Beyond the Veil

Celeste moved with unwavering determination, her steps deliberate as she descended into the dungeons of the Red Keep. Her eyes were cold, her resolve carved from steel.

The weight of her failure to protect the child pressed heavily on her, the image of his lifeless form haunting her thoughts and clouding her judgment. Yet, it stoked the fire within her, fueling her purpose.

She had only ventured into the dungeons once before, delivering food to prisoners during her time as a scullery maid. Now, the oppressive air and the dark, damp walls seemed to close in around her, amplifying the sound of her footsteps. With each step, she felt herself slipping closer to the version of her she had tried so hard to leave behind—the Celeste forged in the crucible of war.

She came to a halt outside the man’s cell, her lips curling into a sneer of disdain. “You will leave us,” she snapped at the guards stationed outside, extending her hand expectantly for the keys.

“We can’t let you—” one guard began, but the fierce glare she fixed on him silenced his protest. Without another word, he fumbled to hand over the keys, retreating quickly with his companion.

Now they were alone. Exactly as she wanted it.

The man was sat on a crude wooden bench, his back hunched and his head tilted in her direction. His sneer was unmistakable.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice grating and filled with mockery. “If it isn’t the little lady with her magic stick.” He spread his arms wide, the chains binding his wrists clinking against the stone. “Come to gloat, have you? Or maybe you’ve come to cry some more?”

Celeste stopped just outside the cell, her wand resting loosely in her hand. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile.

The man’s grin faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “What’s this?” he muttered, his tone laced with suspicion. “You think this is funny?”

She stepped closer, the torchlight catching the sharp angles of her face. Her smile widened, and then, to his surprise, she laughed.

It wasn’t a light laugh. It was low, cold, and laced with something dangerous. It echoed in the small space, bouncing off the stone walls like a warning.

The man stiffened, his sneer twisting into a look of confusion. “What’s so funny, witch?”

Celeste’s laugh faded into a soft hum, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. She took another step forward, her wand moving to tap lightly against the iron bars of the cell.

“What’s funny,” she said softly, her voice smooth and even, “is that you think you’ve already won.”

The man blinked, his confusion deepening. “Won? What are you—”

“You think your job is done,” she interrupted, her tone sharp but calm. “You think you’ve delivered your message. That you’ve taken something from us that we can never get back.” Her head tilted, her gaze narrowing. “But here’s what you don’t understand.”

She opened the door to the cell, stepping in and locking it behind her. She stepped closer, her fingers tightening around her wand. Her voice dropped to a whisper, cold and deadly.

“I’m not here to cry. I’m not here to mourn. I’m here to break you.”

The man’s sneer returned, though it was weaker now, his unease flickering across his face. “You don’t scare me,” he spat, though his voice lacked conviction. “You’re just a little girl with a toy.”

Celeste smiled again, her laughter bubbling up once more. But this time, it was darker, sharper. She took one final step, her wand pointing directly at his chest.

“Do you want to know more about me?” she asked, a devious smile curving her lips. Slowly, she lifted her sleeve, revealing the dark ink etched into her left arm. “This,” she said, her voice low and sharp, “is a mark reserved for the most trusted followers of a very dark and dangerous man. I was one of them, recruited into his ranks. And he taught me more than you could imagine.”

She began to circle the cell, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. “His right hand, Bellatrix—she was the worst of them all. She had a gift for dealing with men like you, a talent for breaking even the strongest resolve. And lucky me, she taught me everything she knew.” Her voice dropped to a threatening purr, her words dripping with malice.

Stopping mid-step, she laughed softly, shaking her head as her gaze drifted to the wall. “It’s almost ironic. I truly believed I’d left that life behind. That I’d never hurt another soul like I did back then.” Her laugh turned hollow, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed off the stone.

She spun back around, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light in the flickering torch glow. “But funny, isn’t it, how death has a way of shifting your perspective?”

“Do your worst.” The man growled.

“Then let’s play,” she said softly, her voice dripping with quiet menace. “And see how long you keep that bravado.”

The man’s confidence began to crumble, his eyes darting to her wand and then back to her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Celeste was faster.

“Legilimens.”

The word slipped from her lips like silk, and his sneer disappeared as his mind was forced open, his thoughts laid bare before her. Her eyes bore into his, unflinching, as she saw the memories he tried so desperately to hide.

He thrashed against the chains, his breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. “Stop it!” he snarled, his voice trembling with rage and fear. “Get out of my head!”

But Celeste didn’t stop. Her voice was calm, almost detached.

“Who ordered the boy’s death?” she asked, her tone devoid of emotion. “Who gave the command?”

The man’s lips twisted into a grimace, his body straining against the chains. “I’ll tell you nothing!” he spat, his voice cracking.

Celeste withdrew from his mind, her wand lowering slightly. Her expression didn’t shift, but the cold fire in her eyes burned brighter.

“Wrong answer,” she said softly, her voice as sharp as a blade. “Let’s try again.”

Her wand flicked sharply, the Cruciatus Curse bursting from its tip and striking him. The green light surrounded him, wrapping him in its snare. Pain erupted through him, his cry echoing through the dungeon like a wounded animal.

She halted the curse, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her face as his cries continued to echo in the silence. “The Cruciatus Curse. It makes you feel as though your nerve endings are on fire. I would know—it was part of our initiation, a test of endurance to prove we could withstand it. I’ve also seen its darker side, how it can unravel a mind, strip away sanity, and make you forget who you are. I prefer it—it leaves no physical scars, only ones etched deep in the mind.” She crouched down, her gaze leveling with his. 

“So let me make this simple,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You will tell me who ordered the boy’s death. Or I will make you wish you’d never been born.”

The man’s breathing was ragged, his face pale as sweat dripped from his brow. For the first time, true fear flickered in his eyes.

Celeste leaned closer, her wand pressing lightly against his chest. Her smile was gone now, replaced by an icy determination.

“Start talking,” she said softly. “Or I’ll show you what this ‘magic stick’ can really do.”

By the time Celeste had finished with him, the man was ghostly and his once-mocking demeanor had crumbled into fear, his bravado torn apart by Celeste’s unrelenting focus. His chained hands trembled slightly as he slumped against the stone wall, his gaze darting between Celeste’s wand and her piercing eyes.

“You’re wasting time,” Celeste said, her voice calm but edged with steel. Her wand remained steady, a silent reminder of her resolve. “You can hold out, but it’ll only end one way. You tell me, or you tell the king. Either way, the truth comes out.”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his lips parted. “I... I can’t,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’ll kill me.”

Celeste’s lips curved into a faint, humourless smile. “Do you think they’ll be kinder than I am?” she asked softly, tilting her head. “Do you think the king will spare you once he learns what you’ve done?”

The man flinched, his eyes widening. He was cornered, and he knew it.

“Who ordered the boy’s death?” she repeated, her voice sharper now. “Say it. Now.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, the only sound the faint drip of water from the ceiling. Then, finally, he broke.

“Daemon,” he muttered, his voice shaking. His head dropped forward, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “It was Daemon Targaryen. He gave the order.”

Celeste’s breath caught for just a moment, her eyes narrowing. She had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed sent a fresh wave of fury coursing through her.

“And who else?” she pressed, her voice quieter now, but no less commanding. “Who carried it out? Who ensured it would happen?”

The man hesitated, his chains rattling slightly as his hands clenched into fists.

“A rat-catcher. He helped.” He admitted finally, his voice bitter. “The low folk, they’ll do anything for the right price.”

Celeste exhaled slowly, her grip on her wand tightening as she stepped back slightly. She lowered her wand, though her posture remained rigid and unyielding. The pieces clicked together, and Celeste understood—too late once more—the true meaning behind Helaena’s words. A wave of failure crashed over her, heavy and unrelenting, but she refused to let it show.

“Good,” she said softly, her tone laced with quiet approval. “Now you’re starting to see reason.”

The man’s gaze flicked up to her, his expression a mixture of fear and confusion. “You’re not going to kill me?”

Celeste tilted her head, her eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. “No, not me,” she said simply. “You’re going to live. And you’re going to tell the king exactly what you told me.”

His lips parted, his eyes widening. “You think I’ll survive that?”

Her smile returned, cold and sharp. “That depends on how useful you make yourself,” she said calmly. “If you cooperate, you might find the king more merciful than I. If you don’t...” She trailed off, her gaze flicking briefly to the dagger she had disarmed earlier. “Well, you won’t like the alternative.”

The man shuddered, his face pale as he nodded weakly. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him everything.”

“Good,” Celeste said again, her voice softer now. She stepped closer, her silver-grey eyes locking onto his. “Remember this moment. Remember the choice you made. Because when the king comes, and he will, you won’t have the luxury of second chances.”

The man nodded again, his gaze dropping to the floor. His chains rattled as his shoulders slumped, the fight drained from him.

Celeste straightened, her wand slipping back into her sleeve as she turned toward the door, exiting the cell. The cold, hard mask she wore didn’t falter, though her heart pounded in her chest.

As she approached the exit, the faint flicker of torchlight caught her attention. Her steps faltered.

Aemond.

He stood at the end of the corridor, his tall frame cloaked in shadows, his blue eye gleaming with something unreadable. His expression was hard, his posture rigid, but there was something in the way he looked at her that made her breath hitch.

“Aemond,” she said softly, her voice betraying her surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze swept over her, taking in the tension in her shoulders, the faint smudge of dirt on her cheek, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly. His jaw clenched, and he stepped forward, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor.

“You were different in there,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “Colder. Sharper.”

Celeste stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she tilted her chin. “I did what was necessary,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest.

He took another step closer, his gaze piercing. “I saw you.”

Her breath caught, her pulse quickening. “You what?”

“I saw,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “I watched as you broke him down. The way you controlled him, the way you used his own fear against him.” His eye burned as it locked onto hers. “It was... impressive.”

Celeste’s heart twisted. She wasn’t sure if his words were meant as a compliment or a warning.

“You shouldn’t have been there,” she said softly, her voice laced with frustration. “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

Aemond tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And yet I did.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he was faster. He closed the distance between them in a single step, his hand reaching out to catch her wrist. The sudden contact sent a jolt through her, her breath hitching as his grip was firm but not painful.

“Aemond—” she started, but the words died on her lips as he moved closer, his tall frame towering over her.

“You’re not as soft as you pretend to be,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with something dangerous. “There’s a fire in you, Celeste. A darkness.”

Her chest tightened, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. “You don’t know me,” she whispered, though her voice lacked its usual strength.

His smirk widened, though his gaze remained intense. “Don’t I?”

Before she could respond, he moved. His free hand pressed against the cold stone wall beside her, pinning her in place as he leaned in. His breath was warm against her skin, his eye flickering with something she couldn’t name.

“You fascinate me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “The way you fight. The way you think. The way you burn.”

Celeste’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath quick and shallow as she searched his face for answers. “Aemond—”

But his lips cut her off.

The kiss was sudden, fierce, and consuming. His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, pulling her closer as his body pressed against hers. The cold stone at her back was a sharp contrast to the heat of his touch, the intensity of his kiss stealing the air from her lungs.

For a moment, she froze, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts. But then the fire he spoke of roared to life, and she kissed him back, her hands gripping the front of his tunic as if anchoring herself to him.

The world around them faded, the cold of the dungeons and the weight of their responsibilities falling away. There was only him, only this, only the fire they shared.

She was lost. Lost in the taste of him, the warmth of his mouth, the way his body pressed against hers like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between them. The scent of leather and steel mingled with the faint, earthy scent of the dungeons, but all she could focus on was him — the sheer force of him, the undeniable presence that made her blood roar in her veins.

Her mind screamed at her to stop, to push him away, to remind herself of all the reasons this was dangerous. But her heart betrayed her, answering his fire with a flame of its own, burning away the walls she had built around herself.

The kiss deepened, his lips moving against hers with a fierce hunger that left her breathless. His hand at her waist slid upward slightly, his thumb brushing against her ribs in a way that sent a shiver through her entire body. She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a precipice, and with every movement, he was pulling her closer to the fall.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling as he stared down at her. His eye burned with an intensity that made her knees weak, his lips parted slightly as if he couldn’t bring himself to let the moment go.

Her own breath came in ragged gasps, her silver-grey eyes wide and searching as she stared back at him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, her voice trembling but not with fear.

His smirk returned, softer this time but no less confident. “I disagree.”

Her heart raced as she searched his face, her emotions a chaotic storm. “Aemond, this is dangerous.”

His expression softened slightly, though the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. “So are you.”

And with that, he stepped back, his hand falling away as he turned and walked away, leaving her standing against the cold stone wall, her lips still tingling from the kiss.

Celeste’s mind spun, her heart pounding in her chest.

He had seen her darkest edge, the side of her she had tried so hard to bury. And instead of recoiling, he had drawn closer.

The fire burned brighter now, consuming her doubts and fears. And she revelled in the flames.