepped forward, carrying armfuls of fabric. “Please, step onto the platform so we can begin.”
Celeste moved to the raised platform surrounded by mirrors, her movements graceful and confident. She had never felt out of place in settings like this; her upbringing in the Malfoy household had ensured that she was well-versed in aristocratic etiquette and the finer points of presentation. She stood tall as the assistants began taking her measurements, their hands quick and efficient as they worked.
“What colours do you favor, my lady?” the tailor asked, his tone deferential.
“Green,” she said immediately, her voice decisive. “Emerald, with silver accents. Something elegant but striking. It’s important to make a statement.”
Sirius smirked from where he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “She’s already making statements, and she hasn’t even stepped into court yet.”
“Quiet, you,” Celeste said, throwing him a teasing look. “I’m taking this seriously.”
“Clearly,” Sirius replied, though there was pride in his tone. “But don’t bankrupt me while you’re at it.”
She smiled devilishly to him in the mirror. “No promises.”
The tailor chuckled softly as he motioned for one of the assistants to bring over a bolt of rich emerald brocade. “A fine choice, my lady. This fabric will drape beautifully and catch the light in all the right ways.”
Celeste reached out to touch the brocade, her fingers skimming over its intricate silver threading. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice soft with appreciation. “Add a lower neckline and some silver embroidery along the hem. Something that says power, but not arrogance.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you’ve been planning this for years.”
“I might have,” she said lightly, though there was a glint of determination in her eyes.
As the tailor and his assistants worked, draping fabrics and pinning samples against her, Celeste’s confidence only grew. She offered suggestions and tweaks with ease, her eye for detail evident in every decision she made.
“What about a second gown?” the tailor asked. “For less formal occasions.”
Celeste glanced at Sirius, who gave her a small nod. “Blue,” she said after a moment, pointing to a bolt of sapphire velvet. “Something softer but still refined. High neckline, long sleeves, and maybe some subtle embroidery around the cuffs.”
“A fine choice,” the tailor said, already sketching out the design.
“And for your more private appearances, my lady?” he asked.
Celeste smiled, her aristocratic upbringing shining through. “Red silk, the colours of my fathers house, simple but elegant. A gown that lets its wearer speak louder than the fabric.”
Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re a natural at this, you know.”
She turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. “It’s a skill that came with my upbringing. Though you can take credit for the confidence, if you’d like.”
“Damn right, I will,” Sirius said, his grin widening.
As the fitting continued, Sirius began to relax, his initial restlessness giving way to quiet pride. Watching Celeste in her element, commanding the room with a mix of grace and authority, he felt a swell of emotion he hadn’t expected. She was every inch his daughter, and yet she carried herself with a poise that was uniquely her own.
“She’ll need a cloak,” Sirius said suddenly, interrupting the tailor as he inspected a hemline. “Something that matches the emerald gown. Velvet, lined with fur.”
“Of course, my lord,” the tailor said, making a note. “Anything else?”
Sirius paused, glancing at Celeste. “She’s representing the Black family,” he said. “Make sure everyone knows it.”
The tailor nodded, his expression serious. “Understood.”
By the time they finished, Celeste was surrounded by a whirlwind of fabric swatches, sketches, and pinned samples. She stepped down from the platform, her emerald gown still in its early stages but already taking shape.
“You’ll have everything ready within a few days,” the tailor promised. “In time for the court presentation.”
“Perfect,” Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve outdone yourself, as always.”
The tailor bowed. “It’s an honour, my lord.”
By the time they left the workshop, Celeste’s mind was buzzing with visions of silks, velvets, and brocades. She had commissioned three gowns, each gown having been designed with her input, and she couldn’t wait to see the final results.
“Now that,” Celeste said as they walked back to Sirius’s quarters, “was exactly what I needed. I feel like myself again.”
Sirius glanced at her, his expression softening. “You were always yourself, Celeste. Even when you were scrubbing floors. But I’m glad you’re feeling more… at home.”
She smiled up at him, the warmth in his voice filling her chest. “Thank you for this,” she said. “I know you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, but it means a lot.”
Sirius draped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her close as they walked. “You’re my daughter,” he said simply. “And when you step into that court, I want everyone to know exactly who you are. You’re not just anyone, Celeste. You’re a Black.”
Her smile widened, and she leaned into his side. “I’ll make you proud.”
“You already have,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.
“Oh!” Celeste exclaimed, bouncing slightly. “I need to grab my bag. I bought as much as I could fit through the Veil with me.”
Sirius nodded, stepping away. “Best get it then. in the meantime, I’ll make preparations to have a room ready nearby.”
Celeste smiled and nodded, making her way out of Sirius’s chambers and down the stone corridors of the Red Keep. The hem of one of her newly tailored dress swished softly around her ankles, her new heels clicking softly against the stone. The emerald-green fabric of the dress shimmered in the faint torchlight, silver accents catching the glow with every step she took. The tailor’s assistants had worked quickly to prepare an extra gown, something off one of the mannequins which required little alterations, and now she wore it proudly—a clear marker of her elevated status as Sirius Black’s daughter.
The weight of the fabric, the delicate embroidery, and the way the dress hugged her form filled her with a confidence she hadn’t felt in years. The scullery maid was gone. Now, she felt like herself again—strong, poised, and ready to face the court.
The corridor leading to the servants’ quarters was dimly lit, the air cooler and quieter here. Her bag was where she had left it, tucked neatly under the cot she had slept on for months. She grabbed it quickly, wishing to avoid confrontation by the others. Whilst she had made friends, she had no care to answer the questions of the nosier maids.
She had just reached a door to the upper corridors when a familiar voice, sharp and laced with amusement, stopped her in her tracks.
“Well, well. What have we here?”
Celeste turned slowly, her heart sinking as she met the piercing violet gaze of Prince Aemond Targaryen. He stood at the far end of the hall, his silver hair gleaming in the low light, his posture straight and composed. Beside him was his sister, Princess Helaena, whose dreamy expression softened the contrast of Aemond’s sharp features.
Celeste straightened her shoulders, meeting Aemond’s gaze without flinching. “Good evening, my lord. My lady.”
Aemond’s eye swept over her, his lip curling faintly. “You’re certainly dressed above your station,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Or have the kitchens decided that scullery maids should be clad in silk and brocade now?”
Celeste’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to keep her tone even. “Perhaps the kitchens are more refined than you give them credit for, my lord.”
Helaena giggled softly, stepping forward to examine Celeste more closely. “Oh, it’s lovely,” she said, her voice light and sincere. “The green suits you so well. Like a jewel from the sea.” She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over the fabric. “Who made it?”
“Master Peryn, the tailor,” Celeste replied, offering a polite smile. “He does excellent work.”
Helaena nodded, her gaze distant as her fingers lingered on the fabric. “It’s a dress for a courtly lady, not a servant,” she said softly, her words more observation than question. Her head tilted slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Two threads. Twisting. Binding. Green and silver. Fire and shadow.”
Celeste blinked, her breath catching at the eerie cadence of Helaena’s words. She glanced at Aemond, but his expression remained guarded, his gaze fixed on her.
“What are you speaking of now, sister?” he asked, a flicker of curiosity in his eye.
Helaena ignored him, her fingers falling away from the dress as she smiled faintly at Celeste. “It’s beautiful,” she said simply, her earlier prophecy hanging unspoken between them.
Celeste nodded her thanks, unsure of how to respond. Her heart pounded in her chest, both from the intensity of Helaena’s words and the weight of Aemond’s scrutiny. She could feel his gaze, sharp and assessing, as though he were trying to unravel her with his single eye.
“And what, pray tell, has brought you to such elevated company?” Aemond asked, his tone cold but laced with curiosity. “Your presence in this attire raises questions, and I can’t imagine you’d enjoy the answers most would conjure.”
Celeste met his gaze evenly, her voice steady. “Perhaps you’ll find out soon enough, my lord.”
His eye narrowed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Careful, little sparrow. You’re beginning to sound like someone with secrets.”
“And you’re beginning to sound like someone who doesn’t know everything,” she replied smoothly, the faintest hint of a smile curling her lips.
Helaena giggled again, clapping her hands lightly. “Oh, I do enjoy your company, Celeste.”
Aemond’s smirk widened, but he said nothing, merely inclining his head as though conceding her point. “We’ll see, won’t we?” he said softly, his tone more dangerous now.
With that, Celeste offered a polite curtsy to both of them. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, my lady.”
Aemond’s eye lingered on Celeste as she disappeared around the corner, the swish of her emerald gown trailing behind her. She carried herself differently now, her posture straight and her movements deliberate, as though she were no longer accustomed to lurking in the shadows of the keep. That, more than the finery of her attire, piqued his interest.
“What do you make of her?” he asked, his voice quiet but edged with curiosity.
Helaena tilted her head, her gaze still fixed on where Celeste had vanished. Her blue eyes were dreamy, unfocused, but there was an intensity in her expression that made Aemond wait for her answer.
“She’s a thread,” Helaena murmured, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her own gown as though she could feel the invisible weave of fate. “A new one, weaving into the tapestry. Strong, but… tangled.”
Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line. He had grown used to Helaena’s cryptic musings, but this one felt more pointed, as if she knew something he didn’t. “Tangled how?”
Helaena turned her gaze to him, her soft smile tinged with something distant. “She’s like you, Aemond. A shadow following fire. You’ll see.”
Aemond’s brow furrowed at her words, the cryptic prophecy settling uneasily in his mind. He had learned to interpret Helaena’s riddles as warnings or portents, and this one left him with more questions than answers.
“She’s no servant,” he said after a moment, his tone sharp with certainty. “That much is clear.”
Helaena nodded absently, her gaze drifting back to the door. “No, not a servant. But she’s not ready yet. Not to reveal herself.”
“Reveal herself?” Aemond repeated, his interest sharpening. “What do you mean?”
Helaena didn’t answer, instead turning her attention to the tapestry on the wall beside them. She traced a finger along the intricate patterns, her voice quiet but sure. “She’s hiding something. Something important.”
Aemond’s jaw tightened. “If she’s hiding something, I’ll uncover it. No one walks these halls unnoticed, especially not someone like her.”
Helaena glanced at him, her smile widening slightly. “You’ll try. But she’s clever. And stubborn.”
Aemond raised an eyebrow, his curiosity deepening. “You seem quite taken with her.”
“She’s a thread,” Helaena repeated, her tone light but firm. “And she’s twining with yours, Aemond. Fire and shadow.”
His expression darkened slightly at the repeated mention of shadows. “I’ve had enough riddles, Helaena. Speak plainly.”
But Helaena only smiled, stepping past him and trailing her hand along the tapestry. “Some things aren’t meant to be plain, brother. Some things must be unraveled in time.”
Aemond sighed, his frustration mounting, but he knew better than to press her. Helaena’s visions, cryptic as they were, often held truths that revealed themselves only when the moment was right. For now, he could only focus on what he did know: the woman who had so casually traded barbs with him was no simple servant. Her gown, her confidence, and her poise all pointed to something far greater.
He glanced back at the door one last time, his mind already turning over the possibilities. Who are you, little sparrow? And why are you here?
Whatever the answers were, Aemond was determined to find them.