Chapter Text
Rhaenys I
Death of Dragons
A city of sandstone rose from the dusty desert as if from the wavering dream of a mirage. Not a single soul moved through the streets, only brightly colored sunshades and awnings fluttered in the hot wind. In the distance a great castle of reddish stone sat next to a poisonous, smoking river that appeared to be made from brimstone. The Brimstone. From the red sands of this hell, thousands of their best men under Lord Harland Tyrell had disappeared without a trace. They would be avenged. Her brother and sister had already burned Hellholt once and now it was her turn.
Rhaenys urged Meraxes to a stop in the skies above the castle and observed the parapets and tall towers. Men could be seen scuttling along the walls. Finally, they show their cowardly faces. It is time they know what fire and blood really means. She had given that toad Meria Martell the chance to surrender once and been refused. And when they had thence returned and declared a abandoned Dorne theirs, the cowards had appeared like a swarm of locusts. Not again. This time would be different. She would not return empty-handed to her dearest brother. Hellholt would feel her wrath.
Meraxes giant wings pulsed against the air and Rhaenys inhaled and exhaled to their beat in preparation for the attack. This was her routine, to become focused and one with the she-dragon. Not like any of that mattered, the Ullers could never stand against them. Still, best to not get over confident, or indulgent. This was her family’s solemn duty. The lands of Westeros had to be conquered and united so that they would be prepared when the cold winds came upon the world.
Rhaenys stroked Meraxes’ warm silver scales and savored in her resonating grumble that seemed filled with fire already. A strong gust of wind caught them and sent her silver-gold hair streaming back while pushing the she-dragon further into the bright blue sky. Anyone could be forgiven for thinking them a comet instead of mortal beings. The exhilaration drew a peel of laughter from her lips and she tossed her head back. This was what life was meant for: flying and fun.
Sometimes her greatest wish was that she could simply forget about these battles and fly atop her scaly best friend with her son in her lap to find revelry and fun. Forget about ruling and experience finer pleasures with Aegon and Visenya. But that time was not upon her yet, no matter how weary she became. Battles still filled her with determination and a fire befitting a Targaryen queen. Soon Dorne would be theirs and then she would be free to travel the Seven Kingdoms. Besides, court and ruling suited her well. Perhaps it was not all bad.
Horns sounded from the castle and Rhaenys knew it was time. She leaned over to look into Meraxes’ huge golden eyes and smiled before pressing herself flat against the she-dragon. “Dracarys”. Meraxes dived at the curtain wall and unleashed a devastating torrent of charcoal gold fire that began melting the sandstone bricks and glassing the sand dunes nearby.
Flying swiftly past the outer walls, Rhaenys touched a boot against Meraxes to command her to land on the roof. The she-dragon landed upon a domed section of the castle and whipped her tail into a nearby watchtower, completely shattering it. With a thrum, the men on the walls unleashed a barrage of arrows and spears on them. The few that hit Meraxes bounced off harmlessly and none came close to hitting Rhaenys. Fools, hoping to take down a fiery god with weapons meant for man. And I am no man.
She tapped her boot again and Meraxes launched herself back into the skies. Thrice more they descended upon the Hellholt, each time wrecking more destruction. Walls and towers fell like the castle was a sandcastle on the beach and not a mighty fortress. They flew high again and Rhaenys surveyed the destruction with satisfaction. For any other enemy Rhaenys would have departed happy, but Hellholt had already weathered her siblings’ attack. The Ullers needed to pay a higher price for their resistance. They shall learn the true power of the dragons.
Spying the tallest tower of the Hellholt, Rhaenys grinned savagely. Oh, they shall learn. She snapped the reins and knew Meraxes understood her intentions. The silver dragon banked in a large circle around the tower, with the final destination of bringing down the whole fortification. At the beginning of the shallow dive Rhaenys heard a faint snap at the very edge of her hearing. She had heard the sound of scorpions many times before and dismissed the danger. Their iron bolts were as ineffective as gnats against a full-grown dragon. For a moment she let her pride takeover again, Fools.
In the next moment the hells of Valyria broke loose. Almost with lazy ease the scorpion bolt flashed past and disappeared. Rhaenys thought Meraxes’ subsequent roar was of defiance and fury at being attacked. She responded in kind with the biggest battle cry she could muster. Then the roar morphed into s sickening shriek and Meraxes whipped her head around so that Rhaenys saw the terrible truth; a long bolt of iron had pierced the beautiful golden eye of her precious dragon.
So many thoughts flashed through her mind. Apoplectic rage exploded red in her vision and the grief somehow filled her heart with an empty void. There was also an underlying feeling of comeuppance at finally losing, a childlike temper tantrum nearly engulfed her. All of Westeros conquered to die to cowards. It was not fair.
She would never see Aenys again. Or Aegon. Or even Visenya.
Everything was supplanted by terror when Meraxes entered an uncontrollable plunge. Her breath left and she was sure that vomit came out instead. Rhaenys instinctively curled up in a ball on the saddle and gripped the reins with both hands. Time seemed to freeze. For an eternity she waited for the impact and every rational thought disappeared. Oddly, a strange sense of peace dawned on Rhaenys in the final seconds.
Meraxes let out a final wild gout of flames and clipped the tower with a wing. Then they crashed into the curtain wall.
The shock of landing lurched her forward and Rhaenys collided into hard scales. Something popped in her shoulder and she felt warmth spreading on her face.
She realized too late that they were still moving. Meraxes was convulsing in her death throes and tossing Rhaenys back and forth, with wild power. Dispassionately, like an observer, Rhaenys realized the dying dragon would crush her if she did not get free. Her trembling hands fumbled at the straps holding her left leg and managed to get it free.
The right leg was halfway free at the point where Meraxes went into a death roll against the tallest tower. Rhaenys was flung loose like a rag doll but her leg remained firmly anchored to the saddle. Explosive agony shattered through her leg and she screamed so loud she swore her throat would burst. Meraxes rolled again and this time landed fully on the same injured leg. The amount of pain was impossible. Rhaenys finally blacked out.
She awoke amongst the dust and debris of what could only be the collapsed wall and tower. A gigantic silhouette loomed in the hazy fog a dozen paces away and was heartbreakingly still. There was an unusual silence too, with only a few crumbling stones and distant shouts to disturb her. Rhaenys laid on her side in the sand; clearly Meraxes had tossed her around with enough power to throw her from the saddle straps.
Even the simple act of being still was torturous. Dull aches wracked her body and her shoulder throbbed something awful. Blood dripped from her mouth and nose. Rhaenys used her last ounce of strength to dig her trembling fingers into the ground and attempted to drag herself forward. Needling pain shot through her leg and Rhaenys about passed out again.
Tears ran down her face and she began sobbing, and even that hurt. Rhaenys begged and prayed to any of the gods who existed to let her die. She no longer wanted to live, not in this state. Please! Let me go in peace. I’ll never be arrogant or thirst for blood ever again. I beg you.
The distant shouts got closer and new terrors plagued Rhaenys. People claimed the Uller’s of Hellholt were a mad, vicious House. And now they had her, the King’s sister-wife in their grasp. A women who had rained fire on their kingdom and spilled blood on their towns. What would they do to her? Surely it could not be worse than what had already happened.
A gruff voice drifted to her, “Seven be damned, he actually brought the beast down.”
Laughter echoed around and other voices joined in, filled with amazement and misplaced confidence. “Is it dead?” one eventually asked.
A few moments of scrabbling and one brave soul must have been intrepid enough to approach the she-dragon. “Dead! The bloody thing is dead! A bolt right through the eye!”
She waited for the cheers to diminish and another shouted “Ser, over here, we found Ginros. He’s been crushed under the tower.”
“Get his body, tonight we drink in his honor. For killing that bitch and her dragon!”
Rhaenys screwed her eyes shut and tried mightily to say silent, to not even breath. But when they began shouting, “Dragonslayer!” she nearly broke. No, not my Meraxes. She cannot be gone. We flew into battle like we’re done a thousand times before. This can’t be happening. She tried grabbing the Valyrian stiletto at her waist but her twitching hands would not cooperate. How she dreamed of sliding it into the men who had taken Meraxes’ life.
The cheers continued unabated until Rhaenys sensed more people entering the area of destruction. Heavy footfall abounded and this time they were almost right next to her. She’d been found by the newcomers.
“Lord Uller, the dragon has perished. We do not know–“
“Ohh, we have the dragon whore, Ser,” purred the velvety voice of a woman from right above her. Beneath the sweet demeanor Rhaenys detected a hidden sharpness. A hand ran through her long hair and it took all of her willpower not to move. “Milord?”
The Lord of Hellholt spoke, and it raised her hackles, sending a bone-chilling shiver down her broken body. He sounded like the Brimstone in flesh. Something normal turned awful and perverted. A voice that could melt stone on its own. “It would seem the Conquerers are not so mighty as they would have us believe. Shall we see if she lives, milady?”
He kicked her in the ribs.
She’d been wrong. The pain could get so much worse. Rhaenys bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but through some extraordinary feat managed to stay limp and silent even as her body was almost sundered apart.
He kicked her again.
This time Rhaenys could not hold in the pain. She screamed and cried and screamed even louder. It overcame her dignity and she began blubbering and begging for mercy. The woman ignored the pleas and grabbed Rhaenys by her hair, yanking her excruciatingly upright. Every bone rebelled against the movement and the mere act of being upright caused her vision to darken.
Lord Hofren Uller knelt down and looked her in the eyes. Rhaenys beheld his awful visage. He was handsome for an aging lord, and had the hard gaze of a grizzled knight. But those were small details next to the stiff, shiny skin of the acid scars covering his whole face like a mask. Panic rose in her throat. For the first time in their conquest, Rhaenys knew real fear. He unsheathed her stiletto and pressed the point into her throat drawing a rivulet of blood.
“Of course I will grant you mercy, Queen Rhaenys. I will give you as much mercy as you gave us. Fire and blood, is that right? We will give you that and more.”