Beyond the Veil

The sharp scent of ink and parchment filled the small chamber as Sirius Black sat at a heavy oak table, quill in hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. A fire crackled faintly in the hearth behind him, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled over the room. Several scrolls lay open before him, each bearing the sigil of noble houses from across Westeros.

His hand moved with practiced precision, the soft scratch of quill against parchment the only sound for a time. His cloak was draped loosely over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms marked with faint scars and tattoos from a life lived on the edge of conflict.

The door swung open without warning.

Celeste stormed in, her movements quick and sharp, her dress swishing against her ankles as she entered with the force of a gale. Her eyes blazed with barely restrained frustration, her lips pressed into a firm, thin line.

Sirius didn’t look up immediately, his quill still scratching away at the parchment before him. “If you’re here to borrow coin, you’ll be sorely disappointed, Celeste,” he muttered, his tone dry and laced with exhaustion. “I’m currently selling my soul to Westerosi politics.”

“It’s not coin I’m after,” she snapped, walking straight to the chair opposite him and sinking into it with more force than necessary. She leaned forward, her elbows braced on her knees, her silver eyes locked on him like a predator stalking its prey. “It’s patience. And I’m all out.”

Sirius glanced up at her, his quill hovering above the parchment. His silver eyes — so like hers — swept over her face with quiet amusement. “Rough morning, then?”

“Aemond,” she said simply, her tone sharp as broken glass.

Sirius arched a brow, leaning back in his chair, the quill still held loosely between his fingers. “Ah.”

He set the quill down slowly, folding his arms over his chest, his gaze sharp but curious. “What did the one-eyed prince do this time?”

“He walks around like the whole world owes him reverence. It’s unbearable.” Celeste raised her hands in the air, her voice growing louder with each word. “And then he warns me to keep things to myself. As if I would be stupid enough to announce my secrets to the entire Keep!” Her eyes narrowed, her fingers tapping an angry rhythm on the arm of the chair. “The audacity of him, thinking he needs to ‘remind’ me not to be reckless. Me! Of all people!”

Sirius's grin widened into something closer to a wolfish smirk. “Sounds like you like him.”

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp as daggers. “Don’t you dare.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his grin not fading in the slightest. “People don’t complain this much about things they don’t care about, Celeste.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall from her head. “He thinks he’s untouchable because he rides a big dragon. If I had a dragon, I’d be unbearable too, but at least I’d have the decency to keep it quiet.” She leaned forward, her silver-grey eyes bright with exasperation. “And he keeps giving me these little warnings like I need him to teach me how to survive.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “As if I haven’t been through more than he could ever imagine.”

Sirius leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed, watching her with quiet curiosity. “He’s been raised to believe he’s untouchable,” he said slowly, his eyes thoughtful as he stared at the fireplace. “Men like that aren’t used to being challenged. Especially not by someone like you.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “What does that mean, ‘someone like me’?”

He tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “It means you’re clever. And you don’t bow.” His eyes flicked to hers, his gaze steady and sharp. “He’s used to people bowing.”

Celeste leaned back in her chair, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. She hated that he was right.

“Still,” she muttered, brushing her hair back from her face. “He doesn’t have to be so… unbearable.” Her fingers drummed softly on the edge of the chair. “I’d like to see him try to ‘survive’ where we came from. One week in our world, and he’d come running back to his dragon.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, his eyes lighting up with genuine amusement. “You think Aemond would last a week?” He shook his head, a grin still tugging at his lips. “I’d give him two days. Tops.”

She snorted, covering her smile with her hand before it could fully form. “Two days is generous.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the fire crackling softly behind them. The steady scratch of rain against the windows echoed faintly in the background. Celeste glanced at the parchment on the table, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the sheer number of them.

“What's all this?” she asked, nodding toward the open scrolls.

Sirius let out a short, humourless laugh. He picked up one of the scrolls, turning it over in his hand like it was a viper about to strike. “I’m writing letters.” He shook his head, his face twisted in mock disgust. “Boring, tedious, and utterly soul-draining letters.”

She raised a brow, leaning forward. “To whom?”

His silver eyes flicked to hers, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “To anyone with power who hasn’t declared for Rhaenyra yet.” He waved the scroll toward her like it was a bad joke. “Aegon wants allies. Otto wants control. And I, apparently, am useful for both.”

Her gaze darkened, her lips twisting into a frown. “They asked you to be part of the council, didn’t they?”

Sirius didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to the parchment, his fingers tracing the edge of it as if contemplating crumpling it into a ball. “They did.”

“And?” Celeste pressed, her eyes sharp, watching every shift in his expression.

He glanced up at her, his jaw tightening. “And I accepted.”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice sharp as a blade. “Why?”

He tilted his head, exhaling through his nose as if the answer were obvious. “Because it’s better to be at the table where the decisions are made than to be outside, wondering what’s coming next.” His eyes met hers, cold but firm. “And because if I don’t do it, someone else will.”

Her gaze softened slightly, her fingers drumming slowly on the arm of the chair. “You don’t like it.”

“No,” he admitted with a slow shake of his head. “I hate it.” His lips pulled into a grim smile. “I was never good at playing by the rules, Celeste. You know that better than anyone.”

“Then why play their game at all?” she asked quietly, her eyes steady on him. “Why not walk away?”

He barked out a short, hollow laugh. “Walk away to where? Essos?” His eyes flicked to hers, his gaze sharper now. “I offered for us to leave and you said no. You know as well as I do that I’m not leaving you, and you’re tied to Helaena. We both walked through that Veil, and it closed behind us. No walking away, Celeste. Not anymore.”

Her throat tightened. Her hands curled into fists, her gaze dropping to her lap. He was right.

Sirius leaned forward, his voice quieter now, his eyes searching hers with quiet intensity. “If I’m to stay here, I’m going to protect you. Even if it means dealing with Otto Hightower and his politics.” He lifted the scroll, his gaze flicking to the sigil at the top. “These letters buy us time, Celeste. Time to figure out what we do next.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze lifting to meet his. “You always were too noble for your own good,” she muttered softly, her eyes filled with quiet affection.

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

They shared a moment of quiet, companionable silence. The fire crackled softly, the scent of ink and parchment still heavy in the air.

Finally, she sighed, pushing herself up from the chair. “If Aemond pushes me again, I’m hexing him.”

Sirius chuckled, his eyes shining with quiet pride. “Good girl.”

She turned toward the door, glancing back only once. “If you need help with the letters, I’m better at flattery than you are.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sirius called after her.

But he was smiling.

Celeste couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she walked towards Helaena’s chambers. She felt lighter and was visibly more relaxed after her rant to Sirius. Whilst she knew she could speak to Helaena just the same, speaking ill about one’s brother was generally frowned upon, no matter what world you resided in.

Her thoughts strayed. Aemond Targaryen was a contradiction wrapped in armour and shadow.

He was sharp, cold, and unyielding — every word, every glance laced with control. But he wasn’t always like that.

That night in her chambers had shown her something different. He’d let himself be soft. His head had rested on her shoulder, his breath warm and steady against her collarbone. For the first time, he wasn’t a prince or a hunter. He was just a boy. Tired. Weary. Human.

She liked him better that way.

No sharp words. No posturing. Just quiet, fragile peace. It felt real in a way his pride never had. And that version of him — the one without his armour — stayed with her longer than she’d care to admit.

But in the daylight, he became the hunter again. Cold stares. Calculating looks. Questions hidden beneath every glance. She knew he was watching her, waiting for cracks in her mask. He was clever. Relentless. And yet… she didn’t hate it.

If anything, she found herself looking for him, too.

She hated that. Or at least she wanted to. But she didn’t.

Because somewhere, buried beneath all that sharp pride and hunger for control, was the boy who’d let himself lean on her. And she wanted to see him again.

Not the prince. Not the hunter. Just him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of footsteps echoing ahead of her, far too loud, too uneven to be a guard. She glanced up, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the figure rounding the corner, his gait loose and uneven.

Aegon.

The king strode down the hall like a man without a care in the world, his silver hair slightly tousled, his tunic crooked as though he'd thrown it on in a rush. A faint wine stain clung to the edge of his sleeve. He was grinning — far too wide for this early in the day.

But it wasn’t Aegon himself that caught Celeste's attention.

It was Jaehaerys.

The young boy was perched on Aegon’s hip, his tiny hands gripping the fabric of his father’s tunic tightly. His silver curls framed his round face, his eyes wide and watchful as they scanned his surroundings. He wasn’t crying, but he wasn’t at ease either.

What is he doing with him?

“Now, my boy,” Aegon said brightly, his voice carrying a rare enthusiasm that almost seemed out of place. “Today’s the day you start learning what it means to be a king.”

Celeste’s brows pulled together, her pace quickening as she closed the distance between them. Aegon’s grin widened when he saw her.

“Lady Celeste,” he greeted, his tone cheerfully exaggerated. “Just the person I wanted to see. Tell me, doesn’t this little lad look like a king already?” He shifted Jaehaerys slightly, holding him up as if to show her. “He’s got the Targaryen look, doesn’t he? All the makings of greatness.”

“That he does, your grace.” she said, her tone sharp but controlled as she stepped closer. Her gaze locked onto Aegon, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Where are you taking him?”

Aegon tilted his head, his smirk growing wider as if he found her question amusing. “To council.”

Celeste blinked, her brows drawing together in confusion. “Council?” Her gaze darted to Jaehaerys, then back to Aegon. “Why in Merlin’s name are you taking a child to council? He’s too young to understand what’s being discussed in the council chamber.”

“Because he’s going to be king one day, isn’t he?” Aegon shot back, his grin sharp as a blade. “Might as well start learning now.”

Her heart sank, her eyes snapping to Jaehaerys again. His little hands gripped his father’s tunic like it was a lifeline.

“He’s a child, my King,” she said firmly, her voice low but dangerous. “He doesn’t need to learn the ways of men like Otto Hightower and Larys Strong. Not yet.”

Aegon let out a bark of laughter, the sound echoing down the hall like the call of a crow. “Not yet, she says. When, then? When he’s older? When he’s ‘ready’?” He leaned forward just slightly, his eyes sharp with something darker now, something bitter. “You think the world waits for boys to be ready, Celeste?”

Her jaw clenched, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “No,” she admitted quietly, her voice colder now. “But it’s not his burden yet. You know that.”

Aegon’s grin faltered for a moment, his gaze flickering briefly. It was a small shift, but she saw it.

“It’s not about burden,” he muttered, his gaze shifting to Jaehaerys, who was still holding on tightly. “It’s about legacy. Do you know what they’ll say about me when I’m gone, Celeste?” His eyes flicked back to hers, sharp with bitterness. “Drunk. Unworthy. Weak. They’ll say I wasn’t fit to wear this crown and that is because I wasn't taught how to be King.”

Her breath stilled. For a moment, she saw it. The cracks beneath the golden surface, the weight of the crown pressing on a man who never asked for it. For the second time since meeting Aegon, she felt sorry for him.

But pity did not outweigh sense.

“Then break the cycle,” she said quietly, stepping forward, her eyes locked on his. “Don’t drag him into your war before he even knows what war is.”

Aegon’s eyes flickered with something too raw to name. He laughed softly, but it wasn’t real.

“You think I’m like my father?” he asked, tilting his head like he was amused by the very thought. “You think I’ll sit back and watch them destroy my children while I rot in my chambers?”

“No,” she said quietly, her gaze unwavering. “I think you’re afraid you’ll be worse.”

Silence.

Aegon’s grin vanished completely.

His eyes darkened, his fingers twitching just slightly where they held Jaehaerys. His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight as if he were grinding his teeth.

“You’re clever,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her with something between curiosity and contempt. “Too clever for your own good.”

She tilted her head, unbothered by his glare. “I’ve been told that before.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes flicking back to Jaehaerys. The little boy blinked up at him, wide-eyed but silent. Aegon’s face shifted. Just slightly.

Regret.

“You are worrying too much. You’re starting to sound too much like my sister-wife. Worry not, my lady. I’ll make sure he’s not scarred for life.” Aegon said, his grip on his son tightening just slightly. 

“I hope you do,” Celeste replied, her voice steady, her gaze unwavering. “For his sake, and for yours.”

Aegon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he continued down the corridor, his son still perched in his arms. Jaehaerys glanced back at Celeste, his wide eyes blinking curiously before he rested his head against his father’s shoulder.

Celeste watched them go, her arms still folded tightly across her chest. Her heart ached for the boy, so innocent and unaware of the heavy expectations already being placed upon him.

The crown was a heavy burden. She knew that too well.

With a quiet sigh, she turned and resumed her path to Helaena’s chambers, her steps slower now, her thoughts lingering on Aegon’s words and the boy who deserved better. Much better.