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Chapter Text

Winterfell had fallen.

Daenerys watched the white walkers and their wights overrun the castle, the surrounding areas, swallowing life like a never-ending wave. They disappeared among the snow as Drogon took her higher.

For a few days, they were ahead of them. Passing by villages, little glowing lights in the dark, which had no idea what was coming. The first she saw, she wanted to land. To warn them, maybe take some along… but Drogon didn’t listen. He just flew on, wings beating in the night.

He wouldn’t land, not ever, not when he didn’t absolutely have to. Death was coming for them. He had the vague plan to outfly them, to pass the big ocean back all the way to where he had hatched. Ice things surely couldn’t live in the desert. He remembered the sun. The dryness, the bleak heat. It would save them, he was sure of it. Even though mother didn’t approve, she yelled and screamed until her voice went hoarse in the beginning, trying to order him down to the ground. Fighting his instinct to follow her words, to simply ignore her was the hardest. For right now, she didn’t have to approve. He knew what he was doing.

Only dragons had to sleep as well. Finally landing, Drogon hunted food for his mother and himself and melted ice with his fire. Ate, drank, and watched Daenerys do the same. She gnawed on the deer leg he had gotten her. She looked ragged. Exhausted, fearful, sad, little sleep and too much panic.

“We have to…” she stopped and just looked down. She didn’t know what they had to. Earlier she always knew, but now… They’d all be dead. There was nothing they could do, only what Drogon was already doing. Outrunning them. “Can you get us to Dragonstone?”

Drogon growled. It wasn’t safe! Too close still. But maybe a break would be good, just for a day. For half-one even. So that mother could get some actual rest. The water should keep them safe for a moment, at least.

“Please,” she said softly. “I…” and then she burst into tears. “Should have told Missandei to stay there. Should have…” and then it was just sobs and tears. Drogon whined lowly and nudged her carefully, which just seemed to make things worse. He growled weakly, heartbroken to see her like this, and curled around her, trying his best to keep her safe from… from what? The world? The reality of everything? They were all dead. He couldn’t change that. He could just gently nudge her again. Daenerys crying got louder, while she hugged him. His gone-crazy brother was still out there somewhere. And who knew what happened to Rhaegal? He hoped he was still going, flying south like they did. Maybe his new little plaything had survived too. But at least the latter, he doubted. He had seen them crash at some point during the battle, Jon running away on the ground. How stupid one could be. Running away. He only wished…

Snow shifted. Dead smell. Something cold touched his scales. Drogon snapped awake at last, surrounded by wights. He roared, ripped the closest thing apart with his fangs and then breathed fire. The walking skeletons burned and turned to ash, thankfully, but he knew there would be more. There were always more. An endless more.

Something light pressed on his back. His head swirled around, ready to rip it apart too, to keep mother safe – everything to keep mother safe! – but he realized at the last second that it was mother. She clung to his back.

“Fly,” she said, determined as ever, as she normally was. Drogon just growled at her, turned his head back and pushed himself off the ground. Fly, he could.

While they were getting higher, Drogon spotted the wave of dead moving towards them. They had caught up to them. So quickly.

“No,” Daenerys whispered and fell quiet. What else to say? There was nothing.

Well. Dead things didn’t need rest. They didn’t need food. They didn't have to look out for their mother. He breathed fire on the next best forest he found, knowing they wouldn’t advance through the flames, and then kept close to the spreading fire. Could maybe buy them a few hours.

---

When he finally flew higher, with the entire forest beneath him ablaze, he didn’t see anything dead nearby. Spiralling higher, he looked out, but only fire and melting snow towards its edges.

Good.

Maybe a few hours.

---

The dead caught up to them three more times. Every time, they ran. Every time, Drogon got them out of there, but he knew he was getting weaker. Taking off the ground got harder. Waking up to them attacking got rougher. He hadn’t woken up to them scaling him, but to a fucking sword rammed into the soft area beneath his wing. Good thing he had essentially lain atop mother. They could have killed her in his sleep.

---

Four hours on, a scream pierced the sky. A cold shiver crept along his scales. He didn’t even have to look. His mother’s scream was answer enough. But of course, he had to. Just a glance. Viserion, blazing blue eyes, the ice man atop him. Of course, it had to be the crazy brother. He’d even take the plaything over this one.

Viserion folded his wings and dropped, getting closer towards them. Drogon roared at them and did his best to fly faster. For a little, he kept ahead. For a little, he had hope. Maybe… but what maybe? The ice man didn’t burn, his brother sure wouldn’t mind fire either. The only possibility was outfly them, but he couldn’t do that. Not for long, now.

Far away, it occurred to him that they had hunted them on purpose. Let him rest only so little, catch up, repeat, until he could barely fly.

Viserion snapped at his tail. Didn’t catch him, once, twice. Then, he got him. Fangs sank into his tail. Drogon roared, missed a wing beat, and then his brother was on him. His mother screamed, trying to get away from the fangs, the claws, clinging to his back. She’d fall any second now. He growled and bit Viserion, ripping flesh off his neck, who of course didn’t care. Blue eyes didn’t care for anything. Mother’s grip slipped. Drogon roared again, breathed fire, clawed and bit, and got free. Somehow.

The wind picked up, flying snow swallowed them. Drogon tried to twist and turn, beat his wings, but he had no clue where up was, where Viserion was, where – they crashed into the ground. He took down a tree with him, splinters piercing his wings, mother screamed, and at least he screamed too. Wailed. His crazy brother had bitten his tail, his leg, his neck, had so desperately tried to get to his back. To get to mother. Drogon screamed again and breathed fire, bathing his wings and everything around him in flames. At least, he could burn the tree.

Chapter Text

Viserion didn’t come for them. Drogon didn’t understand why, there was no possible way, but his brother didn’t come for them. Maybe… maybe some of him was still left beneath the blue eyes. Maybe he had refused the orders of the ice man, flown him away after they had crashed. Still. He couldn’t believe it. They were still alive.

Drogon curled around mother, growling at her wounds as if he could make them stop bleeding. All he could do was lick her wounds, just for a try, then lick his own and spread his damaged wing over her to keep her warm, waiting out the storm.

Mother didn’t fully wake up again. With the storm still howling, Drogon stared at her, inhaling her scent. She smelled alive, but her blood was everywhere too. He tried a nudge to no avail. She just mumbled something weakly, not even opening her eyes.

He nudged her again. Nothing. If he waited any longer…

He wouldn’t let her die. Screw the storm, screw the distance, screw his own wounds too. Very carefully, he took hold of her with one of his claws and threw himself into the air.

The storm nearly pressed him back down – only to throw him around afterwards. Drogon had never felt so weak. So damn hopeless. If mother died… If mother died he may as well fly back and burn as many of the sorry fuckers as he could. Maybe he could kill the ice man by killing Viserion high up in the sky – make his crazy brother land on him and shatter his body. He growled lowly, flapping his wings weakly, and pushed on. Mother wasn’t dead yet. He ought to not make plans.

---

Ker Bourney sighed. He always got the spot on the rock. Always. His superiors had to hate him. Or someone tested him. Neither was great. Climbing the rock on the outskirts of Dragonstone with his equipment took a little, once he nearly dropped his spear, then his helmet wanted to slide off his head, but he managed to take position before sunrise, looking out over a choppy sea. A few lone snowflakes danced around him, which was strange. Winter should be far away, at least so far south. Up north, yes, maybe. They were known to get early snow, sometimes by years. But down here?

He just shook his head and watched the sun rising. By midday, when he spotted the black dragon, the snow was long forgotten.

He barely registered the dot in the distance for the first few minutes. Then it grew larger. Dragon, alright. Not exactly surprising on Dragonstone. Which one, though? Princess Rhaenys, maybe, wanting to visit her son?

And then, to his horror, he realized the thing was listing to the side, dropping height every now and again. It looked rather abrupt each time. It fought its way back up and then dropped again. The tilt was getting worse. Oh, this wasn’t good. Not at all.

When he could make out the color, he dropped his equipment and made his way down the rock, literally running the way to the castle.

---

The guards at the main gate were the first to hear the news, and then it spread like dragonfire. Unknown, hurt dragon flying towards them. Getting closer. None of them took the time to verify – Bourney looked freaked out enough for it to be true. The question was, who would tell the princess? Bearer of bad news. Depending on the dragon and what had hurt it, even horrible news. Rhaenyra wasn’t known for outbursts, but still. Bad news was bad news. Bourney himself pushed past the guards at last and sprinted up the stairs as good he could. He ended up in the main hall, as the guards in the corridor had told him, who were still blissfully unaware of what was going on.

---

Jace was torturing his way through Valyrian runes, holding the old book carefully, nearly scared to turn the pages, when the doors opened. His mother had just started to correct his latest try. A guard stepped inside, snapping for air.

Rhaenyra looked at him. “What is it?”

“There… there is a dragon,” the man managed.

Rhaenyra sighed weakly. “Which one? Aegon’s?” What could they possibly want?

“No… Never… never seen it, princess.”

“What?”

Jace closed the book the tiniest bit relieved. Perfect way to get out of reading. “What’s going on?” He asked as well.

“It looks hurt.”

“What?!”

Rhaenyra hurried out of the room. Jace carefully placed the book on the painted table and followed her, hearing a faint “Send for Laenor!” while he caught up. A hurt dragon? What in the seven hells?

---

Drogon was losing consciousness every now and then. He wasn’t sure if he fell asleep or literally passed out. Good thing the island was getting closer. Just a… just a little now…

He was so weak… every wing beat seemed to take all his strength.

… mother hadn’t even moaned for a while now…

Was he sure she was – yes. She had to be alive. If he made it all the way to the dragon island and she was –

No. He wouldn’t think about it. No, no, no, n-

His thought ripped while he dropped again, his wings fluttering feebly. Drogon snapped back awake, looking around bewildered, only to realize he had lost it again, the ocean rushing towards him. He opened his wings, feeling air hiss painfully right through the holes the tree had ripped, and beat weakly.

Just a little longer.

With every wing beat, it was just a little longer. He could do one more. And another. And then…

---

Rhaenyra shaded her eyes while staring up at it. She stood on the beach of Dragonstone, staring at what should be impossible. A dragon she didn’t know. Worse of all, a hurt dragon she didn’t know. A big one, on top of it. Whatever had hurt it…

Worries for later.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t fly out to it?” Jace asked for the third or so time. Vermax was pacing up and down the beach, as eager and restless as her son.

“Yes. Agitating a hurt dragon only leads to trouble.” She was already playing it risky by standing out here, watching it get closer. What would happen if it landed? What would it do? Try to kill them all? Not out of the possibility.

“Get Vermax away,” she said. She didn’t want the little one do stupid things.

“But –”

“Jace.”

---

Drogon saw the small dragon being led away but didn’t register it. He could barely take anything in. There was only flying, staying in the air, and staring at the people gathered on the beach. People. People could save mother. Was his only damn chance.

He got lower carefully now, lower and lower… 

---

The gathered guards stepped back when the black dragon crashed onto the beach. Rhaenyra stayed where she was, watching carefully. The poor thing was hurt all over… and it looked like gashes. Dragon claws, she thought to her dismay and carefully stepped closer.

“Mother, please –” Jace started.

The dragon snapped awake again. His head rushed around, and he roared, baring his fangs. As long as her hand. How old was it? How could they have missed it? There were no dragons besides theirs, or so she had always believed. Rhaenyra didn’t budge. She stood her ground, staring at it calmly. When it closed its jaws, she carefully reached out, offering up her hand; not touching it though. It stared at her, stared… took a breath… and then it started to flail around. This time, she did take a step back. Not worth getting killed over. It stopped, looked at her, its head moving towards her, and then swinging to its side, towards its claw. Rhaenyra followed it with her gaze and gasped. As did Laenor.

A girl. The dragon had brought a girl. In worse shape than itself, by the looks of it.

“Get a maester!”

And once again, Dragonstone burst into controlled chaos.

Chapter Text

“Looks like weirwood wood,” the maester said disbelieving, pulling ever more white-drenched-red splinters out of the poor girl. Her wounds were full of it.

“How are her chances?” The princess asked.

“Slim. Very slim.” Her breathing had gotten weaker ever since she got here. “But I think, maybe…” With some luck… He didn’t comment on the other obvious things. Her pale silver hair and what seemed to be violet eyes when he had checked them. A Valyrian of some sort. Riding a dragon of some sort. No, someone else should sort that one out.

“Do your best,” the princess ordered.

---

Pacing around in sight of the black dragon which shouldn’t exist, Rhaenyra watched how he got patched up by the dragonkeepers. He had nearly killed the first one approaching. She had intervened or at least she thought she did. It didn’t kill the poor man after her words, at the least.

“It’s male, my princess,” their leader finally reported, stepping beside her. “By the thickness of his scales… he seems to be seven.”

“Seven?” She repeated. He didn’t look like seven. He was close to Syrax in size, damn it. Arrax was closest to his age and he looked tiny beside him.

“Yes, seven. His scales aren’t fully hardened yet and…”

Rhaenyra just shook her head while listening to further explanations. Seven. And that big.

“Thank you. Get him something to eat and keep watch.”

“Yes, my princess.” He bowed a little and stepped away.

---

“Seven?!” Laenor repeated as disbelieving as she had.

“Yes, seven,” Rhaenyra said again, looking out at the beach from the main hall. The dragon had eaten a little and then refused. Never a good sign.

“We have to tell my father.” He wouldn’t be happy. Furious, maybe, even. A mysterious dragon and its mysterious Valyrian rider.

“Do they have an idea what hurt him?” Laenor asked, ignoring her words.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips. “They said it looks like claws and fangs. Something ripped quite a big chunk out of his tail.”

“So… a dragon attacked a dragon?”

Well… “I guess.”

Hopefully, the girl made it. So many questions they needed answers to. And there was the dragon itself... Some took the death of their rider calmly, not even minding. Some freaked out and torched entire areas before they could be reined in and calmed down. Somehow, the black dragon struck her of the latter.

“What in all hells,” he muttered lowly, leaning right beside her, staring out at the dragon as well now. “Maybe… maybe she’s from the Free Cities? There are some families of the old blood. We could ask my mother. She was over there. Maybe…”

“She heard of a dragon hatching?” They shouldn't be able to hatch a dragon!

 “A girl gone missing.”

Rhaenyra hummed. A good a bet as any. The only other alternative would be one of Daemon’s bastards, but she didn’t look like him at all. 

“Driftmark is closer,” Laenor went on. “We send a raven to her, and then…”

“Send a dragon to my father,” Rhaenyra finished his words, smiling a little at him.

They fell quiet for a while, watching the sleeping dragon.

“He looks like Dreamfyre, doesn’t he?” Laenor said, at last, saying the other obvious thing. Rhaenyra all but hummed. He did. He indeed did.

Which would mean he was one of the stolen eggs. Where were the others from the clutch? How had the girl gotten even one? Hells, how had she hatched it? How had she bonded it? How had she kept it a secret for so long? Dragons didn’t exactly hide well.

---

Dear Lady Mother,

I need you at Dragonstone at once. Come alone.

  - Laenor

---

Rhaenys stared at the letter the raven had brought. Checked the seal a few times. Targaryen and Velaryon. Had to come from Dragonstone, sealed by both of them. Hopefully, everything was alright. It didn’t give any details, but it didn’t exactly sound good, either.

“I hope no one died,” she muttered to herself.

“What is it?” Corlys asked.

“I don’t know. Laenor asked for me.”

“Is he –”

“I don’t know,” she cut him off softly, showing him the letter. His eyes flew over the one line, a frown furrowing his brow.

“I’ll accompany you. It’s just –”

“No. I’ll take Meleys. Be there quicker than any ship ever could.” He wouldn’t have said at once if he didn’t mean at once. “Stay until I send a raven,” she said softly, kissed him gently, and hurried outside. Laenor had said alone as well.

Circling over Dragonstone, she saw the problem at once. The black dragon sleeping on the beach.

---

“Do you know her?” Rhaenyra whispered.

They stood in the chamber assigned to the nameless girl. She had woken up once, asked for water, and… fallen asleep, she hoped, at least. She wasn’t sure if she actually was asleep. Might be a dance with death.

Rhaenys stared at the bandaged girl. The maesters had done anything they could think of, by the looks of it. “No. Never seen her.” She turned to Laenor. “There were a few girls, last time I was in Essos, but none looked even remotely like her.” They had flocked around Meleys, all amazed to see a dragon, beaming up at her. If she was one of the girls, she'd remember.

Chapter Text

Daenerys screamed. Sat upright and screamed. Viserion had been after her in her dream, blazing blue eyes. This time, she couldn’t hold on to Drogon long enough. She slipped and her dead dragon dove after her, his fangs closing in –

Her voice broke and the prior whisper of a scream disappeared. She just panted and looked around. Slowly, her panic faded, turning to bewilderment. She was in a room. She was in a bed. A water bowl stood beside her on a small table. Water. Taking it, she gulped it down greedily, spilling some on a simple gown that wasn’t hers. She was so thirsty. With every further gulp, she winced. Everything hurt. Her arms, her back, her legs… her gaze moved along her body, finally getting aware of all the bandages under her gown. How…

Drogon. He had to have gotten to Dragonstone.

Very carefully, she put the bowl away and slipped out of bed, nearly fainting when she got up. She didn’t have time, quite literally. Wights supposedly couldn’t swim, but they sure could walk underwater in some capacity. Not needing air had its benefits. (And there was Viserion…)

Outside her door, she found a guard, who looked at her surprised.

“My lady,” he started, only to fall quiet when she whispered at him.

“How many are still alive?”

“Beg my pardon?”

“How many men do you…” her whisper faded once more, the world getting blurry. The guard caught her when she fainted.

---

“She asked how many men we have,” the guard reported, feeling slightly uneasy being in the princess’ private chambers. He normally didn’t go in here, less alone to see the princess and lord in various stages of undress.

“She did what?” Laenor asked.

The guard simply shrugged and repeated his words.

“Well, she woke up… That’s better than nothing,” Rhaenyra said. There was hope. “Tell the kitchen to prepare a soup. Get a bowl ready in case she wakes up next… Call me, no matter the hour.”

“Yes, my princess,” he bowed and hurried out of the room.

Laenor looked after him. “Should we tell my mother?”

“No. If we could talk to her, yes, but…” but like this? She shook her head. Why wake Rhaenys for nothing?

Laenor nodded and settled into bed, hugging her before long. Rhaenyra smiled weakly, leaning against him. She still had to send word to her father.

---

The nameless girl woke up a few more times. Sometimes, she wasn’t even aware she wasn’t asleep anymore. There were long gaps of nothing, of darkness, of pain and panic. The dream of Viserion hunting her came back, again and again, and made her worry. Her dreams always came true… When she was awake enough, she drank water, drank the soup, and once again enquired how many men they had. And if they were still mining dragon glass. She had started another sentence, according to the guard, but her voice had failed once more.

“This is getting stranger and stranger,” Rhaenys said matter-of-factly, watching her daughter-in-law pace around the painted table.

“Why would she ask for dragon glass?”

No one spoke up. What to say anyway? There was no reasonable explanation for the dragon glass.

“We just have to wait,” she said. Rhaenyra grumbled, which in turn made Rhaenys smile. Patience was never a virtue of the young.

---

Mother was getting better.

Drogon knew as sure as breathing, as sure as flying. Slow, maybe, but she would get through it. The very same day, he started to devour the meat the odd men brought him. Ripped it apart to nice, eatable chunks and stuffed himself until he was full. Food had made him grow big, right? From the small little dragon, he once was. If he ate more... He had to be bigger to kill the dead.

While doing so, he eyed the red dragon who had stayed with him on the beach. She lay nearby, alternating between watching him, the waves, and the castle. She had jumped up when an old lady approached them, who smelled similar to mother. Drogon couldn’t quite tell how… but she did. In some way or form. Like the plaything had smelled similar to her. There was just some smell about her.

He didn’t understand how another dragon could possibly be, but he didn’t ponder it either. Another dragon was good. More help to kill the dead.

Once he had stuffed himself, and could reasonably move afterwards, he jumped into the air, growling when his hurt wings cried out and flew higher. The men beneath him burst into running around and screaming.

Drogon circled higher and higher, looking out for… for his brothers. Blue eyes… and the good one. The sane one. He had to come here, right? He just had to. He didn’t want to believe he had blue eyes too now. He just… with no Rhaegal anywhere nearby, nor Viserion for that matter, he turned to the other thing. The arguably more important thing. Dead in the water.

Closing his wings, he dropped and dove straight into the big water. Opening his eyes, he already expected to get stabbed again by the skeletons. They had to be close now. So, so close. They had reached him again and again in only so little. As if water would slow them down that much!

But there were only fish, scurrying away in a panic. Some sea plants. Sand and rock and the fragile sea rocks.

Just water.

He got out, flew barely higher than the waves, circled around the island, and dove again and again. He didn’t believe they weren’t there! There was no way. None at all. But they weren’t there.

Eventually, he returned to his spot on the beach, staring at the waves. There was no damn way they weren’t there. That they weren’t coming for them. He would wait, alright. He would wait and burn them when they came out of the water. Growling at the ocean, he glanced at the red dragon. How many could they kill together? How long could they hold the island? Would she even help?

Sometime later, he heard metal clinging. Turning his head, Drogon saw the men who brought him meat. Carrying a huge chain.

Oh, never! He roared and breathed fire, nearly singing the first man. Then he realized mother probably wouldn’t approve if he burned their helpers. They sure wouldn’t approve either. They might stop bringing him meat. As an alternative, he set the beach on fire. It didn’t burn well, but it sure got hot enough to keep them at bay.

Meleys watched him through all of it. Curious young thing. On one of his excursions, which he did like clockwork, Meleys and Rhaenys joined him. He was looking for something for sure, flying close to the water, sometimes taking a dive, then jolting himself all the way high up into the air and looking around, but she didn’t get what. There was just water.

---

Daenerys didn’t know how much time passed, how often she faded in and out of being awake. She only knew the next time she woke up, she nearly felt okay. Still in pain, still weak, but brilliant in comparison to the other times. This time, nearly to her guard’s surprise, she didn’t ask how many men they had.

“Can I talk to… whoever is in charge?” Obviously, someone had taken residence in Dragonstone in her absence. They even humored her by having the guards wear the traditional Targaryen colors. She should have –

No. She couldn’t think of it. If she did, she would burst into tears. She didn’t have time right now. She could cry later after she was sure her island was defended. Or ordered them all on ships and made a run for it. The further away, the better. She guessed at least.

“Yes, my lady,” the guard said and hurried away. With him gone, she drank some more water, drank another bit of soup and got out of bed, slipping into some new robes she had been given. Too light for the weather, but oh well. She would handle it later. She toyed with the idea of staying in her bed, but holding audiences from her bed wasn’t befitting a Queen.

She, very carefully, slipped out her door and made it quite a bit until a guard caught her.

“My lady, you should not…”

“I will meet them in the main hall,” she only said, authoritative as ever. The poor man wasn’t sure what to return. Was that an order from Rhaenyra? Her words didn’t leave much room for interpretation. And dragging her back to her room wouldn’t help either. Or look good.

“Let me help you, my lady,” he said instead and hurried to her side, helping her walk.

Daenerys was the slightest bit irked about being called ‘my lady’ all the time. They sure knew who she was. Only one woman rode atop a dragon. Yet, they had saved her. She could let it slide.

---

Letting her fingers run along the painted table, Daenerys started to cry again. Silent tears, no sobs, but tears all the same. Last time she was here, they were all still alive. Missandei, Jorah, Grey Worm, Jon... and before that, Lady Olena. Maybe she should have listened to her. Flown her dragons to the Red Keep and taken Kings Landing. Be a dragon. Maybe together, all kingdoms united, they stood a chance. Viserion wouldn’t have died beyond the wall… Only what if didn’t matter. What if was gone and passed. Westeros had to have fallen to the dead by now, given her guesses. Maybe some of Dorne still remained, but everything else? Gone, dead, by snow and wind. Only being on an island seemed to save them. For now, at least.

The doors opened. Daenerys looked up and saw a woman, clad in black. Older than her. She had long, silver-gold hair, put up in a braid. She looked strikingly Valyrian. Maybe from the Free Cities. Maybe they had chosen to join her fight after all. Who to better support than a Targaryen if you were from old blood?  She wondered why now, but decided to not question good deeds. The time for petty fights was over. They had to have heard about the dead and decided the Dragon Queen was their best chance at survival.

Daenerys nodded at her. “My lady.”

Something odd flitted along the lady’s face, but she all but nodded in return.

“What is your name?” Daenerys went on.

“Rhaenyra,” said Rhaenyra, pondering when she last had to introduce herself. The girl really had to be from the Free Cities. Unbeknownst, they both thought the same of each other.

“I wanted to thank you for taking care of me and… How is Drogon? Please, tell me he is well. Or as well as he can be.”

Drogon? “Your dragon? Yes, he is doing fine. His wings are still hurt, the wounds are healing slowly, but he is fine all things considered.” He gulped down food as if it could run out tomorrow, for sure. Rhaenyra smiled. To ask about her dragon first. Whoever she was, she was a proper dragonrider. Always thinking of the dragon, first and foremost. She would do the same if Syrax got hurt. Thank her host… and then ask about her dragon.

What is your name, she wanted to ask. How did you get him? But not even that was the most important question. “What attacked you?” If something could hurt a dragon as big as him, hurt him so badly, they had to know.

Her smile faded and she looked away. “Viserion did. My… my other dragon. Although, he is not really himself anymore.”

Rhaenyra stared at her. Her other dragon? Had she hatched more than one? Bonded to more than one? That was not even… Had it turned on her? Why would it? How could someone fly around with two fucking huge dragons and not be seen?

“Did Rhaegal turn up?” She asked, turning to her again, hope glimmering in her eyes. “My other dragon.”

“No.”

Had she hatched all three of them? How? When? Well, seven years ago or so the dragonkeepers claimed.

“How did you get the eggs?” Rhaenyra asked. She would either know and answer or…

“They were given to me as a wedding gift. No one thought they would ever hatch, but…” she smiled vaguely, only to sigh. “If Rhaegal is gone too…” she shook her head weakly. “Do you have words from the continent?”

Rhaenyra was still busy staring at her. Who was she? Getting three dragon eggs as a wedding gift. Bonding to three fucking dragons, which should by all intents and purposes be impossible in the first place. You bonded to one and that was it. How… why…

“Rhaenyra?” She asked again when the older woman didn’t react. “Is there word from Westeros? Does anyone need our help? Is there anybody to help in the first place? I figured… maybe Dorne could still exist.” Furthest away from the wall and, just maybe, the desert helped. They had survived Aegon too. If anyone could stand against the dragons, there was a chance they could stand against the dead as well.

“What?” What in the seven hells was she talking about? Why would she ask about Dorne?

“Well… If Dorne fell…” Seemed so. Otherwise, she would know, wouldn’t she? Hopefully. “Is the island well defended? We should scatter dragon glass in the waves. Shatter them before they get here. Maybe… I know it’s a stretch but… maybe they can’t step foot on the island? It being full of dragon glass and all…” She paused, considering their options. “It will only buy us so much time, though, one way or another. They have my dragon. They probably have my other dragon too.” Just saying it hurt. Rhaegal dead as well... No. Worse than dead. “They’ll use them to burn everything down.” Running away on ships suddenly didn’t sound so enticing anymore. “We have to shoot them down, before they can light us up. How many archers do you have? Scorpions, maybe?” She’d hate watching them get impaled, especially Viserion, it felt like watching him die all over again, but there were only so many choices. 

At last, Rhaenyra snapped out of it. The girl had gone insane if nothing else.

“My lady, what are you talking about?”

Daenerys looked at her confused. “The dead.”

Chapter Text

Yes. Absolutely gone insane.

“The dead?” Rhaenyra repeated.

“Yes.” The girl frowned. “Why else would you be here?”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, not sure who was playing who right now.

“Listen, my lady,” Daenerys tried again. Maybe she had not heard of the dead after all. “Winterfell is gone. The North is gone. I do not know how far south they hunted us, but everything in between is gone. They are all dead.” She paused for a moment. “Will have joined them, which is worse.”

Rhaenyra stared at her without a word.

“If I were them, I would go for the big cities next. Kings Landing alone…” 500.000 or something around? Not even counting any graves nearby. “The Night King will raise so many; I do not want to think of it.”

She still just stared at her. “The Night King?” Rhaenyra repeated.

Part of Daenerys wanted to lose patience with the women, but she remembered hearing it for the first time herself. It was hard to believe, simply based on words.

“Yes. The Night King, White Walkers, the army of the dead. The wall fell. Did you not hear?”

Then again, whoever could have told her was dead.

---

“What did she say?” Laenor asked the very moment he joined her.

Rhaenyra just shook her head. “Nothing useful. She is… quite confused.” The nicest way to put it. She han’t given up hope though. She had learned some things at the least. “I think she hatched all three eggs.”

“What?”

Yes, what. What had been her favorite thought too.

“At least one of them turned on her and attacked her and the black one. The third one is missing. We have at least one aggressive dragon flying around. Maybe even two.”

How could they not have heard of it?

Laenor hesitated. “Did she tell how she hatched them?”

She shook her head. “Did not get to it.” She paused and looked at her husband. “I do not even know her name.”

He looked at her exasperated, which finally made her smile. And then laugh.

Laenor hugged her loosely. Rhaenyra leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed weakly. What a mess.

“Should I fly to Kings Landing?” He asked softly. “Tell your father?”

“Yes, I would... I would appreciate that.” Her father had to know. They had taken way too much time already. “I will try to talk to her again. Maybe tomorrow or the day after.” Perhaps whatever fever dream she was having would pass.

---

Only, and she could only admit this to herself, all alone in her chamber, it did not let her go. From the North, she had said. That the wall had fallen, that Winterfell was gone. The White Walkers coming for them, killing everyone and everything in their path. If that did not sound like the end of the world, what did?

It sounded… it sounded so much like her father’s words, like Aegon’s dream, it scared her. The end of the world of men. Worse was, the girl believed it. Rhaenyra had seen it in her eyes. Her first question had not been about herself, not even her dragon. Her first question had been how many men they had.

---

Drogon stared when yet another dragon turned up. A white-ish one, this time, looking oddly close to Rhaegal. At least the size fit. A young man petted it absentmindedly while talking to the older dragon lady, and then hopped on its back and they took flight.

Where were all the dragons coming from? How were they even? Everyone had always said that they were the last ones, the only ones, that their existence was a wonder, albeit Drogon had no idea what the word meant.

The white one had to have been somewhere nearby. Once again, Drogon took flight, feeling the insane hope that there were even more of them somewhere close. The more dragons they were the better their chance at survival. Soon enough, he circled the firey mountain, although it wasn’t all too firey right now. His brothers and he had curled up on its warm stone time and time again back when… back when they were all still alive.

Everything smelled of dragon. Drogon couldn’t quite get how he hadn’t smelled it before. Not paid it any mind, yes, believed the red was the only one, maybe… He didn’t know. It did not make sense. None of it did. But once again, he didn’t bother all too much. He simply landed, watched the men who fed him eye him carefully, and very slowly sneaked into one of the caves.

---

Vermithor opened his eyes and raised his head when a new scent filled his nostrils. He saw the little one. Barely bigger than a hatchling, in his humble opinion. Black scales, like Balerion had had. The little one looked around, stepping through the tunnels carefully. Their gazes met and Vermithor growled. To its credit, it didn’t back away immediately.

---

Rhaenyra barely even slept at all. The girls’ words haunted her. Her certainty. The way she spoke of it. She believed every damn word.

One of the calm crazies, Rhaenyra thought uneasily. The worst kind. The loud screaming ones she would ignore, but her? What had happened to make her believe such nonsense? And believe it so firmly. Whatever had attacked her… it had made her lose her wits, which just made matters worse.

Her talking of the dead, the North having fallen… it unsettled her, worse than she wanted to admit. Why from the North? Why make it sound like the end of things? Why…

And then things clicked, and Rhaenyra realized why it seemed so familiar. White Walkers, the army of the dead. She chuckled weakly and shook her head, nearly feeling relieved. It was the Long Night. Nothing more, nothing less. She must have read the stories and… believed it would happen again? Was that it?

She would have flown her dragons over here, if she even had three to begin with, looking for the dead, and then… and then what? One of them had turned on her? Unlikely. If, if, the girl had hatched all of them and through some weird chance of luck bonded them, they wouldn’t turn on her. No way. Dragons were loyal. Once the bond was made, it was made. They were them. Sometimes they were a bit moody, sometimes acting out, but they would not attack each other nor their rider on a whim. Never.

Which meant… she didn’t have three dragons? But what had attacked the black one, then? Or did she have three dragons, and something had broken the bond?

Rhaenyra sighed. No matter how much she thought of it, it didn’t get better.

Come morning, she looked for the guard who had spotted them first.

“Where did they come from? The dragon. Do you remember?” She asked. The guard had scurried down the rock he was positioned on when she asked his name.

“North… North-west, my princess.”

Rhaenyra hummed and thanked him. She might have come from the North. She seemed fixated on Winterfell, after all. Maybe, if whatever had happened there… the North was largely empty, whether the Starks wanted to admit it or not. Still. Someone must have seen them on their mad journey south.

Next, she went to her maester, ordering him to send ravens to the Starks and Arryns if they had seen a dragon flying around. If she had run from anywhere nearby Winterfell and made a flight for Dragonstone, she might have passed over them. Maybe someone had seen her. Or whatever had hurt her.

---

The next few hours, Rhaenyra once again mulled over what to do next. Talk to her again, of course. See if her story had changed. Or see how many insane explanations she could come up with. Part of her knew she should talk with Rhaenys or Laenor first, get their opinion… but what to say? The girl believes the dead are marching. Made for a good story for sure.

---

“How is she doing?” Rhaenyra asked her guard.

“Good, I dare say. Upset, but good. For her circumstances, of course. She demanded being let out several times.”

Rhaenyra smiled weakly. Upset, but good. Should be doable. She entered the room.

The girl looked up from her soup. She carefully put the bowl aside and sat up properly.

“I demand to be let out of this room, Rhaenyra.”

“If you explain some things to me.” Still not, but she wouldn’t say. At least until her father was here and made his decision.

The girl, well, young woman really, looked at her darkly.

“What you told me. About the dead. It sounds like the Long Night.” They were legends at best. The maesters disregarded all of it. The most likely theory seemed to be wildlings turning insane if it had happened at all.

The girl just stared at her… and sighed.

“I saw them. I watched them overrun Winterfell, kill everyone and everything.” Her voice quivered. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Everyone I know is dead. We… we are just… maybe they really hate water. I cannot explain why we are still alive otherwise, I…”

“Do you really –”

“Believe that? Yes. I did not in the beginning. Of course, I did not. It is insane. But…” She shook her head and wiped away her tears, which just kept falling. “They killed my dragon, Rhaenyra. Shot him right out of the sky. And then raised him. I wish I could…” She trailed off and fell quiet, looking at the ground.

Once again, her certainty made Rhaenyra uneasy. She didn’t sound like she had to think about any of it. Her tears. Her believe that they had killed and raised her dragon from the dead.

“Tell me how it went. The fight at Winterfell.”

Maybe, if she told the full story, she could find loose ends she could unravel. Maybe the girl would realize it was all a farce.

“Well…” the girl told her. Of her Dothraki – how had those turned up? – of Jon riding her other dragon, of her army, of theirs. Of fucking Lannisters not keeping their word, which send her on a tangent about Lannisters, which in turn made Rhaenyra smile. Fucking Lannisters. They could agree on that! She still remembered the audacity when the man had asked for her hand. To live out her days at Casterly Rock. Part of her wanted to believe her so badly, although every word was unbelievable. She sounded so certain, though. Had answers to every question, had explanations, could tell her of their defences, their battle plans. Everything. Barely hesitated, as long as it wasn’t about her dragons, that was, never fidgeted around. She just told her story.

“We can fly Drogon west if you don’t believe me. You can see it for yourself.” She finally ended.

Once again, Rhaenyra stared at her. Her offer… The fact that she was so sure of what they would see. Or it was her try at escaping. But if she believed all of what she had told her, she would not try to escape. There was no reason to. There was nowhere to go. Everyone else was dead.

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“What about the dragon glass?” That one still did not make sense.

“It kills white walkers. Fire for the wights, dragon glass for the walkers. We hoped dragonfire would kill them too, but…” she shrugged. “Did not work. I tried. The fucker just smiled up at me.”

“Hm.”

“Can I leave this room now?”

Rhaenyra did not reply; was lost thinking about her words again. If only she was not so certain…

“Rhaenyra?”

“Yes?”

“Can I at least see my dragon?”

Rhaenyra eyed her for a few long seconds and then nodded. “Of course.” If she believed it, she would not run. Or fly.

Chapter Text

“What is your name?” Rhaenyra asked at last, while they walked along the beach. Her dragon had to be here somewhere. They finally had time for the more mundane things. Like asking for names.

The girl looked at her slightly funny. “Daenerys –” and the rest got drowned out in a roar. She twitched, looked up – Rhaenyra could see the flicker of panic in her eyes – and then a smile spread across her face.

“Drogon!”

Her dragon flew towards them, landing right in front of her, and nudged her ever so carefully. She stroked his head, fingers dancing along his scales.

“You are good,” she whispered. The dragon rumbled lowly at her and nudged her again.

Rhaenyra stepped away some, watching them with a small smile. Whatever or not had happened with the other dragons, the bond with his one was strong. Which made the others attacking her ever more unlikely. When the poor girl burst into tears, the black dragon curled around her, shielding her with his wing.

---

Drogon hated watching mother cry. She had started sobbing again; pressed against his side and cried. He knew, of course. He felt her grief. They were all gone. Mother would cry for a good while, he guessed. Maybe forever as soon as she thought of those who were lost.

But she shouldn’t be sad! Not right now, anyway. She was fine! Still weak, Drogon could smell it on her, just as he could feel her flying heartbeat, but she was fine! Mother was alive and she would be okay. He would be okay too. And there were dragons!

After a while, when Drogon judged the crying finally had to end, he nudged her carefully, rumbling softly. Daenerys smiled weakly and patted him again, wiping her tears away with little success. He rumbled again and got up, bowing down towards her. He had to show her the dragons. She had to know!

---

Daenerys watched Drogon bow and again the odd fear rushed over her. He had spotted dead, hadn’t he? As if they could outrun them forever. Patiently let her cry a bit, and then back to the real problem. He grumbled at her, sounding impatient by now.

She glanced at Rhaenyra, who surely wouldn’t appreciate it if she just got up and flew away. Then again if she saw them… everything would be solved…

“I think he wants to show me something. Do you want to come along?”

Rhaenyra nodded and stepped closer, watching in slight awe how the girl simply climbed on her dragon and took hold of some horns, riding it like the old days – without a saddle. Well, of course, she wouldn’t have one if they stayed hidden the entire time.

“Sure.” When she didn’t see any dead, maybe she would finally calm down. Realize they weren’t about to die, how insane everything sounded. While climbing atop the dragon, finding a spot to hold onto behind the girl, Rhaenyra felt worry sneak into her. What did the dragon want to show her, though? If the girl fully believed it, maybe the dragon went along with her as well, followed her cues, and if the dragon wanted to show her something…

While Drogon jumped into the air, beating his wings, she feared for the slightest second to see dead after all. Corpses emerging from the waves, scaling the beaches of her island. Her stomach tensed. Seven hells. The girl was convincing. Insane, but convincing.

She didn’t see dead scaling the beaches. Dragonstone was as calm and peaceful as ever. She saw her guards stationed underneath, a few ships in the harbor, flying the three-headed dragon. And then Drogon turned and descended towards the Dragonmount.

---

Daenerys watched the island beneath them in slight disbelief. Guards were stationed everywhere, ships flying the three-headed dragon anchored nearby. No sign of the dead anywhere. But why? They had to be here by now. They just had to be. They had caught up to Drogon and her so often and so quickly, and suddenly… they just did not? Why would the woman plaster everything with Targaryen colors and then not know her? Even have to ask her name.

Glancing over her shoulder, she truly looked at her for the first time. She looked perfectly calm, holding onto some horns. As if flying wasn’t bothering her all too much. As if… just as if… she was used to it?

That one didn’t make any sense. Nothing was making sense right now. If Drogon didn’t want to show her the dead approaching then… well, what then?

When her dragon descended towards the Dragonmount, she snorted ever so lowly. Really?

And then the weirdness kept going. Drogon landed… and there were still more people here. One of the men bowed slightly.

“Princess.”

What? Daenerys stared at him. Why would he –

Drogon trotted on, towards the caves.

“My lady, I –” the man started, stepping closer to Drogon, who growled at him.

“It’s okay,” Rhaenyra said softly and he backed off. “Get us a torch.”

Soon enough, they climbed off Drogon, while he led them through the caves.

Daenerys followed uneasily. Everything felt off. Entirely and completely off. Why would the man address her as princess? And then switch to my lady right after? She glanced at Rhaenyra again, frowning. She had given the command.

He had meant… her?

But there weren’t any other...

Her thoughts ripped when something growled. Something other than Drogon, who was right beside her. He stopped and Daenerys turned her head, staring at the bronze giant in utter disbelief. The fire of the torch was dancing across the walls of the caves, along its scales, creating an even more unreal feeling.

Daenerys just stood and stared.

It growled again but didn’t move closer. A silvery dragon beside it raised its head, eyeing them curiously, and then turned away again.

Daenerys stood frozen for what felt like forever.

Two dragons.

And worse of all, she knew them.

“Vermithor,” she whispered in utter disbelief. And Silverwing. But he was dead. They were both dead. For centuries now. He died during the dance at Tumbleton and she…

… she…

Daenerys felt as if something snapped in her head, while things fell into place. Vermithor was alive. Silverwing was alive.

She turned her head and stared at the woman. Valyrian silver-gold hair and violet eyes. Rhaenyra. Princess Rhaenyra. Not bothered by flying. Not believing the North was gone, because it obviously was not gone. There were no dead to speak of.

“Can I… can I see… Syrax as well, maybe? Please?” She somehow got together.

Rhaenyra looked at her for a long moment, nodded and turned, leading the way this time. Daenerys followed her, feeling all numb, while her head raced away. Drogon followed curiously.

Princess Rhaenyra. Dragonstone decorated in their colors. Vermithor. She was sure she would see Syrax as well. She could see Arrax and Vermax and all the others too. If she flew Drogon to Driftmark, she would find Rhaenys and Corlys. If she flew him to Kings Landing, she would find the dragon pit – full of dragons – with Viserys I sitting the Iron Throne. All of them were dead.

How? She wondered, but, of course, did not find an answer. How, how, how?

She didn’t know. For once, not knowing did not bother her all too much. She knew what she was seeing. Watching the dead walk did things to her, she guessed. Made everything plausible.

Still, she was numb and freaked out when they reached the golden dragon. Syrax growled happily upon seeing Rhaenyra. The older woman walked to her, smiling all happy, and stroked her head.

“Daenerys?” She asked and turned towards her. The poor girl looked as if she had seen the Stranger. She motioned for her, and Daenerys stepped beside her. Rhaenyra took her hand and pressed it against Syrax’ warm scales.

“That’s Daenerys, Syrax.”

Her dragon growled a greeting, eyeing the young dragon girl curiously.

---

The rest of the day flew by like in a shadow. Daenerys watched Seasmoke land while they walked back to the castle. Watched Laenor Velaryon hop off. Rhaenyra walked towards them, and they whispered among each other. An older woman joined them soon enough.

Rhaenys, Daenerys thought, and still just stared.

They were all dead.

Maybe she was as well. Maybe she had never survived the fight with Viserion. Was this heaven, then? One of the seven heavens or… she hadn’t paid much attention to the faith of the seven. But this? Heaven? If she was in heaven, she’d sit the Iron Throne. Or… or be with Drogo and their –

Their son. The vision she had had so long ago jumped into her mind. Drogo and their son waiting in a tent beyond the wall. But she wasn’t with them. This weren’t the Shadowlands.

Han’t Bran been able to see the past? A shiver ran down her spine. Maybe this was the past. Maybe, somehow, when the Night King attacked her…

She brooded about all the impossibilities that came to mind, pacing around in her tiny room. Turning things, mulling over thoughts, trying to think of anything and everything. But she never got anywhere, never finding an explanation that made enough sense. Maybe none of this made sense anyway. She was sure she was alive. That was about all.

When darkness started to fall, a guard came to escort her to the main hall. The painted table. Entering, she saw Rhaenyra and Laenor talk among each other again.

Rhaenyra glanced at her. “Give us a moment, my lady.”

Daenerys merely nodded and slowly walked through the room, her fingers touching the painted table, moving along its mountains and valleys as she walked. Westeros. The Seven Kingdoms. Stopping, she stared outside. She could still make out Drogon all curled up on the beach. A red dragon – Meleys, most likely – beside him.

And again, something clicked. It felt so loud, the others might have heard it if it wasn’t in her head.

‘To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow’, Quaithe had told her, long, long ago. Another shiver ran down her spine. Daenerys hadn’t expected it to be so literal. She had passed beneath the shadow, hadn’t she? Nearly died for it. To think she thought the woman told her to go to Asshai. To think going back to the Dothraki was the key.

If this was the past, if this was real, and if this was her fate all along then…

She turned and looked at Rhaenyra, who looked at her by now, watching her with the slightest frown. Rhaenyra. House Targaryen had never been as powerful as they were now. They never had as many dragons as they had now.

With a sinking feeling, she slowly realized what she had to do.

Stop the Dance from happening.

Chapter Text

“My lady.”

Daenerys turned away from the dragons to look at Rhaenyra.

“Yes?”

“We have some more questions,” Rhaenyra said.

What should she say? No? She nodded.

Laenor spoke up this time. “How did you hatch your dragon?”

Daenerys gaze flickered between them. They didn’t believe she had more than one, did they? Anger flared up in her, followed by sadness right after. The urge to cry. They were both gone. Or as good as. From their perspective, she may as well just have Drogon.

“I dreamed if I carried his egg into a great fire he would hatch. He did.”

“Ha.”

Rhaenyra watched her. “How did you get the egg?”

“I told you. They were given to me as a gift.”

The two exchanged a gaze.

“Did you have more dreams that came true?”

She hesitated. Yes, but… “No.” None that would help her right now.

Rhaenyra watched her, maybe sensing or seeing she was not fully telling the truth. No further questions came, though.

“The king will sail for Dragonstone within a couple of days. He will make a decision on what to do with you.”

Daenerys nodded. A couple of days. So little time. “Will he have me killed?” She would do if she was Queen. Her brother would have done the same if she had hatched her dragons while he was still alive. Just her existence and bonding with her children was a threat to his claim or so he would have surely believed. Things weren’t much different now, were they? Sure, she was no direct threat, but her having a dragon was a threat.

“I highly doubt that, my lady,” Rhaenyra replied without hesitation. She was not sure what her father would do, but certainly not execute the young woman. Question her, yes, try to understand where and how and why, but not execute. Likely imprison her, which she didn’t say, of course.

---

She spent the night barely able to sleep, just as Rhaenyra had done before, brooding about what to do, about how to start anything, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling or pacing around in her chamber. She had to tell them, of course, but no matter which idea came to her, she only sounded ever more insane. Claim she was a Targaryen? Yes, of course. Their long-lost niece, perchance. Not even she would believe it.

Daenerys huffed. Drogon in itself was proof she had to be Targaryen. If she wasn’t of the dragon, he wouldn’t listen. Yet, it wasn’t overly convincing. Not if she was going to tell them she was Queen, last of their blood, and had seen the end of the world. They would think she was insane. No. More than insane. Lost her damn mind.

Sighing weakly, she tried sorting her thoughts. She had to know something she could use to convince them!

For now…

…well…

She asked her guard for parchment, a feather and ink. Easier to think if she wrote things down.

When a servant returned with her request a little later, she thanked the woman. “Oh. What year do we have? It may have slipped my mind.”

“124, my lady.”

“Thank you.”

124.

She wrote it down on her empty parchment. 124. And then added

‘Laena Velaryon dies’ followed by ‘Aemond claims Vhagar’ and ‘Laenor gets murdered’.

What a year to be alive. Which gave her what? Six years?

She went on writing down what she remembered, all the way until the storming of the Dragon Pit, added years when she knew them. Daenerys stared at her parchment. What a bleak future. How should she stop any of this? Maybe kidnapping Aegon was the way to go. Bind him to Drogon and make a run for it. Or burn him. Could he burn? Viserys had burnt.

Chuckling, she shook her head. Not an option. They’d hunt her down. Better focus on the task at hand. What did she know of the time before?

Well, Rhaenyra’s and Laenor’s marriage, Strong burned, who may or may not have been the father of her bastards. What else? She needed something to convince them!

But nothing came to mind. How could she not know anything about her own family? How could she just… she knew all about Robert’s damn rebellion, knew the Dance, of course, about the Blackfyres and Summerhall, but actually usable family secrets?

Nothing. Just damn nothing. If she didn’t know any family secrets… what did she know of Rhaenyra?

She stared at her outline, finally adding her death at Sunfyres… fangs? And went on staring. There had been rumors she had slept with one of the Kingsguard. If it was true, Rhaenyra sure wouldn’t have told anybody. If it was false…

If it was false, she may offend the one person she had to convince above all else.

---

“Princess?”

Rhaenyra looked up from Joffrey, who made happy baby noises.

“Yes?”

“The girl asks for an audience.”

Oh. What would she say now? Had she finally decided the dead weren’t going to attack them after all? She had looked shaken enough yesterday. Maybe it had forced some sense into her.

She nodded. “A little.” She looked down at Joffrey in her arms, barely finding a smile. She missed Harwin so much. If only she had forbidden him to go. Ordered him along, yes. Maybe as additional protection… but no. Too obvious. Too reckless. People did have eyes. Jace questioning his lineage was bad enough.

Sighing weakly, she handed her little one back to the wet nurse and got dressed. No time for brooding, no time for missing her love either. She had taken some time when they got here, Laenor holding her while she cried. The girl had been a welcome distraction in a way. No time to be sad when she had to contend insanity, the dead walking, and the mystery of the black dragon.

Entering the main hall, she smiled weakly. Once again, the girl stood by the opening in the wall, staring down at her dragon.

“My lady,” she greeted.

Daenerys turned around, looking ashen. She really may have seen the Stranger. “My princess.”

Stepping beside her, Rhaenyra frowned. Her dragon was pacing around on the beach. 

“What do you want to talk about?” Please, let it be an explanation. If her father got here and she had an explanation, things would go over better, she was sure of it.

Daenerys bit her lower lip and turned away, walking back to the painted table.

“It may sound insane,” Daenerys said softly, staring down at the table. “It will sound insane.”

Rhaenyra frowned. Oh gods. What now? What else could she come up with?

“Tell me.”

After the walking dead, how much worse could it get?

Daenerys looked up. “I am Daenerys Targaryen. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Oh, seven hells. She shouldn’t have said anything.

“I was born on Dragonstone. Fled to Essos with my older brother while the Usurper murdered the rest of our family. My brother died, leaving me as the last of our house. I hatched my dragons, got an army of Unsullied, I took…” She paused for a moment. “I united the Dothraki and sailed for Westeros to take back my father’s throne. Your throne. The Iron Islands, Dorne, the Reach and the North declared for me. I learned of the White Walkers and took my army north.”

Once again, Rhaenyra just stared at her. She felt as if in a strange loop. The girl was insane. Worse than before, actually. As if the dead walking wasn’t crazy enough. Instead of backing down, she just added more.

“I know how it sounds,” Daenerys conceded, obviously very aware of her thoughts. Or rather the expression on her face. She stayed quiet while Rhaenyra tried to sift through this new amount of madness.

“Why did you change your story?” She asked eventually. Yes, she would tell the same insane thing to her father, yes, she should get ahead of it, but… gods, she just didn’t want to think about crazy for a day.

“I did not. I do not. I did not know who you are. Did not think introducing myself was necessary at this point.”

Why even entertain her? Rhaenyra shook her head and turned to leave.

“Laena Velaryon will die soon. Maybe is dead already. She dies during childbirth. Aemond will claim Vhagar afterwards.”

She stopped mid-room and turned to stare at her. What?

“He will kill Lucerys. Laenor will die too. He gets murdered.”

To think she thought she was insane prior. This was getting to whole new levels. Rhaenyra continued on.

“You slept with a Kingsguard.”

She froze, a chill running down her spine, and turned to her again. “What?”

“You did. For a while. I think he proposed to you as well. Before you married Laenor.”

Rhaenyra just stared at her, for once lost for words. How… how could she know? She had never told anyone about Cole. Might some people had seen or overheard his horrible proposal, but… no one had ever dared to bring it up.

Part of her wanted to ask. More than anything. How do you know? How could she know?! But she didn’t. Asking would mean admitting that something had happened. Daenerys was insane. Simple. Only her knowing of Cole…

“I was born in 284,” the insane girl carried on.

Rhaenyra shook her head and walked on towards the door.

Just a lucky guess. Had to be.

But a lucky guess wouldn’t know when it was, nor the proposal.

---

Alone in her room again, Daenerys sighed. That had gone about exactly how she feared it would. Horrible. She should have started softer. Easier. Maybe… maybe claim she had seen it in a dream. Her dreams usually came true – this time she knew what would happen either way. Gods, why hadn’t she…

Well. She had hoped Rhaerya would... just go along with it? Maybe she was insane after all. First talk about the dead, now this. She sighed weakly. Why bother with even more crazy? No one would.

“What a start,” Daenerys whispered and lay down, closing her eyes, trying not to replay her horrible try at convincing Rhaenyra. Her head obviously did nothing else. Soon enough, she sat up again and brooded over her parchment. What else could she know? Things that would happen soon or had happened recently, preferably, things she could use to convince Rhaenyra, but she couldn’t think of anything. Viserys had glossed over lots of “boring” parts. She’d be able to recite any battle during the dance, but silly politics before that? She sighed again. Her brother really had been useless.

---

Back in her private chambers, Rhaenyra stared at the fireplace, watching the flames dance. The girl had gone from crazy to insane beyond reason. She hadn’t turned to a screaming crazy yet, but a desperate one. Easier to dismiss. Scarier, in a way. She’d talk to her father once he got here and warn him. Prepare him. He could listen to her and ask his questions, but he wouldn’t get anywhere. The girl had lost her mind.

Still, she uniting the kingdoms, she knowing about Cole… it was driving her crazy in its own right.

The doors opened. “What did she want?” Laenor asked.

“Nothing useful. I really thought I was getting somewhere with her, but…” she sighed and shook her head.

“What did she say this time?”

“Claims Laena will die. You are getting murdered.”

“Oh.” Laenor hesitated. “Maybe a dream after all?”

“I very much doubt it.”

Laenor hummed. “And here I am, hoping to get details on my death.”

Rhaenyra snorted and glanced at him. How could the idiot always make her smile?

She tried to push it away. Just ignore it. For two days, she returned to her reading lessons with Jace, much to his dismay by the looks of it, watched her boys spar with Laenor’s knight in the yard. Read some herself, went about things. Life turned normal. She could ignore all the crazy insinuations.

Only she was really bad at it.

---

Daenerys somewhat woke up when the door to her room opened and light flickered through the darkness. She blinked confused.

“Leave us alone.”

The door closed.

“How did you know?” A voice asked. “About Criston Cole.”

“What?”

She blinked and finally saw Rhaenyra, standing in a nightgown in front of her bed, holding a candle.

“I just… I knew. I know.”

“How?” She asked, waiting for a reply, which Daenerys didn’t give. She shook her head and sighed again.

“I told you,” Daenerys said.

Oh, certainly. That it was her past. Rhaenyra wanted to leave again. No matter, she was not getting anywhere with this woman. Yet…

Uniting the kingdoms against the dead…

“One question,” Rhaenyra said.

“Yes?”

“Are we related?”

“Yes. Through your fifth son.”

Once again, Rhaenyra stared at her. She had hoped for any other answer.

“You are off my blood, united the Kingdoms and took your army north to fight the dead.”

“The Lannisters interfered with the Tyrells and...” Daenerys fell quiet. “Yes.”

Placing the candle aside, Rhaenyra sat down beside the girl, staring at the flickering flame. “You really believe this?”

“Look at my dragon. He would not have injured himself, would he?”

Supposedly not. The wings, maybe, but not the tail. Rhaenyra nodded somewhat and rested her head on her hands. She knew what it sounded like. Of course, she knew. Her knowing secrets she had never told a living soul just made it all the stranger.

“You really believe it? That all of them are dead?” She just couldn’t…

“Yes. The wights caught us three times before the Night King came for us. I think… I think everybody is dead by now. He would have taken Kings Landing and overrun the rest. Hells, everything before Kings Landing would be enough.”

They fell quiet. Rhaenyra still stared at the candle. From my blood…

Daenerys chuckled joylessly.

“Hm?” Rhaenyra glanced at her.

“Oh, just…” Daenerys smiled wryly. “The prince that was promised will bring the dawn. But no one can bring the dawn. They are all dead.” It did not matter anymore whether or not it was her. Prince or Princess. Jon was dead too.

Rhaenyra's blood ran cold. “You know of the prophecy?”

Daenerys somehow managed not to frown. What? What prophecy? “Yes.”

Silence.

Rhaenyra needed a few moments. Hells, probably minutes. She stared at the girl. Eventually, she turned to look at the ground. If she was not the heir, she would not know. No one would know but them. Most likely, her brother had told her while he was dying.

“Why didn’t you say earlier?”

“When I did not know who you were, defending the island was more important. Once I knew… How do you even start this conversation?”

Rhaenyra smiled weakly. It was insane. All of it, everything. But it was what it was. She knew of the song.

Chapter Text

“You said Aemond will kill Lucerys.”

“Yes.” Daenerys hesitated. “Aegon will be crowned king. You send your sons to the Starks and Baratheons to remind them of their oaths. Lucerys never returns.”

Rhaenyra exhaled audibly.

“A civil war follows. It will be known as the Dance of the Dragons. You and Aegon and nearly all your dragons die before the end.”

A long silence followed while Rhaenyra tried to wrap her head around it. Just a couple sentences, but… It sounded like the fall of their house.

“I believe I must stop it.” Daenerys shook her head. “That sounds insane too.”

Rhaenyra smiled without much joy. It did, indeed.

“You could declare for Aegon.” She looked at the girl closely now. Daenerys could just kill her and be done with it.

Daenerys snorted. “For the drunken usurper cunt of a king? Never.” She fell quiet. “Daemon said that allegedly. I always liked it.”

Rhaenyra smiled somewhat. “Does sound like him.”

“No, I… My brother always hated you. Said you were the worst thing to ever happen to our house. I didn't think so. They stole your crown. I always listened to his stories, hoping they would end differently.” Daenerys smiled. “A Queen ascending the throne. If you could... I could too.” The dreams of a little girl. But her brother had been King. Just thinking otherwise had been dangerous back then.

“Hm.” Rhaenyra looked at her for a few moments. “You barely know me.”

“Well…” True. “You saved me. You did not give me a reason to doubt you are a good person.” Another pause. “I am your descendent. If I get you killed earlier, what happens to me?”

They both fell quiet. Strange to even think about.

Daenerys rummaged around beneath her mattress. “Here.” And handed her a parchment.

Rhaenyra took hold, unfolded it, and then read it with ever-growing horror. They would declare Aegon king. Luce died, Rhaenys died, Jace died, Daemon died. They would all die.

“It sounds as if I go insane.”

“They did call you Maegor with teats.”

“Charming.” And reasonable. She saw plots and betrayals at every corner based on this. “If this is true, maybe…” maybe she should bend the knee to Aegon. Easiest way to avoid war.

Syrax would get murdered by a fucking mob? She stared at the line in disbelief. Nearly all their dragons would get killed. Just like that. Joffrey died trying to get to them. Her head was starting to spin, only it got ever worse.

“I get eaten by his dragon?!”

In the Dragonmount, in her comfy warm cave, Syrax growled. She felt the odd urge to check up on her little one.

“Hm-hm.”

Maybe she shouldn’t bend the knee to Aegon. Maybe she should have him killed in his sleep. Pay someone to do the deed. Daemon would know –

No. She would not kill her family unless it absolutely had to be.

“How… how would you stop it?”

“I think a lot hinges on… the Hightower man. The Hand of your father. He always wanted you removed from the line of succession, have Aegon crowned. Hightower blood ruling the realm.” The benefit of hindsight.

For a slight moment, Rhaenyra smiled. “Otto is not Hand of the King. Lyonel Strong is. He’s a good man.”

“He dies in a fire.”

“Oh.” She looked back at the first line. “You did not write that down.”

“I… I thought it happened already.” She hesitated but then went on. “It did not seem important in comparison.”

Rhaenyra hummed lowly. True, in a way. The greens getting Vhagar…

“What do you think of Alicent?”

“She’s scheming against you, yes, but at the end of the day it’s her father’s bidding.”

Rhaenyra sighed and nodded. Damn Hightowers. If only… If only her father had never married again. Never had more children. She knew why, of course. To strengthen their house. What irony to see it all come crashing down.

“Can I take this with me?” She gestured at the parchment. “I have to think.”

Daenerys nodded. “Of course.”

---

Rhaenyra went on disturbing peaceful sleep. Next was Rhaenys, while her guards went to wake their maester and order the Dragonkeepers to get Meleys ready for travel.

“Rhaenys?” She shook her carefully.

“Hmm?”

Rhaenys took longer to wake up. But in the end, she too blinked, looking at her confused. “Rhaenyra?”

“You have to fly for Pentos. Right this moment.”

Rhaenys looked at her confused. “Is this about… Laenor said you…”

“It does not matter anymore. I want you to fly to Laena. Just to be careful.”

If any of their dragons could make it, it would be Meleys. Fastest of them all.

“Let me… let me get dressed and…”

“What else do you need? I will have my guards get everything. They are getting Meleys ready as well.” Not the guards themselves, of course.

Rhaenys stared at her and finally sat up. “Why… Why are you so worried?” She asked, starting to worry herself now. Would something happen to Laena? And if something happened to Laena, would something happen to Laenor as well?

“The girl told me something only I can know.”

Rhaenys stared at her. “What was it?”

“Not now,” Rhaenyra said. “When you are back.” Would give her more time to think as well, while simultaneously taking care of the biggest problem. “I will send Maester Gerardys along with you.” He would hate a dragon flight, lest alone a rushed one, but there was nothing to be done about it. “Unless you insist on getting your Maester from Driftmark.”

“What... Why... What is going on?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Hurry. If need be, I will command you.”

For a few more seconds, Rhaenys stared at her, wanting to ask, wanting to know, no, to demand – it was about her daughter! – but… she already knew all there was to know, for right now, anyway. Laena was in danger and Rhaenyra was scared.

“Get me food and drink for the day. Whatever the maester may need. Good ropes as well. Binding him to Meleys will make things easier.”

She was used to flying, to how her dragon turned and shifted. The poor maester was not.

---

Laenor slowly opened his eyes. There were people running in the corridor. No screaming, thankfully, no…

He nearly fell asleep again. Until he realized Rhaenyra was not with him. Her half of the bed was empty and cold. He sat upright. Normally, nothing to worry about, he wouldn’t even bother, but together with the running…

Something had happened. Must have. Viserys. Was he dead? Had a letter come?

He got up, dressed himself in a blind hurry and stepped outside. The running had ceased. Their personal guards were still there, manning the door, which meant it couldn’t be too bad. Hopefully.

“What is going on?”

The man simply shrugged. “I do not know, my lord.”

“Where is the princess?”

“She went to talk to the girl, I believe.”

The girl? Daenerys? He made it halfway to her chamber when frantic screaming caught his attention. He ran for the closest window, already expecting the worst, and watched Meleys take flight.

What? Why? Why at that hour? It was still pitch-black outside!

Besides… His mother would never scream. Who then… While the red dragon ascended, she passed by the outer wall. Flickering torchlight illuminated her scales for just a second. He could see his lady mother, stern as ever, and… Laenor stared. Their maester. Roped to dragon back.

“What in the seven hells...”

He found Rhaenyra down by the stairs to the yard, staring into the night sky, her light nightgown fluttering in the wind. Maybe watching Meleys who was long out of sight.

“What happened?” Laenor asked. Somehow, he always asked her what happened lately.

Rhaenyra glanced at him and stayed quiet for a while. A long while. He didn’t ask again.

“What the girl said…,” Rhaenyra said at last. “Maybe it were dreams.”

Chapter Text

“You have to fly to Harrenhall,” Rhaenyra said at last, turning to her husband.

Laenor frowned. “What? Why?”

“She said there would be a fire. Lyonel will die.”

“She has lots of dreams, does she?” It didn’t sound right. The girl played them, surely.

Rhaenyra smiled weakly. “Humor me. I just… want to be sure. We both know who will be hand if Strong dies.”

Well, yes. Fucking Otto.

“Will you come with?” Laenor asked.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “I cannot be gone when my father arrives.”

He nodded. “Right now?” She had sent Rhaenys right now as well.

“Yes.”

Laenor didn’t move. “What changed your mind on her?”

“She knows something only I can know.”

“What was it?”

But Rhaenyra again shook her head. “There is a good chance the rest she says will be true as well.”

“Rhaenyra.”

She turned to look at him. Laenor saw her face for the first time tonight. In the flickering fire of the torches, she looked worried, she looked scared.

“I will tell you when you return.”

He nodded solemnly and kissed her forehead. “Does it mean I will die too?” The girl had said that as well.

Rhaenyra smiled thinly. “We will avoid it if we can. If you rescue Lyonel from the fire…”

Their chances seemed better, simply based on merit. Laenor turned to the closest guard. “Get me my travel cloak and provisions.” He hesitated for a second, the guard already turning away. “My sword as well.”

---

Watching Seasmoke take flight, Rhaenyra felt uneasy, felt fully alone for the first time. She shivered ever so lightly. Somehow, she feared it was already done, that all those things had happened, that they were facts. Daenerys had said… she said she thought the fire had happened already.

Hopefully… hopefully Daenerys sources erred on a few days. Because they would only need a few days to save them all. Deep down she didn’t believe it, though. She knew Lyonel would be dead. Harwin would be dead. Laena would be dead too. Just like that, a full strike for the greens. She managed to walk halfway down to the beach, all alone except for the black dragon, who raised his head to look at her, before she burst into tears.

They would all die. Harwin and Laena. Laenor soon after. Her children too, as well as Daemon and even fucking Aegon and Helaena and…

Beating wings came closer. Syrax landed beside her and draped her wing over her. She growled, low and sad. Her poor little one.

---

She stood in the Dragon Pit, listening to Otto’s endless palaver. She had heard it all before. The gold cloaks formed a way through the crowd of commoners. Music started playing. And then Aegon walked along them, swords lowered behind him as he walked on.

Again, Helaena watched on as he was anointed by the High Septon. As he was crowned king. Criston Cole, the man who always walked with her mother, placed the conqueror's crown on his head. No one cheered for Aegon. The smallfolk only whispered and Helaena knew why. He should not be King; she should not be Queen. Rhaenyra should be crowned, not them.

After came the blood, how it always did. Rivers and rivers full of it. Dragons falling from the sky, turning to thread. Helaena whimpered and threw herself around in her bed. It would be over soon. Just a moment longer and she could wake up and…

But today she didn’t. The dream went on. For the first time, she watched Aegon take seat on the Iron Throne, staring down at them darkly. And then she flew. Wings beat beneath her in the night. Dreamfyre. She was on Dreamfyre. Cold wind cut through her, chilling her to the bone. As the sun rose, slow and red as blood, she watched a black dragon fly towards them. The last one. House Targaryen started with a black dragon, and it ended with a black dragon. Snow shifted far below them. Its rider would be a Queen, she knew suddenly. Just like she knew Aegon would be crowned king, like she knew Aemond would ride the biggest dragon in the world.

Before she could lay eyes on the woman Dreamfyre dove suddenly, and Helaena screamed. It wasn’t snow beneath them. They were dead. They were all dead. As far as the eye could see, from horizon to horizon. And the dead were walking.

Helaena sat upright in her bed and screamed. Screamed, again and again, jumping up in a blind panic to hide in the corner of her room as if it could protect her. The dead would walk.

Only a few moments later, which felt like forever, which felt like years and years, a servant came running into her room, trying to calm her down, asking what had happened, that it only had been a dream. But Helaena didn’t calm down, she went on screaming and crying and trashing.

---

Once she calmed down, Rhaenyra flew Syrax back to the Dragonmount. Watching her walk back into the caves, she smiled weakly. She had come to cheer her up.

“Can I have your cloak?” She asked one of her guards. She probably shouldn’t walk around in only her nightgown. With a warm cloak wrapped around her, she slowly walked back to the castle, taking her sweet time.

How should she tell them? What should she tell them? What should Daenerys tell them, most of all? Dreams seemed to be a good route, but she sure couldn’t claim all those things as dreams. She had seen the parchment, skimmed over it. There were lots and lots of things. No one could dragon dream that much, in excoriating detail at some points. The fire, sure, Laena dying, yes. But all the rest? How the battle of Tumbleton would go down? No way.

Which only left the truth, which was insane in itself. Tell them the girl had… what? Rhaenyra still hadn’t thought of the what. Because the what was insane.

She must be from the future. 284 and some more. Nothing but madness. But it was what it was. She had a dragon, she knew of the song. Telling the truth, it was then… Laughable. They would think she was insane. She would think she was insane. Crazy and crazy teaming up. Alicent would use it against her, would claim she had lost her mind. Unfit to rule. Aegon had to be named heir to save the realm.

Rhaenyra screamed in frustration. All because… All because Aegon had a dream and took flight to bend the kingdoms to his will. All because of Otto. All because her father wanted to secure their power. All because… All because Laenor couldn’t produce heirs. If her children at least looked like them, Alicent would have so much less to use against her. Not that she wouldn’t find something else anyway, but it would be harder. All because… she hesitated but thought it anyway. All because her father didn’t put an end to it, always avoiding strife. All because… 

Again, she calmed. Returning to the castle, her mind ran in circles. Tell the truth, not tell the truth. She couldn’t tell the truth. But if she lied it would surely catch up with her before long. Back in her private chambers, away from prying eyes, she lit a few candles and unfolded the parchment. She would read it again, unhurried and calm this time. Not skipping entire lines because the one further down was so much more ludicrous. And it all just got worse and worse. Rhaenyra got sick to her stomach. Daemon and she had one of Aegon and Helaena’s sons killed, or so rumors claimed, in revenge for Luke. Kinslayer. The taking of Kings Landing by her, torturing the insufferable Lannister, but torturing, nonetheless. Otto beheaded – okay, anyone could see that coming. Aemond burned down the Riverlands. Some of the dragonseeds turned on her… and ever after, she saw betrayal everywhere, even accusing Corlys. Helaena threw herself off the Red Keep, which sparked the turmoil and the fall of the Dragon Pit.

Her getting eaten in the end. Again, she stared at the line. Set the realm ablaze for what? A fucking crown. Well. No. In revenge for her sons. Not that it made it any better.

---

In the far distance, Rhaenys could see the few flickering lights of Pentos. Meleys was closing in, the city growing ever bigger. In the beginning, the winds had been against them, as if the world itself was determined to slow them down, but Meleys shot along over the water after, as if she was determined to make up time, faster than Rhaenys ever remembered her flying. She had turned desperate at some point over the black lapping of waves. Laenor had told her, more in jest than anything, that the girl had said Laena would die. That he would die. Rhaenyra believes she threw out any accusation she could think of, Laenor had told her with half a smile. The girl is insane, he had added.

Only Rhaenyra had changed her mind. And with even the winds slowing them down… She was not superstitious, not normally. She didn’t even believe in the Seven. They were of the dragon. The faith of the seven was nothing to them. But watching her dragon creep along, fighting against nature itself, doubts had come. They cleared as they got closer, only a little nagging left behind. So, so close. Her daughter would not die, however it would come to pass. Rhaenys threw a glance behind her to check on her maester, who had grown suspiciously quiet. Either he had gotten used to it or he had screamed his voice away. Probably the latter.

“We will be descending,” she informed him as a matter of courtesy. The man nodded, horror dancing on his face. Not another dive.

Meleys landed close to Vhagar and Caraxes, who greeted her with little growls. Rhaenys jumped off and ran towards the castle, her maester for now forgotten. She had to get to Laena. Daemon stood by the top of the stairs, hand on the hilt of Dark Sister, and stared at her with the ever-slightest frown.

“Why are you here?” He asked. Had his brother sent her? Sure, he had. Was he ordering them back again, by fucking royal command? Or… had he died? Had Rhaenyra died, maybe? She had been pregnant only a little ago. Maybe something had gone wrong. The frown disappeared while his face fell, expecting the worst.

“Where is my daughter?”

---

Harrenhall was ablaze. Laenor stared at it from afar, urging Seasmoke to fly faster. He did not bother circling. He landed in the yard and screamed at the panicked guards and servants, who futilely tried to put out the fire. What should buckets of water do against such heat?

“Where is Lord Lyonel’s chamber?”

He did not get an immediate answer, so he grabbed one of the guards and yelled at him again. The man stared at him, stared at the dragon behind him, and stammered nothings.

“Answer me! Where is Lyonel Strong?!” Laenor screamed and shook him. Seasmoke was growling. If Harrenhall was burning, his sister would be dying.

“The tower.” The guard pointed up, where the fire was slowly reaching, lapping at the stone, casting gruesome shadows around them. “Window on the left.”

Laenor let go of him and jumped back on Seasmoke, who took flight on his command, aiming for the tower and the window to the left. Smoke was starting to pour out the window. Peering inside the chamber, with Seasmoke awkwardly trying to hold his position, Laenor saw Lyonel frantically trying to open the door. Obviously. Who in their right mind would check a window so high up for escape? Ever more smoke streamed in. Laenor coughed.

“Lord Strong!”

Lord Strong did not hear. Just tried to open the damn door.

“Lord Strong!”

Nothing. Seasmoke roared, but not even he could draw his attention. Lyonel hammered away at the door, ripped on the handle, tried to pry it open to no avail, screamed in sheer panic, listening to Harwin dying on the other side. The roaring of the flames approaching nearly sounded like dragons.

Laenor stared. Screw it. Screw it, screw it, screw it!

“Umbagon”, he ordered Seasmoke and did the most stupid thing he could ever think of. Jumped through the window into the room. If he could save Lyonel, his sister could be saved as well.

Chapter Text

Laenor pulled Lyonel Strong away from the door with all his might. The older man stumbled, caught himself, and stared at him, his face going through all sorts of emotions. Panic and terror, surprise, disbelief, and the slightest bit of hope.

“We have to go!” Laenor yelled above the roaring of the flames, gesturing to the window. Wood cracked. Lyonel stared once again. A dragon. Seasmoke peered at them, trying his very best to stay put.

Laenor dragged him towards the window, towards his dragon, towards the only way out.

“No. No!” Lyonel stopped and refused to take another step. “Harwin… he…” he coughed and gestured to the door.

Laenor stared at him and turned. Harwin. On the other side of the door. Oh, to the seven fucking hells.

---

Before Rhaenys could take another step, she remembered the maester. She had left him. With three dragons. Might as well have thrown him to the wolves.

“Wait for me,” she said and turned away, hurrying back. Maester Gerardys was still alive, thankfully. He had tried to unbind himself but had seized all movement when Caraxes head got closer, breathing in his scent. Meleys growled lowly, raising her head. As if she was saying, this one is mine. Gerardys stared at the rows of fangs and about watched his life flash before his eyes. Fitting death, kind of, although he didn’t like simply being forgotten. Dragons happened when serving dragons.

“Meleys,” Rhaenys said, and her dragon’s head turned towards her. “Come.” And she did, the maester whimpered lowly. She unbound him and led him closer to the stairs. “Take a moment,” she said softly, and he took a shivering breath. He needed more than a moment!

---

Daemon led the way through their possibly not-much-longer home. Rhaenys still hadn’t said more. He hadn’t asked more.

“Viserys sent you,” he said eventually. It wasn’t even a question. He expected her to mention it any second now.

“No.”

He glanced at her. Yeah. Of course.

“How is Laena?”

No answer. A girl came darting down the corridor, only halfheartedly holding up her dress to make sure she did not stumble. Her silvery hair flew behind her. Rhaenys stared. Like Leana, little again. She would be the spitting image of her mother soon enough.

“Father, who…” she stopped and stared at them.

Daemon stopped, a tiny smile dancing across his face. Of course, Baela would come check on him.

“Baela. Princess Rhaenys.”

“Grandmother,” she breathed out and stepped closer, looking up at the older woman. Mother had told stories upon stories, but they had never met. Rhaenys knelt carefully, feeling her old bones protest at the prospect. Before she could say a word, the girl threw herself at her, giving her a hug.

“Mother talked so much of you, Lady Grandmother. Did you come on Meleys? Can I see her? Please, please, please. Maybe tomorrow? I have to introduce you to Moondancer! I bet she will like you. Oh, and you have to meet Rhaena, of course. She will love you too! She does not have a dragon yet, but you sure know that. Her egg just never hatched. Still puts it in the fireplace at times, you know? Which is –”

“Baela,” Daemon said softly.

She looked up at her father. “Yes?”

“Rhaenys came to see your mother.”

“Oh?” She looked at her grandmother. “Oh! How did you know? The babe is coming! I will show you the way!” and with that, she darted off again.

Rhaenys stared after her. Babe? Had she said babe?! Death in childbirth, shot through her head. Aemma had died that way. Rhaenyra was scared out of her mind of it.

“How could she know?” She whispered beneath her breath, while Daemon helped her up again. All the occasional gentleman.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing. When did the pain start?”

“At first light.”

Rhaenys stomach sunk. A day and nearly a night already.

---

Laenor stared at the door. Solid wood, albeit surely weakened by the fire. He would still need too long to break through it. Maybe if he had an axe, but he only had a damn sword. His gaze flickered to the hinges. Looked way too sturdy too, but maybe the fire had distorted them already. They’d either break easily or never move an inch. Lyonel had fought with the door before… but they hadn’t tried together. Worth a shot.

“Help me,” he yelled and grabbed the door handle, momentarily happy he was Valyrian. He felt the heat, but it didn’t bother him all too much, not yet anyway. Lyonel grabbed a stoker and tried to stem open the door. Even together, it wouldn’t budge.

“Fuck.” He moved back towards the window, dragging the Lord along despite his protests, and kept low to avoid most of the smoke. The damn door… they couldn’t… Laenor stared at it. He could try break it or its hinges, yes, but it took time; time they didn’t have, lest of all Harwin.

“Do you have a rope?”

“What…? No.”

Of course, he didn’t. Who would have rope lying around? Laenor scanned the room. Bedding would do, hopefully. Drawing his sword, he seized the lord’s bedding, cutting it into stripes. Lyonel understood, although he didn’t get why, and grabbed his dagger, cutting his pillow cover to usable pieces, as well as his robe. He could bother about being naked when he hadn’t burned to death.

---

Laena’s face lit up when Rhaenys entered the room. “Mother!” Her mother had come! That it barely made any sense fully escaped her mind as yet another contraction rolled around, making her scream and cry. The midwives stared at her and then glanced at the surgeon once again. While he was here, he had a say in things.

Rhaenys settled down beside the bed and took her hand, squeezing tightly. “I am here. Everything will be okay.” She would burn the world down otherwise.

Maester Gerardys finally made it into the room, staring. He needed a few moments to assess the situation and then turned to the ‘surgeon’, charlatans in his honest opinion, and asked about the state of things, his voice not much more than a whisper. Stupid dragon flight, but he would make do. Afterwards, he turned to Prince Daemon.

“What do you want, my prince?”

Daemon’s gaze flickered to Laena, who was screaming. “Save her.”

---

Knotting together the pieces of makeshift rope, Laenor checked it as much as he could given their non-existent time. He dumped part of it in the lords’ chamber pot and then approached the door, wrapping the wet part of the rope around the handle. Hopefully, it was enough to keep it from burning. Ducking low, he hurried through the room, back to the window, hoping the makeshift rope was long enough. Thank the Gods, it was. He yelled for Seasmoke to get closer. His dragon stared at him for a few seconds before he complied. His head got lower and then his snout poked through the window. Laenor wrapped the remaining rope around his head horns and stepped back, joining Lyonel cowering in a corner, doing his best to cover them with his travel coat.

“Pull back!” and Seasmoke did. Threw his head back. Wood screamed and splintered, myriads of tiny wood pieces flew through the room, as well as half a door. The roaring of the fire got louder.

Seasmoke rumbled all happy at the chaos he had caused and looked at Laenor for a pat.

---

Laena screamed. Having four fucking people stare at her between her legs didn’t feel much better than before, to be honest. Exchanging opinions. Arguing about it. As if she was some curious cattle to be discussed.

One of the midwives stepped beside her, patting down Laena’s sweaty face with a wet cloth. “We could try to break and remove the babe, my lady,” she said very softly. Laena nearly didn’t catch her.

“Fucking do it!” She snapped. If it hadn’t come by now, it wouldn’t come on its own. She may as well try a shot at surviving this shit show.

---

Coughing, not only from smoke now but from wood dust as well, Laenor turned towards where the door once was. The wood had given way halfway, big broken pieces poking out of it, casting weird shadows with the fire dancing behind it. The hinges looked deformed, but they hadn’t given way. Thank the Gods he hadn’t tried to break them. Dashing forward, he found Harwin on the ground and dragged him inside the room. He was vaguely aware the man was burning or at least part of his clothes. Lyonel had the whereabouts to grab his chamber pot and dump what remained on his son. The little fire died down to glimmers. Laenor, in the meantime, stopped once they had reached the window. Smoke was streaming around them. He looked up at his dragon, who was bobbing up and down ever so slightly with every wing beat, looking way too giddy.

For a split second, he saw himself stepping away, maybe while he was ordering Seasmoke to get lower again, to help Lyonel, whatever it was. Seasmoke would eat Harwin; rip him to pieces. What else was the man other than slightly charred and smoked meat, to his dragon anyway? For him, he would look like a big snack for good work done.

“Hold him. Stay behind me,” he said to Lyonel and turned to face his dragon, ordering him closer again. He patted him, feeling cool scales beneath his fingers.

“Do not eat him, Seasmoke. Understood? No food.”

Seasmoke just grumbled.

“I will get you more food if you do not.”

Another grumble. Whether this was good or bad, who knew? Laenor grabbed the rope still wrapped around Seasmoke’s horns and unwrapped the door handle.

“You will likely hate this.” He wasn’t even sure who he was talking to right now. Himself, his dragon, or Lyonel. But it was the only good way out. He could try order Seasmoke to cling onto the wall somehow, try jump onto him, but…

“Seasmoke. Head. Here,” he ordered and gestured for him. The big snout poked back through the window. Laenor stepped aside ever so little. “Lord Strong.”

“Yes?”

“I will wrap the rope around you and him. Have him lift you to his back.”

Lord Strong looked about as thrilled as he had expected but nodded either way. During all of this, Laenor still stayed between Seasmoke and Harwin. Just to be sure. He watched Lyonel get lifted off the ground, sheer panic on his face while he swung through the air, and then Seasmoke placed him on his back nearly carefully. His head swung back to him. A little growl. As if he wanted to say hurry. The smoke was getting worse. Laenor glanced behind him and saw fire spreading into the room, leaking up of what was left of the door, jumping to the wooden structures in the ceiling. Yes. Hurry.

“No food,” he said again and pushed the hopefully unconscious Harwin forward. The second that followed seemed forever. He already saw Seasmoke’s head shoot forward, Lyonel screaming. But nothing happened. Binding Harwin to Seasmoke’s neck, he felt the heat of the fire reach for him. Ever more smoke poured around him. He could barely breathe.

Now or never.

Clinging to Seasmoke’s neck behind Harwin, he only coughed. He couldn’t give another command.

****

Laena felt them reach up inside her. She cried and screamed, feeling slightly horrified. But what else was there to do? She looked at her mother, who only looked stern and loving, still holding her hand. Daemon stepped beside Rhaenys and kissed Laena’s forehead.

“I’m here,” he whispered, stroking her cheek, and settled down beside the bed. Laena smiled ever so weakly, sad tears welling up in her eyes. If this didn’t work, she would at least not die alone. But… she didn’t want to die here. Not if she had a say in things. Not in a fucking bed, to a fucking child. She wanted Vhagar. One last flight. Please. Or die through fire, if flight wasn’t possible.

Instruments were pushed inside her. The head collapsed. She felt it. Things moved, which shouldn’t be moving. Something was cut. More instruments. The maester and the surgeon argued while the midwives continued without them. And then they started to pull it out. One of the midwives screamed and something dropped to the floor. Rhaenys frowned and got up slowly. Daemon didn’t move. Took her place rather, holding Laena’s hand, kissing it.

“You will get through this,” he said. Laena smiled weakly. She wasn’t so sure.

Rhaenys stared at the dead babe. Or its arm, rather. Dragonscales. One of those again.

****

Seasmoke stared at the approaching fire. He grumbled at the smoke, waiting for a command which never came. In the end, he didn’t bother wait. Pulling his head back, he flapped away from the hole in the wall, hoping he wouldn’t see his Laenor lying on the ground, unconscious. Smoke and two-legs didn’t mix well. Then he got aware of more weight clinging to his neck. He heard coughing. Had to be. Hopefully. He swung his head around, back to the seat-thingy. Saddle. That’s how they called it; and watched elated how Laenor dropped down, clinging to the saddle and coughing for his life.

Back on the ground, the two-legs talked among themselves, an older man looking at not-his-snack. Seasmoke didn’t bother listening. He rather watched the spreading fire, inhaling its scent. Wood and stone, clothes, paper, two-legged ones. Would he be allowed to snack on the latter? They were burnt already, after all. But probably not. Two-legs had weird beliefs with their dead, buried them or dumped them in the sea or set them ablaze because who knew why. He could smell it all within the smoke. Like a story told. But there was something else, which he just couldn’t place. He took another breath and then another. Some oil, maybe? It was only the faintest smell, but it was there.

Laenor said something to the servants standing around. Seasmoke perked up at his voice. “Can you get me a cow?”

Cow? Seasmoke rumbled happily. A snack after all! One of the servants further back, wearing a coat against the cool of night, stepped away as well. Probably to help with his food. Then he got a whiff of the oil.

Seasmoke was in the air before he even thought of it. The humans below him screamed and ran, Laenor was yelling his name, but he was landing in front of the servant with the coat already. The man who smelled of the oil. Lowering his head, he growled, baring his fangs. The man stumbled back but didn’t scream.

---

With an orange sun rising, Daemon, Rhaenys, Baela and Rhaena were gathered in the yard. A few of the household and the prince were in attendance as well, much to his dislike. Laena was up in the chamber, having fallen into an uneasy sleep, the midwives and Maester Gerardys looking after her. Daemon held the dead thing wrapped in lots of linen. None but the four and them had seen it. Caraxes drew closer. He knew what he had to do, had seen enough little ones getting burned.

Rhaenys and Daemon had had a hurried discussion whether to burn it or bring it back to Driftmark to pass it to the sea, but Daemon had argued no one ought to see it. And thus, Rhaenys had fallen quiet. He had a point. They didn’t talk about the thing.

Daemon placed the little bundle on a few slats of firewood, which made a makeshift pyre. Nothing big. Nothing special. He just wanted this over with, away from prying eyes. Look after his girls for a moment and then pass them back to the servants. Maybe ask Rhaenys to stay with them now that she was here. He only wanted back to Laena. Make sure she was still alive.

He stepped away and Caraxes closed in. The dragon eyed the little firewood and the bundle atop. It smelled even more of dragon than the others. Too much dragon, maybe, which seemed ironic. It was dead, after all. Well… How the two-legs got their offspring was insane anyways. Hatching from eggs was so much more efficient.

Caraxes breathed in and breathed out fire, watching the linen and whatever underneath disappear in dragon flame. One of the girls sobbed, the other cried silently. Daemon and Rhaenys kept quiet.

---

The same sun rose over Kings Landing. Not red like blood, but warm and soft. An orange glow reached over the land. Helaena stared at it. It was so different to her dream. All warm and calm. There were no dead.

She had tried to change dreams, years ago, when it all started. The little things. Aegon playing a joke on Jace. But she never could. Her dreams always came true, no matter what, and the more often she dreamt them, the closer they were. Aemond closing his eye was close now, so very, very close. Only days, maybe. Laena would die, maybe had already. He would ride Vhagar and the rivers of blood would come to pass. An eye for an eye. Only it would be an eye for a boy for the monster beneath the boards. Helaena frowned. That one was still confusing, she just couldn’t get it. How did the boy falling lead to the monster? She only knew they were all somehow connected. It was the start of the river. Things falling into place so that it could flow.

Only then she hadn’t known about the dead, for the dead would come after Aegon ascended the throne. The rivers would flow, turn their dragons to thread, and no one could stand against them. What should one dragon and one Queen do against them all?

Die, that was it.

Helaena swallowed and turned away from the window. How should she stop any of this, though? She always tried little bits and pieces with her mother, who never listened. No one ever listened to her. They just thought she was the odd one, always lost in thoughts. Her father... No. The first time, she had tried, she had believed he would hear her, knowing he was obsessed with dreams. Her mother had said so. But he too had only smiled and ruffled through her hair. She remembered how heartbroken she was. Helaena had so hoped someone would finally listen, and nothing.

---

Said Queen and her dragon sat at the beach of Dragonstone, watching the very same sunrise bleeding across the waves. Daenerys cried silently, Drogon half-curled around her. She was snuggled against his warm scales, listening to his steady breathing. They were both staring at the waves.

“I miss them so much,” she whispered, getting a growl in return. She felt worse of all about Missandei. She had brought her to fucking Winterfell and for what? To die. She should have left her with a few Unsullied at Dragonstone. Hold the line, so to speak. Be a defence against… the dead? After they fell? They would die, just later. She had known she would die long ago. Was taking her to war, after all. She sighed weakly and leaned her cheek against Drogon’s side, feeling another growl rumble through him.

Steps came closer. Drogon raised his head.

“Daenerys?” Rhaenyra asked. “Can I join you?”

“Yes.” Of course, she could. Daenerys wiped her tears away and sat up straighter but didn’t move. She didn’t want to be away from Drogon right now. Rhaenyra hesitated for a few seconds but walked around Drogon into her field of vision. She hesitated again, only to sit down beside her after all, both leaning against her dragon now.

“I sent Rhaenys and Laenor on their way. Try safe Laena and Lyonel.” And Harwin, but she didn’t say. “If Vhagar does not fall to the greens…”

Daenerys nodded. “Better chances for us.”

“Do you know what the next steps should be?”

Daenerys shook her head. “Wait for your father, I suppose. Get that settled.” And then… either go for Alicent or Otto in one way or another.

Rhaenyra sighed. “Well, yes.” And fell quiet for a while. “Can you write more of your histories down?”

Daenerys nodded. Of course, she could. She had thought of it already. The Dance was only one thing. House Targaryen seemed to fall into chaos at least every other generation. If she averted this fight, there would be half a dozen others she had to put out. And how should she, if she would die within however many years? Between now and her birth were ages. Maybe they needed some form of oversight, to keep themselves from bashing in each other’s heads and murdering their dragons.

“Are you experienced in politics? The scheming and plotting part,” Rhaenyra asked.

“A bit. But…” Daenerys shrugged. She had just barely held onto Meereen. “Not all too much.” She had done some, like setting the Khals aflame and walking out of the burning building. She knew of the superstition of the Dothraki. Why not use it?

This time, Rhaenyra nodded. “I will tell Rhaenys and Laenor once they are back. Hopefully, before my father gets here. She will be able to help us.”

Daenerys hummed.

“She saw it coming miles away.” Rhaenyra smiled weakly. “Back then, when I was named heir, she told me I would never ascend the throne, that there would be war. They bend the knee to me, I said.” She snorted lowly. “Fuck they did.”

Rhaenyra sighed. Right now… she forced down a chuckle. Right now, she could really use Alicent’s help. Not the bitch Queen, but her friend. She had always been good at making plans and sneaking about… which had brought them into this chaos in the first place, hadn’t it? Sneaking around behind her back to see her father.

“Do you think they will believe us?” Daenerys asked at last, interrupting her brooding.

Rhaenyra smiled thinly. “If Harrenhall burned and Laena died or not, they will.”

Chapter Text

Still no word from anyone. No raven, nor dragon. Nothing. Just silence. Was Harwin still alive? What to tell her father? Rhaenyra stood in the main hall, the painted table behind her, and stared out at the sky. Nothing. Not knowing was terrible. Worse, even. She’d take knowing in a heartbeat. Right now, everything was up in the air, her world waiting for a sign. What if none of it had worked? What if they were dead?

Secure Vhagar, she thought. Everything else was secondary, even her grief for Harwin. They had to get the dragon. Or at least keep Aemond away from her. If Vhagar did not fly for the greens, she dare hoped they had a chance.

Why… They were busy, yes. That would be it. Hells, Rhaenys would stay put for a couple days, for sure. Stay with Laena. If she had nearly died in childbirth as Daenerys had claimed, of course she wouldn’t just jump on Meleys and fly back. But Rhaenyra had to know if things had worked out. Send a messenger over there, yes. Maybe… she smiled grimly. Maybe Daenerys. She didn’t have other dragon riders right now, and she sure wouldn’t send her young sons to another continent. She had really hoped to talk to Rhaenys first, get her opinion on things…

Rhaenyra turned, away from the blue sky, and stared at the painted table. She was on her own now. She had to make decisions. Just like she would have to when she was Queen. Of course, she could fall back on advisors, but at the end of the day, it would be her word and hers alone.

She had tried to play the game of politics, just the littlest bit. Convince Alicent to marry their children, end the strife. Of course, she had turned it down. Marrying her legitimate daughter to whom she presumed to be a bastard? Yeah, sure. 

She shook her head ever so slightly. Why in the seven hells…

Focus. Back to the problem. What to tell her father. And what to tell Alicent, because of course she would come along. She sure as hells would not get the same story.

Dreams, dreams were good. He would believe in dreams. Tell him she had seen the dead and came to her in a panic. Or tell him she knew of the prophecy and show him the parchment. Both would make do.

---

Daenerys spent her evening as she had spent the morning. By Drogon’s side, watching the sunset, listening to the waves. The monotony calmed her somewhat. She only cried a little, which felt like progress.

Once darkness fell for good, she got up, joining the guard who had stood nearby silently, who followed her wherever she went. Reasonable security measure, she guessed. Although she could still just jump on her dragon and fly away. What would a guard do then? Run and tell, probably.

Within her chamber, with a torch spending light, she asked once again for more parchment and set out on even more writing.

Aegon III taking the throne, his son Daeron following him. The conquest of Dorne, which in the end failed yet again. Only marriage brought it into the Seven Kingdoms. Baelor the Blessed, who was a breath of fresh air. Mostly. No murdering each other at least. The idiot died childless, probably in line with his beliefs, passing the crown the Viserys II. The last of Rhaenyra’s children. Aegon the IV, who legitimized all his bastards. She placed a note there. Had to be stopped. The Blackfyre rebellion, which really felt like another Dance of the Dragons. Especially if they still had dragons after the first one had been stopped. Another Blackfyre rebellion. Yet another Blackfyre rebellion, this one rather short, thankfully. Summerhall. Her father going entirely mad. Fucking Robert Baratheon. The battle at the Trident, the fall of Kings Landing. Her brother and she fleeing.

She stared at it. They really murdered each other every other generation. Or got others so mad they did the murder all on their own. Shaking her head, she put the parchment away. Enough bloodshed for one night. She could work out the details during the next few days.

Then bed. Then sleep. Her dreams were filled with Viserion, either hunting her or Rhaegal. Her poor baby got ripped to shreds by his brother and then raised from the water. She watched his blazing blue eyes stare at her and screamed.

---

Come next midday, Rhaenyra entertained Jace and Luke a bit, but her heart wasn’t in it. She just checked the sky every so often, waiting for dragons, ravens, or the sails of a ship, wondering if she should jump on Syrax and fly for Harrenhall or Pentos herself. Sometimes, one had to get the news and not wait for them.

“Mother? Is everything okay?” Jace asked, looking at her. Rhaenyra only managed a fake smile and kissed his head.

“Yes. All good,” she said. “Just waiting for your father to come back.” She sure did. Harwin. Laenor would understand. “Your grandsire will be here soon,” she said, changing the subject.

“Really?” Jace’s and Luke’s eyes lit up.

“Hm-hm. He comes to talk about the mysterious dragon.”

The children threw a gaze at Daenerys, who was sitting in the back of the room, reading one of their old books.

“What do you think he will do?” Jace whispered. He knew the strange dragon was no good news.

“We will see,” she ruffled his hair, which in turn got a little whining.

Before long, Rhaenyra joined Daenerys, leaving the boys to their own mischief.

“I am still not sure what to tell him. Am torn between dreams and the truth.”

Daenerys nodded. “I will just follow your words?” She offered, closing her book and looking up. Rhaenyra smiled at her.

“Thanks. Nothing of the sort to Alicent.”

“Of course.”

They fell quiet for a moment.

“I wrote down more of our… my histories,” Daenerys said.

Rhaenyra glanced at her. “How much worse does it get?”

“In comparison? Barely worth mentioning. On its own? We always fight amongst ourselves. It's maddening.” How could they save the dragons when they couldn’t even save themselves? Lest agree on a fucking heir without murder.

“I will look at it later.”

Daenerys nodded. Maybe another nightly visit.

---

“What do you think he will do?” Luke whispered to Jace. They stood by the closest guard and looked down at the black dragon. He lay where he always lay – on the beach, staring at the waves. “Assign him to someone else?”

Jace shook his head and shoved his brother lightly. “Grandsire cannot assign dragons! He will… he has to…”

He had to accept it, didn’t he? He could kill Dae…nerys, yes, but grandsire would not win the dragon. Lest of all if he killed its rider. He would have to make friends with her and him. Or exile her and kill the dragon, but killing dragons would be such a shame. Especially such a big one.

“Let’s go closer,” Jace whispered, and the two sneaked closer. He was so huge for his age. To think Arrax and Vermax were closest to him. They looked like little hatchlings in comparison. Drogon didn’t look at them. Just went on staring at the sea. The coming and going of waves. The guard watched them uneasily. When was the best time to snap the princes and drag them back to their lady mother?

“I dare you to touch him,” Jace decided on a whim.

Luke eyed him, eyed Drogon, and then moved closer, letting his fingers run along the big black scales. When he was all grown up, he would be gigantic. Maybe like Vhagar. Or maybe even bigger. Maybe he was a new black dread. Of course, grandsire couldn’t kill him! Drogon grumbled and moved his head, eyeing him. Luke stumbled back.

“That has to count.” He had touched him! Luke turned to his brother. “I dare you to –”

“Hey!” The guard yelled. “Come back here! Right now!” He couldn’t watch this any longer!

---

Helaena was catching a cute little bug – four legs. Nearly boring. It crawled along between her fingers, trying to get out again. Her brothers had promised mother to have an eye on her. Accordingly, they kept around, having about half an eye on her between the two of them. Before soon, they would probably just ask servants and go do their own thing.

Doing her best, she ignored Aegon’s latest stupid comment. Airhead. As if she was. Crazy. As if she was that too. She let the bug go again, smiling softly to herself, and looked up. Aemond looked at her while Aegon turned away, looking for entertainment of his own.

Her dream had stopped. The dream of Aemond closing his eye. She had been mid-dream last night, watching him fly Vhagar once again, and then it just faded, not having returned all night. She even tried to nap to get it again this morning but to no avail. It was gone, which scared her. Her dreams didn’t just stop! They always happened. And if they suddenly did not…

A shiver ran down her body while she turned away. What power could there be to change her dreams? Nothing came to mind.

Walking all alone through the corridors of the Red Keep sometime later, with one of her servants following, keeping an eye on her. Just as expected. She returned to her room. Snuggling into bed, she hoped for another nap, hoping for the dream to come back.

The nap came. But not the dream. Not the one she wanted, anyway.

She dreamed of a green dragon, flying for its life. It was a brother to the black one, she suddenly knew. A snowstorm chased it, pierced its wings, ripped and shredded, making his body freeze until he fell from the sky, broken and torn. To Helaena’s horror, she watched it crash into the waves – nearly shatter on hard ice – both at the same time. It lay there, bleeding and dying, the light in its eyes faded. Something in the snowstorm called for it and – she screamed and trashed but couldn’t yet wake. She could never run from dreams – and it opened its eyes again, blazing blue.

Finally, she ripped free, screaming and trashing, running to hide in the corner of the room again. Her servant came, as well as Aemond a little later. He comforted her as best he could.

“What was it?” He asked softly, once she had calmed down.

Helaena stared at him, tears still standing in her eyes. “The dragons… they are turning to ice.”

He gave her that look. The Helaena is bubbling her stupid nonsense again look. “I’m sure they are,” he agreed without a second thought and stroked along her back. Helaena just stared at him, on the verge of tears again. She had gone to sleep to look for his dragon, and he didn’t even bother listening. No one ever listened to her. Not in Kings Landing they didn’t.

Her thoughts came to a sudden stop, her anger and sadness fading. No one at home listened to her.

“Thanks,” she said suddenly cheerful and hugged him. Aemond smiled softly.

“Sure.” He hugged her back.

Soon enough, she ditched Aemond. Watching bugs for an hour did that. Helaena sat up when she was sure both her brothers were busy. She turned to her servant. “I want to see my dragon.”

The woman looked uneasy to say the least. “My princess, surely we – ”

“I will see my dragon,” she said sternly.

Like every good princess, she got her way. Before long, she met Dreamfyre in front of the Dragon Pit, the dragonkeepers watching her closely. Dreamfyre growled happily at her. Helaena petted her for a bit, keeping an eye on the grown-ups. When they all seemed distracted, she whispered at her dragon, who knelt instantly. Helaena jumped onto her, scrambling onto the saddle.

“Fly!”

She had to get away before they could catch her! Being on a dragon, it turned out rather easy.

Chapter Text

Drogon growled and grumbled and then roared, looking around. Someone was watching him, he felt it. Staring, even. His eyes searched and searched but did not find anything. Or anyone. No one was nearby who could bother him. The man with shield and spear some further up had twitched and nearly dropped his stick when he roared, but nothing else. The feeling calmed. For a bit, it was even gone and he relaxed, looking out at the waves again. Clear blue skies, everything was calm. And then it surged again.

Jolting himself into the air, he flew around. They had to be somewhere! He was being watched, he was sure of it! Only there was no one looking at him. Not even in his general direction. Except the man with the stick, maybe, but humans would not bother him so badly. It had to be a dragon. Somewhere… He roared in frustration. Landing on the highest point of the castle, he surveyed his surroundings. Still no one. Growling and grumbling, he looked up ahead along the big water. He would find whoever it was and make them stop.

---

Her anger had faded. Helaena stared at the endless horizon. Nothing but water. Dreamfyre was steadily flying north-east. Was she even sure she was flying in the right direction? She had never flown there all alone. She had only followed her father’s ship on their last visit and barely remembered any of it. What if she got lost over the Narrow Sea? What if she starved and died? What if they got into a storm and died? What if…

She should turn back. She would get into trouble for running away. This way, her mother would not even know. She could just say she had taken Dreamfyre for a flight! Who would prove her otherwise? Running away… ridiculous. Just because her family did not listen. They never listened. It wasn’t anything new! Her brothers would get into trouble as well because of her. She didn’t want Aemond to get screamed at. He had just wanted to cheer her up. To make things worse, she was flying to Rhaenyra of all people. Her mother hated her big sister. Helaena had barely exchanged a word with her all her life. And now she was putting her trust in her? Maybe she was nuts after all. A damn airhead.

Dreamfyre started to turn while Helaena faltered.

The ice dragon popped back into her mind. Its blazing blue eyes. How the storm had called for it…

A shiver ran down her body and her doubts were gone. The dead would come. The dead would come, and no one listened. If there was the tiniest chance that Rhaenyra might listen, she had to take it. No matter the consequences, no matter everything. Screw her mother scolding her. Maybe she could ask Aegon for help. She scolded him all the time and he did not care.

---

Rhaenyra did not fully believe her ears when her guard reported they had spotted Dreamfyre.

“As escort to my father’s ship?” She asked. Only reason why Helaena would fly for Dragonstone. Alicent wanting to remind her they had dragon riders too. Gods, that woman.

“We have not yet spotted a ship, princess.”

She sighed weakly. Maybe she had just flown ahead. She would have done the same in her stead. Just circling a ship was boring.

---

Helaena did not spend a single thought on her surroundings while approaching. She did not see the black dragon. She may have overlooked Vhagar herself right now. Only what to say to Rhaenyra mattered. The hope she might listen. Please, please, please, to all the gods. Maybe even the old ones if it helped. Although she did not understand how praying to trees could help anyone. The panic, if she would not. If she did not listen, there was no one left.

Landing in the yard, she carefully climbed off Dreamfyre, who grumbled at her and nudged her encouraging. Helaena stroked her absentmindedly. Her big sister was already standing there, by the stairs, waiting for her. Of course, she was. Someone would have seen her.

Stepping away from Dreamfyre and towards her sister, her nerves fluttered like a dying bird. She would get into so much trouble because of this. What if she didn’t listen to her? She would get scolded for nothing. By now, she was half-part convinced she would not listen. Because no one ever listened. Flying here had been a mistake.

“Everything okay?” Rhaenyra asked, looking worried.

No. Helaena started to cry. No! Nothing would ever be okay. Nothing…

“Can… Can we talk?” She asked, gathering all her courage.

Rhaenyra looked at her. She could see thoughts moving on her face. Like with her mother.

“Yes. Of course. Come.” She gestured for her. “Have someone look after Dreamfyre,” she ordered one of the guards, who nodded and went to fetch one of the dragonkeepers.

Walking through the corridors, with Rhaenyra matching her step, Helaena was one moment away from bawling her eyes out. From just turning on her heels and running away again. She should not be here. This was a mistake. A crazy, whimsical mistake. It felt like betraying her mother. Her brother. All of them. Rhaenyra would not listen. No one did. Ever. Why should she be any different?

They entered a small cozy room. A few chairs, a not burning fire. Dragon tapestries on the walls. Rhaenyra sat and offered-asked her to do the same. Helaena took a seat, all uneasy. This was so wrong.

“What do you want to talk about?” Rhaenyra asked gently.

Helaena just stared at her. This was insane. This was the insanity of insane. This… she… Oh, the gods. She started crying again. What had she thought?!

“Helaena?” Her big sister asked, reaching out for her. Helaena twitched away. The beast beneath the boards. It was all her fault, all –

Not yet. Maybe never. Her dreams had changed.

“The dragons are turning to ice!” She blurted out. Rhaenyra stared at her without saying a word. But it wasn’t the look.

“What? What are you –”

'What' was more than she had ever gotten from her family. They hadn’t even asked. Helaena jumped at it.

“They are turning to ice, Rhaenyra. Falling from the sky and…” She shook her head and closed her eyes. She did not want to think of it. Those blue eyes. How they had stared at her.

“I… I dreamt of it and…” She started bawling. Rhaenyra reached out for her again. This time, she did not shy away. Her big sister did not ask again. Did not give her the look, which everyone but her father seemed to have mastered back at home. She just hugged her loosely and held her while she cried.

“You have dragon dreams?” Rhaenyra asked at last after her tears calmed.

Helaena nodded, feeling uneasy. Only because she listened wouldn’t mean she listened. She may explain away the ice dragon any second now. Tell her dragons could not turn to ice. They were fire.

“Tell me about your dream, please. Calm, this time. If you can.”

Helaena stared at her. Oh, be careful. Don’t get your hopes up too high.

“There was this dragon. He got chased by snow. And then he turned to ice and… and…” she fell quiet again. “His fire went out.” She was quiet for even longer. Rhaenyra just looked at her, not pressuring, not presuming she was finished, just waiting. “And ice moved in.” Under her calm gaze, she started crying again. “I watched it! I saw how… how he…” She shook her head and cried.

“Do you know when it happens? In the far future, maybe?”

“I… no… it felt soon.” Maybe it had been the replacement for Aemond closing his eye. She shivered at the thought. She’d rather have Vhagar than an ice dragon.

Rhaenyra nodded and got up. Helaena stared at her. She would just walk out, would she? Think she was crazy, how Aegon put it. She whispered something to someone outside. Probably a guard. Oh, this could not be good. But Rhaenyra came back to her. Sat down in the other chair.

“Do you have other dreams?”

Helaena stared at her for a second, not sure if she had heard right. Had she just asked her… and then it burst out of her. How it had started. All the weird cryptic nonsense she had seen.

---

Dreamfyre went through all the ups and downs right by Helaena’s side. The anger when she felt Helaena break to pieces. She roared and flexed her body, nearly ready to crash through the wall to protect her baby. But then she calmed. Dreamfyre rumbled. If only she knew what was going on! She wanted to be there by her little one. If need be intimidate someone with growls. Or kill them. Whatever was necessary. Helaena would not approve of either, which meant she probably would not do it. But sometimes she may.

When Helaena relaxed, so did Dreamfyre.

---

Helaena had just ended with all her early dreams, the silly ones, childhood pranks, mostly, the ones when she did not mind her gift when someone knocked on the door. She stopped and turned towards the sound, still expecting the worst. Some part of her was waiting for Rhaenyra to get up and tell her she was crazy. Maybe it was now. The door opened, the guard stepped aside, and a young Valyrian woman stood there. Helaena had never seen her, which was strange.

“Daenerys. Come sit.”

The woman looked between the two and followed Rhaenyra’s command. Helaena still stared at her.

“What does it mean if a dragon turns to ice?” Rhaenyra asked, looking at the woman.

The woman frowned. “What? Why do you ask?”

Rhaenyra looked back at her. “Could you tell her your dream?”

She felt a bit silly telling this unkown woman, but she did. As long as they kept talking about her dreams, no one told her she was crazy.

Daenerys just stared at her after she was done. Helaena’s heart dropped. Did Rhaenyra want to show how crazy she sounded by using another person? Really? Maybe all her mother said about her was true after all.

“The dragon. Was it green?” The woman asked.

Helaena stared at her. How… “Yes. How would you know?”

“I have the same dream. They are hunting him.” Tears started to roll down her cheeks. “They are killing him. He will have two dragons. Not that it matters, I guess. They are all dead anyway.”

Helaena stared, her head still stuck on ‘I have the same dream’. Another dreamer.

“Helaena said it would happen soon.”

“Soon? That’s –” Something shifted on her face. The woman jumped up and ran out of the room, ignoring Rhaenyra calling after her. Helaena still stared. They had the same dream. Maybe… maybe she knew of the dead too. Maybe she could help tell the others!

Chapter Text

The sky was crystal clear. Blue as far as the eye could see. Laenor napped away every few seconds, his head jerking back up when he woke again. He couldn’t fall asleep on dragon back! But he was so tired. He did not want to stop either. He had to get to Rhaenyra, bring her the news. The good, the bad, all the other crazy, which had happened since he had pulled Lyonel and Harwin from the tower. The servant who turned out not to be a servant. Seasmoke not letting him go anywhere. They had rounded up more of them, while Harrenhall still burned. What they had said… or not said, because they didn’t have tongues.

Madness.

He napped away again and jerked back upright. Seasmoke grumbled at him.

“I know.” As if his father was scolding him. “Only a little longer.” 10 minutes at best. He could manage another 10 minutes. Dragonstone would come into view soon. He could sleep later.

Seasmoke was thrown to the side by a gale. Leanor screamed and clung to the saddle for dear life, his heart hammering away. One way to wake up again. Seasmoke fought against the wind, growling and grumbling, trying to stabilize his flight. Where did the damn wind come –

Laenor stared, the choppy sea far below them. Snow was whirling around him. A bit away, he could make out shapes. Two dragons, one hunting the other by the looks of it.

---

Daenerys stopped in her tracks, staring at the sudden weather apparition on the horizon. Clouds. Not there one moment, there the next. Of course, clouds could act like that, but… not that suddenly. It looked… it looked like the storm, which had hit Winterfell before they attacked. A cold shiver ran down her spine. Them. How could this –

Oh, she herself should not ask how things could be! But so soon? Of course, so soon. She had escaped him only a little ago. The Night King would still be hunting her. Her dreams had told her ever since. Viserion hunting her. Viserion getting her. Or… Tears started to roll down her cheeks again. Viserion killing Rhaegal. They would get him and kill him and… but they were after her as well. Her dreams altered between Viserion hunting her or Rhaegal. They could not go after them both.

Watching the clouds roll in, her fear and sadness turned to timid anger. They would not have another one of her children. Not if she could stop it.

Making her way to the beach, she realized Drogon was not there.

---

Just as mother had done, Drogon stared at the clouds. They moved too quickly. Faster than any storm ever should. Was that snow? He breathed in, but the air around him still smelled of summer, of warmth, the nearby ocean. It was mind-breaking. Mother was stalking out towards the beach. The feeling of being watched shot up again, stronger than it had ever been. He could nearly feel how they looked at him. Stared. Right next – he growled, spun around and snapped at thin air. There was no one. Nothing. Just air. Yet, the feeling… His eyes looked but there was just air.

“Drogon? Drogon!”

His mother. He still stared at thin air. Were they watching her too? Had to be! Drogon growled again, ready to – and then the feeling vanished. Gone. Just as sudden as the clouds had come. Still grumbling, he jumped into the air and landed beside mother, kneeling when she asked for it.

“We have to fly,” she said, but he didn’t move. Just stared at the too-fast-moving clouds, the whirling snow. By now, he knew it was snow. He too recognized the storm. He would not fly in there.

“Drogon. Fly!”

Drogon just grumbled, getting ready to jump into the air, getting ready to ignore her commands. He would not fly towards it, no, he would fly away from it. He knew what would be in there. His crazy brother and the ice man.

“Drogon!” She cursed at him. “Rhaegal is in there. We must get to him!”

Rhaegal? His brother? The not-crazy one? Was she certain?

---

Viserion shot along through the snowstorm. His former brother was close now. So, so close. But he wasn’t given any orders yet. His head was empty. No thoughts, just nothing. Just flying. Just existing. Or something close to it. He had felt the power wrap around him, the same which had made his other brother vanish.

We are close, the voice which wasn’t his thoughts said. Try kill him. Go for the girl next.

The girl. Mother. Part of him wanted to fight at the voice, rip everything apart. He would not go for mother! Not even now, but of course, he had no choice. He never had one nowadays, not since he fell from the sky. He just did what the voice said. He had gone for mother earlier already. Nearly gotten her. He would do so again.

Finally. Viserion snapped for his brother, buried his fangs in his tail, his leg. There was blood everywhere. The poor thing could barely fight him anymore. They had hunted him for days. It nearly felt too easy. His black brother at least had put up a fight. This one… this one was like killing hatchlings. Rhaegal roared at him and folded his damaged wings, falling like a rock. Viserion dove right after. He would get him and the ice man would turn him. At least, he would not be alone anymore.

---

He would get him. He would get him, he would get him!

Roaring, Seasmoke crashed into the other white dragon, throwing him off his dive. Cold crept through his scales. The smell of death and ice. Something else, something sweet, something nearly alluring. Before he could even do anything, snap and bite and rip at the other dragon, Laenor’s panic swept over him like a wave. The urge to back away and fly gnawed at his mind, ripped at his thoughts. But he just got him, damnit! He would not just fly! Seasmoke roared again, maybe to find his own courage, and bit the dragon. His fangs slid over its scales and ripped a chunk out. Was as if he was biting an old corpse. A very cold old corpse. The other dragon shrieked and snapped at him. Laenor screamed.

---

While Seasmoke crashed into Viserion, Drogon got close enough to the freak storm. He smelled it. Dead. Roaring at it, he stopped. He had to turn back. Get mother away no matter what.

“Fly!” Mother scolded him, but he just hovered. No damn –

There was blood. His brother’s. The non-crazy one. Maybe he was crazy already. Right beside the other blue eyes in the storm, for nothing else dead could fly. He took a breath, desperately trying to figure out where the smell was coming from. Not the storm directly. Further down. The great water. But they could have killed him, watched him fall, and then turned him. Make his eyes blue. The smell would still be in the sea. He roared heartbroken. He wanted to get to his brother, part of him hoped he was still alive, no matter how tiny the chance. They were brothers! They hatched together! They were the only ones for so long. Flew together, hunted together, fought for silly nothings, growing big together.

Mother yelled at him to fly on, to move, damn the gods, but he just hovered, ready to turn back. To just fly. All of them be damned. Only mother was important. He did not even think of throwing up a ruckus with the other dragons, baiting them outside to fight whatever was in the storm. Only mother was important. Only –

There was blood of another dragon. From inside the storm.

---

Helaena stared at the flying away black dragon in utter disbelief. Rhaenyra and she stood on the steps to the yard, wanting to follow the woman. She knew it. She had seen it. It was the black dragon. The last dragon. The dragon who fought against the dead before the end of things, which meant that she... its rider... she was the Queen?

How could this be? Had her dreams gotten all confused? Had she gotten something wrong? How…

Her thoughts scattered when cold wind cut through them.

“What in the seven hells…,” Rhaenyra muttered when snowflakes tumbled down around them.

Snow. The black dragon was flying into a snowstorm. A chill cut through her worse than the wind. It was her dream. As literal as all the others. The snow had come to turn their dragons.

“It’s… it’s…” She could not even get it out! Blue eyes was in there, she knew it. The turned green dragon. Maybe just a matter of seconds now, maybe…

An even worse thought jumped into her head, paling all others. The black dragon would not come back. It would die in there. The woman would die. They could not win against the storm. They would turn to ice. The storm would roll over them and turn them to ice too and… the dead would walk. Because blue eyes was the dead.

Helaena did not start crying again. She went straight to shrieking in abject terror. They would all die! All of them. Within the day. Maybe within the hour! Far away, she was aware of Rhaenyra kneeling beside her, trying to calm her down.

Dreamfyre, growling, baring her fangs. Helaena blinked and saw Rhaenyra backing away, her dragon closing in on her, ready to strike. She stopped screaming and reached out for her. Dreamfyre stopped approaching her big sister. She stopped at once. Her dragon… Helaena’s eyes moved back to the storm. The horror within. The black dragon alone would die. Maybe… Maybe together they had a chance. Before she could change her mind again, which she surely would in about 5 seconds, she climbed onto Dreamfyre and had her fly towards the storm.

Rhaenyra stared, mouth slightly open. If something happened to Helaena under her watch Alicent may as well try murder her.

---

Rhaegal caught his sudden dive a few meters above the choppy sea. Waves were lapping, reaching for his wings. He beat them weakly, trying to get a little higher, and glanced up. He expected blue eyes to be on him any second, fangs and claws ripping through his scales, trying to beat him into nothing, but he was not. Two shadows danced above him, moving amidst the snow. One of the shadows started to fly away. He shivered. They would come for him now, come and –

Something grabbed his wing. Rhaegal’s head spun around, and he stared at the half-ripped-away face of a man, eyes burning blue. Another one grabbed his wing and another and… He roared, breathed fire and finally flapped higher, staring at the waves beneath him. The water was full of them.

Chapter Text

Drogon fought his way through the storm, towards the scent of the other dragon. He had smelled it before. Maybe the red one. Or the white one. Who was mad enough to fight his brother? Then again, maybe together they could fight him off, which was more than he had ever hoped. Beating his wings and beating his wings, he hurried along. The wind shifted, pushed him upwards and suddenly he was above the storm. It was dark up here. A moon shone.

“What…,” mother muttered and looked around. Night, although a second ago it had been day. A cold chill cut through her thin robe. Was this… were they… before she could do much more than wonder, Drogon dove back into the storm.

Drogon had to hurry, he knew it. Get to the other dragon before it was too late. Who knew how long he could hold out against his crazy brother? He spotted them. It was the white one, bleeding from multiple wounds by now, flying away from his crazy brother; his rider looked nearly mad. Viserion followed right after, the ice man standing on his back, ready to jump.

Drogon didn’t roar, although he really wanted to. He just hurried on, eyes focused on his goal. At the last moment, Viserion turned his head and saw him. The fucker dove right beneath his claws, the ice man holding on to one of his horns. A scuffle ensued, Drogon snapped and clawed at his crazy brother, trying to get the ice man, while Seasmoke turned and breathed fire.

Viserion did not mind, of course. What was fire, what were wounds? They were for things of the living. Things with thoughts. He breathed fire himself. Laenor screamed and the white one shrieked away, which only left his black brother. Viserion turned and twisted in ways no dragon ever could and clawed for – mother – the girl. Daenerys screamed and ducked away the best she could. This time, he would get her! This time, he would end it! The ice man climbed along his back again, ready to jump onto his black brother.

Drogon roared and twisted, trying desperately to get away. If the ice man was on his back, he would get mother and then – Viserion let him go, at least it seemed like it. One moment, his hold was a cold snare, the next it loosened. Drogon ripped free and folded his wings, just as Rhaegal had earlier, and dropped. Viserion dove right after him, his claws shimmering. Daenerys stared at her dead dragon, snowflakes whirling all around him. It was her dream. He would get her. Closing her eyes, she turned away, holding onto Drogon.

---

Dreamfyre fought her way through the storm, the damn snow, gales blasting at her. She dropped, Helaena screaming on her back, until she could catch herself. Damn unstable currents! Maybe she should turn, bring her baby back to –

The smell of blood hit her. Seasmoke, a little, yes and – she breathed in again, just to be sure. It smelled like one of her hatchlings. Roaring, she dove towards it, looking for her dragon baby, which was impossible in the storm. Just white and white. Most dragons did not mind for their little ones as soon they were hatched, hell, most did not even care once they were laid, but damn them. They were hers! She had laid them and looked after them. Watching them hatch and grow and fly was one of the greatest joys. Just like watching her little Helaena grow bigger and stronger.

A gale forced her up again, then down, then up. She really ought to –

The scent of another of her hatchlings filled the air. Close to Seasmoke, this time. Another smell danced on the wind, which she could not place. Something sweet. Rotten meat, maybe? No, no, that was not it… Another gale hit her and forced her way down towards the water. Dreamfyre roared and snapped at nothing. Damn the winds!

---

While Dreamfyre was battling with the storm, Rhaenyra hurried along the beach towards the Dragonmount. If anything happened to Helaena… better join them up there. Flying into a storm was not exactly a good idea but nothing right now was exactly a good idea. She had to look out for her. Protect her slightly crazy sister. No. She was not crazy, just impulsive. Rhaenyra smiled. Just like her when she had been a little older. Had to run in the family. A strange dragging sound filled the air. Frowning, she stopped and turned towards it. A man was dragging himself up onto the beach. With only one arm. Waves lapped up over his body hiding – His legs were missing. Half his skull was missing too, now that she looked at him proper. One blazing blue eye stared at her. Rhaenyra stared back, frozen in place.

A second.

Another second.

Maybe forever.

The thing was getting closer.

“Princess!” One of her guards yelled and ran at the thing coming out of the water. She watched him stab at it with his spear, and it just moved on.

Wights. It was a wight. It was a fucking wight. On her island. On… If she stared at it longer, she would lose her mind.

Finally, she ripped herself free. Rhaenyra hitched up her dress and ran for her life.

---

Syrax was oddly annoyed by it all. One moment she had napped in her warm cave, and then Rhaenyra’s panic swept over her, worse than she had ever felt. Rushing out of the caves, she threw herself into the air – flying! Just like that! Normally, she got pets before flying, more often than not even food – and made her way to Rhaenyra, who scrambled onto her before she could even kneel.

“Fly!”

Throwing herself into the air again, she saw what had been following her. A horrendously smelly man.

---

With her eyes closed, her body pressed as flat as she could against Drogon’s warm scales, Daenerys waited for her death, waited for Viserion to get her. Claws or fangs, either way. He would just pick her off Drogon’s back and be done with it. And then… then whatever came after the blue eyes. Would Drogon still listen to her when she was dead? Or would he burn her? Could she even burn? Tears started to roll from her eyes, while she saw herself. Blue eyes, still riding her dragon.

---

Dreamfyre fought against the storm, without any success at all for the longest time. Whenever she tried to get any higher than what she currently was, there was a gale pushing her down. Just as if the storm had turned on her specifically, trying to keep her away from her child. Growling and grumbling, she kept on trying, until she blew past the prior height. One of her hatchlings, a black one, came tumbling down towards her, and behind him – she stared at it, unsure what it was. Being downwind, she was certain it was not a dragon, despite appearances.

---

Laenor stared after the two dragons. The white one… it was not exactly alive, was it? It could not be alive. The way it had moved… No dragon could move like that. Not ever. And the man of ice with his glowing blue eyes…

Part of him wanted to run. Order Seasmoke to leave, to just fly away, be done with it, get to safety, wherever safety was. Everything he had seen was too crazy for any one person. Who would believe him anyway?

…but…

 Daenerys had saved them. If Drogon had not come…

Seasmoke went into a dive. He would repay her in kind, yes, he would save her, but by now they were leagues away. He watched the distance horrified. Only because he had hesitated a few moments. Dreamfyre of all dragons came into view below the two. What was the Hightower girl doing here?

Another dragon roared. Looking up, he saw a shadow pass over them. It was huge. Maybe bigger than Vhagar, even. Whatever it was got blocked out by the snow. Just a white, dancing wall. Claws reached for them, just as huge as the shadow, moving faster than they fell. Seasmoke swerved away at the last second, and it grabbed the – dead, call it what it had to be. Dead! – dragon. The dead thing roared and screeched, trying to get free. The ice man turned, looked up, and jumped off his dragon.

---

Ever more wights were scaling the beaches of Dragonstone. Rhaenyra stared at them in panic, something between disbelief and utter horror fighting for the better. Here a walking skeleton, there a woman, nearly looking okay, despite the fact her eyes were blue, there a child which had been partly torn to pieces. All still walking. All coming.

“Dracarys!”

Syrax breathed fire at them. For half a heartbeat, she was worried it would not work, despite Daenerys saying fire was for the wights. That they would just keep on walking. What was fire to half a missing body? Surely barely an inconvenience.

It worked. The torn-up girl disappeared in flames. Circling the island, they burned everything they could.

Some of her guards had gathered close to the beach and tried to fight off the dead. Huffing lowly, Rhaenyra had Syrax land. Her dragon snapped the closest best thing which was killing their men and threw it away, followed by breathing fire.

“Get back to the castle!” Rhaenyra yelled at them. The horde of dead turned and ran at them, fully ignoring the guards. As if they had waited for Syrax to land. “Dracarys!” Part of them dodged the fire. Swerved away, ducked, anything. One reached them, starting to climb onto Syrax.

“Fly. Fly, fly, fly!”

---

Helaena stared at everything at the same time, barely able to take it all in. The black dragon – which was last dragon, she was sure of it. It just had to be! – diving for its life, coming right at them, the man with blue eyes falling through the air, the blue eyed dragon, trying to rip itself free from a claw, Seasmoke diving for them, and the shadow towering above them all.

The snow shifted and she saw black scales, going on and on. Part of a wing. Balerion. It had to be Balerion. Come for them to stop whatever it was. Which was insane, even for her. Balerion was dead, for years now. His skull was in the Red Keep. She had seen it, time and time again. It could not be him. Yet, if the last dragon and its rider were here… It made just as much and not at all sense as anything else right now.

No. Dead dragons could not fly. Unless their eyes were blue, that was. Closing her eyes, she shook her head and screamed, willing it to go away.

Dreamfyre shot upwards and snapped the ice man out of the air. Whatever it was, she would not let it get away. Whatever rode dead dragons could not be good!

Shaking it, she tried to rip it apart, to fling it away like the bug it had to be, but nothing happened. Her fangs did not work on it; it felt as if she was biting on ice-cold, unforgiving rock. It stared at her, she could feel it; then it started to wiggle, trying to get away, even stabbing something biting cold into her face. It cut through her scales as if they were nothing, but she did not roar. She would not let it get away! The claws of the big dragon closed around her head, closed around it. Dreamfyre let it go at the last second and ducked down. Wings beat and the claws shot upwards, taking the ice man and the dead dragon along with it.

The gales stopped. Snowflakes still tumbled down around them, but the air calmed. As if the storm was gone.

---

The yelling and screaming of their guards drew Jace down from his room. Some ran past him, barely giving him any mind, even running into him, shoving him around. Reaching the yard, he watched them bar the gates.

“Archers on the walls!” “We have to light them up.” “You” a knight essentially pointed at half the men in attendance, “stay and guard the gate.” “What if they get through?” “Get torches! Light up a spear!”

“What is going on?” Jace asked but was utterly ignored. The man who had given orders just ran towards the closest stairs up the walls. The other men started to light up more torches.

Jace tried again but was still ignored. Turning on his heels, he ran back through the corridors, watching how concerned servants looked around. They were thinking the same as he did, surely. What in the hells was going on?

Finally reaching a window barely above the walls, he did not see anything of note. Just the ocean further out, a fading storm. Seasmoke was flying towards them, just as Drogon a little behind him and… Dreamfyre? Partly leaning out the window, turning his head, he tried to see more. Their men at arms would not descend into chaos because his father came back.

Syrax came into view… snapping at herself? Then she breathed fire at her flank.

“Mother. Mother!” What was going on?! But his mother too did not hear.

---

Rhaenyra stared at her island beneath her, not even registering her son’s yells. They were coming like a wave. Ever more dead scaled the beaches. How many more could there be?

Best not to think of it. Only killing them was important. She would fly Syrax down a bit and –

Some of them made their way towards the Dragonmount. Rhaenyra followed right after. The big dragons she did not worry about, but they could kill her dragonkeepers, smash the eggs, and kill their little ones. Vermax and Arrax could not defend themselves against a horde.

Hurrying along, Syrax flew lower and burnt as many as she could on her command. Still too many. Way, way too fucking many. They reached the caves before they did. Hovering above the entrance with her freaked-out dragonkeepers below, Rhaenyra had Syrax breathe fire, again and again and again, but they just kept on coming.

---

The noise made him wake up. Something was sneaking up on him. Another one of those insidious mind-breakers trying to claim him? Oh, they would get what was coming for them!

Then the smell hit him. It was not one of the mind-breakers. Unless they dragged a month-or-two-old-dead cow along. It smelled horrendous! Why would he want to eat that?! If they wanted to distract him with food, they better –

It was not a mind-breaker. It had two legs, yes, but there the similarities ended. The Cannibal stared at it. Watched how ever more crawled into his cave, closed in on him; they even tried to poke him with a pointy thing to no avail. Grumbling, he breathed fire. He would not bite something that stunk so badly.

Only when they were gone, the smell did not go away. Crawling out of his cave, he found an endless amount of the smelly two legs. Roaring, he defended the entrance to his cave and then took off from the ground, burning more of them. He would not let his island get overrun by whatever they were. Bad enough he had to share it with broken dragons.

---

Daenerys saw it first, recognizing the way they moved. Her blood ran cold. Bad memories tried surfacing. The way her Dothraki had been swallowed, the few Unsullied who were left running for their lives and dying either way. How villages disappeared as Drogon flew on. It looked oddly fluid from afar, like a never-ending wave. It had to be thousands upon thousands of wights moving all over Dragonstone.

Drogon swayed slightly to the left and flew closer to Seasmoke. “We have to…” She started to yell and trailed off. She had to get to Rhaegal. He had to be here somewhere, but the ocean was huge. Maybe he had been blasted away by the wind, maybe he was somewhere in the water.

“What?” Laenor yelled back.

“Get to Dragonstone! Do not land whatever you do. Burn them!”

“What?!”

She did not reply. Only had Drogon dive and fly closer to the water, looking for her child. He would be hurt, wouldn’t he be? Viserion would not have let him get away unscathed. He would be bleeding, getting weaker and weaker. Maybe he was drowning.

“Drogon. Find Rhaegal!”

Hopefully, it worked. Her dragon flew on. Daenerys looked up to check Seasmoke was still flying for Dragonstone. He was. The light blue dragon, who reminded her oddly of her children – something she ignored for the time being. It was something for later, if anything ever was – was way ahead of them, flying close to the waves as well.

---

Jace ran through the corridors once more, slight panic catching up to him. He still did not know what was going on. He had watched his mother fly away, and then archers started to loose fire arrows onto whatever happened behind their walls.

If only Vermax was bigger! If only he could fly him. He would be beside his lady mother killing whatever needed killing, but Vermax was not bigger. He was small, way too small to be any help right now. Besides, he could not even get to him.

Ripping open the door to Luke’s room, he found his brother hiding in his bed.

“Come on! Get out of there!”

“What is going on? I saw mother from my window. Syrax was breathing fire.”

Oh, the gods. It really had to be bad.

“Come!” Jace nearly snapped and proceeded to drag his brother along. Only a little down the corridor, Luke walked on his own, trailing a bit behind him while they ran along. He only saw worried servants.

Finally, he saw a guard when they turned a corner. He was running away from them. Probably to figure out what the hells was going on.

“Stop, by order of the Prince!” Jace yelled, hoping he sounded more grown-up than he thought he did.

The man stopped and turned, looking at him.

“Come!” Jace ordered. The man, Ser Gawen, followed them. When they reached Joffrey’s room, Jace grabbed a torch off the wall, told Luke to do the same, and slipped inside.

---

Dreamfyre shot along above the waves, following the scent of her other hatchling, trying to ignore all else. His blood in the water, drifting here and there, throwing her off course before she realized he was not there. He had to be here somewhere!

Roaring annoyed, she just hurried on, following the scattered scent.

Helaena stared at the waves the entire time. Sometimes, when the water was shallower, she could see things moving down there. Sometimes they even looked up at her, eyes bright and blue, climbing on top of each other to get to her. Dead in the water. Endless and endless, by the looks of it. She had not dreamt of that. Maybe she would have never jumped onto Dreamfyre if she knew of it. She would have just stayed with Rhaenyra and… had the black dragon die? Looking up, she focused on the horizon. Better than staring at the blue eyes.

---

Seasmoke stared at the masses of stinking dead two-legs in utter disbelief. They were overrunning their beautiful comfy island. How could they dare?! How could they even move? Not that it was that important right now, but normally dead things stayed… dead. Where they back at home too? The island where he had hatched.

The old wild dragon flew along in front of the wall, breathing fire.

“Dracarys!” His Laenor yelled and he stopped the pondering and breathed fire. The dead vanished in it. Somehow, it brought him more joy than he could put into thoughts. Roaring at them, he flew lower and burned them. Some only caught a little fire as he passed by; they started to run around in a panic. Good. Burn!

---

The wetnurse stared at them, hugging their little baby brother.

“What is going on?” She asked. As they all did.

“I do not know,” Jace told her truthfully and turned to their guard. “Can you barricade the door?”

“Of course, my prince.”

My prince. It felt so strange. Normally, he was not called by his title. He had never used his rank before either. He was introduced with it, yes, people used it concerning formal matters, but normally only his mother and father were talked to with their titles.

Their guard piled the furniture of the room in front of the door, essentially everything, which was not too heavy. Jace had half a thought to try move the bed of their wetnurse or one of the shelves, but they looked too heavy for one man alone. As if them helping would matter much.

He turned to Luke. “If something gets through this door, throw the torch.”

“What –”

“I heard them in the yard, Luke. You saw mother yourself. Whatever it is, we have to burn it.” He eyed the door once it was barricaded, grabbing his torch a bit tighter. He would wield it like a sword, stabbing at whatever it was with the fire. They would not get his brothers!

---

Rhaegal had managed to get to a tiny rock protruding from the waves with the last of his strength. The dragon island was so so close yet so far away. Just some 100 wing beats, maybe even less. But he knew he could not make it, not anymore, not right now. His time was running out.

While he was busy burning the fuckers in front of him, he felt however many more climb onto his back. They were scaling the rock he was sitting on, climbing onto him, clawing at his scales or ripping at his delicate wings. Even climbing onto his tail, not letting go no matter how much he shook it. If only he could jump into the air and shake them off. But he could not. He only saw himself crashing into the waves and never making it out alive. Ever more dragged on his tail. Some started to crawl beneath him, attacking his softer belly. Rhaegal crushed them – not that it helped much. Pieces just kept on moving. Like tiny worms in a cadaver. Barely there, but maddening.

Beating wings got closer. He heard them but could not look up, busy breathing fire, busy clawing at the dead beneath him while keeping his balance. He could not slip. Anything but slip. Please, let it be mother and Drogon. If it was the other brother…

If it was the other, this was it. He would have blue eyes too.

Fire bathed him from above. Not Viserion. His brother would have jumped him and ripped him to pieces.

“Rhaegal!”

It was mother. It was mother, it was mother, it was mother! They would get out of here somehow.

When the fire ceased, he looked up and stared. It was not mother, nor his brother for that matter. A light blue dragon hovered over him, looking down at him. She looked oddly like his brothers. He looked at her confused. How could there be another dragon? And where was mother? He was sure he had –

Drogon came into view. He flew lower, as low as he dared to, and mother reached out for him. Rhaegal growled happily and raised his head, leaning forward, trying to get to her. Finally, his head brushed against her fingertips. Mother smiled, tears running down her cheeks, which was odd – why was she sad? – and stroked along his scales. He rumbled all happy.

Mother. Drogon. Something grabbed his tail again. Rhaegal bared his fangs, hissed, and whirled his head around, breathing fire. Damn fuckers!

---

“Get Vermithor outside,” Rhaenyra said, watching the endlessly coming waves of wights. Syrax was getting tired, she knew it. Her breathing fire got shorter, the moments before she started again got longer, even her wing beats got slower. She had not wanted to land again, not after last time, but she feared soon she would not have much of a choice. She had hoped they would stop coming, that burning some hundreds would be enough, but it had not. Gods, they had to have overrun the castle by now. Broken through the wooden gate and… her sons… all her people…

Where they at Driftmark too? Where they at Kings Landing? Creeping out of the water along the Blackwater?

“Pardon, my Princess?” One of the dragonkeepers asked.

“You heard what I said.”

Several men scurried away without a second word. The others just watched on.

Minutes later, it felt like forever to her, she heard hurried steps and deep growls. Then roaring. A scream and quiet. Rhaenyra closed her eyes. Her man was dead, maybe more than one. She had murdered them. She ought to offer their families pay if they had any. At least a small token of gratitude.

In the quiet that followed, she wondered if Vermithor had just turned back. Gone back to his lair within the caves and snuggled beside Silverwing.

He did not. The head of the bronze fury emerged from the cave, then more of his body. Rhaenyra turned in her saddle to look at him, watching him stare.

“Vermithor, dracarys.”  He stared at her, rumbling deeply. I do not take orders from you.

“Dracarys,” she tried again. He was still staring at her, staring and staring. Maybe measuring her, how she could dare command him, maybe judging her, maybe trying to remember who exactly she was. His head moved, and he stared at their surroundings. The dead, coming and coming.

Grumbling lowly, Vermithor breathed fire.

---

In the end, it felt oddly easy.

Flying along the beaches, Vermithor bathed the entire area in flames without any trouble at all. Just making them vanish. To him, the dead seemed barely an inconvenience. Curious, yes, annoying, sure, and gone the next second.

Soaring higher, Rhaenyra looked around, trying to get her bearings, trying to assess the situation. They had not breached the gate. Seasmoke and Laenor were hovering over it – when had they come back? – breathing fire, trying to keep them at bay. The Cannibal of all dragons was flying circles around the castle, burning everything in sight. Silverwing flew past her. She eyed the chaos for all but a moment, roared and breathed fire as well. The wights just vanished in the flames.

Dreamfyre was not here. Where was her sister? Rhaenyra looked around in an odd panic. Please, to all the gods, let her be alright. If something had happened to her…

Where were Drogon and Daenerys, while she was at it? Not on Dragonstone, by the looks of it. Neither of them.

Movement caught her eye. Turning in her saddle, she stared. Dreamfyre, hovering over the water, breathing fire. Why were they still out at sea? Why…

Dead in the water. Had to be. How many fucking more could there be?

---

Swimming through the dead-infested water as good he could, Rhaegal felt how they tried to latch onto him. Drag him down, make him drown. It would be now or never for them. If he had been alone, maybe it would work. But he was not alone.

Drogon dropped into the water beside him, diving around him, grabbing the dead which had latched onto him with his claws and fangs, and dragged them up, out of the water. The other dragon breathed fire the second he was out, making them vanish.

“Go on! Just a little!” Mother yelled from above. Rhaegal could not tell. The water seemed endless, waves lapping up at his head, blurring his vision. Jumping into the water in the first place had seemed insane. But mother had asked him to. Told him he would be alright. Promised, even, whatever the word meant. He would be alright. He remembered staring at her, sitting behind the other dragon girl on the light blue dragon and thinking she had lost her mind. But he was alright. Mostly, anyway. As alright as he could be. Drogon dragged another round of dead off him and moments later, they were gone for good.

Another dragon crossed over him, which seemed insane. How could there be so many dragons?

---

Helaena beamed when her sister came for her. Aegon had never bothered when they flew somewhere together. He just flew ahead, sometimes behind, depending on his mood, and that was it. Never asked her how she was doing, how Dreamfyre was, anything. And now Rhaenyra was doing all of that!

“We are fine!” Helaena yelled at her, right before Dreamfyre roasted another round of dead. Watching them disappear in fire was oddly satisfying, to be honest. “I think they hurt Dreamfyre a bit,” she admitted. Rhaenyra could probably see it.

“We will look after her! She will be alright.”

How could she be so nice? She had not even really yelled at her! Not scolded her for flying into a storm, which she was still expecting. Her mother would do it. Yell at her how she could just fly away, that she had been worried and... Was her mother sure talking about this Rhaenyra and not someone else named Rhaenyra? Her name had to be popular.

---

There was one last big wave of dead when Rhaegal dragged himself out of the water, followed by a few here and there, quickly roasted by one of the many dragons, and then nothing. The Cannibal circled over the island for a while, looking for any new smellly two legs. Vermithor and Silverwing took residence on one of the beaches and growled at waves, waiting. Sheepstealer flew back to his cave.

Daenerys partly hugged Rhaegal’s head, leaning against him. She had her eyes closed. Some part of her could still not believe that she was alive and well, that she had Rhaegal back. That he was alive and well. Maybe she was dead after all. After everything, this might be a heaven. Not one she would expect, but it was good. She had her child back. Rhaegal nudged her carefully and grumbled, which made her smile.

Drogon landed beside them, nudging his brother and then her.

---

Watching Daenerys pet the green dragon, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but stare. Two dragons. She had never lied to them.

Two fucking dragons.

How could anyone in this world control two? No. Even worse. Three, before whatever happened to the third. One rider and…

Maybe… Did she only ride Drogon and the others followed suit? Which was impressive enough. Now was not the moment to ask, though. Stepping closer, she touched Daenerys shoulder.

“If you need anything…,” she said quietly.

Daenerys looked at her and nodded. “Thanks.”

“Rhaenyra?” Laenor asked. She turned, looking at her husband. Seasmoke had landed nearby. “Can we talk?”

Oh, the Gods. Harrenhall. Lyonel. Harwin. With everything going on, she had forgotten about it all.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Helaena looked after Rhaenyra and Laenor, walking away along the beach. What was there to even talk about? The blue eyes? They were dead, obviously. Not much to mention. Shaking her head – grown-ups – she looked at Daenerys. Daenerys and her two dragons. Out at sea, she had believed she was simply good at convincing the poor green one, but now… The way she petted it, the way it just let her. No one could just pet her Dreamfyre like that. Not ever. They acted like… like dragon and rider, which was impossible. The black one was her dragon! The green one seemed to as well, though. How? How could she have two dragons? No one had two dragons. It was just not a thing. One rider bonded with one dragon and that was it.

“Daenerys?”

The woman looked at her.

‘How can you have two dragons?’ It was right at the tip of her tongue, but she did not ask. There was another ever more important question, which floated around her head ever since she saw the black dragon. It would sound insane, completely insane, but she had to know.

“Are you a Queen?” She had to be. She was the rider of the last dragon.

Daenerys stared at her. “I –”

“The black dragon. Drogon. I saw him in my dreams,” she cut in before Daenerys could say anything. “It was him.” As he was right now, not years and years away. “You flew away from the dead. More than here. Way more.”

Daenerys stared at her. Maybe lost for words. Or getting ready to tell her she had lost her mind. Probably the latter. But they both were dreamers! Somehow, a dreamer turning on her was worse than all the rest. She could see her thinking again, just like her mother did. Thoughts moving. What to say? She would pick her words carefully, wouldn’t she? Turn on her after all.

But Daenerys did not. She nodded slowly instead. “Do not tell anyone. Please. If they know…”

Smiling somewhat, she sat down beside her. “No one believes me.” No one believed her dreams already. If she started to run around claiming this strange woman was a queen from a faraway time… Could Maesters treat insanity? What would they do to her? Nothing good for sure. She shivered at the thought.

“Well, they ought to. Without your dream, maybe Drogon and I would have been too late.”

“Really?”

“Yes. When I reached them, the blue eyed man was one moment away from killing Seasmoke.” She paused for a moment. “You did good out there. Very good. Without you...” She shook her head and fell quiet.

Once again, Helaena stared. Was she saying she was the reason they were all still alive? Just because she had come? Tears welled up in her eyes. She had the odd urge to hug her, to get hugged back, to just cry for hours because everything today was insane, but she did not. She barely knew her, after all, although she already knew so much. All the important bits. Dreamer, dragon rider, queen, slayer of blue eyes.

“I will not tell that – you know. I promise,” Helaena said and then fell into a whisper. “How is it to be queen?”

Daenerys smiled. “Mostly boring to be honest,” she whispered back. “All the audiences…”

---

The waves lapped up their words. Laenor and Rhaenyra walked side by side, stopped every now and again, talked, walked on.

Rhaenyra sighed relieved and leaned against Laenor when he said Harwin was alive. Badly burned, yes, but alive. Better than she had feared. Her Harwin… she wanted to fly for him, see him, make sure he was alright… but she knew she could not. Not anytime soon. Lyonel was alive as well, unburned even. And then Laenor told her of the servants, who had not been servants.

“Larys? Why should he…” Rhaenyra stopped again. “The greens.” No one else would benefit from the Strongs dying but the Greens. Larys would be Lord of Harenhall, not only the second son somewhere in line, and always be grateful to… he had always been around Alicent. Just the thought he would murder his own family was repulsive. Beyond words. That Alicent would order something like this... She refused to believe it. Manipulation, sure, rumours, yes, but killing someone? Alicent?

“I thought so as well.” Laenor sighed. “They are moving. Taking out our allies, replacing them with theirs.”

“Why now?” Maybe simply because the possibility arose. Maybe…

Rhaenyra froze. “How was my father? When you were in Kings Landing.” Illness could move quickly sometimes.

“Oh, the Gods.” Laenor looked horrified. “He looked okay! Not any worse than normal. I am so sorry, Rhaenyra…”

She touched his arm. “I asked, you answered. Maybe… maybe they are just starting their moves. Pre-emptive strikes are easier than after the fact.”

They had to make their own moves. More now than ever, knowing what would come for them.

Of course, they talked about the dead. Laenor was freaked out about it all. The dead on their island, the things he had seen in the storm. The man of ice with his glowing blue eyes, the dead dragon, the other dragon.

Both fell quiet for a bit. Rhaenyra mulled over the other dragon. Yet another one. Who could it be? Vhagar would be the most reasonable answer, which was impossible. Laena could not ride her yet. If it had been her, she would have come for the island after and burned every walking dead to a crisp. The color was wrong either way. Big and black was only Balerion. Or the Cannibal, but he had been here. Sighing weakly, she shook her head ever so slightly. When would her life start to make sense again?

“Can you fly for Driftmark? Patrol along the Blackwater after.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You thought of it already, didn’t you?” Driftmark was home to him, after all. Laenor smiled somewhat and nodded.

They fell quiet again. Laenor broke it this time. “What do we do if they attack again? What if they attack someplace far away from us? We need days to some village at the end of Westeros. Until then they could wipe out entire regions.”

“I do not know. I hope it will not happen again, but…” She trailed off. Hope wouldn’t help them.

---

Watching Laenor take flight again, part of Rhaenyra wanted nothing more than to jump on Syrax. Make sure the dead were… all dead, that none of them had gotten away. If even one got into one of the villages along the shore… the thought made her shiver.

“Daenerys?”

She looked up at her. “Yes?”

“Can you fly along the Narrow Sea? Maybe towards Tarth.” She did not want her near the Blackwater. Her father ought not to see them until necessary. “Make sure none escaped. Or else burn them.”

Daenerys nodded, glancing at her green dragon again. Rhaenyra racked her mind for his name, but it did not come. She was sure Daenerys had said it at one point or another.

“I will have dragonkeepers look after him. He will be okay.”

“Can I help too?” Helaena asked, all giddy.

Rhaenyra hesitated. ‘No’, was her first instinct. She did not want her sister in danger again, but in comparison to the rest of today, searching for runaway wights was barely worth mentioning. Helaena could hold her own.

“We will fly together,” she decided. Helaena lit up again. “I need a moment first.”

She had to make sure her sons were okay. Hurrying through the corridors of her castle, she looked for Jace and Luke. They might have heard something and… and what? Run away? They had to be here somewhere. Maybe hiding, scared out of their minds. Gods, she should have told Laenor to come with. Their sons should see them both. He could have waited another few minutes. If the dead had attacked Driftmark as well, chances were they were dead already.

Jace’s room was empty. As was Luke’s. As was the main hall. She had glimpsed into it on her way up. As was her own and Laenor’s chambers.

Where were her sons?! Were they still alive? How could she still panic after everything? But she did, and it got worse. Had they tried to go out to help and – well. They were Laenor’s sons, after all. He was the one acting their father. Responsible, most of the time, but damn headless every now and again. If they got some idea into their heads…

At last, she tried Joffrey’s room. The door did not move.

“Jace? Luke?!” Please!

“Mother?”

Oh the Gods, Jace.

“Mother?” Luke asked as well. They were together. Of course, they…

“Yes. Yes! Everything is okay now. Can you open the door?”

“Give us a moment, princess,” a man yelled through the door. Probably one of her guards.

When the door finally opened, Jace and Luke jumped at her, hugging her. Rhaenyra hugged them back. They were fine. Both of them were fine. Everything was okay.

“Whose idea was it?” She asked, eyeing them.

“Mine,” Jace told her, all proud.

She nodded and ruffled his hair a bit. “Well done.” He grinned, one second away from launching into a full-blown story about it all, but he could see his mother had no mind for it right now. Maybe later. Definitely later.

She looked at the wet nurse and stepped closer, looking at her third son. “How is he?”

“He is alright, my princess. Slept through most of it.”

Rhaenyra smiled while stroking his head. Babies.

---

The beating and beating of wings… the ocean flew by underneath them, just one endless band of dark blue. It was strangely calming. After everything, after all the chaos and horror, the worry of getting overrun, it was nearly too calming. Rhaenyra stared at it, everything else flitting away. The water rushed by for miles without her even realizing.

They could have died today. All of them, everything. The horde could have gotten the better of Syrax and her. Seasmoke could have died, just as the green one and Drogon. If all those dragons had turned blue eyed… they could have taken on Vermithor and the Cannibal. And then Vhagar was barely worth mentioning. All their dragons flying for the dead. Except maybe Dreamfyre, who could have gotten away with some luck, and Meleys, who could outfly all of them even on her worst days. They were all still alive because…

“Rhaenyra?” Rhaenyra blinked and finally ripped free of her thoughts. Dreamfyre was flying close now, Helaena looking at her all worried. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Just lost in thoughts.”

Helaena smiled somewhat, nodded, and Dreamfyre dove down again, letting one of her claws cut through the waves. Watching them for a moment, she had Syrax follow suit, getting closer to the waves. The ocean rushed by. No dead until now. Maybe it was too deep, and they couldn’t see them. Maybe they were already out of the water, murdering anyone nearby. Rhaenyra forced the thought away and looked at her sister.

“Helaena? How do you… I mean… How did you handle the storm?” Flying through those was dangerous, no matter their dragon’s size. Okay. Maybe Vermithor and Vhagar didn’t have to mind, but to all others gales were a problem.

“Dreamfyre did all of it!” Helaena yelled back truthfully. To claim she had done any of that would be crazy.

“Can you show me?”

She watched her smile again. “Of course!” Dreamfyre flew up abruptly, acting as if she was battling winds. Rhaenyra watched curiously.

“Repeat it,” she told Syrax. Her dragon only growled. “Do, Syrax.” If anything like today happened again, they could very much need it. “I will get you some sheep later.” Hells, all of them deserved all the sheep.

After a few moments and her talking at her dragon, Syrax followed Dreamfyre reluctantly. What followed could only be described as play while the dragons warmed up to each other. Dreamfyre flew up and down, always half an eye on the water, shifting and turning, holding her position at any cost. Syrax followed her moves, reluctantly at first, Rhaenyra would have sworn even annoyed. The longer they flew, the more they got into it. All the while, with all the abrupt changes in direction, Helaena commented on what to look out for. Rhaenyra watched her nearly in awe. The young girl just held onto her saddle stoically. A lesser rider would have been thrown off.

“You are really good at this!” Rhaenyra yelled at her. Helaena beamed again, which made her heart hurt a little. Did no one ever tell her she was good at things?

Syrax swayed to the side, repeating one of Dreamfyre’s stabilizing moves – and folded her wings, dropping like a rock. She stopped right above the water. Rhaenyra stared at it. Blue eyes shimmering down below. At least some of them were paying attention.

Dreamfyre caught up to them. “What is – oh.”

The two dragons hovered over it; it stared up at them, uselessly trying to get to them. If it didn’t want to murder them, its jumping would almost look comical.

Rhaenyra looked at Helaena. “Does Dreamfyre dive?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Syrax hates water.”

Helaena stared at her and giggled. A dragon hating water. Did she even fly in rain, less alone storms?

After Dreamfyre had taken care of the wight – Helaena sat in front of Rhaenyra now, holding onto Syrax’ saddle – they flew on, all serious again. Enough with the play. They had work to do.

---

Humming to herself, Dalla spread out their freshly washed clothing on the plot of land behind their house. Well, their lord’s house, but it was theirs for the time being. As long as they reached the wheat quota and paid taxes. Gathering small stones from the pile nearby, she walked along between the clothes, warm grass beneath her feet, and placed a small rock or two on them. If her husband’s undershirt got away in a gust of wind… she did not even want to think of it.

Someone screamed. Dalla looked up, frowning. Birds still chirped. Their cow mooed. Leaves rustled in the wind.

Quiet. Had she imagined it?

More screams. Dropping the remaining stones, she ran around their little house and froze. Addam, Lily’s son, was ripped apart by… by… she stared at it but couldn’t comprehend. A man, half his body bones. Lily was screaming. A woman ran past the man, her eyes glowing blue, and killed Lily. Just bit through her throat. Falyse had gotten out of her house, undershirt in hand, and stared at the commotion. Her little girl peeked out the door behind her.

The screaming pulled one of the men from the nearby fields. Stomping around the corner towards Lily’s house, he yelled. “What is going –” Then the woman was on him and he was screaming too. Dalla watched him punch and kick her, but the woman just went on attacking him. Dalla finally moved. She ran towards the two, trying to pull the woman away. She did not care, did not even look at her. Something like claws dug into her back and she screamed. The half-man-half-skeleton stood behind her. His eyes were blue as well, visible teeth turned up in a grin. Backing away screaming, it followed her slowly. He was missing half a leg as well. Probably the reason she was still alive.

The other men came. Two of them died to the woman nearly instantly. The third put up a fight. Gilbert, her husband, ran towards her and rammed his pitchfork into the midsection of the half-skeleton-man. He just kept on walking. Of course, he did. He was missing half his body already.

“Run!” Gilbert screamed, trying to keep the thing at bay. When it couldn’t get to her comfortably, it turned to trying to claw at her husband. Thank the Gods the pitchfork was longer than its arms.

The wind sounded strange. And then something roared. Dalla looked up just in time to see the golden dragon fall from the sky. It landed right beside her, bit the man-skeleton, threw it away with a flick of its head, and breathed fire. Another dragon fell from the sky. It caught the woman in its claws, threw her into the air, and breathed fire.

The woman on the golden dragon looked around and stared at Lily, Addam, their dead men. Dalla stared at her. She had to be some royalty. Both of them had to be. They rode dragons. The woman dismounted her dragon, while the light blue one circled above them.

“Are there more of them?” She asked. Her Gilbert still held his pitchfork, staring dumbfounded.

“I… I… I…”

A dragon. Here.

She reached out for her, touching her arm gently. A royal had saved her. A royal had touched her.

“They… They were after Lily. They… they… wanted to go fishing today, I believe.”

“Where to?”

“Down by the cliffs.”

The woman looked up and the light blue dragon took off, back towards the sea.

---

The pain came rushing back, making her groan. Awake was always pain. Even sleeping was pain. Her dreams, if she dreamt at all, were of her getting torn open or ripped apart, sometimes even dragons came for her. When she first opened her eyes again, she barely knew what had happened or who she was. There was only pain and the distinct knowledge that something was wrong. The maester had given her Milk of the Poppy and that was that. Three days just blurred into each other. If anyone had asked her, she’d have sworn she lost her child yesterday.

Had they burned her already? had been her first question. Yes, they had.

Daemon was by her side most often, whenever she drifted in and out of sleep. Once it was Baela, looking at her all worried. All other times, it was her mother, looking even more worried than Daemon and Baela combined.

Slowly blinking open her eyes, she realized she was alone for once. No one was by her bedside. She had lost her child. Was her mother still here? She had the strange fear to wake up and learn she was gone. Left without a word. Just left her alone with all the pain, all the horror.

“Is my mother still here?”

A servant stepped closer. “Yes, my lady. Should I get her?”

“Not right now.”

Laena closed her eyes again, waiting for the pain and grief to take over. Neither did. Both were constant, yes, but manageable for once. She could even think mostly straight. No Milk of the Poppy, she thought dryly, and waited a little.

When she could still think straight some 5 minutes later, she went to work. She wanted to go home, and she would go home. If need be, she would take the girls and leave. Should Daemon try and stop her… Vhagar was always most convincing. Not that she wanted their dragons to fight, watching them attack each other would tear her heart apart, but whatever was necessary. She would not stay here. She would not die here if things got worse. She had only barely made it as is. She wanted her family.

“Can you get Daemon?”

The girl nodded and left.

Laena stared after her, stared at the guard in her room. Everything was so quiet. As if they were plotting for a funeral. Where were her girls, running down corridors screaming and laughing although they had been told to be quiet? Where were…

Her thoughts ripped. Just slipped away in the pain. And then there was only pain. The memory of them breaking it apart. How things had moved inside her, all those hands moving around.

Daemon cupped her cheek. The touch made Laena come clawing back, holding onto her sanity with all her strength. She had to talk!

He looked at her, worried as ever. “How are you?”

“Horrible.” Who even came up with those questions? “Daemon…”

“Yes?”

“I want to go home.”

He sighed, looking away already. She knew he would either change the subject or avoid her altogether. Or just leave.

“I nearly died. I do not want to stay here for the rest of my days. Baela and Rhaena should grow up around family, with… with their nephews. Not… not here.” They deserved better than lickspittles and beggars. Beggars here had way more money, but beggars all the same. Begging for their dragons, begging for their power.

“We talked about this already,” Daemon replied.

Well, no. They never had, because he never did.

Laena sat up carefully, her body screaming at her not to do it.

“I will go home, Daemon. You can come with or stay.”

---

Another day. Another long boring day. Standing by the railing of his ship and watching the horizon, Viserys sighed. One more day and they’d be at Dragonstone. If the winds were kind, maybe even this evening. Thank the Gods the seas were calm or it would take even longer. Especially in moments like this, he missed having a dragon. One who could fly for longer than a moment, that was. Balerion… the thought hurt, even after all those years. Watching him die after only so little… he shook his head and turned, forcing the thought away, and walked along the deck to get some movement. He would sit again soon enough. Continue his book about the Histories of Valyria, maybe a glass of wine. Endure Alicent’s stares.

A mysterious dragon with a mysterious Valyrian rider. What to even make of it? If only Lyonel was here. He would give good counsel, like always.

“Jaeherys would have killed her,” he muttered to himself.

Simply by existing, she was a challenge to Targaryen rule. But killing her… it felt like such a waste. Her dragon would revolt against them as well. Maybe never accept another rider. Maybe fly away. Hopefully, the girl was reasonable enough. If she was… Marry her into the family, yes. Bind her to them, one way or another. Keep her out of other families' hands – keep dragons and dragon blood with them, where it belonged. Otherwise, it could easily turn into a challenge.

His slow walking nearly turned to pacing now. The three Kingsguard he had brought along watched him silently.

Yes. Talk with her, assess her, figure out how she got the dragons, marry her. Or kill her. Sounded like a plan. He would probably go over it a few more times because some things did not make any sense. Why had she turned up now? How could they not have heard of her? How could they have missed her?

Questions he would not get answers to right now. He turned again, stopped at the railing and looked down at the water. It moved along well enough thanks to the wind. Viserys frowned, staring intently at the waves. There was… the face of a woman? She was staring at him.

“Ser Harrold. What do you see?”

His Lord Commander stepped beside him, staring at water as well.

“Just water, your Grace.”

“Thought I saw something.”

“Must have been a reflection, your Grace.”

“Yes, yes. Must have.”

He could have sworn…

---

Rhaenys kissed Laena’s cheek.

“We will see each other again soon,” she promised. She would fly for Pentos again. Maybe escort her part of the way home. Maybe just send Velaryon ships to get her. Daemon couldn’t say much about established facts, could he? She knew it was a risky bet, trying to force Daemon’s hand. If he refused and stayed here… but no. She did not believe he would. She had seen him while Laena miscarried. He would do anything for her. Maybe throw up a fuss, complain, even stall, but in the end do as she asked.

Laena smiled and nodded. “Safe flight. Give my greetings to Laenor and Rhaenyra.”

“I will.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand again. Leaving her felt wrong. Way, way too wrong. She should stay here, be at her side, but she knew just as well Rhaenyra was waiting for answers. She herself wanted some answers. What had Daenerys said to her? How could she have known Laena was in danger? What else did the girl know?

After some more goodbyes, Rhaenys finally left her chamber. Daemon stood outside, watching her.

“What did you say to her?”

Rhaenys shook her head. “Nothing of concern to you. I will visit again as soon as I can.”

Daemon nodded, following her through the corridors.

“I will leave Maester Geradys with you. To make sure she is in the best hands.” He would not appreciate another dragon flight either way.

Another nod. This time without any snarky comment, which likely meant he was grateful. They walked side by side for a bit until they reached the stairs down to the yard. Rhaenys glanced at him.

“Do you have bastards?”

For once, Daemon frowned. “Probably. Why?”

She shrugged. “Curiosity.” Maybe Daenerys was one of his.

---

There had been no dead on Driftmark. His father had looked at him all skeptical when Laenor asked if anything had happened, anything at all. No, his father had said. Which was good. Very good. He had needed a bit to extradite himself from the inevitable follow-up questions. Flying over the Gullet, there were none. Crossing over Sharp Point, there were none. Turing towards Blackwater Bay, he expected exactly the same. They seemed to have only come for Dragonstone. For their dragons, specifically. The way they had hunted after the poor green one… Laenor shook his head at the thought and yelped when Seasmoke dropped.

“What are –”

His stomach sunk, while his hope they were gone and dealt with disappeared. There were five in the water beneath them. They looked up when Seasmoke’s shadow crossed over them and started to pile on top of each other, trying and failing to reach them.

Seasmoke growled lowly. Water and fire ain’t working well. His dragon dropped into the sea.

“Oh, the seven hells! Seasmoke!”

His dragon only rumbled lowly, flapping his wings a bit, spraying up water, and paddling with his claws. Waited. And then shook him off. Laenor stared exasperated for all but a second. Seasmoke disappeared underwater, brought them up in his claws and breathed fire.

Oh. Yeah. Of course. Dropping back into the water beside him and wetting him through for good, Seasmoke nudged him gently, rumbling what could only be a sorry. Laenor laughed and stroked along his scales.

“Warn me next time!” As if that would work. Seasmoke rumbled again, kind of happy this time, dove, and then he was on the back of his dragon again, really close to the saddle. Scrambling back onto it they were up in the air, looking for more.

They found small packs every few minutes now. Laenor went swimming, Seasmoke went fishing. How could there still be so many?

Hovering over a pack of 50, he watched them for a bit. They walked in a straight line. The earlier packs too, when he thought of it. Only looking up when a shadow fell on them, most likely to check if it was a dragon. They were going for… Laenor stared at the horizon, plotting where around he was… Kings Landing. It was a straight line for Kings Landing. Depending on the currents, they could hit Duskendale first. Or maybe crawl out of the water around Rosby. And then it was only a short walk to the capital.

---

A knock on the door.

Alicent nearly sighed relieved. There was only so much small talk about Valyria and the taste of wine she could take before she lost her mind. Way back when, when she had married him, she had found it fascinating. Who wouldn’t have? Old Valyria, the place of legend and power, rulers of the known world in Essos. The ancestors of House Targaryen. As time went on, she realized her husband did not care for much else of anything. Not ruling his country, Lyonel and before that, her father had done so, he did attend small council meetings and sometimes held audiences, yes, but… he wasn’t ruling, not really. Not actively. Just lost in stories of old. He did not even care for their children. Rhaenyra, yes, which made it all the worse. Why could he not care for their children? Only Aemma’s daughter, the little apple of his eye. He had three by her! Three! The son he had always wanted. When was the last time he had done anything with Aegon? Ages ago.

“Come in,” Alicent said. Hopefully, it was good news. Maybe Dragonstone finally got into view. Ought to be time. And then… the girl. The dragon. Just things getting worse. If Viserys decided to keep her alive, which she feared, she’d try convince him to marry her to Aemond.

The door to their chamber opened. Ser Criston stepped inside, looking the tiniest bit worried, which in turn worried her. What had happened?

“Your Grace, my Queen. We spotted Dreamfyre to the west.”

“What?” Alicent asked as did Viserys. Oh, now he cared for his daughter!

Stepping onto the deck with Viserys on her arm, her heart sank. She could not see Dreamfyre. Only Syrax of all dragons, hovering in place, probably the one she did not want to see the most. Some of their sailors stood by the railing, all yelling over each other, just as Ser Harrold. He stared at something in the water and finally turned, yelling commands to halt and turn the ship.

Alicent hurried for the railing and stared. Her Helaena was down there, in the water, swimming. Oh, the gods, her baby!

“What happened?” She yelled, one moment away from staring daggers at Rhaenyra. How could she be up here and her baby down there? Viserys finally joined her.

“Dreamfyre wanted some fish!” Helaena yelled back. Alicent stared. Dragons. Her husband chuckled.

“Why are you even here? You should be back at home!” Her damn brothers had not looked out for her after all. She had to have a word with Aegon.

“I… wanted to see you.”

Alicent smiled weakly. They should not have left her.

“I came for your ship, father. My Queen. The last part of your journey befits a royal escort, don’t you think?”

“Oh, a splendid idea,” Viserys said.

Yes. Everything Rhaenyra did was splendid. Shoving bastards in everyone’s faces was so splendid!

“How did you find Helaena?” Alicent asked, way colder. Sailors were running all around, doing their best to stop the ship.

“I got lost,” Helaena yelled up. “She found me over… ehm…”

“Close to Claw Island,” Rhaenyra said. “One of our guards spotted her. Took a little to catch up.”

Alicent hesitated. Reasonable enough, but still... Why fly for them together? Why hadn’t she just left Helaena at Dragonstone? To parade her daughter around? Or had Helaena insisted on coming with to see them?

Helaena looked down at the water and frowned. She disappeared, leaving only tiny waves behind.

“Helaena!” Her baby! “No!” She lunged at the railing, ready to jump in to get her out. Ser Criston held her back. She could not even swim well, she thought later. In the moment it did not matter. She had to get her baby girl!

Helaena still did not get back up. Rhaenyra cursed the Gods, because of course, she did and – jumped in, diving for her daughter. Alicent stared. They still did not come up. Syrax growled at the water, then full-on roared. Somewhere far off, Dreamfyre got out of the water, dropped fish while doing so, and flew towards them.

“Helaena!” Viserys yelled for a change, staring at the water. Both his girls… At least he did not yell for Rhaenyra. Alicent wouldn’t put it past him.

A few sailors jumped into the water to save – Syrax roared again, looking panicked by now, if a dragon could ever look panicked, and dove into the water, creating waves that hit the ship some. A few seconds later, both Helaena and Rhaenyra emerged from the water. Her baby snapped for air frantically and started crying. Rhaenyra hugged her somewhat.

“Ssh. I got you. Everything is okay. It’s gone.”

Syrax emerged beneath them, lifting them out of the water, and breathed fire. Alicent stared. What was that about?

With the ship turned and stopped some 10 minutes later, they heaved Helaena and Rhaenyra on board, as well as the sailors. Syrax flapped into the air and shook herself, trying to get the damn water off her scales, thus showering anyone nearby.

Alicent hugged Helaena the second she was on board. She was safe! Thank the Gods, she was safe. And then went straight to scolding.

“What were you thinking? You could have gone lost! You could have drowned! Drowned! Why did you not stay in Kings Landing? You would be safe there! What would I do if you were dead, hu? You can’t just do something like this!”

Helaena looked down, not even daring to raise her gaze, mumbling apologies. Rhaenyra watched them for a moment and turned away. Her father placed a shaking hand on her arm.

“Well done, Rhaenyra.”

She only smiled and briefly hugged him. “Anyone would have done the same. How was your journey? Did everything go well?”

Alicent looked up and saw them. Of course, Viserys would talk with Rhaenyra first. Of course, of course, of course. What did his nearly-drowned daughter matter?

---

Rhaenyra was uncomfortable, to say the least. They were in her father’s and Alicent’s private chamber. Alicent’s handmaid helped-forced her into one of Alicent’s green dresses. It did not fit well. The least I could do, she had said, when Rhaenyra enquired about any dry clothing. She would have rather gone for a simple linen dress like Helaena was currently wearing. But no way she could turn her down. To refuse a dress from the queen… Rhaenyra could swear she saw glee in Alicent’s eyes, who sat in a chair opposite and watched.

“Thank you for saving Helaena,” Alicent said again.

“Always.” Something flickered over Alicent’s face. As if she wanted to either hug her or throw wine in her face. “Anyone would have done the same,” Rhaenyra said again. “How was the journey up till now?”

“Long and boring. I guess that’s good concerning ships.”

Rhaenyra smiled politely. “It is. Laenor always bores me to death when we use a ship. I know more about wind patterns, sail directions and anchor chains than I could ever imagine. Or want to in the first place.”

Alicent chuckled politely. “Oh my.”

The handmaid threaded the dress close as good she could. “Done, my princess.”

“Thank you.” The girl bowed and moved away. Rhaenyra turned back to Alicent. “Thank you again for…”

“Oh, never mind. The least I could do,” Alicent said again and waved her hand. The glee was back in her eyes. Or had it never left? She. Wearing green. Sure had to be a sight.

They stared at each other. One could nearly cut the tension between them with a knife. She was torn, more than she ever was. Part of her wanted to talk with her, at least try. She had seen wights today. Nearly died herself. Nearly watched Helaena get drowned by one of them. There were more dead beneath the ship than they had realized. What did all this squabbling matter in comparison?

The other part hated just the thought of it. Harrenhall had burned. It had to be the Greens. None other would profit off it. Larys was loyal to Alicent. If she really had ordered them dead… but murdering someone? Having Larys murder his own family? It was so unlike her.

“Did you hear of Harrenhall?” Rhaenyra asked. She would bring it up, she decided. See for herself and go from there.

Alicent frowned. “No. What of it?”

“It burned. Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin only barely escaped with their lives.”

Horror passed over Alicent’s face. Whether she had something to do with it or not, she had not wanted this.

Alicent got up, stepping closer to her and then stopped. As if she wanted to reach out and remembered she ought not. “Do they know what happened?”

Lie or tell the truth? How much did she know? Anything? None at all?

“It was set ablaze. After the Lord made it out, someone saw a man posing as a servant. They rounded up more of them.”

Alicent indeed looked horrified. One hand raised to her mouth, shaking her head. It seemed so genuine. She wanted it to be genuine.

“Dear Mother. To rebel against their lord like this…” She shook her head again and fell quiet. Rhaenyra watched her. Her honest upset about Harrenhall burning… her being grateful for saving Helaena… they may not get a better moment to talk in years.

“Alicent, I…”

What to say? Where to start? Appealing to their long-gone friendship had not helped the last time. What else could she say? What could move her, even the slightest?

“Yes?” Alicent looked at her, waiting. The moment was slipping away. Gods, she should have thought about this already, but no. She had wanted to talk to Rhaenys first, get her opinion on things. What to tell her? What was important to her? Back then, when they were girls, she would know. Nowadays… she was still Alicent, wasn’t she? Deep down. Alicent, her best friend, always by her side. Scheming behind her back, yes, but...

“I wanted to thank you for looking out for my father. I did not realize while I was in Kings Landing… he has gotten frail. Being by his side loyally, helping him, it cannot be easy.” She hesitated. “You have my gratitude for that.”

Alicent looked at her.

“Further, I –”

A knock on the door. Rhaenyra closed her eyes. Why now?

“Come in,” Alicent said.

Cole of all people entered. “My princess, your lord husband is here. He asks for a word.”

“Leanor is here?”

Cole nodded.

She turned to Alicent. “Excuse me, my Queen.” And hurried out of the chamber. On the deck, she watched a wet Laenor jump onto the ship. Seasmoke circled over them lazily. “Laenor, how come…”

“We got a raven which could not wait,” he proclaimed for anyone to hear and walked across the deck to hug her. “You in green?” He whispered into her ear.

“Somehow happened,” she whispered back.

Alicent watched them closely. More word from Harrenhall? She was horrified about the news. Yes, she had wanted them handled, but not burned! Not like this! To kill his own kin… The disguised servants must have talked… Had they told of Larys? Of course, the good Ser Harwin would let her know. Had Larys accused her? She had thought him loyal, but rats always ran first.

“There are more dead in the water,” Laenor carried on in a whisper. “I stopped counting at some two hundred. I think they are heading for Kings Landing.”

Rhaenyra closed her eyes and sighed. “We found some close to the Whispers, but none otherwise.” Which made sense if most of them were heading to Kings Landing. “I hoped this was over. We have to guard…”

“What is it about?” Alicent asked, stepping closer.

“Oh… ehm…”

“Laena had a miscarriage,” Rhaenyra said on a whim, hoping with all her heart that Laena was alright. “She asked if we can fly for Pentos.”

“My condolences. Some days are just bad news.”

Another forced smile turned up on her face. Seasmoke saved her from having to answer. He roared and breathed fire on their anchor chain. The sailors started yelling at the dragon, thin air, and Laenor all at the same time, as did Ser Harrold and the captain, trying to calm them down.

---

The flight back was uneventful. Meleys shot through the skies high up in the air, making their travel seem barely worth mentioning. Blue skies, calm air. A stark comparison to their way to Pentos. Two times, Meleys seemed to see something interesting, losing height, but she never fully dove down. Probably hungry, but not her type of fish. Dragons could be so picky.

Circling over Dragonstone again, Rhaenys stared. Vermithor and Silverwing lay outside by the beach, staring at the ocean. The Cannibal sat on a cliff of the Dragonmount, staring out over the island. A green dragon. Another dragon she did not know. And the beach… from up here it looked like flight paths. Sand did not burn well, but earlier or later it would melt. There were streaks of glass scattered all across the beaches.

Landing close to the green dragon, she stared at it. Wounds, and lots of them. Just like the black one when he got here. Dragonkeepers were swarming the poor thing, inspecting its wings, patching up wounds along its back. It looked enough like Dreamfyre to be one of hers. Another one of hers. Two of the three stolen eggs.

“What happened here?” She demanded. Two of the dragonkeepers stopped and looked at her, hesitating. As if she would believe any word they said.

Chapter Text

The two men stuck their heads together and whispered. Rhaenys frowned. What part of her question needed discussion?

“Maybe you should talk with the Princess –”

“Answer my question,” she demanded, cutting him short.

Both men stared at her again. When had they lost their tongue? Normally, even dragonkeepers were more talkative.

“The dead attacked us, my princess.”

Rhaenys stared at him. The dead?

“The dragons burned them,” the other man said. One of the dragonkeepers glanced at them and went straight back to work.

“The dragons?” Rhaenys repeated. The beach looked like dragons had fought, yes, but that was about it.

“Yes. Princess Rhaenyra defended the Dragonmount until we were nearly overrun. She ordered Vermithor brought outside. The rest…” the man shrugged. The rest had happened how it happened. The commotion lured more dragons in. They even had to keep Vermax at bay, who had wanted nothing more than to join the others.

Rhaenys still stared. Did they have some illness of the mind? For two of them to claim the same… She had to tell Rhaenyra about it. Who knew what other delusions they believed? They may break their eggs or hurt the hatchlings thinking they did right. Whatever had happened, certainly no dead. Meleys turned towards the castle. She would tell her Laena was alright, or as alright as any woman could ever be given the circumstances, and then demand answers. Whatever the dragonkeepers tried to cover up, she had to know of it.

“Princess Rhaenyra left, princess. All the dragon riders did.”

She turned back to them. “All dragon riders?” While she said it, she realized she had not seen the black dragon. Had Rhaenyra sent Daenerys away as well? Was she insane? The girl may never come back! What had happened while she was gone? Had the dragons revolted and everyone tried to cover it up with ever more ridiculous stories? The thought was insane as well, but how else to explain the look of the island? Why send away the girl? What to tell Viserys when he got here and their mysterious dragon was gone?

“Yes. Scattered into the wind. Laenor flew towards Driftmark, I believe.”

At least one thing made sense.

---

Men were still screaming. One sailor got very close to Laenor, gesturing right in his face, and got dragged away by Ser Erryk. Her father demanded silence. Rhaenyra just stared, feeling numb. Everything seemed oddly far away. Time seemed to slow. Like in a dream she walked across the ship towards the anchor chain. Seasmoke still hovered over it. He would have only breathed fire if the dead were here. Had they lured them in by accident? They sure loved dragons. Of course, they would try to reach them. Climbing up an anchor chain looked like the perfect way to gain some height.

Very slowly, she leaned over the railing. Just water. No dead right there.

She exhaled softly, her numbness fading. She heard Laenor exhale relieved right beside her as well.

“We have to get the dragons away,” she whispered to him. Laenor frowned, opened his mouth to ask, and then horror dawned on his face.

“Seasmoke, up!” Laenor yelled at his dragon. Seasmoke just looked at him confused. “Up, I said. Get away from the ship!”

Still, his dragon did not listen. Just stared at him.

“Is everything alright?” Alicent of all people asked.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said, one step away from snapping at her. She could not deal with her fake niceness right now. Still, she turned towards her. “Sometimes, dragons can be stubborn.”

“Rhaenyra? Are they here?” Helaena asked quietly, standing partly behind her mother.

“Who is here?” Alicent asked, turning to her daughter.

“Rhaenyra, what is going on?” Her father demanded.

“Seven hells, up Seasmoke! I said up!”

“Rhaenyra?”

Seasmoke still had not moved. His wings beat rhythmically through the air. He just looked down and back at his Laenor. Was he sure? Really sure? Why should he fly up?

Something grabbed her dress and fabric ripped. Seasmoke growled, opened his jaws despite all other commands and got ready to breathe fire.

“Seven hells no!” Laenor yelled, panicking. “Dohaeris, Seasmoke! Keligon!“

Rhaenyra turned. More fabric ripped. Laenor looked at her at the sound and horror ran down his spine. A boy with blue eyes, holding onto Rhaenyra’s dress, half over, half below the railing. He must have climbed up while he argued with his dragon.

He did not even think of it. He jumped at it, grabbed the arm and ripped at it. The arm ripped right off, as well as part of the dress. The hand dropped the fabric and started to claw at him. Laenor screamed, holding the thing away from his face.

Seasmoke growled.

Helaena screamed seeing Laenor wrestle with the arm. She did not mind them as long as she was on her dragon. Right now, she was not. Right now…

Rhaenyra finally backed away, bolting away, really. The dead thing fell onto the deck and went for the closest thing in its field of vision. Alicent. The queen only stared at it dumbfounded.

Laenor finally threw the arm overboard. Seasmoke snapped it up and burned it some. But only a little.

Ser Criston ran for his queen.

“Stop right where you are!”

The boy did not. Swinging his sword, he cut the boy in half. His upper body just went on crawling.

More screams. “What in the seven hells?!” “What is that?” “It’s still moving!” “How can it still move?!” Sailors were running away from it all over.

“Protect your King!” Ser Harrold’s yell cut through the chaos.

Ser Erryk pulled Viserys behind him, while Ser Steffon guarded the king’s back, sword drawn, looking around, looking for more of whatever they were.

No fire. Rhaenyra stared at the dead. No fire, no fire, no fire. Another wight got onto the deck, going for Laenor, who had looked over the railing and backed away. If they set the ship ablaze they would all die. What else, what else? Anything… Dragonglass for the White Walkers, yes. Would it work on wights too? They did not even have dragonglass, so why bother… They could not… they… throw them into the sea, maybe? Have the dragons handle them there? But just getting close to them was a challenge in not getting killed, much less picking them up. Her gaze fell on her father, who looked somewhere between horrified and utterly surprised. Did anything dragonfire related work? Valyrian steel was touched by it.

A new wight ran past its crawling friend and jumped at Alicent. Cole grabbed it at the last second. Boney fingers moved inches away from Alicent’s face, who finally screamed and backed away. Cole was wrestling with the dead, while the other one crawled on between his legs and grabbed Alicent’s ankle, making her trip.

Ser Erryk hesitated but moved for the queen. Killing the thing was in all their best interests. 

Valyrian steel. Her best bet. Her only bet. Rhaenyra bolted again, this time for her father. She pushed her way past Ser Steffon and grabbed the hilt of Viserys’s dagger. Swirling around, she nearly flew the few steps and rammed the dagger into the head of the wight scratching along Alicent’s leg.

The blue eyes dimmed down and faded. Rhaenyra panted. It was dead. Dead again? Looking up, she saw more of them. Another one jumped Cole. One attacked Ser Harrold. The others ran for their sailors. Some of their men jumped into the sea, only to disappear.

“Dracarys,” Helaena yelled, pointing towards the anchor chain. She had climbed onto the bow of the ship, close to the chain but yet far enough away, and waved for her dragon. Dreamfyre got lower and breathed fire, burning the anchor chain again. She dipped her claws into the water, pulled out two more and burned them. Seasmoke grumbled annoyed. Why wasn’t he allowed to breathe fire?! Syrax circled above them, growling fearful, not sure what she should do. She had to do something! But they sure did not want fire close to the big wooden boat. Or did they? Or did they not?

While Rhaenyra killed her first wight, Laenor was cutting the one following him into pieces, trying to dodge the hands reaching for him. Even the leg was moving. How was that even possible? Dancing around the pieces, he grabbed the head to throw it for Seasmoke. Its hairs and part of the scalp slid off the bone. Staring at the fleshy mess in his hand, he forgot about the head for that one second. Teeth sunk into his calf.

Cole screamed. The thing on his back was clawing at his neck, drawing blood. Dropping the thing wiggling in his arms, he tried to grab the one on his back. It went straight for Alicent again. Ser Steffon stepped in front of her, slashing it in half, kicking and stabbing at it, holding it off. Viserys helped Alicent up, pulling her close.

Their Kingsguard yelled. Seasmoke roared, drowning out other screams. One of their sailors ran by and got jumped and ripped apart by a wight. Only Viserys was oddly quiet. Maybe busy staring. Another one jumped Cole, trying to get his helmet off.

Rhaenyra still stared. Where should she even start? There were so many, there were…

“How did you kill it?” Ser Erryk asked, startling her out of her stupor. Whatever he had done, it had not stopped moving.

“Valyrian steel.”

A wight jumped her, ripping her to the ground, clawing through her dress, biting her shoulder. Rhaenyra screamed, Syrax roared. Ser Erryk ripped the dagger out of her hand and stabbed the dead in the head, which stopped moving. Just as the princess had said.

Sitting up, she pressed her hand against the wound, watching how Cole’s helmet fell to the ground. The wight on his back sank its teeth into his neck. He screamed even louder. Ser Erryk, dagger in hand, rushed to help him.

Alicent stopped screaming. She just stared at all the chaos. What was going on? What in the name of the seven was going on?!

Her father knelt beside her, touching her unharmed shoulder. “Is everything well?”

Rhaenyra nodded. She was turning numb again, everything slipping away, getting oddly dreamlike. She looked at her father.

“Did you bring your sword?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“In my chamber.”

Well, yes, of course.

“Rhaenyra!” Helaena screamed. Rhaenyra jumped up. Helaena backed away along the bow, climbing further out. A wight was following her. Alicent found her voice again. Screaming, she tried to run for her daughter only to be caught by Ser Steffon. Laenor turned, sword in hand, and limped-ran for her sister. Helaena slipped and fell, holding onto the bow. The thing got closer to her. Only moments now.

“Syrax,” Rhaenyra whispered. Her dragon had to know, even without words. Syrax dove for her. Dreamfyre was quicker. She snapped her baby up in her claw, as gently as she could manage, taking half the bow along. The still connected rope ripped on the mast, making the wood groan.

Rhaenyra stared for a second. Another… Move! Turning, she sprinted over the deck, dodged a wight and slipped through the door into her father’s chamber, pulling the door closed behind her and flipping the latch. Something crashed against the wood, rattled on it, and started scratching. Sword, sword, sword. Where was the sword?! His books, a wine bottle, servants cowering behind his chair, one of Alicent’s necklaces, glasses…

She spotted it in the corner, leaning against the wall. Oddly careful, she grabbed Blackfyre and returned to the still-closed door. She stared at it, listening to the scratching. How to go about opening it? Drawing the sword from its scabbard, she held it in front of her, yes, that was it, and cut through the latch. The door flew open, the wight jumped her, and impaled itself on the sword.

It did not die. Just slid down along its blade, getting closer. Again, Rhaenyra realized she could still panic after everything. The thing reached out for her, going for her eyes. Rhaenyra screamed and ripped the sword upwards. Blackfyre moved through it like butter, straight through its chest and head. It stopped moving and slumped against her.

Was now the time to scream? She felt like it. She really felt like it! Rhaenyra whimpered.

They were not done yet. Later. She could scream later. Pushing her panic and the dead thing aside she stepped out of the room. Three wights still, one hanging onto Laenor, biting his leg, Ser Harrold trying to rip it off him, the other two circling Ser Erryk. Like hungry wolves going for the kill but worried about the dagger in his hand.

Could they think? Or did they only realize the dagger killed others of theirs, which still meant they could think. Of course, they could think. She ought to know! In some capacity anyway. They had dodged Syrax fire earlier.

Rhaenyra forced her thoughts away, grabbed Blackfyre tighter and went for Ser Erryk, slicing through one of the dead without much issues. Ser Erryk turned and jumped at the other dead, killing it.

Turning to Laenor, Rhaenyra killed the last one.

Chapter Text

“What… What were these… What…,” Alicent stammered, staring at the corpses strewn around them. The things, unmoving now, their sailors, their captain. Were her handmaids still alive? Or their maester? Anyone below deck?

“The dead,” Rhaenyra said oddly calm. She still hadn’t screamed. Did she still have to scream? Or had it passed? Handing Blackfyre back to her father, she realized he was looking at her.

Ser Steffon hurried past them, walking to Cole who lay on the planks, pressing his hand against his neck rather weakly.

“The dead?” Alicent repeated, somewhere between hysterical and resigned.

“Yes. What else would you call them?” Rhaenyra wanted to snap at her so badly, how could she even ask–she had seen them, damn it!–but did not. She remembered seeing one for the first time. How she had stared at it. Alicent may be one step away from losing her mind. Laenor had taken all the insanity in stride, but he at least had been on Seasmoke. He had been safe. Alicent did not have the same benefit. Her father… she glanced at him again. He was oddly calm. Just stood there, holding his sword, and watched.

Dreamfyre circled the ship, Helaena still securely in her claw.

“Get me the maester, damn it!” Ser Steffon yelled. Ser Erryk moved, still wielding the king’s dagger. Later, he would be horrified he had just taken it along.

Alicent turned at the yell. Criston. How could she just stand here and ask stupid questions? He had been bitten! All just to protect her. Kneeling beside her sworn shield, she stared at him. So much blood everywhere.

“No, no, no, no,” Alicent whispered, her hands hovering over his body.

Ser Steffon was sitting beside him, pressing his own hand against Cole's neck; blood seeping through his fingers, ever more with every heartbeat. Criston still smiled at her. His Queen was safe.

“How can I help?” There had to be some way!

Ser Steffon glanced at her. He knew Cole was as good as dead but did not say. Helping their own had priority always, once things were secured, even if it was futile. They could at least not die alone. For Cole, the bite was too deep. As soon as he started to shiver, things were over. It could only be a little now. “You can move aside when the maester comes, my Queen.” As if the maester could help.

Ser Harrold stepped beside her, looking down at Cole. He forced down a sigh. One gone, or as good as. Just as Ser Steffon, he knew which wounds could be treated and which could not. Glancing at the scratches on Alicent’s legs… those needed to be cleaned. Just as Rhaenyra’s and Laenor’s bites. He would not have three members of the royal family and a knight die under his watch, to make matters worse heir and queen. He may as well lay down his cloak and retire in shame. At least the king was safe. After a few moments of watching Cole, he turned away. He couldn’t help here. May as well do something useful, like counting their still alive sailors and surveying the damage to the ship. The main mast still stood, as well as the foremast. He would not bet his life on the latter. It had only been one rope, yes, but a dragon ripping on it was still a dragon ripping on it. It was a miracle it hadn’t come crashing down right then and there. Might have even killed them. Of all the ways to die, getting killed by the mast was oddly surprising. Walking around it, he looked for any signs of its immediate collapse.

“Looks good,” he muttered to himself, not that he had all too much experience with sailing ships beyond the basics.

“Ser Laenor.” Ser Laenor limped to him, avoiding putting too much weight on his doubly bit leg. “What do you think of it?”

The princess consort stared at the mast and touched it. He would know. He was a Velaryon. They basically grew up on and around ships.

“Looks safe enough,” he said after a few moments. “But I wouldn’t set sails on it again. May it breaks under any additional force.”

Harrold hummed and nodded, watching how Laenor’s gaze trailed along the ship. Yes. Barely any sailors. He had counted 6. Most who had survived had climbed into the rigging or all the way to the outlook. Away from the ground. Away from… from the things. The rest lay strewn across the deck or were gone in the water.

Steps came closer. The maester came running, followed by Ser Erryk.

“What is the situation below deck?” Harrold asked. His knight stopped.

“All is well, Lord Commander. The servants are scared, the cook and his hands nearly stabbed me, and the maester had barricaded his room.”

Ser Harrold nodded absentmindedly, and followed the maester, standing watch over Ser Criston’s final moments. Viserys had joined them by now, his hand resting on Alicent’s back.

“How bad is it?” Alicent demanded again and again.

Cole started to shiver. He had turned pale, his lips a hue of blue, his breathing gone shallow.

“My Queen, I…,” the maester started. He could stitch the wound, but what would it help? Maybe suture it, but again, what would it help? He had lost too much blood already. He had heard of dangerous methods of drawing blood from an animal for admistering over in Essos–but all those took time; time Ser Criston did not have.

“He will die, Alicent,” Viserys said very softly. The two Kingsguard somehow managed to not look relieved. The king had said it. No need to act anymore.

“What?” She swirled around to face him. “No! He saved my life! He… he…”

“Alicent?” Ser Criston whispered.

“Yes?” She knelt beside him again.

“Tell my father… tell him it was the birds.”

“What?”

“Do not mind him right now, my Queen,” the maester said softly. He had decided to just put pressure on the wound. Give him a few more moments. Better than panicked running around and yelling when he would die either way.

---

Laenor and Rhaenyra watched from afar.

“Dare I say I am happy about it?” Laenor whispered. Cole had murdered Joffery. On his wedding day of all days. He should have been executed, right then and there. But no. By the grace of the Queen he had walked away, and walked freely. Just continued on. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t murdered… Watching him bleed to death was perfect, albeit maybe too little pain. Part of him would have loved to do the deed himself, but of course, he could not. Watching was all he got, and he would savour every last second of it.

Rhaenyra smiled. “Of course,” but did not dare say more. She was worried about which words may come out.

“Go order Seasmoke around. At least pretend to not stare,” she said after a long moment. Laenor smiled weakly and looked at her. Blood was still trickling down her shoulder, her dress in tatters, her hair all loose. She had saved him. The way she had walked towards him with Blackfyre in her hand, how she had killed the wight with one strike. All calm and determined. If she wasn’t a woman, he would find her alluring right now. Forcing down a chuckle, he turned away towards Seasmoke, grimacing with every step. What nearly dying and a strong-willed wife could do to a man.

“Seasmoke, dive!” He said once he got to the railing. His dragon happily obliged, dragging more dead out of the water and burning them. Leaning over the railing, he glanced at the anchor chain, for now dead free. They had to move and soon, one way or another. Turning again, he watched Cole. If only he could get closer.

---

Rhaenyra carefully rearranged her facial expressions, took a deep breath, closed her eyes. No smiling. No snarky words. Opening her eyes again… she did not go. She rather looked at Dreamfyre and Helaena, who still circled the ship.

“Are you well?” She yelled.

“I am!” Her baby sister yelled back. “I got some scratches, though,” she added. Rhaenyra smiled weakly. Her sister always added the more important information after the fact, did she not?

“Stay where you are right now. Keep an eye on them.” She was safest with her dragon. Not necessarily the best spot in her claw, but still safe. Getting to her saddle was out of the question right now. It would need getting off. Everything would need to get off.

Checking her face for any runaway smile once more, she finally started moving and joined the group around Cole. Alicent’s sworn shield was dying. Whether or not she loathed him was not important. If she wanted to make amends, she should at least try be there, help Alicent however she could. Cole’s breathing had gotten ever more shallow. His face shifted when he saw her.

“You…” he whispered. Rhaenyra’s heart nearly stopped. Would he… would he just blurt out their transgressions in front of everyone? He literally had nothing to lose. But more words never came. Alicent looked up, and her face turned to fury. She jumped up, poking her with a finger. Rhaenyra stepped back startled, Alicent followed.

“You!” Alicent spat. “Everything was fine before you got here! You brought those things, didn’t you? You lured them in! Did you try to murder us all?!”

“Alicent,” Viserys said. His wife utterly ignored him.

“You knew they were coming! And you did not say a word!”

“What should I have said? ‘The dead may come. We have to abandon ship!’ Who would have believed me?”

Alicent stared at her, still furious, but a little exasperated as well.

“You should have tried!”

“Alicent, stop,” Viserys said again. Ser Harrold reached for her and pulled her away a few steps. “They were here before she came.”

“What?”

“I saw one earlier. Didn’t know what it was.”

“You saw one?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Yes, down in the water. It did not care for us then.”

Gods. It had really been their fault. “I think… I think we did lure them in by accident, father. They followed the dragons.”

Viserys only nodded and turned back to look at Cole. Rhaenyra followed his gaze.

“You did bring them! All those who died are on your hands!”

Cole was looking at her and smiled.

Alicent stared at her, wanting nothing more than to hit her. Even now, even after she admitted it, Viserys did not scold her. How could he?!

“I know,” Rhaenyra said, looking at her again. “I will have to live with it. But I did not bring them on purpose.” She had never wanted any of this. “Alicent. I think Ser Criston is going.”

Alicent’s face fell and she turned on her heels, kneeling beside Ser Criston again. He was so cold, his breath barely there. He still smiled, looking at her.

“Make sure she pays,” he whispered at her.

A moment longer. Another. His hand which had been balled to a fist relaxed. His face fell a little more to the side. Another moment and Ser Harrold stepped away.

“He is gone, my Queen,” the maester said.

---

“Tell me,” Viserys said. They were in his chamber. He sat on his chair, just like Alicent sat on hers. She looked like she wanted to murder her, Helaena looked oddly scared, standing behind her mother. Laenor stayed outside to have an eye on the dragons. Ser Harrold guarded the door, listening while looking outside. The maester was cleaning Rhaenyra’s shoulder. Again, she felt oddly uncomfortable.

“There was a storm. They came with it,” she said again. “They nearly overran Dragonstone. They were… they seemed endless.” She trailed off for a moment, trying to ignore the dread bubbling up in her stomach. How mad the day had been, and it wasn’t even over yet. How often and how close to dying she had been. “I ordered Vermithor brought outside, he obviously thought roasting dead was worth his time. The other dragons joined in and killed them. I ordered Laenor to fly for Driftmark and check on the Blackwater. I flew north and did the same. Flew back along the coast, spotted the ship -"

“When Helaena was in the water. Did you know there were dead beneath her?” Alicent cut her short, staring daggers at her.

“Mother, I took that swim. Rhaenyra had nothing to do with it.”

“You didn’t warn her?”

“I knew of the dead and did it anyways,” Helaena said sullenly. “They murdered some smallfolk up coast.”

Alicent stared at her daughter.

“Laenor says… Laenor says they are heading for Kings Landing”, Rhaenyra carried on. This was more important. They had to get moving. “I want to fly there and kill them before they make landfall. We have to protect the city. I will need any dragon I can get.”

“You will not have my –”

“Alicent, silence!”

This time, she listened to her husband.

“Leave us alone. I have to talk to my daughter. Ser Harrold, guard the door.”

Rhaenyra felt ever more uncomfortable while the others walked out. He would scold her, wouldn’t he? Maybe even scream. Of course, he would. She should have told them, no matter how insane it sounded. Alicent was right on that one. The dead were on her. Yet, she doubted it would have gone any other way. While they argued, the wights might have still climbed the anchor chain and attacked them. Same outcome.

Once the door was closed, Viserys sighed.

“You know what this is, don’t you? Aegon’s dream. I thought we still had time, I thought… How did they get so far south? Did we miss any ravens, perchance? To think the answer was simply a second Long Night…”

“This is not it, father.”

Her father looked mildly surprised.

“This is…” she hesitated, looking for the right way to tell, already thinking of what more she had to tell him. The truth about Daenerys? Or half and half? She had already told more half-truths today than she could count. “… it’s like… a sign of what is to come, I believe. A try of their strength, maybe? Aegon’s dream spoke of a winter. There is none. The storm was there, yes. The dead coming with it was, but...” she paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “I think their main force will come in winter.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because… this was not an army to end the world of men. We handled them easily. More or less. If this was it, why worry?”

Her father hummed. “But why now?”

The obvious question. “They were hunting a green dragon. He is on Dragonstone right now. The dead did not attack the ship until dragons were here. They attacked Syrax and me the second we landed during the fight on Dragonstone. They went for the Dragonmount. I fully believe they were after our dragons. Kill them, raise them.”

Horror glimmered in Viserys eyes. “Take our strength.”

Rhaenyra nodded. Saying it out loud made a horrible lot of sense. Whether or not it was true, it felt true.

Both were quiet for a long moment.

“The black dragon… it’s rider…” Viserys started.

Of course. The next obvious question. She better answer before he could ask whatever he wanted to ask, get ahead of it. Rhaenyra hesitated again. What to say? What to tell him? The truth or a lie?

Daenerys Targaryen.

The princess who was promised.

“She is a dreamer. She knows how its ends.”

Chapter Text

“What did she see?” Viserys was staring at her, leaning forward.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath. On with the truth. Telling everyone she was a dreamer would be easy enough to keep track of. It was the obvious choice; the one any Targaryen would believe. They were here because of a dream.

“The Wall will fall. They overrun Winterfell. She said the North is gone. Literally. No living soul left. She believes that… that Westeros will fall.”

Viserys stared at her. “But… The prince that was promised…”

“She told of a Targaryen Queen. She will do everything she is supposed to do, try unite the Kingdoms, even make allies in Essos…” Daenerys had mentioned her Dothraki, han’t she? “It was not enough.”

Viserys stared at her in disbelief. But the prophecy…

“I… I hope it’s a warning. Her dream. Of what will come to pass if we don’t stand united, if we don’t prepare. We know what will come, we know how to fight it. We have years and years. Not using them would be insane.”

Her father hesitated, mulling over her words. “If they are trying their army and going for our dragons, they may attack this coming winter. I would in their stead.”

Rhaenyra hesitated, her thoughts racing. She couldn’t just tell him the truth now.

“Well…” Another moment. “She said the Targaryen Queen was not me, which ought to give us at least two generations.”

Still, her father stared at her for a long moment. “What would you do?”

“Strengthen the Wall, the Nightswatch. May further garrison the North. Set every Maester in the Citadel to search their records for mentions of… of anything and everything concerning the Long Night. We only have so much Valyrian steel. We need other ways to kill them.”

Mine dragon glass, mine all the damn dragon glass. Not that she could tell.

“They came in a storm this time. May they always come in storms. Hinder our dragons from flying. We need plans on how to counter it.”

He did not say anything. The silence dragged on and on, Rhaenyra started to feel uncomfortable again. Had she said something wrong? Until her father started to smile and nodded.

---

Dreamfyre flew South, no matter how much Alicent protested, together with Syrax. Seasmoke circled the ship and dove every now and again. The maester patched up Laenor’s leg as good as he could. First, pour wine over the bites, then burn them out. Laenor grimaced through it all. A necessary evil. Hopefully, all would go well. Bite wounds, especially from something dead… No, he did not want to think of it.

The remaining sailors checked the rigging, inspected the missing bow section, and looked over their sails. Ser Erryk stood by the anchor chain, staring at the waves, waiting. He still had not given the dagger back. By now he didn’t even know how to do it. Just hand it back? What to even say? He was wearing the King’s dagger. How could he dare? Seasmoke emerged from the water again, dripping and glistening, three more dead in his claws. He grumbled at them and breathed fire. Ser Erryk felt the heat dance on his face. Then the dragon turned to circling the ship in ever bigger loops.

Viserys stared out at the water, not registering the waves, nor the occasional dead. Rhaenyra’s words ran through his head, again and again. The dead, making plans, the North falling. The prince who was promised may not be enough. If the prophecy was false… if it was a lie… Yet, who knew if the girl's dream was the truth? Maybe Aegon’s would prevail. His own dream ghosted through his head. A male heir. And all the dragons roared as one.

Maybe if he named Aegon heir… he played with the idea, he really did. Maybe they only had a chance if his son took the throne and united the dragons. Maybe Rhaenyra had been the wrong choice after all, maybe…

No. A Targaryen Queen, she had said. If another Queen would be, Rhaenyra had to make a good Queen herself. Otherwise, the Lords of the Kingdoms would surely revolt against this future ruler, but they did not. They followed her, until literal death.

… the prince who was promised was a princess…

Viserys chuckled. Maybe they could only win if Rhaenyra ascended the throne. May the prince had always been a Queen. If Aegon turned heir, she never had a chance, because who would follow her? First-born sons being natural leaders, girls being of no worth, he had heard it all before. He had seen his daughter today. She would do everything to stop the dead, quite literally, if need be with her own hands. She had seen them, she had fought them, she knew how to stop them. No one better but her. If she believed the girl, so be it.

Firstly… which of the Northern castles would help them best? He didn’t spend much time thinking. The Neck. It had to be Moat Cailin. If it was good enough to hold the Andals off, it may as well be good enough to hold the dead in. Maybe only the North would fall. Still horrendous, but-

“What did you and Rhaenyra talk about?” Alicent asked, interrupting his trail of thoughts.

Viserys glanced at her and shook his head. Alicent stared at him for a bit, huffed and stalked off to their chamber. Of course, he would not tell.

---

Alicent paced around in their chamber. She could not believe it. She could just not believe it. He did not tell her what they had talked about, he just allowed her baby girl to be sent off into danger, and he just… just… even after Rhaenyra admitted she brought those things upon them, he did not speak against her! He just carried on all merry, accepted it as is. Ser Criston was dead because of her! Her sworn shield! Nearly all their sailors! She had gotten scratched, literally stared death in the face, and still Viserys sided with his little precious girl! Alicent screamed in frustration. Rhaenyra was anything but precious. Ser Criston may have been too harsh in his words, but he had been right that she was a lying… person, yes. Even now, she did not want to think insults. Always lies, every time lies. Lies, lies, lies. Always to her face. Like when she had protected her years ago. What had she gotten for it? Nothing but scorn. Nothing but glares. Nothing but lies. Whoever stood with Rhaenyra did not get loyalty. Ser Laenor just going along may was the most astonishing thing; him claiming the bastards as his own. Because whatever he said, the three were not his children. They could not be. Ser Harwin was the father, she was sure of it.

More pacing and more pacing.

Her baby girl, all alone against those… those things… Viserys just letting it happen… She was all alone out there, vulnerable. If even one hair on her head was broken… Her eye twitched. She would pay her back. Grab the closet dagger and… and…

She had saved her.

The thought popped into her head, made her stop. She… she had saved her. It had been Rhaenyra who killed the dead thing. Came running for her, Alicent remembered the quick steps, and then she was beside her, dagger in hand, and the thing was dead. She had saved her. If she wanted her dead, she could have just waited another moment. Let the thing do whatever it wanted. If she wanted them all dead, she could have locked herself in their chamber and wait it out. If she wanted them dead…

… she had jumped into the water to get Helaena. She had known what was in there and gone in anyway.

If she wanted them dead she had done a poor job at it. Saved them all. Defended them. Gotten Blackfyre to kill the things. Rhaenyra had kept a calm head through all of it, all things considered. She had saved her. Her head always circled back to it. Rhaenyra had saved her. If she wanted her gone, she could have just waited, just waited. Before long, the other things she had seen joined in. Laenor hacking a wight to pieces, Ser Criston screaming and screaming, their sailors getting ripped to shreds. All the blood everywhere. Ser Erryk stabbing a dead repeatedly although it had already stopped moving.

Tears ran down Alicent’s cheeks. She had saved her. She had saved her baby girl as well. She had gotten hurt for them. She had even joined them when Ser Criston was dying. Those weren’t the actions of someone wishing her harm, less alone her children. If she wanted Helaena dead, she could have let her drown and be done with it.

She… why would she…

Rhaenyra needed her. Right now, she needed Helaena, simple as is. She needed Dreamfyre. A dragon only followed its rider. Dread pooled in her stomach. Had she only saved Helaena because…

But then why save them all? Rhaenyra didn’t need her. Helaena may be devastated if she died, yes, but… Never a better possibility to kill them.

It did not make sense, none of it.

Alicent turned, grabbed a bottle of wine, and drank straight from it, ignoring all else. It did not make sense. It did not. She refused to believe it made sense, because if it did… those weren’t actions of a kinslayer. They weren’t of someone who hated her. They were… No.

---

Rhaenyra stared. More dead already. A pack of 4 trudging through the shallow water beneath them, whirling up mud or sea dirt or however it was called. Syrax herself dragged her claws through the water, picked them up, and burned them without a word from her. Rhaenyra stared a bit startled. When had her dragon started to not shriek away from water droplets? May, she should have never entertained the madness, but… but her baby. Her very big winged baby. Now that she thought it, it seemed silly. Very silly. Syrax wasn’t anyone to be babied. She was a dragon. She ought to act like a dragon.

“There are even more!” Helaena yelled from above. Rhaenyra looked up and Syrax followed, joining Dreamfyre again. Some 10 further south. Then even more to the east…

They really were going for Kings Landing, weren’t they? One straight line.

“You take the big pack.” Mostly because Dreamfyre would dive without discussion. “I take the others.”

Helaena nodded and Dreamfyre went into a dive. Rhaenyra looked after her for a second, worried… but she would be fine. She had her dragon. Dreamfyre would not ever let anything happen to her. Turning Syrax, she aimed for the small pack, waiting for them to climb on top of each other, and then Syrax got them. Well, all but one. The lone dead below jumped and jumped. Rhaenyra stared at it. It would follow, surely. Like a little deadly dog bound with a leash. They could deal with it later.

They flew on and on, killed more wights. The closer they got to the city, the more they were, the closer they got, the more worried and uneasy she got. Had they already made landfall? Was anyone in Kings Landing still alive? Were Aegon and Aemond well? Was Sunfyre? Part of her did not want to believe their dragon could get hurt, but… but he was bound. Chained. Locked in. Their dragons could die in the pit. The old panic reared its ugly head again. Just the thought. Sunfyre getting killed by a wave of dead. No one deserved their dragon dying, not even Aegon. Although… No. She could not think although. Aegon hadn’t even done anything yet. He hadn’t taken her crown, hadn’t ordered Sunfyre to rip her apart. Yet, if he or his dragon died today…

She forced the thought aside. Enough madness for one day, may she not make it worse.

“Helaena? Can you hold them off for a bit?”

Her sister looked at her, hesitating. “How long?” She obviously did not want to be out here all alone. Who would?

“We will fly further to the city and then... about…” How long? How long would she need? “10 minutes?”

Her baby sister did not look confident at all. Or happy. Taking on packs alone was one thing, being out here all alone, the only one between the city and the dead was another.

“Maybe 5?”

Wasn’t enough. Rhaenyra nodded, though. She would make do with what she had.

---

Marla, who had let Helaena escape, paced around the corridors of the castle for a while now. A very long while. How to tell the princes she had let their sister run away? She knew they ought to be responsible for her. If they got into trouble, she would get into even worse. How could you not have stayed right by her side?! She could hear the questions already. How could you let her see her dragon? Why did you let her get so close? Why, why, why? She might even lose her standing in the castle, her work, her life. If she got thrown out of the Red Keep, who else would ever give her work?

No one. Or just the worst of lords or ladies, people she would have never entertained to work for until right now. She knew as a peasant she ought not be picky, but if she worked for the Queen and her children, she could be picky. Just the littlest bit, but worlds more than so many ever could.

And she may lose it all. Because Helaena ran away, right in front of her nose.

She returned to one of the windows with a good view out across the city, towards the water again, hoping and hoping. Helaena had flown towards the bay. If she came back… Please, all the gods, let her come back! She would light a candle to the Mother later, if she did. Maybe even make a donation. Her life saved, simply by coming back.

A dragon came into view. Marla’s heart dropped. Wrong color. Not Helaena, but the Princess Rhaenyra.

---

Aegon was none the wiser. He had not looked out of his window and seen masses of people migrate towards the harbour or out the city towards its beaches. He had not heard of the dragons circling far out over the bay. He had not heard of them breathing fire, again and again. He lay in his bed, pleasantly buzzed, wondering which servant he could ask to let play with their legs. Or maybe other things. Part of him knew it was wrong. Part of him knew they could not say no and would not, not ever, simply because who he was.

But. The big but. No one had ever told him no. Not his mother, not his father, less of all any of their servants. Laughable. Mother screamed at him for all sorts of things, but never about the legs. May she did not even know of it. The things his father did not know were about endless, but his mother… she knew more, but not all.

“Aegon!”

He twitched and sat up, looking around confused. Had mother and father come back already after all? Had they…

“Get up, damn it!”

No, that wasn’t even mother. It was Rhaenyra. And her voice… Turning, he looked towards his window and saw Rhaenyra. Wearing a torn green dress, her hair all unruly, some dried blood on her shoulder, and bobbing up and down. Admittedly, maybe he was more than buzzed.

Staggering out of bed, he got to the window and held on to the wall, which just didn’t stop moving. It was Rhaenyra. On dragon back. Insane.

“Are you drunk?” She asked.

“Just… lil… bit.”

His sister stared at him exasperated. “Stay in bed. Lock the door.”

Before he could even reply, Rhaenyra vanished. He leaned out the window and watched Syrax land in the yard. Moments later, she took off again. Following her with his eyes, he finally saw Dreamfyre far away, over the water, breathing fire. What was going on?

---

“Did any climb the chain again?” Laenor asked, stepping beside Ser Erryk, who kept watch over their most vulnerable spot.

“Not yet, Ser Laenor.”

Laenor nodded and stared into the water. Seasmoke wasn’t fishing out any for a while now. Maybe… just maybe… He turned back towards one of the sailors. They had done everything they could and now just sneaked around on deck, staying exactly in the middle of the ship, as far away from the railing as they could get. Reasonable, given everything.

“Do you have spare rope?” he asked towards the sailors.

“Yes, my Lord. Ser. Why?”

“Get me some. All you have.”

Ser Erryk looked at him questioning. Laenor smiled somewhat. “Try and see if Seasmoke can pull us. I am uneasy just sitting here and waiting.” The spot seemed about the worst with how many dead they had seen.

Staring at the small mountain of ropes in front of him, Laenor hummed. If Seasmoke could pull them… he could maneuver them as well. Set the main sail, get the ship moving quicker. Maybe get to Driftmark to get new sailors on board. High Tide was closer than Dragonstone. Of course, they’d be in hot water if the wind shifted, but they weren’t in exactly a good position already anyway.

“Seasmoke!” He yelled when his dragon emerged from the water again. Seasmoke growled curiously and flew closer. Laenor motioned for their sailors, who had backed off already.

“I need help. Come.”

Only two carefully stepped closer, staring at the dripping winged monster. Laenor sighed. If Seasmoke wanted to eat them, he’d have done it already.

---

Seasmoke pulled and pulled and pulled, leaning his entire body into the various ropes, flapping his wings, pulled. Not much happened. He grumbled. Move ship! Move! He willed it to move. If only he could burn it down if it didn’t, but his Laenor certainly would not approve. He liked the odd wooden boats too much, especially if he was on it, although Seasmoke never got what was so interesting about those swimming things. Surely not better than dragon back! As if anything was better than flying in the first place. Well, diving and hunting fish was nice, but people on boats never went diving to hunt for fish. Falling back some, the ropes falling slack, he threw himself against them with full force. He heard them strain and groan and sing, a few strands even ripping. The slightest movement forward. Roaring victorious, he did it again and again, until he had something like a motion, and suddenly, it was easy. Very easy, even. The ship moved. Roaring all happy again, he paddled onwards, pulling it on. His Laenor was yelling back on board, but not for him, people running around. Seasmoke listened to the two-legged noises curiously but did not fly to look up. Laenor had said pulling was important, back towards home, so he would pull. Hearing the big linen flap, the ship got even faster. One of the dead scrambled onto his back. For now, he ignored it. Just one. Nothing to worry about.

---

Ser Erryk stared at the sail, ballooning in the wind. He had never helped set a sail in his life. He would have said he was of no use whatsoever to begin with. What did he know of sails? Turned out, it wasn’t important what he knew or didn’t. Laenor had ordered them around, told them what to do and it had worked.

“Well done, ser,” Laenor said. Erryk suppressed a grin. Well done, ser right back. Although the sailors had done most of the work, in his opinion. Still. Turning around again, he returned to the damaged bow.

“Oh, seven hells.”

“What is it?” Laenor asked and stepped beside him, grimacing while doing so, and sighed.

One of the things had scaled Seasmoke’s back and was tearing at it.

Seasmoke hissed, its head shot around and snapped the thing up in its fangs. Ser Erryk watched how the dragon turned its head back and breathed fire. The smell of singed rope rose.

How long could they hold?

---

Drogon grumbled.

Still no dead. None. Wherever he looked, there was just water. Water and water and water…

He had wanted to find more, fight them and burn them. He wanted revenge! Pay back the way they had hunted them, all the way down from the cold place, pay back how they had hurt him, how they had come after mother, time and time again. Make them fear his shadow, even though he doubted they feared anything. Still! He could have relished in the way they looked at him, right before they disappeared in flame. Make them ash, make them gone. Some payback wasn’t too much to ask, was it? On Dragonstone, he had barely killed any, having to search for his brother. The other dragons had had all the fun! When mother had been told to fly along the shoreline and along the long water to search for more, his hopes had been so high, all giddy and ready…

… and then nothing.

They had found one dead. One. In however so many wing beats. One.

Drogon grumbled again. There was just fucking water below them. And some tasty fish, but right now he didn’t even care for fish. He had wanted to burn dead!

Mother stroked along his scales some before she held onto his horns again. “Let’s turn back, Drogon.”

Yes. Back. As if they would find anything here. He shifted, angled his wings, and turned slowly, still staring at the water. Just in case. Only just in case wasn’t necessary. No horde, no packs. Nothing to hunt. Nothing but water.

---

When her servant left to fetch her second breakfast, Laena carefully got out of bed. Everything hurt still, every step was close to agony, but she did not want to lie anylonger. Not doing anything, hells, being forbidden from doing anything drove her insane. She needed out, she needed fresh air, she needed Vhagar. Vhagar most of all. Slowly, carefully, she made her way out of her room, through the corridor. One of the prince’s guards spotted her.

“My lady!”

She smiled thinly.

“Only taking a walk. The maester said it will help.” The hells he did, but what the guard didn’t know shouldn’t worry him.

He nodded. “Shall I help you, my lady?”

Well… if he offered… holding on to his arm, they got down the stairs a little quicker and crossed the yard. The man slowed when they got close to the dragons. Vhagar raised her head and growled softly. Laena nearly cried, only the man beside her made her keep her composure. Her Vhagar, already waiting for her. The longing for her had been insane while she was locked up in that room because to her it was nothing else. A prison, with her own body helping to keep her trapped.

“Don’t you worry, good ser,” she said softly. “Do you want to touch Vhagar?”

He stopped and stared at her. “Could… could I?”

She smiled. “As long as I am with you.”

He looked at the huge dragon, his eyes just as big. “I… I… yes… if you’d –”

“Come on, then.”

They walked close to Vhagar side by side. Her dragon inhaled their scent, looking at the man sceptically, but did not move to hurt him. Just as Laena had said. As long as she was here, all was good. She reached out for her dragon, and Vhagar pressed her snout against her hand. The old, strong scales, the odd dragon wrinkles.

“I missed you,” she whispered at Vhagar, who grumbled back in return. She really had. They both had, she knew it.

“This good ser helped me down here,” she told her dragon and took his hand, placing it on Vhagar’s scales. She stared at him, assessing him, inhaling his scent, and rumbled gently. The man stared back, trembling slightly. He was touching the biggest dragon in the world!

“Step back, good ser. I plan to fly.”

He looked like objecting for a second, realized who they stood in front of, and simply nodded. “Good flight, my lady.”

Laena smiled at him again. “What is your name, good ser?”

“Luco, my lady.”

“Thank you, Luco.”

Vhagar knelt for her. Carefully, very carefully, she climbed onto her back and into the saddle, holding onto it.

“Fly.”

Vhagar shook herself how she so often did, started to run some to gain speed and pushed off the ground, her huge wings beating, wind rushing past, into Laena’s face, through her hair and robes.

Finally. Finally! Freedom again. One with Vhagar again. She screamed happily.

---

The beating of wings caught him off guard. Daemon dropped the book he had been reading and hurried through the rooms, finding a window overlooking the dragons. Vhagar was gone.

“Oh, she didn’t,” he muttered, full well knowing she had. He knew Laena. Hurrying to her room, as much as he could without actually running, because running may cause concern and he did not want any questions, none at all, he already started to worry. Laena was not yet fully healed. What if the wounds opened again? What if she fainted and slipped off her saddle? What if Vhagar shook her off accidentally? The old dragon could get quite rough while flying.

Entering Laena’s chamber, he sure knew she was gone. Gone flying.

“Fucks sake, Laena,” he muttered to the empty room, staring at her mussed-up bed, the occasional blood spot on her linens, and turned on his heels. This time, he did run. Some of the guards stared after him but were wiser than to say a word.

Caraxes sat by the end of the stairs when he left the mansion, all growling and worked up, scaring guards who were backing away from him. Daemon smiled despite all else. Caraxes, already waiting. Of course, he would. His dragon always knew.

Hurrying down the steps, he was on his back in record time. Caraxes rumbled gently at him and then pushed off the ground, hurrying after Vhagar as fast he could.

---

Caraxes hurried on, his wings beating as fast as he could. His Daemon was all worked up and upset and may even scared. He tried to hide the latter under anger, but he knew better. Daemon could never hide anything from him. Vhagar got into sight, flying away from them. Caraxes roared at her from afar. The older dragon did not even look at him, just flew on along the long water. He grumbled some. She should at least look at them! They had flown together. They ought to look out for each other!

He got closer and closer. Vhagar circled back some, only to turn away again. Still, she had not answered his roar. Daemon got even more upset. They had to have seen them by now and just carried on.

Vhagar folded her wings and went into a dive.

“Laena!” Daemon screamed and Caraxes followed suit, down towards the water. Vhagar caught herself halfway down and just flew on.

“Seven fucking hells…” Daemon muttered. Caraxes rumbled. He never got the seven hells, and Daemon said it quite often. He knew it was a curse, but why? What was bad about the number seven? Nothing ever came of it. And what exactly was a hell?

Movement below caught his eye. Caraxes turned his head and stared at it. There was a… two-legs in the water? His body followed, flying away from Vhagar and further down towards the waves. Daemon’s exasperation swept over him. What are you doing? He was wondering. Fly to Vhagar! We have to get her!

But right now, for the first time since they bonded, he did not listen. The thing in the water. It could not be what he was seeing. It could not be a two-legs with half a missing body, still walking. For one, two-legs needed air. For two, it looked dead. Dead things could not walk! It moved towards… his head shot up quickly. Their big stone house? Caraxes rumbled and flew faster. Daemon was cursing at him, but he tuned it out as good he could.

When he got close enough to make out every detail, he stopped right where he was.

It was a two-legs. And it did walk. And part of its upper body was indeed missing. There were only bones where the left side of his body should be, several even missing. What a very curious thing. Circling lower, his Daemon still tried to figure out what (seven hells?) had caught his attention, Caraxes felt him leaning about, trying to get a glimpse. The anger, confusion, and yet still trust was nearly touching. Caraxes circled it again, taking care to keep some distance between it and himself, allowing Daemon a good look. He stared at it without a word, but Caraxes could feel. Disbelief, fear, followed by worry, followed by panic.

“What is that?” Daemon muttered, staring and staring… “Get it out.”

He did. Shot towards it and picked it up with his claw. It moved. It was cold. And it stunk like seven hells. Daemon made a face.

Caraxes turned towards the closest land and dropped the thing from high up. Daemon watched how the… he wanted to say dead, because it had to be dead, it just had to be, hit the ground, and got up again. It shook itself a little, stared at them and then… it started to jump?

Rip it apart.

Caraxes roared and flew by, his head shooting forward like a snake, ripping it apart with his fangs, the upper body went flying and hit the ground again. It still moved.

Both he and Daemon stared at it. Nothing he tore apart ever just moved on!

Land.

Caraxes did and Daemon jumped off, walking closer to the… to the upper body crawling into their direction. Caraxes was right behind him, ready to breathe fire if the thing got any funny ideas. He would not let his Daemon get hurt.

Daemon stared at it, still in disbelief. He knew what he was seeing, even though he didn’t fully trust his eyes. It was dead. Literally. He could see the ribs, the spine protruding where Caraxes had ripped it apart, part of its scalp had ripped off in the rough landings, exposing the skull. And it still moved. Bright blue eyes stared at him, hands trying to grab him. He backed away and backed away, easy enough, Caraxes growled. Drawing his sword, he held out the tip, watching how it just crawled into the blade. Dark Sister cut through its shoulder and it still crawled on, even slower this time. Worse, the arm started moving on its own. It twitched and wiggled and then crawled towards him as well.

What… what was it? While he was staring, Caraxes’ head lowered to right beside him, getting ready to breathe fire.

“No.”

Caraxes stopped and looked at him. But why? The whatever it was certainly better be burned! Then he knew. Vhagar had to see. Laena had to see.

Chapter Text

Finally turning Vhagar back towards Pentos, Leana felt horrible. One, because she had seen Caraxes and turned away. Who wouldn’t see him? Daemon had flown out to her and she just turned away. Of course, he may do the same. Her husband had a fickle ego if nothing else. Two, because her body was screaming. Everything hurt, now worse than ever. Vhagar flying wasn’t the easiest of things at the best of times. Now, it may be one of the hardest she had ever done.

She closed her eyes for most of the flight back, just willing it to end. Maester Gerardys sure would have a fit. Maybe ask Daemon to post guards at her door every hour of the day now. They would not let her get away again.

Feeling Vhagar land roughly, she whimpered and groaned. Warm wet seeped down her legs again. This had been a stupid idea. But she would always do it again.

Vhagar growled, growled again, then roared.

She had to open her eyes and…

“Laena!”

Another roar, but she was slipping off her dragon already. Daemon caught her before she could hit the ground.

“Laena. Look at me!” Caraxes was growling too. Both their dragons did.

Laena forced her eyes open. “Looks worse than it is,” she managed, even with a smile. Daemon’s face twitched into something like a smile. It stayed more of a grimace, though.

“You… you…” To see him lost for words was an odd treat. Something ripped on the hem of her robes.

“Seven hells!”

Laena turned her head just in time to see Daemon grab a… a… wiggling arm? He held it away from his face with one hand, while he carefully maneuvered her to lean against Vhagar with the other, then he threw the thing away. Laena followed it with her gaze, and saw the rest of…

Of…

What… How… What…

Is it dead? Shot through her head. She did not ask, because it obviously was dead. Half a body was crawling towards her. If anything was dead, that thing was the very embodiment of it. But it stared and stared, with its blue eyes…

“What is that?” She finally spit out. Daemon shook his head. They both watched how the dead did a detour, not going for her, but for Vhagar, trying to get to her wings. Vhagar just opened them and held them away, growled at the thing, and stared fascinated if anything. The arm crawled for her again. There were even legs further away, still kicking.

“Dracarys.”

Vhagar bathed the entire area in front of them in flames. When she was done, the things were gone, just as the grass. Just some smoldering spots left.

“Caraxes picked it out of the water.”

Her head spun back towards Daemon. “What? Where?”

“A little off-coast. About… about half your little adventure.” He was angry, but he did not show much of it right now. “I… How many more are out there? Where did it come from?”

Laena’s stomach dropped. She had an inkling. They both had. Most likely the reason Daemon wasn’t scolding her right now. Most strong currents came from Westeros. One of the things one knew after flying around Pentos for long enough.

“You have to fly over. Make sure everything is well.”

“I cannot leave -”

“Sure, you can! Vhagar can defend herself. I will only lay in bed and do nothing. You can’t help me. Or do you want to lay in bed as well?”

Daemon didn’t reply to that.

“If you could have saved my father but did not because of your fucking ego…” She might kill him right then and there, with her own hands. Or have Vhagar eat him and deal with Caraxes later. “What about your brother? What about Rhaenyra? What about Laenor and Lady Mother?” Most their family had dragons, sure, but... If there were more… lots and lots of more… A shiver ran down her back and her stomach turned. Did they even know if Westeros still was?

“Maybe everyone is dead,” she whispered. It just slipped out.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, they-”

“You don’t know that!” Vhagar roared, Caraxes hissed right back.

Daemon fell quiet.

“Fly over. I handle things here. Or I fly over.” As if she would make it, but he had to know the threat was real. He would not have her kill herself. Daemon sighed and nodded. He flew her back to the mansion, holding her in his arms, much to Vhagar’s annoyed grumbles, handed her to Luco of all guards, and then took off with Caraxes. Laena watched them fly away and finally turned to face her guard again. She smiled weakly. What were the odds?

“Looks like I need more help, good ser.”

Maybe she should have really stayed in bed. Limping up the stairs, Baela came running out the doors and stopped upon seeing her. Then she bolted down the stairs, taking two at a time. “What happened?!”

“Oh, just… just me taking a flight.”

Even her daughter looked upset. By the Gods. It really had been a stupid idea. Baela’s gaze moved on, onto something behind her.

“What is Vhagar doing?”

Laena stopped and turned, smiling weakly. Vhagar perched by the walls, as much as a dragon her size could ever perch by anything, only her head and wings on the walls, the rest of her body was in the yard, filling it, twitching occasionally, like she was ready to jump up and fly, and stared at the water. Stared and stared and stared.

---

The more the distance to Pentos grew, the more worried he got. He could act all strong in front of Laena, but deep down, he knew she was right. What if. Was anyone still alive? Had they killed their family, their dragons? One wasn’t a danger, a thousand surely could be. Viserys couldn’t defend himself. Hells, he couldn’t even run anymore. Not that Daemon knew, but he’d bet his life on it. The years apart surely hadn’t helped his health. He had his Kingsguard, yes, but what would swords do against those things? Nothing. Only create more problems. Only fire seemed to kill them.

His mind circled for a while, simply watching the miles pass by. Caraxes was flying close to the water, looking out for more of the funny things.

If Rhaenyra was dead… if she was… the thought hurt so much. He loved Laena, but Rhaenyra… She was… If she died and he never…

The greens would take her throne before her body was even cold. His old hate flared up, like embers burning anew. They would not have his brother’s throne. It was theirs by right! Not to be given away to the fucking Hightower’s. He would have to see Jace take the crown. Better Strong blood of their line than… than Otto and his breed. Hopefully, Laena would be well soon. They needed Vhagar. If worse came to worse, she was an excellent tool for pressing claims.

The other possibility, that Viserys was already dead, that Rhaenyra and her children were dead, thankfully never came to mind.

---

Dreamfyre went into a dive again. Helaena let go of her saddle when they crashed into the waves, and her dragon was gone, just for a moment. She dragged a whole bunch of dead out of the water, some in her claws, others holding onto her. One tried to hack into her flank with a rusty dagger. Not that it did any damage to her scales. Helaena stared, her heart hammering away. They all dangled off her horns, two even from her saddle… If they would let go right now, even one, they’d drop onto her. She’d be dead before Dreamfyre even realized what had happened. None dropped. Dreamfyre burned the ones in her claws, flew away, shook the others off, and burned them again. Climbing back onto her, they went hunting for more in the deep water.

Syrax hunted in the shallower water, often enough lured the dead into good spots in the first place. Knowing how they ticked made going after them easier. Well, not easy, easy, but manageable. Often enough they climbed onto each other to reach for them, allowing Syrax to pick them up nicely.

They circled and circled and breathed fire. Again and again and again. It was Dreamfyre who burned a dead climbing upwards along Syrax' back, who just did not want to let go. Syrax repaid the favour by snapping some dead off Dreamfyre’s tail. Again and again. Even without commands by now.

“Rhaenyra! Look!” Helaena pointed towards the city. Rhaenyra turned in her saddle and paled. Some dead had started to climb the rocks up to the castle.

“No, no, no, no.”

Syrax roared and rushed towards the city. If they were at the rocks… they may as well be in the harbour. Or in the channel towards it. How had they gotten past them?!

---

Ser Erreg and Ser Foss glanced at each other. They ought to keep the smallfolk away from the city walls, they really ought to. The first they had turned away. But then it had gotten more. And more. And more. It felt as if half of Kings Landing was trying to get onto the walls to get a better view of the dragons. They surely would not die to an angry mob who just tried to get a look. If someone fell off and died on the rocks or the water, so be it.

They stepped aside, and people streamed up the stairs. Ser Erreg joined the mob, trying to yell for quiet and composure up there. Not that he got any. They were non-stop talking, yelling, pointing, everything. Surprisingly, no one was shoving anyone. They just streamed out onto the wall, much to the dismay of the other guards, but even those seemed to think the same. Not gonna die to a largely peaceful mob. Sometimes, just letting smallfolk be was the way to go.

“Look!” Someone yelled when Dreamfyre dove again. “Wonder what’s in there!”

“Do you really wanna know?” “I bet you ain’t!” “He’d shit his pants just being close to the dragon!”

Laughter erupted. The dragon emerged from the water again and breathed fire.

“Can anyone see?!”

No one could. They were too far away after all.

“Maybe pirates!”

“In the water?” “The monsters of the triarchy can swim, can’t they?”

Agreeing, disagreeing and “Ooohs” went through the masses. Ser Erreg shook his head. Whatever it was, surely not pirates in the water. They’d see a ship nearby.

“Where is the prince, though?”

Later, when they were questioned, no one wanted to remember who had started it.

“Drunk.” “Fleabottom, sure. Saw him stagger out of a brothel some days ago!” “I saw him puke his lungs out, aye.” “Maybe asleep?” “Ha! Asleep with how many whores?” “I bet he’s scared!”

More laughter. This time, it didn’t die so easily.

The golden dragon turned towards them.

“Whose is it?!”

“The Princess Rhaenyra’s, idiot!”

“It's called Siracks, I think!”

“It's Siiirax, man. I’ve heard her say it.”

“When would you ever…”

Syrax dove down to the rocks towards the Red Keep and breathed fire. The mob went quiet, hundreds of eyes staring at once. It wasn’t so far away anymore. Actually, a good viewpoint from here…

“Think it was a man,” someone said.

Whispers went through the masses. Pirates after all!

---

The spectators at the harbour weren’t so lucky. The view of the dragons was bad as well. They only saw glimpses of them here and there, when they either flew high enough to be seen always, or close to the entrance to the channel. Some people climbed off onto the cliffs, making their way towards the Red Keep and better vantage points. Some, those who weren’t adept at climbing, streamed onto the land right next to the channel. Rough going, but views were views. People slipped all the time, ending up in the water more often than not. Trashed around, got dragged out by the folks nearby. Everyone helped each other.

Thus, no one was worried when Lothar stumbled and slipped into the water. Meldor grabbed for his arm, and Lothar screamed. “Something’s –”

Meldor saw it first. He let go of his friend, backing away into the crowd. It was a skeleton. A fucking, moving skeleton. A second later, Lothar was dead.

Another second later, Meldor was fighting his way through the crowd, screaming his head off. Panic followed. Right now, barely anyone knew what was going on.

And then, the golden dragon itself rushed by right over their heads. It turned, picked something out of the water –

At least a hundred people saw it. A skeleton. A wiggling, screeching skeleton. Syrax flew higher and burned the damn thing. Rhaenyra stared at the smallfolk staring back at her.

And then they ran. Miraculously, only five people died, not including Lothar. Little Ella, stuck in a tree where her father had helped her up to have a better view, didn’t even mind.

“Miprincess! Burn it! Burn it!” She had made the skeleton go away!

---

Fighting off the dead alone was insane. They seemed to be everywhere, all the time, always. Keeping an eye on the rocks, ever more climbed upwards, Helaena had Dreamfyre dive and dive, fishing them out of the water. Those who didn’t get to the rocks, couldn’t climb. When would Rhaenyra come back? She needed help! She needed… needed… her big sister. She couldn’t do this alone! For a second, the insanity crashed over her. She was just a little girl, trying to fight off… Helaena started to cry. This was… this… She could not lose her mind, not right now. Wiping the tears away, she looked around. Rhaenyra, please, please, please! Instead of the golden dragon, she realized the dead had managed one-third of the rocks.

Turning Dreamfyre, she aimed towards the city, and burned them. Syrax roared somewhere behind her, and a weight fell off her shoulders. Finally! Turning around, whatever relief she had felt died right on the spot. One of those things clung to Dreamfyre’s tail, climbing towards her. A woman or what was left of her anyway. Must have jumped onto her while they flew by, must have...

Panic washed over her. Dreamfyre shook her tail, trying to get it off. Then she tried snapping at it, but couldn’t quite reach, not while staying in the air. Helaena closed her eyes and they went into a dive, trying to shake it off. Still, no luck, judging by Draemfyre’s annoyed roars and hisses. It had to be close now. So, so close. Her heart hammered, again waiting for her death.

Heat, fire, wings flapped right over her head. Helaena opened her eyes again and stared at the face of her sister, who was mildly panicking.

“Everything well?” Rhaenyra yelled.

“No!” Why lie? If her mother had asked she may have, depending on her mood.

“Do you want to take a moment?”

Helaena looked at her big sister. The question was insane. She could not fight them off alone! Her dragon couldn’t even dive.

“No! We have to kill them.” She could be scared later. She would be scared later. Probably curl up in her bed and never get out again. Or only sleep by Dreamfyre’s side from now on. Seemed to be the safest place in all of Westeros. Wings beating, Dreamfyre took off again, hunting for more.

---

Not only smallfolk did everything to get a glimpse of the dragons. The Lords and Ladies currently on visit, the Small Council, about everyone with a name to themselves had gathered either at bigger windows or the walls surrounding the castle. In comparison to the peasants, the guards did not object to them joining for better views. Servants gathered by smaller windows, even some guards slipped off their posts to catch glimpses.

Lord Lyman Beesbury stared at pages upon pages of numbers, trying to find a way to up their income without raising taxes and thus causing a major upset when one of his servants came bursting through the door.

“Milord, milord! There are… there is…”

He looked up. “What is it?”

“Dragons, milord! They are over the bay!”

What now? He dropped his pages and got up, hurrying out onto the corridor as fast as he could. A small group of servants had gathered around a window, falling suspiciously quiet when he approached.

Syrax he recognized instantly, the other one… Dreamfyre? Yes, most likely. Princesses Rhaenyra and Helaena.

“What are they doing?” He asked, although he could see. Dreamfyre dove out of sight, Syrax breathed fire.

“We do not know, milord.”

“When did they –”

“Only a little ago.”

Only a little… What were they hunting out there? Why didn’t they stop? Why was Dreamfyre diving again and again? He felt oddly sick because whatever it was couldn’t be good.

Hopefully, the Princess Rhaenyra would get away unscathed. And her sister as well, of course, but if the heir fell… Aegon would be named heir before her body was cold. Or even dragged out of the water. He may be old, but he was not stupid. He saw what the Queen was doing. Anyone with eyes and a little brain saw what the Queen was doing. He had stopped wondering why the King allowed it a long time ago.

Lyman waited for Sunfyre to turn up, to join the other dragons, burn whatever was out there, he really did. He waited, listening to the whispered discussions. How a dress would hold up in flight, how hard it had to be to hold onto a dragon, what they were fighting… One of the handmaidens was throwing him gazes non-stop. They surely had discussed other things before he joined.

The second golden dragon never came. Rhaenyra was out there, and the prince was not. He was not defending his city. Helaena flying just made it all the worse. The little sister helped, but not the first-born son.

About everyone would see. About half would tell their wives back home, tell family, any distant relatives. Okay, maybe a third. But servants always ran their mouths. If he took his back home, everyone in his castle would know in about 10 minutes. Aegon could not be relied upon. Princess Rhaenyra had fought… well, whatever it was. May the Gods be good, he would never find out. There were some things a man his age just did not have to know.

Larys Strong came to the very same conclusion. Aegon was not there. He knew the optics of it, the fallout which would follow. Slowly making his way through the corridors, some part of him brooded about how to use it already. If he got Aegon into action, Alicent would be forever in his debt. If he did not, he should send a raven and bring her the news, and she would be in his debt. Just all-around perfect. Best send a raven to Otto as well, while he was at it. They had to handle the fallout before it could spread. Or maybe fanning the flames… but right now he was loyal to Alicent. As if Rhaenyra would be interested in his works of art. He would get nothing by helping her. Right now, he was pretty certainly the new Lord of Harrenhall. Just waiting for the ravens to reach him with the oh-so-horrifying news. He had to remember faking some tears.

The lad had locked his door. “Aegon!” He yelled, rattling on the handle, but it did not budge, nor did the prince open it. The guard down the corridor eyed him skeptically. Larys tried a few more times but moved on rather quickly. He had tried. All, that he expected of himself.

---

The first, she spotted far out. Vhagar got up from her oddly comfortable wall–she did not have to hold her head up!–and flew out over the water. Picking the thing up, she dropped it twice. It just wiggled out of her claw and fell back into the water. Then, it had the audacity to climb out of her claw and onto her! Holding onto her horns, her old scales. Snapping at her own body, Vhagar grumbled and hissed. She could not get it. Some body part of hers was always in the way. How could it dare?! Prey did not play with her! Although she admittedly never planned to eat it. The thing was just on the same worry scale as prey. Or it had been. Now, it was one up to slightly, marginally annoyance. Which meant total annihilation.

She shook the thing off, watching it fall into the water with some glee. This time, when she picked it up, she threw it into the air and breathed fire.

Gone. Good.

Number two, three, four, and five all came together. Vhagar fake-perched on her comfy wall and let them come out of the water, eyes locked on them ever since she had spotted them in the waves. Getting up, she stalked over the wall and ripped the fuckers to tiny, still moving pieces. How strange! How very, very strange! She had never seen a thing like it! And breathed fire.

Number six was the most annoying little fucker. He, it was a he, Vhagar could see a beard and one muscular arm, took one good look at her and paddled in the other direction, even managing to dodge her claws trying to pick him out of the water. No one got away from her! Not ever! Nothing! Laena wanted them dead, and she would have them dead. If it was the last thing Vhagar ever did. Supremely annoyed, she breathed fire at the ocean, again and again, non-stop basically, until the thing got into a shallow enough spot and got incinerated.

By number seven, Vhagar sat by the ocean and waited. The young blue eyed girl stalked out of the water, poked her nostril with a dagger, and was gone in flames.

Some minutes later, Moondancer landed nearby. Vhagar looked up and saw little-Laena looking at her, clinging to her too-small dragon. She rumbled at them but did not do anything else. She was on a mission here.

Eight and nine and ten came together again. Vhagar simply opened her jaws when they got close, just a few seconds now, and burned them the very moment they fully emerged from the water. This was like killing hatchlings!

Number 11 turned the new winner for annoyance. The thing did not go for her. It went for little Moondancer and little-Laena!

Nothing went after hatchlings with her around! Especially, the human hatchlings her rider loved so much. Vhagar roared, Baela would later claim shaking the ground itself, and launched herself at the dead thing, reducing it to shreds, to bloody blobs, to nothing but a red puddle on the ground, and then burned it for good measure. Not that it was necessary this time. When Vhagar turned the muscles and bones to mush, it stopped moving after all.

Twelve was benign again. The woman stuck her head out of the water, and Moondancer burned her. Vhagar rumbled a little proud. Good little hatchling, learning fast.

---

They hadn’t found any more dead. Drogon grumbled nonstop, letting his claws cut through the waves. Still no dead, though. None at all. They were either really gone or… well. Somewhere else, not towards Tarth. At least they knew. Landing, she climbed off Drogon and ran for Rhaegal, who lay exactly where she had left him. He was staring at meat and not eating. Daenerys’ gaze wandered along his wounds, all patched up, but wounds all the same. She had the odd fear he would die overnight. Just never open his eyes again. If she got him back and he died after all… No. No, no, no. She refused to think of it. It could not be. Yet, part of her thought it would fit perfectly. Whenever she gained something, she lost something. It was through all her life. The dragons for Drogo, peace for a time for marrying Hizdahr, although both had admittedly been a lost cause, the allegiance of Jon for Viserion. And now… what would it cost now? Rhaegal’s life seemed to be the perfect price for safety. For a while, she stroked along his head, listening to his weak grumbles. Oh, her poor baby. She would stay awake tonight, make sure he was still breathing. Not that she could help if it stopped, but she wanted to be there. Just in case.

“You have to eat.”

Rhaegal only grumbled lowly, while Drogon snuck close, eyeing the food.

“No.”

He rumbled all sad. She really ought to get him some food. Getting up, she wanted to climb onto him and fly to the mountain. The dragonkeepers sure had some nice dragon-sized snacks lying around.

“Daenerys!”

Turning, she watched Rhaenys walk towards her, Meleys towering in the distance.

“Princess Rhaenys.” She nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“What happened here? Do you know where to Rhaenyra flew?”

Her heart dropped at the question. She had been gone for so long and…

“She is not back?”

Rhaenys only stared at her sternly.

If she was not back… “Is Laenor still gone as well?”

She got a frown and a nod. The pit in her stomach grew. They both would have gone for Blackwater Bay earlier or later, they both would have…

Kings Landing. Of course, Kings Landing. How could she not have thought of it? Why had she let them all fly their ways, why… If he had killed them, the Night King would have gone straight for the nearby big city. Get his army of however many hundred thousand and overrun Westeros in all directions. Sending some wights on their way before attacking was good strategy, if nothing else. Get them into position while he dealt with them, then fly after. They may even reach the city before him, depending on the currents, and start with the murdering. Dead sure moved oddly fast beneath the waves.

If the horde was just as big as the one which had attacked Dragonstone…

They were dead. They were all dead. They had needed Vermithor and the other dragons to fight them off here. Kings Landing had…

Panic swept over her, taking most of rational thinking away. She had escaped only for them to follow, for them to kill her ancestors, for the Long Night to start earlier.

Rhaenys watched startled, how the young woman started to tremble, pure panic in her eyes. The black dragon moved, growling at her ever so little, and wrapped around his rider, shielding her.

The sing-sanging roar of Caraxes cut through the sky and Rhaenys looked up, as well as Drogon. Gods, this day. Why would Daemon of all people fly for…

Her blood ran cold. Laena. Something must have happened to Laena.

Chapter Text

Circling over Dragonstone, Daemon stared at the island just as Rhaenys had done before. The fire patterns across the beaches, Vermithor and Silverwing all curled up by the ocean, staring at the waves, and the Cannibal, perching on a rock outcrop on the mountain and staring out as well. What in the seven hells…

But it wasn’t even the worst. The worst were the two dragons. One black, one green. They were not theirs. There weren’t other wild or unclaimed ones out in the world, or else they would have heard of them. Who had hatched them? Who had flown them here, because as if two astray dragons just turned up one day.

Landing close to the black one, he eyed it. Balerion, just in tiny, but even more it looked like…

“Dreamfyre,” he whispered under his breath. Jaehaerys would turn in his grave if he hadn’t been burned. His fears come to life. Someone had hatched the stolen eggs. He had wasted years upon years hunting for them… Daemon smiled. They just came back home. The old King sure hadn’t seen that one coming. What had happened to the third egg, though?

“What happened to Laena?!”

The fear in her voice finally pulled his attention away. Rhaenys… he certainly had seen her, but utterly ignored her given all else.

“Your daughter is well.” Hopefully, anyway, but he refused to believe she could die on him because of her stupid flight. “Or how well as she can be.” Caraxes knelt and he slid off his saddle.

“What happened here?” Although he had a pretty good idea, he wanted to hear it. Grasp the scale of things, which had to be bad. “When did those come? Where from?” He motioned for not-their dragons. And then his voice slipped and some of the fear showed. “How is Rhaenyra?” He could just run for the castle and figure it out himself, but…

“I do not know.”

“What?”

“I do not know what happened here, I do not know where Rhaenyra is. She flew away, as did Laenor.”

Daemon just stared exasperated.

---

Daenerys heard them talk, words floating to her through Drogon’s warm body but did not listen. The panic still ripped at her, making thinking near impossible, her thoughts circling endlessly. They were dead. They were all dead. She had escaped but for what? Lead the dead here and start things earlier, that was all. The dead North of the wall had to know what was going on, in some capacity, someway. Maybe a feeling, maybe…

If they came for them now…

… how many dragons they could kill…

She was so close to tears it was maddening. Just one more and she’d break. Just one more and…

She was still alive.

The thought just turned up in her head. She inhaled sharply. Drogon rumbled lowly. She was…

It was fact.

She was still alive. If she was, so must be Rhaenyra, for her ancestor had not been born yet.

Taking a deep breath, she focused on the fact, on breathing, and slowly, oddly slowly, she calmed, enough for other thoughts to join.

She was blood of the dragon. Dragons did not lose their minds at any tiny problem. They burned them and were done with it! Although she knew that one wouldn’t apply to her, not for a while. (Missandei…) but she pushed it away. Not now, not here! She could cry in her chambers, in the dead of night, not when lives may or may not depend on it. They had to fly for Kings Landing, right this moment, although she feared they would be too late. The flight to the city took hours. While fighting for their lives, hours were lifetimes.

---

The black dragon moved and Daemon stared. The woman who had been hidden by it looked striking, even in her simple linen robe. The violet, Valyrian eyes, the gold-silver hair, her gentle features. Prettier than even Rhaenyra, which he had always considered impossible. She was the Realm’s delight. Everyone paled in her presence, even in her absence, and yet this woman may not.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Daenerys.”

“Daenerys who?” She had to have a name. Any name. His eyes flickered back to Rhaenys. In Pentos, she had asked if he had a bastard… his eyes flipped back to her, and Caraxes moved closer, inhaling her scent. The black dragon growled. “Drogon.” Just the one word and the black dragon stopped mid-growl. The control over her dragon… Was she one of his? Maybe one of the fairer whores he had fucked in his youth. But there was nothing peasant about her, nothing at all. No funny nose or too close eyes or… nothing not Valyrian.

“Only Daenerys,” the woman returned, something flitting over her face. Maybe the want to be a Targaryen, given her features, given her dragon. He had the urge to look at her from all sides. Maybe take her hand, wanting to feel how soft her skin was. How she would look in a proper gown…

“Princess Rhaenyra flew for Kings Landing. Just as…” She hesitated. “Ser Laenor.”

“Why would they?” Rhaenys asked.

“To hunt the dead,” the woman said. Daenerys. He had to remember the name. Daenerys. She had seen them. Had to have fought them here.

“What happened here?” Daemon jumped at it. He would not call them dead, but they may as well be. They sure were dead.

“They nearly overran the island. Vermithor and the other dragons helped to ward them off.”

Daemon’s gaze flickered to the bronze fury. Made sense. Only reason they’d sit out by the beaches. Only reason the Cannibal would act how he did. He never got out of his caves, except for hunting. This time, he was ready to hunt other things.

“We scattered into the winds to hunt any remaining. I only found one.”

“Where did you fly?”

“Down towards Tarth.”

“You can’t possibly believe her!” Rhaenys snapped, finally finding her words. Daemon glanced at her.

“I saw one in Pentos. Caraxes picked it out of the water.”

She stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

---

Laenor stared at the horizon. Still no dragons coming back. It was hours now, hours. Hopefully, everything was alright. He had seen how many there were, how many packs moved towards Kings Landing… How should two dragons fight them all off? May Aegon helped them, but still… With one of them hating water, things could not be easy. As if Syrax would be any good at pulling them up from the depths. More likely, she’d refuse, and Dreamfyre was left with all the diving. Every moment took them further away from the actual battle, further away from Rhaenyra…

He could not leave her all alone! She had saved his life and he… he sat on a damn ship, doing nothing.

Turning on his heels, he walked towards the King's chamber.

“Hold the deck, Ser Erryk.”

“Yes, ser.”

Knocking on the door, he waited for the “Come,” which followed only a little later. Entering, he nodded at the King and Queen. Viserys sat in his chair, a blanket wrapped all around him, with Alicent sitting beside him, looking decidedly not calm. Ser Harrold stood in the corner of the room, right beside Blackfyre, which was leaning against the wall. Probably ready to grab the blade if the need arose.

“Your Grace,” he nodded at them. “My Queen. Could I may fly for Kings Landing as well?”

He had to get to them. Get to Rhaenyra.

“You will look out for my daughter?” Alicent asked.

He blinked. He had expected snappy, maybe icy words, not… not this. “Of course, my Queen.” He paused for a moment and then added. “Without Seasmoke, they should let the ship be.”

“What do you think, Ser Harrold?” Viserys said, tired eyes looking at him.

“Ser Erryk seems pretty apt at killing them,” Ser Harrold said. “Ser Steffon and I will manage as well.”

“Well, then -”

“What about the ship?” Alicent asked as if she had just thought of it. “We do not have a captain.”

“If you just hold the course, you will get to Driftmark. The sailors ought to be able to handle it.”

Viserys hummed, considering. “Instruct the sailors and fly.”

Laenor nodded. “Yes, your Grace. Thank you.”

He bowed ever so lightly and left the chamber, doing as asked, instructing Ser Erryk on the most basic of sea navigation as well. The poor knight looked utterly out of his element.

“You ought only check on it from time to time. Having an eye on the water is more important.” Hopefully, he sounded as reassuring as he wanted to.

Ser Erryk did not look reassured at all, but he nodded either way.

Carefully climbing down the ropes towards Seasmoke, no matter the maester’s complaints he should rest his leg, he scaled his dragon, wincing with every move, and finally settled into the saddle. He could rest his legs later – or when he was dead.

“Cut the ropes.”

Ser Erryk did, with the King’s Valyrian dagger, Laenor saw, slicing the heavy rope as if they were nothing. Seasmoke swam away from the ship, shaking off the ropes in no time at all, and took flight, spraying everyone below with water.

---

Daemon stared at her every few moments. Only Daenerys, on her black dragon. Riding it without a saddle, which seemed madness. Still, he brooded who had hatched it. It was too big to be only hers, but who else could have... Maybe… maybe the egg had been put in her cradle? Some twenty years and lots of food… unlikely, but possible. She looked enough Valyrian to try, at the very least. Whoever in the Free Cities had gotten the eggs had plotted against them; a try to have their own dragon. Likely planning to challenge them in time. Daemon smiled amused. Now she was here, flying with them. How funny the world. Exactly his kind of humor.

The three dragons shot along over the water, Caraxes flying slower than he could, keeping pace with Drogon, Meleys taking the lead in no time at all. Soon, she would be out of sight. Soon, he’d be alone with her. He still wanted to touch her. Maybe later, whenever the opportunity arose.

Once Rhaenys was out of sight, Caraxes flew ever closer to the black dragon.

“How did you get his egg?” He yelled over the wind. Daenerys looked at him. Gods, those eyes.

“He was given to me as a wedding gift!”

Not the cradle, then.

“Who did you marry?”

“A Khal.”

Daemon snorted, laughter wanting to bubble up, but it died before it reached his lips. A Dothraki. A Valyrian girl, getting gifted a dragon egg. The plot had been worse than he had thought. The Khal sure would be thankful… and Dothraki always paid back in kind.

“What happened to him?”

“I burned him.”

Again, he snorted. Well. That was that. How befitting a Targaryen. She had to be one of theirs, she just had to be. In all but name. They were the only dragonlords left.

“How old is your dragon?”

“Seven and some.”

Seven? Daemon stared. He could not possibly be seven!

---

The Lords and Ladies stared fascinated when the two dragons turned towards them again. What was it? Could anyone see what they hunted? No one could. Syrax bathed the rocks beneath the walls in flames again, while Dreamfyre –

Lady Ambrose screamed when the dragon circled over them and went lower. People ran, trying to get away. The light blue dragon waited just long enough, Princess Helaena muttering something in Valyrian non-stop, moments later claws hit rock and the dragon landed. Lord Bar Emmon got hit by a wing, lost his footing and rolled along the ground. When he ended up just yards away from dragon scales, he about froze. Closer than he ever wanted to be. Dreamfyre’s head swung around, the hot breath ghosting over his cheeks, fangs longer than daggers just inches away. If he felt fear before, it was borderless panic now, his heart hammering away. The dragon stared; he could feel it. Inhaled him. Probably plotting to eat him for dinner. Did nobility taste better than peasants? Were they more tender? Did dragons have favourites?!

“Dreamfyre. Daor.”

A long moment passed. Finally, the head swung back, staring at the water way down.

“Are you alright, my Lord?” The princess asked.

“Yes, Yes, I…” He scuttled away quicker than he had ever moved. “I am, my Princess,” he said once he had gotten to a respectable distance.

“I need space for Syrax.”

The guards moved, pushing people back, who went all too willingly. Sure as hells, no one would get hit by a wing again! That would be some gossip…

After she had bathed the rocks in some more flames, Syrax shot over the top of the wall, turned, and landed beside Dreamfyre. Both dragon and rider panted ever so slightly.

“Get us meat for the dragons,” Rhaenyra said. “And food and drink for us.”

“Yes, princess.” One of the guards bowed his head and ran for the closest stairs.

“What… what is out there, princess?” Some lord among the many asked. She looked at the group of people, all eyes on her.

“Nothing good. May the Gods be good, they won’t make it up here.”

“They?”

She only smiled and shook her head. Looking out over the bay… it nearly looked peaceful from up here. No hint of the dead. Hopefully, it would work out. It should, but… well, the alternative was lots of dead people. The other alternative was their dragons falling from the sky. They needed a break, Syrax needed a break. Dreamfyre may still fly some more, but Helaena didn’t look like holding onto her saddle much longer.

Looking to her side, she realized she was already sleeping, Helaena’s head had fallen to her chest. Rhaenyra watched her oddly longing. She wanted to sleep so badly, but one of them had to stay awake, keep watch, no matter anything. She didn’t have the luxury of sleep. Getting off Syrax, she walked around a bit, her legs all stiff and painful. Never she had flown for so long, fought for so long.

“Princess?” One of the ladies asked.

She turned towards the voice and Lady… Lady… she saw the colors of her dress, the sigil on her coat, but she could not find the name. The woman removed her coat and offered it to her. Rhaenyra stared at it and looked down at her dress, which looked even more torn than earlier; green rags clinging to her body. Even now, she had it in herself to blush. Stepping forward, she took the coat.

“Thank you, my Lady.” The woman smiled, nodded and stepped back a bit, while Rhaenyra wrapped the garment around her. It fell all the way to the ground. Horrible for flying, perfect for right now. Looking at the gathered nobility, she turned away and stared down along the wall, down to the rocks, the waves. Nothing visible to the eye. Syrax stared down as well. She may see something.

The Lady whose name she could not remember stepped beside her. “What is down there, my Princess?”

Again, Rhaenyra shook her head. She would not believe it unless she saw it.

Within only so little, she could make out shapes, moving along the rocks and towards the wall. About everyone stared down as well now, even the guards on duty.

“What…” one of the men nearby muttered.

Dreamfyre took off; pushed herself off the wall and fell. Helaena screamed, and then light blue wings opened, and fire bathed the rocks. They glimmered orange afterwards. How often could they burn them before risking the walls?

Mere moments later, Dreamfyre shot up over the wall again and landed in her earlier spot. Helaena looked freaked out, snapping for air in small, panicked bursts.

“Are you good?” Rhaenyra ducked under Syrax neck to reach her sister.

“Yes, yes… yes… am good…”

She gave her a moment to catch her breath and asked, “Do you think we could lure out Sunfyre?”

Helaena shook her head. “He only flies for Aegon.”

---

Seasmoke flew along over the waves. For a while, they barely saw anything, may one or two dead ever so many miles. The closer they got to Kings Landing, the more there were. Laenor stared at another pack of some ten, mostly skeletons, just floating along in a current. They looked up when Seasmoke’s shadow fell on them and failed to reach them. The current didn’t let them go. Was this how they travelled? Just floating along in natural currents or the high tide? At least some of them would get dragged back soon when the tide reigned. 

“No, fly on,” he ordered when Seasmoke looked like fishing dead again. They did not have time, none at all. He had to get to Rhaenyra. And Helaena, of course. If the little Hightower died under their watch, Alicent may flay them alive. Both at the same time, for the fun of it. He had to… he wanted to… make sure Rhaenyra was safe, yes, but above all else… he wanted to see her again. Riding her dragon, burning dead. Her wielding Blackfyre floated through his mind again. The way she had smiled while they watched Cole dying…

Laenor blinked and frowned confused. Was he… thinking of a woman?

Chapter Text

Bones broke to pieces, Dreamfyre growled, and Syrax ripped a chunk of meat out of her sheep. Another bite and the head disappeared, meat pieces flying around, as well as burned wool. Someone retched. Watching dragons eat sure wasn’t for the faint of heart. Dreamfyre growled again, edging closer to the sheep. Syrax’s head shot up and she roared. Dreamfyre hissed again, and for a moment Rhaenyra saw them fall onto each other, fighting for the fucking sheep half. Whatever control they had over them always seemed to disappear when food was concerned. Especially, if they were hungry.

More growls, the dragons edged closer to one another, fangs bared.

“Syrax, keligon!” “Dreamfyre!”

Panting and grunting, something dropped to the ground. “Princess? We got the deer,” a soldier said, emerging from the stairs, utterly oblivious.

“Dreamfyre. Deer!” Her head shot up, away from Syrax, away from the sheep, eyes focused on the dead animal just inches away from the stairs. Somehow, she didn’t jump at it.

While Dreamfyre devoured her deer, Rhaenyra finally took the food from one of their servants, dried meat and bread and some fruits. The poor girl holding the tablet looked pale as death, her eyes fixed on the dragons, hands trembling.

“Thank you. You can leave.” The girl was gone faster than the wind. Rhaenyra looked after her for a moment, shaking her head a little, and turned, sharing the food with Helaena. Her little sister devoured it in moments, pretty much akin to her dragon. Gods, she had to have been hungry. She hadn’t even offered her any food when she got to Dragonstone, which seemed like lifetimes ago. Before all this. Nipping on her dried meat, she returned to staring down at the rocks. Shapes moved again. How could they be so good at climbing and fast? Well. They didn’t have to fear falling.

Syrax was done with eating… forcing down some bread, she stuffed the dried meat into her mouth, extremely lady-like indeed, and climbed back onto her dragon. Syrax took off without a word, falling, falling. Rhaenyra held onto her saddle, at the same time trying to keep the damn coat from flying away. Reaching the rocks, Syrax bathed them in flames. No word needed again. Rhaenyra watched them disappear with a certain glee and resumed nibbling on her dried meat. Syrax flew along the shallower water for a bit, fishing them up and burning them. In the meantime, Rhaenyra tackled the coat. Stupid thing. Should have taken it off, should have… Enough. She had simply forgotten about it. Fighting dead and thinking of her clothes did not go together. Pulling one end into and around the chain holding the saddle seemed to help.

“Fly further out.” Syrax roasted the latest dead and circled away, flying along the bay. Rhaenyra stared uneasily. Still so many… nothing she could do about it. They would wait a bit again. Every moment of rest their dragons got bought them time. Flying back, Syrax once again roasted the dead climbing up the rocks, and then they rushed upwards, Rhenyra getting ready to –

Something fell past her. The coat jerked; fabric tore. She didn’t even look. Her hands flew to the claps, wanting to rip it open, to just throw it away, to –

Syrax landed on the wall. Bones reached for her leg, only the coat and a bit of dress between it and her. Finally unclasping the coat, Rhaenyra bolted, jumping off Syrax. Her shoulder hit the ground, light pain shooting through it, but better this than… she spun around and saw it, climbing onto her saddle. A half-man-half-skeleton, still wearing some pieces of armor. The good hand was holding a sword, raised to the sky. It brought it down, hacking on Syrax’s neck. Her dragon roared and hissed, shaking herself, snapping for the thing, stomping around while doing so, but failing to get it. Dreamfyre snapped it up and flung it away. Rhaenyra watched how it sailed over the wall, back down towards the rocks. Syrax set after it.

Getting up, she ran to look for her. Syrax was back down by the rocks, bathing everything in flames, and then… she stared in disbelief how her dragon dove into the water. Fire followed.

“What… what… what was that?” Someone stammered.

The moment caught up to her. It had… she turned to Helaena.

“Check the wall! It fell on me.”

Horror danced across her sister’s face, and Dreamfyre took off, flying along the wall – but with distance to the stone now. She could see shapes fall, dropping past her. Once again, panic sneaked through her. They were even climbing the walls. If it hadn’t jumped on her, they would have never known. Not until it was too late.

“Princess, what…”

Turning, she realized most of the nobility had taken off. A few men had stayed behind, drawn their swords, the lady who had given her the coat was hiding behind two gold cloaks, and their guards.

“Sheath the swords. Cutting them apart will only make things worse.” She paused just for a moment, taking in their gazes. All of them were afraid. “It was something dead.”

“But…,” a man stammered.

“You saw it,” Rhaenyra cut in. He fell quiet. They had seen it. “Bar every gate to the city. Get archers, get torches. Burn them.” Fire arrows weren’t overly efficient, but better than nothing. The gold cloaks bowed and hurried away, most likely to find their commander and deliver the order. The Targaryen guards took off as well. She should have given the orders ages ago, back when she flew for Aegon, but… returning to Helaena had been more important, keeping them off had been more important. Until recently everything seemed to work well. Until they landed their dragons. Rhaenyra sighed. Oh, how well the plan had worked.

“How… how many…,” one of the men stammered and fell quiet, horror dancing on his face when the realization hit him. “You fought them for hours.”

---

“Aegon! Aegon!”

Aemond hammered on the locked door. No way his brother hadn’t seen them fly over the bay, no way he would just let them fight all alone! They needed Sunfyre, help kill whatever was out there!

The lock clicked and Aemond flew through the door when it opened, colliding with his big brother.

“Aegon! Helaena and Rhaenyra -”

“I know.”

The smell of alcohol hit him. Aegon stuck his head out the door, peered down the corridor with tired eyes, and slammed the door shut again, locking it.

“But… you have to…” Their sisters needed help! If he had a dragon, he’d be out there, fighting with them!

Aegon just looked at him, shook his head, retreated to his bed… and stared out the window. Right now, the dragons weren’t visible.

He had read a new book about Valyrian histories, all slow still, because he didn’t get the big words, fully ignoring the servants running up and down the corridors, ignoring everything but the maester helping him with the words, and the candle burning lower. Maybe, if he could prove he loved Old Valyria just as much, his father would finally pay him mind. On his way back to his room, with the huge book under his arm, he had seen them. Dreamfyre and Syrax, circling over the bay. For over fours hours now, the servants had said. Over four hours! And Aegon was just…

“You have to help them!”

Aegon didn’t even react. Just stared out the window.

“You have to… you have to get Sunfyre… you have to…” Aemond was close to tears. He did not want his sisters to die! Sure, Helaena was an idiot and Rhaenyra he barely even knew, but they were family! They were of the dragon! “What if they die, Aegon, what if…”

“I will not let them,” Aegon said. Aemond stared, lost for words when it hit him. Aegon was not drunk at all, no slurry words, no thinking before speaking to find them in the first place. “If it gets worse, I will help.”

“But… but why… Why are you not…?” It did not make sense!

Aegon gestured at thin air, the room, everything, staring at his brother.

“Because Aemond! No one will want me to be King.”

Aegon knew what people at court called him. The drunkard. The always drunken prince. Some may even say the drunk idiot when they thought no one was listening. He may be drunk most days, but he sure was no idiot. While watching the dragons circle and sipping on his wine, he had understood. The same as everyone who watched had to understand. His sisters were out there, and he was not. He would not distract from it unless he absolutely had to. Knowing Rhaenyra had come for him first made it all the easier. No one had ever come for him, no one had ever asked for his help, although she hadn’t in so many words. She had stopped when she realized he was drunk, because drunk dragon riding was a recipe for disaster. If Syrax did not turn up again or Dreamfyre fell, he would jump on the next best horse and ride for the Pit. They had not. He had lost sight of them every now and again, but until now they had always turned up again.

“But mother…”

“Fuck mother!”

Whenever she brought it up, whenever she told him he had to take the crown one day, he told her as such; in nicer words of course. He did not want to be King. Responsibilities and meetings and ruling sounded more dreadful than anything he could even imagine. What kind of brother stole his sister’s birthright to begin with? He got along well enough with the boys, may they be trueborn or not. They were enough, for sure. They were of the dragon because they could control their little baby dragons. Everything he cared about on that matter.

Aemond stared, fell quiet… and then moved to sit beside him.

“You really don’t want to be King?”

He snorted. “Do I look like it? I only want to drink, have sex, and fly Sunfyre around once mother allows it. Have heard the girls of Lys are really beautiful.”

Aemond shook his head but ended up smiling somewhat. So very Aegon. Dreamfyre got visible for a moment and disappeared again.

“Are you… are you sure they will be good?”

Aegon smiled somewhat and hugged his little brother. “I promise.”

Hopefully, he would not regret his words.

---

The closer he got to Kings Landing, the more dead there were. Not only tens or twenties, but hundreds. Laenor counted about a thousand before he lost track, and then the castle and the city walls got visible. His gaze darted around, looking for dragons. No Sunfyre. Dreamfyre. Syrax, strangely nearby and… he stared at it, not believing his eyes. Diving? But yes, diving. Syrax shot out of the water again and burned the dead in her claws, and then – to his horror, she took off. Where was Rhaenyra?

“Lower!” Seasmoke dove down, closer to the waves, eyeing the dead things.

Where was she? Where was she?! His eyes darted around, but there were just waves. Waves and dead and dead and waves. No Rhaenyra. His heart hammered away. Had Syrax dropped her? Had she slipped off her saddle? Had they dragged her off? Dragged her into the water and drowned her and – no. Syrax would behave differently if Rhaenyra was dead! But wasn’t she behaving differently? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Dreamfyre. He had seen her. His head shot up and he saw her bathe the rocks along the walls in flames.

“Hurry, Seasmoke.”

Seasmoke did, as much as he could. They reached the rocks soon after.

“Laenor!” Helaena beamed at him. She would not smile like it if her sister was dead, right?

“Where is Rhaenyra?”

“Up on the walls. Syrax is…” she shrugged. Yes. Hunting dead on her own.

Laenor nodded and Seasmoke soared, looking for her. The things he hadn’t asked ghosted through his head. Why was Syrax flying around alone? Was Rhaenyra hurt? How badly? What had happened? Why…

Laying eyes on her, his head fell quiet. She was there, watching him, wrapped in a slightly tattered coat. Gods, her smile. How beautiful she looked. To Laenor it seemed he was seeing her for the first time.

Seasmoke landed, eyeing the men nearby.

“Laenor! Did the ship make it?”

Well… “I left before they reached Driftmark. Should have made landfall by now.” Hopefully… A pause, they just looked at each other. “How is the situation?” Why was Syrax out there alone?

“I ordered the gold cloaks and our guards to secure the city walls. Not sure how well it went.”

Well… as bad news always spread quicker… presumably, everything was good?

“I will fly and see how things are.”

Again, this smile. His heart beat a tiny bit faster. How could he have never seen it? She nodded.

Seasmoke took off, doing as he had said. Everything was calm and quiet, the guards he flew past either carried bow and arrows or had burning torches right next to them. They sure took the ‘burn them’ seriously.

Nothing and nothing, he circled around the Red Keep and the Dragon Pit, just to make sure. If they were after dragons they would be here, right? And onwards along the wall. Everything was quiet until he got to the harbor. Screams, yells, guards running along the wall, arrows hissing through the air. A few dead beneath caught fire and started to run around in a panic, the rest went on trying to climb atop each other to scale the wall.

“Dracarys.”

Seasmoke rumbled happily, he was pretty sure of it, and lit the dead on fire.

---

Rhaenys stared at them for what felt like forever, Meleys just gliding along over the water.

It could not be.

But she was looking at it. She was looking at it! A skeleton was staring at her, a woman, a little boy, evermore, evermore. Body parts were missing here and there, sometimes the skull was visible, sometimes not. The only thing they all had in common was their glowing blue eyes. And being underwater.

“Get one out.”

Meleys dove, her claws crashing into the waves, water spraying up around her, and then she dragged something out. Rhaenys couldn’t see it anymore, but she heard it. Twisting, turning. It dropped back into the water. Meleys circled around the woman, who had stopped walking. She stared at them, jumping and jumping. More dead joined her, staring at them as well now. They got more and more, until they started to climb atop each other, trying to reach them. Rhaenys just stared the entire time.

Dead. In the water.

Caraxes shot past her, picking up the little mountain of dead, and burned them. They vanished in dragon flame, the ash scattering in the wind. Something crashed into the water nearby. Rhaenys turned and watched Daenerys swim. Had she lost her –

The black dragon surfaced, some twenty dead clinging to him all over, and burned them as good he could.

“Meleys,” before she could even end her command, Drogon dropped into the water again.

---

So many. So, so many! Everywhere he looked, there were dead. Of course, they hadn’t found any. They were all here!

Drogon snapped some up with his claws, feeling how more clung to him, his horns, his back, and shot out of the water. The red dragon was right next to him and bathed him in flames, killing them in one go. Rumbling happy, he dropped down again, twisting his head every now and again to check on mother. He would not allow any to even get close to her! They would not lay their damn bony fingers on her, not while he was around. Diving up again, he burned the fellows in his claws, bathed his belly in flames, and was back in the water. He watched the claws of the red one, shooting past him, gathering some. The red of flames bathed the water above him in a strange light. One of the dead tried paddling away from him, and Drogon snapped him up. Not with him! He would kill as many as he could! Yes, yes, he would! They would not get away! They would fear him by the end of it!

Diving up again, he eyed the snake dragon right next to mother. Why was he so close? Grumbling, he missed the words of his rider entirely. The snake dragon grumbled back at him, fangs bared, sounding all wrong. Mother, he understood.

“No. Thank you,” she said and swam for him. When her little weight rested on his back again, Drogon took off, flying away from the snake dragon and the red one to hunt in peace. He wanted to kill as many as he could! With them swirling around him, he could not.

Drogon dove and dove and dove. How could there still be so many? Not that he minded, he absolutely did not, he loved it, but he was curious. The other dragons had burned scores upon scores of them on the dragon island, and yet here were… they were not more, but there were many.

Mother was getting weaker, he realized too late. One moment, he was catching a dead, all happy he’d be burning her, end her miserable dead life, and then panic swept through him. His head twisted around; she was beneath the waves. Not because one of them was dragging her, just because. He had… he left her swimming for… Shooting up, he watched how she sunk deeper, trying to get back up. How could he not have thought about her for so long? Sure, she couldn’t swim as long as he could! He should have given her a break, should have –

The snake dragon partially dove into the water and his damn rider pulled her out. How could he dare?!

Seconds later, Drogon shot out of the waves, all rage. How could he touch her? Pull her away from him, as if he couldn’t look out for her, couldn’t protect her. Seeing her on another dragon just made it all worse. It was wrong! Mother only flew with him! The man held her close. Mother was doubled over, coughing. She must have seen him, may from the corner of her eyes, and looked at him.

Her panic got worse, even worse than before. “Drogon, no!” He missed the man by inches. Shot right over his head. The snake dragon roared but did not go after him. Mother reached out, the man still holding her.

Inching closer, he stared at them, her panic fading slowly, just as his rage. Pressing his snout against her fingers, he calmed down.

“All good, Drogon. All good. I’m good.”

She was good. He rumbled softly and nudged her. Mother smiled.

“You sure have a willful dragon,” the man said. Drogon didn’t pay him any mind, just looked at mother. Everything was good. Now, with a calmer mind, he didn’t even understand why he had been so angry. Scared for her life, yes. Everything else had come along.

“Go kill them,” she said very softly. Drogon stared at her. He didn’t want to leave her again! He wouldn’t… never… she had nearly died so close to him! Just because…

“I will keep her safe,” the man said. Drogon’s stare switched to him, stared and stared.

“Dive, Drogon,” mother tried again. This time, he listened. Dropped down into the water to hunt more dead. Whenever he surfaced, he looked out for the snake dragon. He better keep mother safe!

---

Daemon’s breath was stroking along her neck. She felt every damn exhale on her wet skin. His body was warm, just as Caraxes beneath her legs. Still, she was sitting on his lap, his arm around her waist. Only way to hold her given the saddle. Using one felt all wrong. With Drogon, she felt how he got ready to turn, to dive, everything was just there, obvious in the way his body moved and shifted, how his muscles tensed. With a saddle, the subtlety was gone. Just gone. Every damn turn of Caraxes surprised her, and he turned often. Daemon didn’t seem to mind. He held onto the saddle with one hand and watched the things in the water… and her, every now and again, she was pretty sure of it.

The Blood Wyrm was brilliant at picking up dead. He just lowered his claws into the water, dragged them up, and then his head shot around and burned his lower body. They never even got wet. Or wet again, in her case.

“Are you cold?” His voice was right by her ear.

“No.” Only, she trembled ever so little. On Drogon, she would be dry already. Stupid saddle.

He touched her arm, scoffed, and wrapped his coat around her.

“It’s not needed,” Daenerys said, while she pulled the coat closer around her, betraying her own words. She stared at the three-headed dragon stitched onto the shoulder. She wouldn’t be able to wear her sigil for ages, would she? Maybe never again. She had to tell Rhaenyra about what she had said. Acted as if she didn’t have a name…

“I won’t have you freeze,” he said matter of factly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She barely hummed and held onto the saddle when Caraxes turned yet again, roasting more dead moments later.

Rhaenys eyed them when they flew past but didn’t say a word.

Time slipped away. Their dragons caught dead and caught dead, Drogon teaming up with Meleys after a while. He dragged them up, she burned them.

“How was it on Dragonstone?” He asked eventually.

She shrugged. “I can’t tell. Drogon flew into the snowstorm.” She wouldn’t tell him of the Night King and her dead dragon. Not now, anyway. “We only got back to the island when Vermithor lit the beaches on fire.” Shortest summary of her life.

“Ha. Curious. There was a snowstorm?”

“Yes.”

And that was that for a while. Until the dead started to thin, dwindling from full packs to smaller packs, to only one here and there. Drogon raced Caraxes to get to the latest dead, snapped it up and burned it all happy. Daemon chuckled. Meleys circled above them for a good while, until she dove down to them.

“We should head for Kings Landing,” Rhaenys said. “They sure need our help.”

“We should fly along the shores first. In case they made landfall away from the city,” Daenerys said, authoritative as ever. A pause. “Princess.” She had to remember the damn titles.

“If they made landfall away, they will make their way to the city. All of them move in the same direction.”

“And murder hundreds or thousands of smallfolk along the way.”

“They are of no consequence if Kings Landing falls.”

“It won’t. There are not enough to overrun the city.”

“How would you know?”

Daemon nearly chuckled, but somehow kept it under control.

“Because I saw them! They’d need thousands to just swallow Kings Landing. Rhaenyra and Laenor are there. They’ll defend it!”

“When would you have seen thousands of them?”

“I will take her and fly along the shoreline,” Daemon interrupted at last. He couldn’t watch this anylonger, although it was wildly amusing. Daenerys spoke like she was used to giving commands, used to ordering an entire room around with nothing but her word. Probably the former Khaleesi showing her pride. As if any woman would survive in a khalasar for long. She had a will, and he was certain it was made of fire. “You fly for Kings Landing.”

Rhaenys eyed them again… and nodded. “Save flight.”

“May the winds be gentle,” Daemon said, nearly on habit. Meleys turned away.

“Where to, do you think?”

Daenerys was quiet for a few moments. “Straight for the shore from here. And then towards… Rosby?”

Daemon nodded. Caraxes flew on, Drogon following suit.

“Where did you see them overrun a city?”

“I… I assumed based on Dragonstone.”

He merely hummed. It was a lie and they both knew it.

---

As night fell, the dead started to thin. Rhaenyra was back on Syrax, holding Helaena securely, while Dreamfyre hunted through the waves below them. Seasmoke patrolled the rocks beneath the city.

Darkness and darkness and glimmering blue underwater. Dreamfyre dove for it, dragged something out. Only the blue eyes in the night. And then fire. For a second, they were both blind and then just more darkness.

“Fighting them at night must be… must be worse than the seven hells combined,” Helaena whispered after a while. “Think of it. Just those blue eyes moving for you.”

Rhaenyra shivered, the image jumping into her head. “Imagine we wouldn’t have dragons.”

Helaena whimpered and turned towards her, although neither of them could see much of the other. They should have brought a torch. But where to put it in the first place?

“They would kill us.”

Syrax stopped and roared. Blue eyes beneath them. Dreamfyre came back, they heard her wing beats drawing closer, and then she crashed into the water. Another blast of light.

Another half an hour or so passed, and they only saw three dead. It was eerie. Nearly too quiet after all the chaos. Truth be told, it tore on her nerves. As if they just gathered somewhere else, maybe made landfall away from the city and attacked Kings Landing from the other side, out of their sight. But she knew just as well they would not. Most of them were dumb as rocks.

“We can rest again, I think,” Rhaenyra decided and Syrax turned, landing on a beach nearby, in front of the city. Their dragons would likely see everything passing them by.

Helaena fell asleep about the same moment her feet touched the ground. She lay in a heap beside Dreamfyre, twitching every now and again. Rhaenyra carefully approached and placed not-her coat over her. She would have to compensate the lady.

For a while, she just sat there, staring at the lights of Kings Landing, Seasmoke flying about, checking on the walls, then on the shores to either side. Dreamfyre grumbled and Helaena shot upright, looking around scared.

“Is… is one here? Are they…?”

“All good,” Rhaenyra said, reaching for her in the darkness.

Syrax took off to kill the dead. They watched in silence how fire engulfed the thing.

“What would you say to flying for the castle?” Rhaenyra said softly. “A bed is better than sand.”

Helaena deserved some sleep. Some good sleep. And after that a hot bath, mayhaps.

“Are you certain? What if I leave and… and they…” Her trembling voice nearly broke her heart.

“If something happens, I will get you.”

A pause. Silence. Helaena climbed back onto Dreamfyre, which was just as much answer as anything. “Take care,” her sister said.

Dreamfyre took off towards the city, a black outline against the scattered lights. Hopefully, she would get some sleep. Hopefully, she would not fall asleep herself. Then again, there was nothing she could do right now. But sleeping while her city may or may not get attacked…

Rhaenyra stayed awake, sitting by the water, her arms slung around her legs, and stared at darkness. Syrax took off every now and again. And then not at all.

A tiny light flickered over the water towards her. As it drew closer, she realized it was Laenor, carrying a torch. Seasmoke landed and he got off, ramming it into the ground.

“All good?”

Rhaenyra just nodded.

“Good. Perfect. Seasmoke picked one off the walls. We flew over the city after but found nothing.”

She nodded again. “The shorelines?”

“Nothing.”

Good. May it stay that way.

Laenor draped his coat over her shoulders, and they just sat side by side, staring at the flickering light dancing on the waves. He glanced at her ever more often than not. Rhaenyra looked tired, but strangely determined as well. The same expression as when she had wielded Blackfyre. Like a dragon staring down an enemy, willing them to run.

He looked at the waves… and then back at her. The way the light flickered on her skin, dancing in her hair… the tiny smile…

“Rhaenyra?”

“Hm-hmm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Rhaenyra blinked and frowned, turning towards him. What now? Why would he ask that? They had never kissed, not ever. Peck on the forehead, sure, but that was it. That was all. All she ever expected, not that she had asked in the first place. Both of them had settled on tiny signs of fondness, especially in front of her handmaids, to keep up appearances. If people saw them being affectionate, they would come to their own ends. Why…

… and then Rhaenyra realized how he looked at her. Laenor had never looked at her like that. It was more akin to how Harwin looked at her.

Gods, she still hadn’t said anything. Yes, no, maybe? Why? Why was good yes, but did she really want to talk about it?

“Yes.”

Leaning in, he carefully pressed his lips against hers. Rhaenyra didn’t know what to think of it. Stranger than strange. Even the Stranger would call it strange. The kiss felt kind of good and then he deepened it. Something fluttered inside her. Laenor was a good kisser.

Seasmoke and Syrax looked up unbeknownst to them. Meleys passed them by.

Chapter Text

The village was empty. Daemon went from house to house, on Daenerys insistence – mostly to stop her from doing it herself. She had no armor. Even the thin leather he was wearing was better than her flimsy robe. She had no sword. He would not watch her get hurt. Still, he had little to no clue about her. She had ignored most his questions once she got back on Drogon, blaming the wind. I did not hear! Sure, she had! The way she was avoiding him…

Opening yet another ajar door, he found nothing except the scenes of a fight. Blood spattered everywhere, the wooden table and chairs were scattered on the dirt floor. A dark-caked knife. This family had tried to fight back, to no avail.

The heavy thud of a landing dragon. Daemon turned, in time to see her burst through the open door, eyes wide.

“I found them. The villagers.”

Judging based on her look… “What of them?” He asked and hurried out the door after her, again watching in awe how she just climbed onto her dragon and took hold of some horns.

“Can I…” She nodded and he climbed up after her, taking hold of whatever horns looked good. His heart still beat a little faster when Drogon took off. It was so dangerous, so unnecessary. What if she slipped? What if he did quick turns or sudden dives? Not having a saddle was –

His thoughts ended when he saw them. The corpses of the villagers, laid out to form a… was it a spiral?

“What in the seven fucking hells?”

Drogon landed and they both dismounted, just staring at it.

“Do you… have any idea…?” Daenerys asked slowly. Daemon shook his head.

---

They flew on after burning them. Two more villages were empty. Not a living soul left. Just blood, signs of bodies dragged, more strange corpse signs. Afterwards, they let the dragons free reign to find the scent, hoping they’d find the walking dead. Both flew in the same direction, which worried him. Maybe they hadn’t understood after all.

Until he heard screams. Caraxes went into a dive. A woman and two children were running along the main road of their village, while a man tried hacking and stabbing at a dead with his rusty sword. The thing just kept walking, just… 

Drogon roared and it stopped. Turned around and stared at them, the man in front of him forgotten.

“Run!” Daemon yelled. As if he had to say anything. The man turned on his heels and ran, allowing him to better snap up the dead. They found five in the village. Five walking dead and a dozen scared out of their minds survivors. Daemon stared once again, watching from afar how Daenerys walked among the commoners, calming them down, promising that nothing bad would ever come to them again. They’d hunt the dead, she gave them her word.

They calmed down. The way they looked at her… As if she was one of the Seven, come to the mortal realm to protect them. She may as well be. A compassionate dragon rider, falling from the sky in the moment of their greatest need. They already saw them as gods. The circumstances didn’t make it any better. She was good at this. Very good. Too good.

She had done it before. Helped people, calmed people, gave them hope.

Who was she?

He asked, four villages on, in what he could only presume was the family’s only bedroom. Although he wouldn’t call it a bed. Big linen sheets thrown over straw. Still more comfortable than the ground.

“Where did you learn it? To talk to people like this?”

Daenerys looked at him strange. Was that worry? He wasn’t sure with the flickering fire.

“I…” she sighed, looking away, into the fire. “After my husband died and my dragons hatched –”

“How did you do it? Hatch him.”

Wait. Had she said dragons? As in multiple?

“I paid for them.” The thinnest smile turned up on her lips. “My husband was taking slaves. What Dothraki do in times of war. One of the healers poisoned him. I burned her for it. Built a pyre for him while he was wasting away, bound her to it, placed the eggs on it, lit it on fire… and walked in myself.”

Again, he stared. “You walked in?” Had he misheard? And she had definitely said eggs. Had the others not hatched? Why would she say ‘them’, then?

She nodded.

“You did not burn?”

“No. I never do since then. After he was gone, some of his people stayed with me. The other Khals… they would never approve of a woman leading a khalasar. I went where they would not follow. The Red Waste.”

To walk into the desert… Gods, she was smart. Insane, but smart.

“Hunger and thirst are brutal out there. I had to be their hope.”

Daemon hummed. She was a leader. Maybe natural born, maybe forced into it. He would never know. “What happened to them?”

“We were ambushed. They got killed defending me, I got away. The rest…” she shrugged and fell quiet.

“My condolences. For losing your people.”

She smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

Silence. It dragged on, while he just looked at her.

“Can you show me? The not burning.”

She looked at him for a few long moments and got up, reaching into the fire. She just held her hand there, for several minutes, and walked back to him. Her skin was perfect, may having a little glow to it. With his fingers hovering above hers, he could feel the heat radiating off her. To walk into the fire… his finger danced along her hand. She was still hot.

“My people called me the Unburnt after.” The thin smile was back again, but this time she looked sad most of all. “The mother of dragons.”

Daemon chuckled before he could stop himself. The mother of dragons. How cute. Her look changed. Cold, calculating eyes stared at him, and for a split second, he recognized the gaze. It was his own.

“I did not mean to… you are. Hatching them out there in the wild...” He shook his head. He had never heard of eggs hatching after the fact. Normally, when they did not hatch on first touch, they were beyond reach. She had gone and said ‘fuck this’ and done it herself. Made them hatch.

The cool stare disappeared and turned into a smile. “I knew our…” she stopped herself. “Your words. Fire and Blood. Something had to be to it.”

Again, he laughed. This time, she did not mind. How smart she was. Brilliant little one.

---

She snuck away in the dead of night, once Daemon was asleep for good. Caraxes looked after her but did not move. He asked too many questions, and she had talked too much. It was scarily easy to just talk to him. Of walking through the Red Waste, how she had struggled to feed her dragons, lest alone her people. He had just asked, asked and asked, and clung to her lips, watching her every word. She had missed getting looked at like this, feeling ever so flattered, finally feeling like herself again. Just like saving the people earlier had helped.

He had wanted to know evermore, how life had been as a Khalessi, how it was to live among them, then how it had been to lead her people… and who her mother was. She had stopped talking then, just stared at him, and he stared back. He would never let it go, she realized. Never.

“I barely remember her. She died when I was young,” she said on a whim. Made sense, right?

He hummed lowly; his gaze still fixed on her. “How did you end up in Essos?”

She shrugged. “We went over before I was even one, I believe. She… we… we made do. Richer people liked to flock to us.”

Something shifted on Daemon’s face, and he nodded. Whatever she had said, it seemed good enough, at least for the moment. Otherwise, there would surely be more questions. Rhaenyra had to know of it. Of all of it.

Still, she took her time flying, letting Drogon look for more dead, nearly falling asleep herself every now and again. They found three.

---

A sun rose, red as blood, bathing Kings Landing into strange light and shadows.

Daenerys stared while Drogon drew closer. Dragonstone was her birthplace, her ancestral home, but Kings Landing… it was where all the ways ended. Her goal, always. The Iron Throne. She should have taken the city when they called for the Great Council. Just burn the False Queen, no matter what Tyrion hatched of plans. The idea had been mad to begin with. As if Cersei would side with them ever. Wasted time, wasted time they should have used to prepare the North…

… they were all dead…

She pushed the thought away, as far as she possibly could, and focused on Kings Landing. How the Red Keep looked in the glimmer of a rising sun.

Home.

She had to see it, she just had to.

Her gaze swept around, looking for the dragons. Meleys sat on a city wall towards the ocean, Syrax and Seasmoke lay on a beach, Caraxes surely was somewhere nearby. As if Daemon would take long to catch up.

Syrax. Rhaenyra was her best try. Drogon turned and aimed for them. Rhaenyra sat by the waterline, staring out at sea, utterly oblivious to her approach. She twitched when Drogon landed, Laenor shot upright, looking around bewildered.

“Rhaenyra, could I… could I have a word?”

Rhaenyra stared at her, looking as if she needed about a lifetime of more sleep.

“Yes, yes. Certainly.”

Daenerys dismounted and they walked away ever so little. Laenor stared after them, as did all the dragons.

“How did things go? Are you good?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Good, good. Daemon and I –”

“Daemon is here?”

Oh, seven hells. She did not… Rhaenys hadn’t… She had expected a report of her journey towards Tarth, surely. Tarth. Until this second it had fully slipped her mind.

“Somewhere nearby, yes. We flew along the shoreline towards Kings Landing. Five smaller villages... they are gone. Everyone is dead.”

Horror danced on Rhaenyra’s face, and she simply nodded.

“Sometimes, we found survivors. Burned 12 wights altogether.”

Again, a nod.

“But… That’s not what I… I wanted to ask…” About the first time in her life, she struggled with words. “Could I see the Iron Throne?”

The moment after her question seemed to last forever. Rhaenyra simply looked at her, her thoughts wandering, likely still on the five wiped-out villages. Done by only 12 wights. What an army of them could do to the smallfolk…

“Rhaenyra?” She asked carefully. May not push too much. She blinked; her gaze focused.

“Yes. Of course, you can. How could I say no?” She smiled somewhat and turned back to her dragon.

Daenerys heart started to hammer away, while the dragons drew closer to the Red Keep. Her castle. Her city. Her everything. She would get to enter today. She would see the castle, actually see how it had been under her family, not after the Lannisters and Baratheons were done with it. They had removed all the dragon decorations and tapestries, just as the statues, dragon skulls and various swords from the throne room, Ser Barristan had said. She had promised herself back when, she’d have all of them replaced. If need be, she’d tear down the stag with her bare hands.

Their dragons landed, the gate was opened. Rhaenyra was a few steps ahead of her, leading the way. Daenerys followed, looking around. Through halls, along corridors. Tapestries, most showing dragons, some may Old Valyria, some others sure were presents from across the Narrow Sea. She saw the Mother of Mountains on one, she was pretty sure. As if she’d ever not recognize the endless Dothraki sea and that rock jutting out of it. The guards bowed when they passed, one of the Kingsguard hurried to Rhaenyra upon seeing them, talking to her in low whispers.

And then, before long, they stood in front of the doors, heavy oak, which Rhaenyra had opened for them, and then dismissed the guards.

Entering the throne room, Daenerys stared. She did not have eyes for any of it, only the throne, the many swords, towering over everything else.

Their. Hers. Hers by right. Taking it back had been her life. Seeing it now…

Walking towards it, time seemed to stretch again. Every step seemed to take forever, every stair she climbed endless. She heard her footfall echo back from the walls.

The Iron Throne.

Hers.

Reaching out, she touched the pummel of a sword, letting her fingers dance along the cold steel.

She was here. She was seeing it, touching it. Tears blurred her gaze. Hers. Finally. After all those years, after everything she had gone through, everyone she had met, everyone she had lost… and she would never sit on it.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra’s thoughts had been full of Laenor, of the dead, of Laenor, Daemon, who was here somewhere and she still hadn’t talked with him yet, of the five wiped-out villages. So many more dead again. So many more smallfolk who had seen the horror. They had to patrol the surrounding lands, to make sure none had gotten away. If 12 could wipe out villages, even one was a…

And then Daenerys reached for the throne. It had to be strange for her. So very strange. Her throne, but not hers. A Queen, who had done everything to defend them, never to rule again. The last true protector of the realm. Her offspring, her…

Her offspring. Of her fifth son, she had said. Not the first, not even the third. Her fifth.

Did it have to be the fifth? Couldn’t it be Jace, couldn’t it… Hadn’t them changing things already changed things? Was the future even still the future? Was…

Who would she be if Viserys wasn’t her father, if Aemma wasn’t her mother? If Baelor wasn’t her grandfather. May she would have been of Jaehaerys and everyone knew how his daughters had fared.

Something broke within her. For Daenerys to be born, for her to be in line for the throne, for her to even exist as she was now…

Jace could not take the crown. None of her current children could.

---

It was madness. Absolute madness, she thought while walking along the corridors to her old chambers. She could not disinherit her sons. None of them. It would be akin to saying they were bastards. She could not do this. No, no, no. Not to them, not to Laenor, who had always claimed them as his. Not to Harwin either. Not to Jace. He had asked her and she… she…

She had told him the truth, he was Targaryen, but she had lied as well. Always the lies...

“Daemon is strangely interested in me,” Daenerys said, who had followed her quietly until now.

Rhaenyra stopped and sighed. Not another thing. Just no. Didn’t she deserve a moment of rest after all the madness? Just one tiny moment? She hadn’t even looked after Helaena and Aegon and may even Aemond. She hadn’t talked with Laenor yet. Just more and more and…

She turned to look at her “What happened?”

“He asked me questions upon questions. How I ended up in Essos, how I got my dragons… who my mother is. And he stares at me.”

Rhaenyra eyed her. Daemon staring at her wouldn’t be much to worry about, given everything. She was a strange dragon rider, after all.

“What did you tell him?”

Daenerys told her in a low voice. Rhaenyra nodded every now and again, humming when necessary. Nothing that would give away she wasn’t who she claimed to be. As if anyone would go and talk to the Khals.

Rhaenyra hummed, still staring at her.

“Who is your grandsire? Or grand-grand…” She shook her head. “Who do I marry after…?”

After Laenor’s death. Which may never happen now. Who did she have to sleep with to make her possible? It had not been on the parchment. She had seen it, but not bothered to ask with everything else, and then the dead attacked Dragonstone right after.

Daenerys hesitated. There was something on her face… “Daemon.”

Rhaenyra burst into laughter. The absurdity of it all! She and Daemon. Her father may disinherit her after all. He had done anything to keep him away from the throne, even she had realized it. If he didn’t have his unhinged phases, if he hadn’t celebrated her brother’s death, yes, she had heard of that certain tidbit eventually, he may as well still be the heir. Maybe he had calmed down after his years with Laena, but until recently he had been the thorn in her father’s side. She may love him, knew he was loyal, but she knew as well how dangerous he could be, how… It clicked into place, from one moment to the other. With him by her side, her claim would not be so easily challenged. With him by her side, half the Kingdoms would fall in line on principle as they remembered him winning the war of the Stepstones. The other half may revolt on the same principle, but still… Daemon’s crazy mind for war and the Velaryon dragons and fleet behind her…

Viserys did not speak up against it after all, as she saw in Daenerys. He may groan about it, but he accepted it.

She giggled again. Her and… and… Daemon may believe Daenerys to be his daughter! Who else should it be, after all? If she was Jaeherys, she had to be older. Only left Viserys and himself. He had the right idea, mayhaps, just a few generations between them.

“Everything good?” Daenerys asked.

Rhaenyra giggled. “No,” and moved on, reaching her old chambers in time. One of the servants who now occupied the room looked surprised, and that was that. Soon enough, handmaidens helped her into one of her old, red dresses. It did not fit perfectly, but all was better than the green shreds. Hopefully, Alicent wouldn’t mind. If need be, she would make her a new one. With red dragons emblazed on the green. She giggled again. Maybe she was losing her mind! This sure was madness.

“I told my father you are a dreamer,” she said at last when they were alone again. “Tell you do not know who your father is. Your mother never told you.”

May Daemon get to his own conclusions, and he certainly would. In time, they could as well use it. They had to explain her existence somehow.

 “We have to work out your past a little bit… stick to everything you already told him. I assume it’s the truth?” She had told her so easily…

This time, she even got a small smile. “Most of it, yes.”

“Perfect, then. Try to tell the truth as often as you can.”

Would make remembering things easier.

---

Rhaenyra sent Daenerys on her way again. She had to do the talks, no need for her to be around for that. May as well hunt for more dead. They didn’t have time to waste if there were still some of them around.

Standing in front of Helaena’s door, she just stared at it. Marrying Daemon… she obviously would not now, with Laena still alive. Hopefully, anyway, but she had to… at some point… they would have two children, in some variant of the future, either Aegon and Viserys or Viserys and Aegon, she could not remember who had been who. The younger of the two… his line would rule Westeros until the end; until Aegon’s dream came true.

“From my blood…,” she whispered to herself. How oddly literal prophecies could be sometimes. From her blood. If she didn’t fully believe Daenerys to be the princess, she would think all this was madness. May it still was. They had seen dead walking. She giggled some more. Dead. Walking.

“Princess?” Someone yelled. She turned and saw one of their guards running for her, followed by a gold cloak.

---

Finally, she knocked on Helaena’s door.

“A moment,” her sister yelled from within. Something got moved. “Come.”

Rhaenyra opened the door and stared. Her room. Her gaze moved around, from torch to torch to oil lamp to candles. Everywhere. On the ground, on her table, beside the bed. Her sister had stuffed every fire source she had gotten her hands on into the room. Even the fireplace was lit – in the height of summer. The handmaid and the guard in the corner of her room were sweating, looking terribly uncomfortable, just as if they wanted to be about anywhere else right now.

“Felt safer like this,” Helaena mumbled, obviously seeing her gaze.

“It’s…” words… “splendid.”

She beamed and hugged her, whispering a thank you into her dress. Rhaenyra hugged her back, staring at the 17 oil lamps in the room. She had counted by now.

“I take it you slept well?” She looked like it, at least.

“Yes. Perfectly. Did… did everything go well?”

Well… her world was a mess, but besides… Gods, she hadn’t even talked with Laenor yet. That would be something as well. Why did you kiss me? Why did you…

“Yes. There were a few dead, but nothing to bother about. Think half a dozen.”

Helaena giggled. “Half a dozen?”

The smile crept onto her lips as well. “Yes.”

And before they knew it, the sisters burst into mad laughter. Just half a dozen! Basically nothing. Barley worth mentioning.

They talked a little, Rhaenyra wanting to make sure she was well, or as well as a young dragon-riding dead murdering girl could ever be. Given everything, Helaena seemed fine, all bubbly and talkative. She even told her of her dream. “Just a normal dream!” She exclaimed smiling, and launched into the intriguing details of Viserys, Aegon and Aemond hunting out in the woods.

“I will fly back for Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra said at last. Her father would be there, waiting for her…

Helaena didn’t even hesitate. “I will come with.”

Knocking on Aegon’s door was ever more strange. She knew she had to do it, talk with him, but… they did not have a relationship. None at all. She had never bothered for one, just as he. Then again, before yesterday Helaena and she didn’t have one either. Now, she never wanted to let her go again. To think of it, that all the madness had just been one single day. She felt like an entirely different person.

“Aegon?”

Nothing for a bit. Steps on the other side. The door unlocked and Aegon peered at her. Dark rings beneath his eyes, but he did not stink of wine anymore.

“Is it done?” He asked.

“Yes.”

He smiled, careful and timid. “Good. What was it?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

She hesitated still. “Can I enter?” He nodded and stepped aside, allowing her into his room. She had never been in here. A first time for everything, she guessed. What had happened to her life? Aemond was snuggled into Aegon’s bed, sleeping by the looks of it. Somehow, it made her smile. They weren’t so different. He had looked after his brother, just as Jace had.

“The dead attacked Kings Landing,” she said without hesitation. No way around it anyway.

Aegon stared at her as if she had lost her mind. As expected. Having a dead at hand would make things so much easier.

“Some of the nobility saw them, as well as men from the city watch and our guards. I was informed the harbor was attacked by them. You can see the scratches of fingernails and... and bones on the River Gate. They nearly dug through.”

Aegon still stared at her, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“Why did you never come?” Rhaenyra asked softly. They had been out there for hours.

Aegon looked uneasy for a tiny second. “I continued drinking and fell asleep,” he lied on the spot, expecting to get scolded. Mother sure would. ‘How could you not defend Kings Landing?!’ She would yell. ‘You are the future king! You must be seen!’ He would not tell of her notions either.

Rhaenyra smiled somewhat and sighed. “Reasonable.”

He blinked. “Reasonable?”

“I told you to go to bed, didn’t I? You did just that.” Rhaenyra squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you for…,” she forced down a chuckle, “staying in bed.”

That was the strangest compliment he had ever gotten. Aegon smiled a little. “Always. Whenever you need me to.”

She just could not stay serious much longer. Rhaenyra chuckled and Aegon fell in. Aemond moved, sat up, and looked at them confused.

---

Walking down the steps of the Red Keep, she smiled a little. Syrax sat there, looking at her all expectant. Dreamfyre circled above. She had to tell Helaena… they had to catch one. They could show it off whenever needed… How to best lock it up, though? Even one of them was deadly. They had to be secured, at all times, always.

First the dead, then the place to keep it away. Maybe throw it into a pit surrounded by fire. They sure seemed to be scared of it. She giggled. The dead. Being scared of something. Was she sure she was not losing her mind?

Syrax looked up. Rhaenyra followed her gaze. Caraxes. Daemon. She giggled again. They would marry in some world! And forced it away, as good she could. She wanted to appear calm and... not mad! Watching her uncle land, dismount, and walk for her, she smiled after all. She smiled still, while he hugged her and pressed a kiss against her hair. He may be slightly unhinged, but she could be just as well. She had killed a wight yesterday. With the sword of her father. She knew nothing of swords! Nothing.

“You are good,” Daemon whispered.

“I am,” Rhaenyra answered softly and broke away, still looking at him. While she wasn’t around him, it was easy to ignore, easy to just dismiss. Seeing him, she could already feel the strange pull she had felt all her life. He had always been there for her… until he was not, leaving her with all the mess. Would Alicent be as brazen with Daemon around? Maybe not.

He smiled softly, cupped her cheek… and pulled back.

How is Laena, part of her wanted to ask, as she still had not heard of it, but the answer was on his face already. He would look sadder if she was gone.

“Can you patrol the shoreline along the Kingswood? May some dead ended there.”

He nodded. “The men say you defended the city.”

“Yes. Helaena and me, we did,” she said as if there was nothing to it. “Can you catch one, when you see them again?”

Daemon frowned and Rhaenyra forced down a snicker. She could see the resemblance. The way his eyes narrowed… Daenerys didn’t look exactly like it, but rather similar. Could Daemon see the likeness as well? Probably not or he wouldn’t be brooding still. Maybe he did and it confused him even more. Or she just hadn’t frowned around him yet.

“Why catch one?”

“To convince lords when the need arises.”

Something flitted over his face and he grinned.

---

Meleys took flight, with the same order as given to Daemon. Rhaenys would stay around, circle the city until midday. Until the tides changed yet again. Dreamfyre landed on the wall. They all had been asked the same. Catch some dead. If they brought home too many, they could still kill them.

Standing beside Laenor on the beach, he gently stroked her arm without a word. She had to talk to him, she just had to. What had happened between them… it needed talk. It would not just go away on its own. She couldn’t just ignore him kissing her… and her kissing him back either. Everything that had happened after…

Wait it out? Fly for Dragonstone first? But then there would be ever more talk, how to secure the dead, her father, Daemon for sure, Alicent certainly. Everyone wanted words. Words and words and words. If it was up to her, she just wanted to curl up and think (Jace could not be king…) and maybe cry and laugh and sleep.

Right now was the best moment. Right now or days and days away from now.

“Laenor?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Did you… not like it?”

She snorted and stared at him sternly. Men, sometimes. “Sure, I did. But why? Why now? We are married for years.” And he had never kissed her like this. Never looked at her like this. Never held her like this.

Laenor sighed and turned away, staring out at sea. He was quiet for ages. Rhaenyra turned to ask, demand an answer, and saw he was brooding.

“You saved my life. Came swinging Blackfyre and killed the dead. It would have chewed through my leg in only so little.”

She kept quiet. Still not an explanation.

“We watched Cole die together, at least for a few moments.” He smiled darkly. “But that’s not it either, it’s…” He sighed weakly. “You put your life on the line. You defended Alicent of all people, full well knowing that dead thing would jump you next.” What? No, she had not. “You were… you were courageous, Rhaenyra. Selfless, willing to help everyone. You protected the city for hours… you protected Dragonstone…” He turned and cupped her cheek. The gaze was back. “I have never seen someone like you.”

A shiver sneaked through her again. “Laenor…” He only smiled and kissed her again, nearly chaste, but still on the lips.

“Always.” How casually he said it… and then the old smile sneaked on his face, banishing the fondness. “You said we will fly for Dragonstone?”

“Yes. And catch me a dead thing if you see one.”

“Aye, my Princess. Heard that, Seasmoke? We will go fishing.” His dragon only rumbled happily. Probably hadn’t understood a single word.

Chapter Text

The flight back was nearly uneventful. Daemon watched the forest pass by beneath them, Blackwater Bay to their left in the distance. Just green waving in the wind. Obviously, it made him think of the fucking Hightowers. Helaena had defended the city… how curious. Why would she? And why would Rhaenyra be okay with it? Caraxes went into a dive. The trees came closer and closer – his dragon was not slowing down. Daemon took hold of his saddle some more, getting ready for impact, already worried about wood splinters, may they hurt him or Caraxes’ wings or –

Caraxes never landed. He rushed by over the trees, felled some with his claws, just ripping them off the ground, and snapped up a skeleton right after, gaining height again. Peering down at the trashing thing in the claw, Daemon grinned. Rhaenyra would be pleased. Perfect example to show around when the time came, and it would come. As if everyone would just believe the dead had attacked.

They found another, caught in the anker chain of a rotting shipwreck. This one was a woman, one arm missing, the ribs protruding, and still she walked on, unaware she was stuck. Could they just chain them to something and forget about it?

After, five more, which they simply killed. Snapped up and burned and done with it. The strangely unnerving. Had they missed some? Had they gotten away? Not that he cared about the common folk, but dead things running around would disrupt harvests, spread fear, and in the end be their failing. As if they could not protect their subjects. If anything, the Dragon had to project strength. Albeit his brother sure didn’t match the image.

From far away, he spotted the royal ship at Driftmark. Just for a moment, he thought of flying over to check on things, to make sure his brother was good. Just the thought of him being in danger…

Caraxes did not even turn. They hadn’t seen any dead things for miles and miles as if they would attack High Tide now of all places. Ridiculous. If he was worried later, he may still fly by. Should probably, just to see Corlys and make sure he was safe. Otherwise, Laena may try to murder him with her own bare hands. Maybe steal his sword, that would be fitting. He smiled amused at the thought. His dear wife… She sure had more of fire than of the sea. Hopefully, she was good. She had to be.

Circling over Dragonstone not much had changed since yesterday. Vermithor and Silverwing lay on another beach, yes, and the Cannibal had retreated to his caves. The green dragon was still – Drogon was there as well, right next to it. Daenerys. She had just snuck away on him… Daemon wasn’t even mad. Sleeping while dead crawled around anywhere nearby did not seem possible for her. She cared so strangely much, just as if one more commoner dead would be on her. Commoners died all the time always. As if they were a loss, which he would never tell to her face. If she wanted to care, so be it. May as well.

Caraxes flew lower, slowed and slowed, but never landing. When it was safe enough, Daemon jumped off his back into the sea, swimming for the shore. Daenerys, Drogon, and the green dragon stared at him. She got up to walk towards him, the waves lapping at the ends of her robe. Gods. How beautiful she looked. Reaching shallower ground, he got up to walk the rest of the way.

“Why did you not land?” Daenerys yelled at him, stopping right where she was, with the water lapping at her.

“Rhaenyra wanted some dead,” he yelled back. She looked up, focused on Caraxes. “Ah,” she said, he was pretty sure of it. He would not have dead run around on his… on Rhaenyra’s island. They were better in Caraxes’ claws until she turned up to tell him what to do with them. Or just bind them to an anker chain, apparently.

“Did you find any on your way back?” He asked.

“Just three.”

Just three… with some luck, and please, let them have luck, they were catching all of them.

“You?”

“Five.” Such strange conversations. Well. Such strange times. “Seven. Including the two.”

She nodded and turned away, returning to her dragon. Why had she gotten up in the first place? To help him, if the need arose? How cute. She was always so cute. She sat down, dangerously close to the green one still. She sure did not know any better, did not know other people’s dragons, or wild ones in this case, could be –

Daemon stopped dead in his tracks. She had said dragons. He had mostly ignored it while she told her stories, but… yes. Multiple. His gaze switched from the black one to the green one. Both looked like Dreamfyre, in their own ways. More than one dragon… It was not possible. Just not. The bond was with one dragon and one alone. A rider could not bind with two!

“Don’t you… want to come out of the water?” Daenerys asked.

Daemon barely heard her. He was busy staring at the green dragon. One rider and two dragons…

“Is it yours? The green one.”

She looked at it, a small smile playing on her lips. “Rhaegal? Yes.”

Rhaegal raised his head and looked at her. Daenerys reached out for him and stroked along his snout. He rumbled lowly. Daemon still stared. Drogon just sat there and… and watched all calm. If he just went about and petted random dragons, Caraxes would have a fit earlier or later. Probably earlier.

“That is not possible,” he muttered under his breath. It was not! It just was not! Only, he knew what he was seeing. Daemon always believed his eyes.

She had two dragons.

“Do you fly with him as well?”

“No. I only fly with Drogon. Rhaegal follows me and does whatever I tell him.”

Still, he stared. Two dragons. One bonded, the other following. His thoughts raced, trying to get to the why, the how. If it could be replicated. If they could control more dragons…

She had hatched them herself. With fire and blood, she had hatched them. May the bond had changed, somehow. They were both hers now. Perhaps the green one would not follow her commands always and exactly, but good enough. They were both here, certainly. He stared at her again. Two dragons, one rider. She was…

Shaking the thought off, he moved and finally got out of the water.

“May I sit beside you?”

“Certainly.”

He sat down and both her dragons eyed him. He nearly snorted. They sure were protective. Daenerys smiled weakly, looking at him. The way her hair moved in the breeze, her robe shifting ever so little. He stared at her. May the ability to bind multiple dragons was in her blood now, as the dragon-binding was in all theirs. Maybe her children would have it too, maybe…

He had to have her.

… but her eyes… something was with those eyes. The way she had stared at him, all cold while he laughed about the mother of dragons.

“How old are you?”

“Four and twenty.”

Four and… He rummaged through his mind, trying to think of everyone he had slept some 25 years ago.

Caraxes roared. Daemon looked up, just as Daenerys did. Syrax and Dreamfyre were drawing closer.

---

“Any idea what to do with them?” Rhaenyra asked once she had ground beneath her feet. Dreamfyre and Helaena went on circling, the dead thing in her claw screeching and screaming. It seemed to be even more upset now, with the two Caraxes carried around nearby. The dead were making a ruckus, their dragons were growling non-stop. Syrax stared at them, all tense. They better find a solution, and fast, otherwise, she would lose her mind after all.

“We could chain them, I suppose,” Daemon suggested.

“They will rip free,” Daenerys objected. “Could lock them in crates.”

“They will dig through wood.”

“Make them of steel, then.”

“We could lock them in our cells,” Rhaenyra said. At least for a time. Until they dug through the stone.

“Who should carry the thing down there?”

Rhaenyra hummed lowly. “First the crates, then the cells.” And chain them sooner or later. Maybe chain them so thoroughly they could not move. Still, only a temporary solution. She needed a way to show them without having to worry about getting murdered.

“Mother?”

She turned, watching her boys come down the beach. Jace slowed and stared at Caraxes, while Luke ran for her, fully unaware. Hugging her boy, she sighed softly, strangely close to tears. They were good. All was good. No. All would be good, in time.

---

Jace and Luke sat on the ground, watching the commotion on the beach from a respectable distance. Daemon and one of their guards were wrestling with… with the thing.

“Do not tear at it!” Daemon yelled.

“My bad, my bad…”

“Are they… is that…,” Luke whispered, staring with wide eyes. “It is only bones, Jace!”

Jace stared at it, unable to say much. It was only bones. And still, it moved.

“What do we do if it escapes?” Luke whispered terrified.

“Burn it,” Jace said, trying to hide he was scared as well. He had to be strong for his brother! It had to be one of the things from yesterday. They had burned it. Why would mother keep it around now? It made no sense. After the thing was stuffed into one of the wooden boxes with great difficulty, panicky looking servants nailed it shut. It still screamed from within, only a tiny bit muffled now.

And then Dreamfyre dropped another thing.

---

By end of day, Rhaenyra had six of them. Meleys brought one, Seasmoke brought another two. Laenor grinned all happy, kissing her gently. Daemon frowned watching them kiss, one step away from staring. When and how had that come to pass? What had he missed? Was at least Joffrey not Harwin’s after all?

Rhaenys left after she stared at all of them thoroughly once again. She would sleep at Driftmark and return along with Viserys in the morrow.

The silence between them dragged on a bit while Meleys took flight yet again. What to even say? Where to even start?

“I will…,” Laenor started.

“Should we not celebrate being alive?” Daemon threw in, looking towards Daenerys while he said it.

---

Rhaenyra sighed softly. The wine pleasantly buzzing through her, warm food in her belly. Luke was snuggled against her, while Jace demolished yet another chicken. His eating habits slightly reminded her of their dragons when they finally all got food. Just tear the meat apart, all things be damned.

Helaena stared at him, giggling. “Were you not taught how to eat proper?”

“Oh, I assure you he was,” Rhaenyra said, stroking along Luke’s back.

Jace blushed and placed the meat he was holding back onto the chicken carcass. “I am hungry! Did not eat until you were back.”

He… he hadn’t? Oh, her poor boy.

“Sometimes, you just have to hurry,” Daemon said, dropped his knife, and reached for the closest lamb dish with his hands.

Helaena giggled again, looking from one to the other… and then abandoned her knife, stealing a piece of chicken from Jace.

He huffed. “That is mine!”

“Mine too now!” She proclaimed and stuffed the meat into her mouth. Laenor chuckled and Daemon laughed. Jace looked around… and carefully started to smile.

What followed was a hugely messy affair, everyone started to eat with their hands. Helaena managed to splatter her dress with sauce. Alicent better never see her like this. Whoever was not eating started to talk, sometimes just stories being told.

Daenerys watched with half a smile, eating her way through some pork ribs. Laenor was retelling Daemon’s heroic feint on the Crabfeeder, throwing around anecdotes.

“I thought he’d sure be dead when we finally got there!” and “You had to have seen the chaos after!”

Daemon smiled amused. No. Most pleased, if she went by his gaze, but even that one was… there was more in his eyes.

“I was certain I would die,” Daemon told his side, “They were circling me, swords drawn… and then Seasmoke turns up. He really is the perfect dragon for sea endeavors.”

Laenor laughed.

She should just join in and tell her own stories, laugh and smile. But she did not. Part of her felt like she could not. They were all dead. And she was here, celebrating. Celebrating what even? The horde they had fought off… it had been nothing. The one that had swallowed Winterfell had been bigger, and that one had been nothing as well.

Whatever happiness she had felt at helping people, at saving them, at just talking with Daemon, it was gone now. They had managed nothing. The throne would never be hers. Why even… The other part knew she had to go on, she had to let go. How, though? How did one let go?

In an odd bout of desperation, Daenerys reached for the wine, trying to make her thoughts shut up. As if anything good would come of them.

“Can you tell of grandsire’s sailing adventures?” Luke asked all excited.

“Oh, certainly!” Laenor mussed up his hair and turned his attention back to the others. “Well… What he told me… Never mind at least half of it, of course!” and then launched into the increasingly unlikely tales of Corlys and the Nine Voyages. Yet at least the latter of it had to be true. House Velaryon had ascended to riches the likes the realm had never seen, even surpassing Casterly Rock. His hand sneaked off sometime in between, taking hold of Rhaenyra’s, gently stroking hers. By the end of his stories, their fingers were intertwined.

“What happened while you were away? Did you see Essos?” Helaena asked, looking at Daemon curiously. She had heard tales of him, aye, none of them good. None of mother’s tales were ever especially good. The man did not seem too horrible to her. After all, he had helped with the dead.

Rhaenyra listened with half an ear to Daemon’s tales of flying around Essos together, likely before Laena had been pregnant with the girls, how they had soared above Dothraki hordes, the forests of Qohor, and visited the Free Cities. Frowning, she watched Daenerys drink glass after glass of wine.

“None of them get close to what Valyria once was, in my opinion.”

“Did you… did you get close?” Helaena whispered, eyes huge. “To the ruins.”

 “No. When we flew high enough, you could see smoke rise. Laena claimed she saw shadows move once or twice,” he shook his head as if to say he did not believe her. “Whatever hurt Balerion… There are horrors still, Helaena, and I would not want to wake them.”

“Enough of that,” Rhaenyra cut in. “Does anyone want cake?”

“Ooh, yes, please!” “Yes, yes, yes!” “Can I have tarts?” The children, including Helaena, babbled nearly simultaneously. Some things never changed.

“Did the Dothraki have sweets?” Daemon asked while he ate some pancakes. 

Daenerys snorted. “Sweetgrass stew would be the closest.”

“How does it taste?”

“After weeks of horseflesh surprisingly good.”

“You lived with the Dothraki?” Jace asked.

“Yes, for a time.”

“Did you learn to ride and fight with their… their… sword thing as well?”

“Mm… I did not learn to fight with the arakh, but I can certainly hold myself on a horse.”

“Ha! I’d love to see that,” Daemon said.

“We give her a tourney lance and she will unmount you in no time!” Laenor laughed at his suggestion. Rhaenyra snickered. Even Daemon joined in.

“Did you see her fly? She might!”

They talked and talked. The children fell asleep first. Rhaenyra dozed off soon after, leaning against Laenor. Daenerys left the table, wishing them a pleasant night.

The men looked at each other, Laenor with one arm wrapped around Rhaenyra to keep her from sliding off her seat.

“What happened between you?” Daemon asked. He just had to know. “I thought you were… otherwise inclined.”

Laenor smiled somewhat. “Well… A man has his secrets.”

Daemon chuckled. “Really? You will not tell?”

“Not tonight, no.” Maybe never. Probably never. “I will get her to bed.” And get the children after.

---

Rhaenyra dozed off again while Laenor carried her through the long corridors. Making her walk would be easier, asking one of the guards would be as well, but for now, he did not wish to let go of her. After she was snuggled into bed, he returned for the children. Daemon watched him curiously. His gaze was nearly unnerving. While waking up a very sleepy Jace and Luke, he glanced at him. A shiver ran down his spine. Daemon was stone-cold sober. Trying to remember, he realized he had seen him take drinks, yes, but… had he ever refilled his wine? He had held the flagon, but he could not remember, no matter how hard he tried.

Picking up Helaena, he pushed the thought away. Whatever Daemon was up to, it was his business. Still, the unease did not go away. He was up to something bad, he knew it “Why is she getting carried, father?” Luke asked sleepily.

“Cause she’s a guest in our house.” The boy whined still. He threw another gaze at Daemon. “Do you need anything?”

Daemon dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “I am good.” He grinned. “I know my way around.”

He brought the little ones to bed, Helaena to hers first, then kissing Jace and Luke on the head once they were snuggled in their beds. He glanced in on Joffery and only then returned to Rhaenyra. She woke up again when he slipped into bed. Snuggling closer, she mumbled something. The only problem was, it ended with his name. As a question.

“Pardon?”

She stared at him with sleepy, drunken eyes. Perfect combination for conversations.

“Do we have to…,” she took a breath. “… change our agreement?”

“What? No.” Why would they? He still liked men as well. Although he hadn’t even seen Qarl since coming back. One thing at a time.

“Well. Do you want me now?”

Laenor stared at her. Oh, the Gods. Did they have to talk about this now?

“I…” It was rather simple, really. Yes or no. Did he want her? Or just… he had kissed her and he had liked it. Why was there a pit in his stomach, then? “I…,” he hesitated again. Seven hells. Maybe he should have been more drunk for this. Or less, depending. Would make thinking easier. Yet, thinking would mean no, did it not? Thinking meant he had to wage his words and pick them and…

Screw this.

Laenor leaned closer and kissed her. Rhaenyra hesitated, moments passing by, and kissed him back. It felt all sorts of wrong. Why? Because he was here. On her island, in their bed. This was reality, not a crazy fever dream on a beach. They did not kiss here, they never...

Pulling her closer, he made his thoughts shut up.

---

Her head was pounding. She did not even fully remember how she got here. She had stumbled through the corridors, the ground strangely moving, a guard had helped her for a bit and then…

… then…

… she remembered leaving the castle, yes, and…

The beach had been horrible to walk on. Now that she thought of it, she remembered. Daenerys groaned weakly, all snuggled against Drogon’s warm scales. The wine had been a mistake. Most of all, because it made her emotional, now that she was alone, no longer forced to act all happy.

They were all dead.

Jon and Missandei and Grey Worm. All her Unsullied, all her Dothraki. Just gone. Everyone who had ever believed in her, gone. Even the damn Tyrion, the snippy Sansa. The kingslayer. She hated Jamie, but she had to honor his actions. He had promised to come and he came. Just without an army.

As if the Lannisters would have made any difference. Maybe, together with the Tyrell forces and the Ironborn and… but no. Not really, she knew deep down. Just more people dead earlier. Just more corpses for the enemy.

She started to cry, well aware her thoughts started to circle. She could not stop. While she saw the hordes move over the North like a wave in her mind, a moving blanket of death, she realized another thing.

She had to move on. She could not sit here and cry every night. She could not. Time moved on and she had to move with it. She did not have to forget, never forget, but she had to let go. The dead were dead. She was still alive. She had to fight for them now.

Steps came closer, flickering light. She did not look up. Drogon’s eyes opened, glowing orange in the dark.

“Daenerys?” Daemon’s voice. He sneaked around Drogon, her dragon raised his head and grumbled lowly. Daemon straight out ignored him and reached for her. A warm hand on her shoulder.

“What is it?” He asked.

Maybe it was the alcohol dimming down her sense of keeping secrets or maybe it was the entire moment, remembering how things would end. Why did they even bother? “They are all dead!” She blurted out.

She could not see his face, but she felt how something changed. Daemon’s body dropped beside hers in the sand.

“They are all dead,” she said again, sobbing too now. Arms warped around her and she got pulled against him. Somehow, now that she had started, she could not stop. “Some were torn to shreds, Daemon. I promised to protect them and I…”

“Shh.”

“I was responsible for them and they… they…”

Her crying got worse. She had never told anyone. How she had failed all of them. Drogon had just flown her away. All things considered, she did not deserve to be alive. So many men and women gone, and she was the only one here, still breathing, without blue eyes.

The hug got tighter. His hand was in her hair, stroking gently.

“We can hunt them down, Daenerys,” he said softly. Even in her falling apart state, she realized they were talking about wholly different things. Shock made her stop crying. Horror settled in. How badly she had slipped. “Burn whoever killed your khalasar.”

He had to take her lack of tears as encouragement, surely. He cupped her cheek, his thumb gently stroking along her jaw.

“No one hurts a dragon.”

Chapter Text

Daemon felt the spark. The pull. He stroked along her jaw again. Shadows danced on her face, tears still glimmering on her cheeks. He wanted to kiss her, he really, really wanted to. Kiss those tears away and make her smile again. And then go murder murderers. They didn’t deserve much better than a shadow falling on them and fire. Most of them would not even know what happened. Not that they deserved any better. Finding them would be a trouble, but they would get it done. People were strangely helpful if you landed with a dragon in their backyard.

Leaning closer, her hand moved, reaching for his. Warm fingers brushed against his. She was even warmer than he. Oh, he wanted her. He had to have her, no questions asked. He had come looking for her…

But his head did not shut up. He was about 80 percent certain she was his bastard. He could not kiss his own daughter. Damn it, whispered the other part. He was not certain. As long as he was not certain, he could certainly entertain his own desires, all things be damned. Laena would be hurt, but it was the way of the world. Lords fucked around all the time always.

She had just lost his child. He could not do this to her!

Daenerys pulled his hand away, all slow and gentle. She must have felt it too, he was sure of it.

“I should go to bed.” And up she went, horribly staggering along the beach.

Getting up, he followed. “Let me help you.”

“No,” she said and tripped over her own feet. Drogon grumbled and moved for his rider.

Daemon caught her by the waist. “I insist.”

He ended up carrying her, after a little strangely cute scuffle, the urge to kiss her only kept in check by a growling Drogon, fangs itching closer to his face. Rhaegal stared as well, glowing green eyes fixed on him. One word by her, maybe even a thought, and he’d be dead. The imminent threat of death was strangely enticing.

Throwing the blankets over her, he watched her drift off, gone to her own worlds and dreams. Nightmares. Memories of her horse people. Taking responsibility for their death, as if she could have stopped it. Just like with the dead things and the common folk. Taking the weight of the world on all alone. Daemon reached for her and stroked along her cheek. Daenerys did not move. His little one. Whatever he decided to do, she was his. Either as bastard or as mistress. She had too much power to let her get away.

Walking back to his chamber, his thoughts circled around her. How certain was he? How certain was he really? She was either Viserys’ or his. Or may one of the Dragonseeds…

No. She had said she was born here. As if one of the known bastards would father a girl like her, looking all Valyrian. She would look more like a commoner, more like the bastard she was.

25 years… He had slept with a great many women 25 years ago, some really cute. Certainly, one had gotten pregnant. Certainly, one had had enough mind to realize what power her baby girl had. Just with her looks people flocked to her over there. Their own little Targaryen. Oh, how much he wanted to kill whoever had given her the dragon eggs, whoever had dared oppose them. No one challenged House Targaryen.

Passing by the guest chambers, he slowed to a stop. Opening the doors one by one, he finally found their high-ranking guest. The Hightower girl. Helaena slept all calm, snuggled into her blankets, her room filled with torches and oil lamps. The guard in the corner looked at him tired. He could kill her. Daemon tilted his head. Kill her and the guard and be done with it. Let one of the dead loose, blame it. Who would prove him wrong? One less dragon for the Greens. She had helped Rhaenyra, though. The way she had smiled when the Hightower girl finally landed… There was something between them. Maybe, just maybe, they could use it. Pull her onto their side, away from fucking Otto and Alicent.

Nodding at the guard, he closed the door again and shook his head. Only here for a few hours, and he started to think in sides again. Playing the game, plotting murders. Everything to protect his family. Everything he had wanted his girls to never know.

Still, if it was Aegon, he would do it. One only got so many chances.

---

Blue eyes. Blue eyes everywhere. No matter where she turned, there were… Alicent ran. Down the corridors of the Red Keep, expecting to stumble into guards any second now, to find Ser Criston, maybe Aegon on Sunfyre falling from the sky to save her, maybe…

Corpses wearing red and black were everywhere. A dead guard leaning against the wall, his throat ripped out, one of her handmaids in the corner, her face all bloody, one of their servants’ children, limbs torn off, more and more and ever more. No one was there, no one who lived, no one who could help her, no one –

Something grabbed her ankle. Tripping, she screamed. One of her handmaids stared at her, blue eyes shimmering in the dark, and reached for her face.

Someone screaming jerked her awake. Sitting upright in bed, she realized she was screaming. One of her handmaids bolted for the bed.

“My Queen?!”

Somehow, she managed to stop, just panting now. Panting and panting… she stared at the woman in front of her. No blue eyes. Just brown, flickering in the light of a candle. Ser Erryk burst into the room, looking around alarmed.

“My Queen, are you good?”

She nodded slowly. She was not, but she would not ever tell. As if her servant would care.

“A bad dream, nothing more,” she whispered. Just a bad dream. The dead things were gone. They had seen none for miles and miles, and none ever since getting in sight of Driftmark. Lord Corlys had ordered his men to patrol the perimeters, never alone, always with torches. They had a dragon here. Meleys lay curled up on the beach, all grumbling at the water. She was as safe as she could be. Only way she would be safer was with...

Tears ran down her cheeks again. Ser Criston. He was… he… she could not have saved him. She could not have saved anyone. Not her daughter, not her husband, not even herself. Without Rhaenyra…

“You can go, Ser Erryk.”

He nodded, bowed somewhat and left, back to stand guard before the door.

“You as well,” she said to her servant, who bowed deeply and hurried outside.

Without Rhaenyra they would all be dead, as much as she hated to admit it. Rhaenys had told them of Kings Landing once she arrived. How Rhaenyra and Helaena had defended the city on dragonback. How everyone had seen them. How Aegon had never even left his chamber, or so the rumors claimed. There were already rumors! He should have been seen defending his city and not… not… whatever he had done.

Wiping away her tears, Alicent sighed. His actions set them back by… she did not even know how bad. It depended on who knew and on how fast the word spread. By any chance, the realm would know within a month at the latest. Prince Aegon had not defended his city. The talk in every last backwater castle in the Seven Kingdoms. Her father would lose his mind.

If the Gods were good, they had not seen the dead things. Rhaenys had not known. As if the Targaryen’s themselves would not do enough word spreading, though. They had protected the people. Part of her wanted to be happy, proud even. Relieved. Rhaenyra acted like the heir for once, defending her city, saving lives, with Helaena right by her side. Her baby girl was so much stronger than she had ever thought. Lots of her uncle, maybe, much to her dismay. The fire in fire and blood. Maybe, if she had been born in Aegon’s stead…

But she was no Aegon, lest of all Rhaenyra. Her son would sit the throne. A woman could not ascend the Iron Throne, even if she was Jaehaerys born again.

With sleep not even a possibility she dared think about, the thought of the blue eyes coming for her again sent shivers through her, Alicent brooded. Brooded and brooded, waiting for the sun to come up again. How long the hours of the night could be.

Rhaenyra bothered her most of all. Suddenly, she acted like a future Queen. Suddenly, she had her daughter under her wing. She would not allow Rhaenyra to have her baby girl. Not ever, not…

For the longest part of the next day, Alicent thought she had things under control.

She would tell Helaena to come with back home. Once her baby girl was in Kings Landing, things would be good. Rhaenyra could not reach her there. As if her daughter would refuse. So silly to even worry about it.

Aegon would get a good yelling, she decided early in the night. How could he not have defended the city was beyond comprehension. It would have been his moment to shine, to endear himself to the people! But he had not. She had to get him under control. Salvage the situation. Maybe be out and about every day from now on, be seen with and helping people, maybe give out little gifts and tokens. Be a king of the people and the people would want him as king. May not be easy but was simple.

And Rhaenyra… Rhaenyra would be out of sight not entirely out of mind soon enough. May she dwell on Dragonstone, forgotten by all. Things would resolve themselves if she did not push too much. Soon enough, things would return to normal. She would be able to loathe her from afar like she always did. Remember her lies, all the endless lies, not the way she had saved her. Saved her daughter, her two boys, the entire city... No! She could not think those thoughts. Alicent always forced them down, forced them away. They did not help their cause!

Things were going good, plans in place ready to be executed upon her return. Until the bastard. Another one, that was. Maybe the Gods were testing her. Alicent stared at Daenerys in utter disbelief. Viserys had said a Dragonseed had turned up… this was not the woman she had thought of. May dirty blonde hair, a sliver of violet in the eyes, not… not this. So obviously Valyrian, she may as well be a member of the royal family. Lacking in manners, as often as she forgot their titles.

Helaena stood with the bastards to make matters worse. As if she was one of them. Her baby girl should not even spend time with those! Leading Viserys along the beach, she had Helaena walk with them, away from the other children. The situation was so much worse than she had thought!

And then there were the dragons. Not one, which would have been bad enough, a huge black monstrosity of only seven years – even she knew that could not be true! – but two. Two winged fire-breathing monsters. And both followed her. Alicent stared in shocked horror, while the woman took flight on the black one, and the green one followed. The damn Targaryens around her looked on in awe. Surprise, yes, but awe.

---

Gathered in the main hall, questions rained down on Daenerys.

“Who is your father? And mother.” and “How did you get the eggs? How did you hatch them?” and “Who did you marry?” and “What happened to your husband?”

“How did you learn to control them?”

“How did you keep them fed?”

Questions, questions, questions.

“Could someone else claim the green one?” Alicent asked.

“No.”

“How would you know?”

“Udrirzi Valyrio ȳdrā?” Daemon threw at her, interrupting the Queen who stared at him annoyed.

Daenerys frowned. “Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa.”

Daemon hummed lowly.

“What did he ask?” Alicent demanded. “What did she say?”

“If she speaks Valyrian,” Rhaenyra answered. They had to work on her accent. It sounded unlike anything she had ever heard. “I assume the answer speaks for itself.”

“Who taught you?”

For the first time, she hesitated. “Servants and… someone like maesters. Of those who hosted me.” One of her pauses. “Your Grace.”

“Why would they host you in the first place?” Alicent demanded on.

“Oh, don’t act a fool,” Daemon snapped. “Look how she looks. They’d have their own little dragon rider.”

The Queen stared daggers at him. And on with the questions. How she had survived after her husband’s death, why she would run from the Dothraki, how she had kept her dragons hidden, how she had kept herself hidden, staying secret for so long, all the way back to why she would come to Dragonstone. Now, of all times. After 20 long years. Why she hadn’t come for Kings Landing first. Alicent stared at her, waiting for an answer.

“I…”

“Enough of this. Clear the room. I wish to speak with her alone,” Viserys decided before she could reply. He would not have her tell them of the dream.

All of them left. Alicent threw him a gaze, Daemon looked strangely amused, Rhaenyra looked worried.

The doors closed.

“I assume you returned because of your dream?”

“Yes, your Grace. I had to… I had to warn people. At least try.”

“Tell me. Everything.”

She hesitated again. She knew it would come, Rhaenyra had told her he would want to hear the dream, hear it in any detail she could recall.

“I… I saw a storm coming, bigger than anything I have ever seen. Rumbling in from north of the Wall, cracking it, taking it down. Huge chunks of ice burying the Night's Watch. It rolled over the land and…” she hesitated for good measure. “… all the voices died in screams. I heard them, your Grace. Heard them fall silent. It got to Winterfell, the storm. There were armies there, trying to stand against it, flying all sorts of banners. A woman wearing a crown, riding her dragon.”

“How did it go?”

She shook her head. “They stepped out of the storm, those blue eyed things. I believe they are the storm. And a man of ice. Many men of ice. And…” This time, she hesitated for real. All the things she had seen… “They had men in black, men of the North, Wildlings and… and giants. All sorts of animals. Mauled bears, wolves as big as horses and dogs, huge spiders and… and a dragon.”

Viserys stared at her in disbelief. “A dragon?”

“Yes. Blue eyes and ripped wings and…” She shook her head. Her poor Viserion. She would do anything to keep him safe if she could ever try again.

“The Queen and her men put up a fight but… what could they do against them? They were wiped away. Just overrun.” She started to cry unbeknownst to herself. Silent tears fell down her cheeks. “I saw the blue eyed things pour over the land. Killing everything in its way.”

Viserys stayed quiet, just looking at her. Daenerys got aware of her tears and wiped them away stubbornly, not that it helped much. She had to stop crying. Soon, maybe. One of those days.

“You only saw one dragon fighting for the Queen?” He asked at last.

“I… I might have seen two. One of the Queen and the other… it was only shapes. Shapes and fire, swallowed by the storm.”

Viserys looked ever more concerned.

“Did you see how to kill them?”

“Fire for the dead,” Daenerys said. “Some form of black stone and Valyrian steel for the men of ice.” She fell quiet for a moment. “I took Drogon and Rhaegal and flew for Westeros the very next day. I… I had to…”

He nodded. “Thank you, Daenerys.”

Silence followed again, hanging between them and growing. Viserys was utterly lost in thoughts.

“What will you do to me?”

Again, he stared at her. “I have not yet decided.”

---

Rhaenyra wanted to walk to Daenerys right when she left the main hall, ask how it had gone, ask what her father had said, but did not. Not with Alicent watching her every move. She knew what she was doing, or trying to do. Having told Helaena to step away from them the very moment she set foot on land... Part of her wanted to loathe her for it. Not even saving her life seemed to be enough. The other… the other reluctantly understood. Alicent tried to hold onto her normal with every fibre of her being, everything else around her falling apart. Watching the dead walk did those things. She would bet that Alicent had woken up screaming tonight, bet her life indeed. She had done the same. Laenor had calmed her down, held her until the panic faded; the sure worry they had broken out of their cells already, running around her castle and murdering everyone dancing through her mind. She had checked on them right then and there. All of them were still in their crates. They seemed to calm down if left alone. Rhaenyra did not know whether to worry more or less.

Daemon, of course, had no such worries nor restraints. “How did things go?”

Daenerys stopped and looked at him. “Well, I suppose.”

“Bethrothed to anyone yet?”

She smiled weakly. “No.”

“What did you talk about?” Alicent asked. Daenerys simply shook her head and walked on. “Answer your Queen.”

Daenerys slowed for a moment but continued walking. Daemon burst into laughter, fully ignoring the death glare Alicent threw at him.

---

Helaena had snuck out of her room while the grown-ups were in the main hall. Just like her big sister, she checked on the things in the cells. Or had a guard check on it, because she could not reach the tiny hole in the door to see through. Afterwards, she snuck out of the castle. Slowly walked along the beaches of the island, worried every second one of the dead things would emerge from the waves. The fear crept up on her, making her hear things that were never there. Or maybe it was just the wind. She should have brought a torch. Or brought a guard holding a torch. One of Father’s Kingsguard, yes! Wings beat through the air. Looking up, she saw Dreamfyre coming for her. Simply seeing her dragon made her smile. She was safe now. She was always safe with her.

Leaning against her dragon, she stared out at the sea. All calm, no dead. “I hope they do not fight too much,” she whispered. Grown-ups always fought when they talked behind locked doors. She knew what would come when they got sent away. All to their respective chambers.

While alone, she realized she did not want to go back to Kings Landing, which her mother would surely demand she do. She wanted to stay here. Away from all the yelling and fighting, away from the long, dim corridors of the Red Keep. Stay with her big sister. The first and only one who finally listened to her. No, that was not fair. Daenerys listened to her too! May she could get to know her nephews better. Jace seemed to be funny. Maybe teach them how to fly, yes, once their dragons were big enough. She had to teach more to Rhaenyra too! If she could not see her again… she would just climb on Dreamfyre and fly here. As if her mother could stop her once she was on her dragon. As if anyone could stop her. Well, maybe Aegon could, but why would he? She wanted this. A sister. A sister who truly cared for her. Even Helaena realized, that she had not before the dead, but… Rhaenyra was old. One of the grown-ups. She had her own worries. If Helaena had come to her earlier, she fully believed she would have listened and helped, in any way she could. Only it had never crossed her mind, because why should it? Mother hated Rhaenyra and no one listened to her anyway.

Yes, Kings Landing be damned. But how to go about asking? Maybe just ask Rhaenyra. She would know what to do, but something within her didn’t like the idea. She should do the asking! She was grown-up too now. If fighting dead didn’t make her grow up, what else would?

Sighing weakly, she brooded about her problem for a while. Until steps came closer. The soft thud of weight on sand. Her heart nearly stopped. One of the dead at last, one of – but Dreamfyre barely reacted.

It was not a dead. It was Jace, looking all grim. Helaena found herself staring at his eyes, just to make sure they were not blue. Silly, really. They would glow if they were blue.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked a little timid.

“Watching the waves,” she said truthfully. Watching the waves and brood.

“Can I… can I join you?”

She nodded and he sat down with a good distance to Dreamfyre.

“You fought them, didn’t you? The things with blue eyes.”

“Yes.”

“How… how was it?”

Helaena hesitated. What to tell? What to… “Scary. There were so many…” and before she knew it, she started babbling. Tell him everything, because he had asked. Jace listened with big eyes, asking questions when needed, being upset when necessary.

“How dare they?!” He shouted when she told of one of them climbing along Dreamfyres back towards her. He cheered when she told him Syrax had gotten the damn thing in her claws.

In the end, Jace sighed. “I wish I could have helped. But Vermax…” He shook his head. “He is too small.”

“He will grow big in time.” Helaena snickered, unable to stop, getting a hurt look from Jace. “You could ask Daenerys what she did to her dragons!”

“That is… brilliant.” A strange warmth rushed through her. No one called her brilliant.

“Let us go and ask!”

Daenerys looked startled when they burst into her room, both of them panting. Helaena had started to lag behind Jace within only so little, and he had gotten slower to run with her.

“What did you... what did you do… to your dragons?” Jace asked, snapping for air.

“What?”

“To make them grow so big,” Helaena added. Could she make Dreamfyre grow even bigger? They had to be bigger for the next wave of dead! Like… like Vermithor!

“I… I never locked them up.”

The two stared at her. That was all? Impossible!

---

Viserys sat on the stone chair and stared into the room, his eyes wandering from the painted table to the dragon carvings on the walls to the tapestries here and there… and always returned to the table. Everything Aegon had built, had planned, uniting the Kingdoms against the common enemy… all in vain. The dream… and the horror of it. Now he knew how Aenar must have felt when his daughter came for him telling of the Doom. The end of the world of men. They would roll over the North, make it… make it not gone, which was worse of all. Everyone, everything who died to them would walk with them. Men of black, men of the North… As if they were uniting their own Kingdoms. The princess could not stand against it. Especially if she had only two dragons. What had happened to the others? Where were all their dragons? He had wanted to ask, he wanted to ask more than anything, but he knew she would not know. She could not know. Dreams never answered the why.

The dead dragon made things worse, so, so much worse. Their strength turned against them. Somehow, somewhere, they must have killed it. Maybe shot it from the sky, maybe ambushed it after it landed. Maybe they had more dragons among the dead. A shiver ran down his spine. Maybe the two were all that was left. Maybe the men of ice, how she called them, had taken all the…

No. No, that could not be. One kill, maybe, yes. Anyone got lucky from time to time, as the Dornish could attest. But more? No. Unlikely. But where were their dragons, then? Had they died to some illness between now and then?

Unlikely too. Dragons never got ill. They got slower with age, but not ill. Memories of Balerion bubbled up again. The warmth of his scales under his fingers, his slow, tired movements, the way his wings had beat during their one flight… The way he rumbled at him, all soft. How the biggest dragon in the world could be gentle. Viserys had seen him in Drogon. The cold defiance towards anyone but his rider, the shimmer of his scales in the sun. Like a tiny, tiny Balerion. To see him again, just for a moment…

… he had to be one of his hatchlings…

None of it mattered. None of it would matter, because they would change things. House Targaryen was the very best at changing things. The last dragonlords left, all because they had fled Valyria. Heeding the warnings of dreams was all they ever did. Daenys, Aegon, now this Daenerys.

Was his dream, maybe…

He pushed the thought away and focused on the important things. The North. They had to strengthen the North. Strengthen the Wall, yes, albeit it may be futile. If the Wall fell the Wall fell. Maybe they ought to focus on the castles. Winterfell was the logical answer, build up its defences... but no. Daenerys said it would disappear. The castle had no advantages, not against an endless force of dead attacking it from all sides. If they wanted to stand against an endless army, they had to funnel them to smaller numbers. Make them manageable.

Further south, then, but between Winterfell and the Riverlands… Moat Cailin. There was nothing except Moat Cailin. Well, and White Harbor, but it too lacked good defences. The more he thought of it, the more convinced he got things would hinge on it. The castle had stood against Aegon and now it would stand for Aegon. When the time came, they had to empty the North. Move the battle south, move the people south, move all the houses south. The lords would complain but the lords be damned. Have more dragons, most of all. Whatever happened between now and then, it could not come to pass.

Chapter Text

With Alicent gone to who knew where, right now was the perfect moment. Rhaenyra hurried through the corridors, just barely not running. Hopefully, the Queen did not inspect their cells. Rhaenyra burst into a mad giggle, which died nearly instantly. The thought of Alicent opening the cells and dying to one of them! Oldtown would forever come after them. Her old friend would forever be gone. She may be a pain right now, but… well. She would try, would have to, for the good of the realm, for the good of peace. Make peace with her. Alicent was easier to talk to than Otto, surely. With her, she maybe had a chance. The latter was a lost cause.

Less fighting, more words. She would have to think this through. Make plans, which was so unlike her. Gods. Talk with Rhaenys, yes. Get her view on things.

Slipping through the door, she stopped in her tracks.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, eyeing Jace and Helaena.

“We just wanted to know how her dragons got so big!”

She looked at Daenerys, who looked wildly uncomfortable. “Well?”

“I never locked them up.”

What? That was nonsense.

“That cannot be!” Jace said. “Sheepstealer was never locked up and he is small.”

“The Cannibal is rather big, though,” Helaena said thoughtfully.

“Vermithor is bigger, and he grew up in the pit.”

Rhaenyra stared. Was she really listening to dragon size comparisons?

“Vhagar is even bigger and she grew up free!”

“Yeah, well, she is old! Vermithor may catch her.”

The hells…

“I need to talk with Daenerys,” Rhaenyra interrupted.

Jace looked at her, his lips forming an ‘oh’. “I will… look after Joff! Do you want to come with?” He asked, looking at Helaena.

She smiled. “Later, maybe?”

Jace nodded and darted out of the room. Looking from the empty doorway to her sister, Rhaenyra smiled. They were bonding. They were… a warmth pooled in her belly. They were already starting to act like family. Maybe this was the way out. Them all being family, not only in name.

“Ehm, Helaena…” How to say this?

“She knows,” Daenerys said softly, got up, and closed the door.

“She knows?” She stared at Daenerys. “How? When?” Her gaze darted to her sister again.

“She saw me in a dream.”

“You did…” Her sister blushed a little under her stare.

“That is not true. I recognized her dragon.”

“You…” for a moment, she was all but speechless. Her sister had… she… how much more did she know? How much had she not yet told?

A few moments passed by until Rhaenyra caught herself. She shook her head ever so little and looked at Daenerys. “How did it go?”

“Well, I think. He seemed to believe it. Asked a few questions, but nothing to worry.”

“Believe what?” Helaena asked.

Daenerys looked at her, hesitating. Rhaenyra sighed. May as well include her. Tell her everything. Before long, maybe she would even show her the parchment. Not now, of course. She was too young for all the bloody details.

“Tell her.” In child-appropriate terms, she hoped she did not have to add.

While Daenerys told her of the dead coming, the battle they would fight and lose, skipping over some of the more grizzly details, Rhaenyra watched her little sister. She looked way less surprised than she had expected. Worried, scared, but not surprised.

“They just… they overrun you?”

Daenerys nodded grimly. “I watched Winterfell disappear beneath me. They took my Dothraki, my Unsullied, all the Northerners.”

“Do you think… that… that they… all of Westeros…”

“Yes. If we could not win against them with my dragons, what could armies do against them?”

Helaena opened her mouth and closed it again, several times. In the end, she did not speak. Just stayed quiet and stared at Daenerys.

Rhaenyra squeezed her shoulder, trying to smile some, and turned to Daenerys. “What should we do next?”

Her answer was immediate.

“Mine dragon glass. Every moment saved we can use on other things.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “To kill the white walkers?”

Helaena still stared at Daenerys.

“Yes, but… I thought…,” Daenerys hesitated. “If it works against them, may it works against wights as well?”

“Did you not try?” Rhaenyra frowned. Why would they not try? Will they not try? How to talk about the future past?

“No. We focused on weapons to be lit on fire. Our infantry had daggers, but they were meant to use them on white walkers only. Our archers had most of the dragon glass. Trying to hit them from afar seemed the safest way.”

Rhaenyra nodded. The mere idea of standing against an army of wights with nothing but a glorified torch and a stone dagger... That their men had not deserted in droves was a sheer miracle. Yet, what would running away achieve? Just a later death and all alone. Still, a shiver ran down her spine. To be there without Syrax…

“We can try. We have enough of them now.” Experiment on them… oh, they’d be upset for sure. Maybe break out of their crates after all. Another shiver got her. More guards, yes. And more torches.

“It breaks with only so many tries,” Daenerys muttered, looking unhappy either way.

“What if…” Helaena’s voice was tiny, utterly unlike herself. “What if we forge it into swords?”

“If we hammer it into sword-form they will –”

“No, no. Not… not stone swords. Real swords.”

Again, Rhaenyra stared. Her sister was brilliant.

Helaena followed her on the way through the corridors. She would tell ask order her guards to get some dragon glass. Surely not their area of expertise, hacking on stone, but she had to make do. Try talk with her blacksmith. Just the idea to mix stone into iron would upset him, but they had to try. If the damn dragon glass got solid enough… Maybe, if they forged the dragon-glass-steel with dragon fire it would work either way. It was the dragon fire which killed, she was sure of it. In steel, at least. Then again, if she suggested working with dragons, her blacksmith may flee the island right the next day. Maybe… could Daemon forge weapons?

“Rhaenyra?”

She stopped. Helaena in her strangely tiny voice again. Turning, she saw her sister had lagged behind, standing away from her now. She looked as if she had seen more dead. Close to crying. Or vomiting. Or fainting. Gods, Daenerys should never have told her.

How could she just… lost in thoughts, yes. Lost in trying to kill wights.

“Yes?” She walked back to her again when Helaena stayed quiet, her entire body trembling now. “Helaena? What is it?” She reached out, meaning to hug her.

Helaena stared at her, her gaze all far away again, and shook her head, moving on.

---

They failed, she had said. Winterfell gone, Westeros gone. Helaena paced endlessly in her room, circling and circling, close to crying. Gone, gone, gone. Everyone dead. Fighting for them now, fighting…

The dead would win. Just like that, they would win. What should two dragons do against them all? Daenerys had said the truth of it. If the dragons failed, armies were useless.

They would all die.

Daenerys would fail. Lose the one battle she could not lose, lose all the battles, lose…

Helaena whimpered again and went for hiding in the corner as if it could protect her. She had seen her in that dream. The last dragon and the last Queen. The last of their house. All the dead following after her…

She started crying.

What they had fought here, what they had fought in Kings Landing… it had been nothing. Nothing. All the dead. From horizon to horizon. As far as the eye could see.

Obviously, Daenerys would fail. Of course, they would all die. No one could win against the dead.

Time slipped away.

For a while, Helaena was lost in her panicking thoughts, going in circles. The dead would win. The battle at Winterfell. Only two dragons. The dead would win. No matter what they did, the dead would win. Daenerys could never stop them. Why even try, why… A roar from right outside her window cut through the madness. Twitching, she looked up, and saw Dreamfyre peer into her room, her wings beating right outside the window by the sounds of it.

The dead would win. Staring at her dragon, her stomach fell into a bottomless pit. Everything fell into place, and everything got worse. Dreamfyre roared again and for a moment Helaena was worried she’d try to ram straight through the wall to get to her. Curl around her in the rubble, comfort her no matter what.

The worry calmed her down the tiniest, tiniest bit. Well. Mostly the image of Dreamfyre crashing through the stone, and her having to awkwardly explain what had happened.

“I… wait for me by the stairs.”

Darting out her chambers again, she hoped Dreamfyre listened.

The dead would win.

Worse… worse of all the worst… there was a way out.

---

Watching the Hightower girl run out of the castle a second time, Daemon frowned ever so slightly. She sure wanted to spend time with her dragon a lot today. Was she scared of the dead? Or had she seen him stare at her? She would have had enough light to see him. If she had seen him… she would have told someone. If Viserys knew, mayhaps he would have sent his damn Kingsguard after him. All he could ever do. Daemon smirked. Wouldn’t even be the fastest he had a falling out with his brother.

Staring at nothing, his thoughts drifted to Laena, wondering if she was well. She had to be. She just had to be. How his girls were… He had to return soon. Return and… part of him wanted to stay over there, just be away from it all. Essos was more home than Westeros ever was. Viserys only ever send him away. Over there, he had made a home, for his family and himself. Yet, Laena wanted to come back here. To all the backstabbing and lies and… Why couldn’t she see what he was doing for them? What he was keeping them away from! Pentos was not perfect, certainly, it was not, but…

Rhaenyra left the castle, walking for the Dragonmount, followed by Daenerys. All the girls out. The frown returned to his face. What were they up to? He had seen how Rhaenyra had looked at Daenerys earlier. She had wanted to ask but had not dared, thus he had done the asking. Least he could do. Watching them all walk away now… What were they up to? What were they hiding? Or had they just bonded over killing the dead things? Were they forming a dragon circle and rambling about their nightmares? Someone sure had screamed tonight. The corridors carried sound strangely well.

Snorting, he got up from his chair by the window. Dragon circles. He would figure it out himself.

The girls were not together. Helaena leaned against her dragon, staring out at the sea. Daemon did not even go close. He just passed by in the distance, thankfully getting ignored by Dreamfyre. Rhaenyra and Daenerys, though… Sneaking through the dim hallways and tunnels of the mountain, he hoped to hear their voices, but nothing, until steps drew closer. Daemon backtracked hurriedly and turned at the next tunnel, going for Caraxes, who rumbled all happy, brushing his head against him, curious eyes staring. Gods. Even his dragon knew he was up to something.

“Daemon?” Rhaenyra asked, the flickering light of another torch dancing across the rugged cave walls.

He turned and smiled. They were both gorgeous. To see them stand side by side… Caraxes nudged him forward to make matters worse. His dragon knew too much.

“Rhaenyra, Daenerys. What are you doing here?” he asked. He had an explanation, shoving him around this very moment. The girls did not even look at each other, which he had expected. A guilty glance, maybe. Nothing of it.

“We looked at dragon glass,” Daenerys said softly.

“Dragon…” his gaze roamed along the walls. It was everywhere here. “Why?”

“May it can kill the wights. It has to have the name for a reason.”

Daemon snorted, once again unable to stop himself. “It has its name for superstition.” The smallfolk believed it was created by dragon fire, nothing more, nothing less. The oh so wise maesters would have other answers. “There is no deeper meaning behind it.”

Rhaenyra shrugged. “We may as well try. Nothing lost if it does not work.”

He smiled. Why were they so insistent to try? There definitely had been some talking going on he had missed.

“How do you want to go about it? You can’t stab anything with those rocks.” They about disintegrated while looked upon.

Now, the girls exchanged a gaze, and Rhaenyra smiled all cute.

“Later. Daenerys?” And the two walked away. Daemon stared after them, just as Caraxes. Daenerys…

… not yet betrothed. But she would be soon, whether she wanted to or not. Viserys would force her. He may not have real power while having all the power. He was the King. His word was truth.

He could marry her.

No, unlikely. Viserys would skin him alive - and then get eaten by Caraxes. Daemon snickered. Fair deal, in his opinion. He had called him a plague when he brought it up that night-day-morning all the many years ago. Gods, he had been drunk, but he remembered the kicks. Viserys only ever found his spine when it was about Rhaenyra. Or Aemma, that was. Having made jokes about her popped into his mind again. Making jokes… Caraxes grumbled at him, putting into sound what he lacked. How could he have… He had been a monster back then.

Shaking his head, he pushed the thought away. Daenerys. He wanted to think about Daenerys. The way her hair moved in the breeze, how her eyes looked. Her eyes… something was with those eyes… Daenerys and her admittedly funny predicament.

Who to marry? None of the Greens, certainly.

---

“Have you seen my daughter?” Alicent asked one of the guards. She was not in her chamber. She was not in the main hall. She was not in the dining hall. She had looked everywhere –

“I believe the princess went to see her dragon.”

Everywhere but there, yes. Dragons. She knew it was the very most Targaryen thing. She should be happy her daughter had bonded with the big blue monster well, just as she had to be happy when Aemond got his, but… well, they were monsters. Scaled, fanged, fire-breathing monsters who could kill her in a single go.

“Thank you,” she said a little scattered and headed outside. She had to make her take a bath after. Even after all those years, she did not get how Targaryens could just ignore the stench. It was the same with all of them. Even Viserys ignored it! As if their noses had died somewhere along the way. Probably had, given how often they were around the beasts. Ser Steffon followed her. He was not Ser Criston. She was not even fully sure he liked her very much.

Walking along the beach, she saw them from afar. Hard to miss, at the end of days. Helaena and Dreamfyre… and Rhaenyra and the bastard. Daenerys. The black dragon crossed above her, circling.

Alicent stared at her uneasily. Two dragons, one rider. It was insane. Impossible. No Targaryen had two dragons, not even the Conqueror. He had never flown Vhagar or Meraxes, only his, only the black dread.

What was so special about her? She was no one. If not for the dragons, that was.

The strategically sound decision was to make friends with her. Invite her to the Capital, be all nice and sweet. She could not join Rhaenyra’s side… then again, maybe… a slight smile appeared on her lips. If she could talk Viserys into marrying her to Jace… It would weaken his position among the other houses. The current future heir, married to a bastard. May as well throw half his allies away. Yet, she had two dragons. It made things messy. His marrying her could be seen as one of those Targaryen ways. Keep the bloodline pure. She may not have their name, but she very obviously had their blood. It would give them more dragons as well. Whatever her father thought up, she was always worried of the dragons.

The wind turned, blowing sand into her face.

“… do you think?” Helaena’s voice ghosted right past her ears.

“We have to try,” Rhaenyra said.

“All good, my Queen?” Ser Steffon asked.

“Yes, yes,” she muttered and moved on. She got more bits of conversation. They were talking of the dead things again. Her eye twitched. How could Rhaenyra dare?! Helaena deserved to just forget about it. Never speak of it again, let it be gone, be over.

One of the dragons moved and Helaena turned towards her. Saw her. The smile on her face died. Something broke within her. How could she stop smiling when she approached?

“Mother,” Helaena said when she finally joined them.

“My Queen,” Rhaenyra bowed a little.

The bastard said nothing. Just looked at her.

“What were you talking about?”

“Ways to kill the dead things, your Grace,” Rhaenyra said.

At least they were not lying.

“Why bother about them? They are all gone.”

“Better to be prepared if they come again,” the bastard said. Alicent stared at her annoyed. As if she knew anything.

“Either way. Helaena? Come.”

Helaena did not move. “Can I not stay outside?”

“No. Come. You have to take a bath.”

Her baby girl whined. The head of the big blue monster swayed down. Alicent froze when it was just inches away from her, one big eye staring. Helaena stroked her snout and pressed her face against the scales, muttering something. The moment grew longer… Alicent was sure she would refuse. Something was different about her now. But she did not, thank the Gods. Helaena smiled at the two women and followed her after all.

Alicent watched her during dinner. Lost in thoughts like she often was, yes, but talkative as well. Bubbly, even. Happy. She had barely ever seen her happy like this. Talking, making jokes with Jace, teasing Luke. Daemon made matters worse, egging them on. Viserys smiled all happy watching. One big happy family. How come her baby was the happiest around those horrible people? If only she could burn everyone at this table to the ground. Except Helaena, that was.

Come night, she walked up to Rhaenyra’s chamber. Only one way to end it and end it she would. Put a stop to it for good. Pushing open the doors, she ignored the guard’s feeble try to make her stop. No one would make her stop ever, not when they were stealing her baby away from her! Not when –

And then she stopped. Laenor and Rhaenyra were in bed, naked as day, kissing.

Rhaenyra yelped. Laenor froze, saw her, and moved away, which made it all the worse. He stared at her, unmoving, like a deer catching that first smell of the hunter. Rhaenyra gathered the blankets around her to hide her nudeness.

“My Queen?”

Alicent stared, needing time to get her bearings. Laenor and her and… but… she had been told he did not care for women one bit. Ser Criston had said so himself, after he had seen him and one of his knights together. On more than one occasion. If that one had been a lie… Alicent closed her eyes.

Ser Criston would never lie to her. He was loyal beyond reason.

“I… need to talk with the Princess. Alone.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Laenor wrapped one of the blankets around him and hurried out the room.

The two women stared at each other in silence. If Rhaenyra and Laenor shared the same bed… no. No. The boys did not look like him one bit. Still... No. Not one tiny bit.

“Alicent?”

She blinked. Yes. Helaena. But she did not say, not now. She rather stared at Rhaenyra. If Laenor was the father by some odd miracle… Rhaenys was half-Baratheon, was she not? May their dark hair had finally come through, maybe…

Maybe…

“I was told he prefers the company of men,” Alicent said. Her eyes were glued to her face now. She would see if she lied and if she did…

Rhaenyra stared at her, speechless. She could watch her think as it happened, likely coming up with more lies.

“He… ehm…” Rhaenyra fell quiet again. “He…,” she hesitated again. Alicent’s gaze darkened. Not yet happy with the lies? Oh, Rhaenyra. “He likes both.”

What? Had she just… Alicent stared at her stunned. Had she just… told the truth?

Chapter Text

What should she even say? Alicent stared. She had expected anything, from evasion to lies to arguing to not even answering, but not… not this. Not the truth or at least what seemed like the truth. She had seen it with her own eyes, them, kissing; them, doing more than kissing. Even now, it was hard to believe. Was it even the truth? Did they just pretend in case someone walked in on them? But how likely was that? How… ask questions, yes. If Rhaenyra could not answer, it was all lies after all!

“How long did you know? That he…” prefers both. She shook herself slightly at the thought.

“Before we got married. We talked of it.”

“You are just… good with it?”

Rhaenyra shrugged. “I had to marry him either way, did I not? The match was set. We make the best of it.”

Alicent nearly snorted. For once in her life, Rhaenyra did what was expected of her. Marry the man picked for –

The best of it. Alicent frowned. Something about her words… they bothered her, more than she could tell.

“Do you want to sit?” Rhaenyra gestured at a chair. Alicent didn’t even look at it. Her gaze was fixed on the woman in front of her, still clutching the blanket close to her chest. The best of it. It clicked. She had just told on herself, had she not? Purely by accident. The best of it. Sometimes the Gods were good! Alicent forced down a smile. She had won. She had won and Rhaenyra hadn’t even realized. Only thing left was to convince her husband, which meant she needed more details. All the details she could get – and disprove them all.

“What do you do if he entertains his desires?” As if she did not know. Sleep around.

Rhaenyra gave her a slight smile. “What any other wife does, I presume. Look after the boys or read or… whatever else. I go fly sometimes.”

Certainly, she did not.

“How often does he leave your side? Every night?” The more missteps Rhaenyra made, the better.

“Oh, no. We share the bed always. You could ask the servants.”

She would, certainly. “How often does he leave?” She asked again.

“Once a week, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Rhaenyra shrugged again. “I do not watch him every second.”

She ought to. Knowing everything was her duty as Queen, not that she ever would be Queen.

“How many more questions will you ask?”

“However many I please.” How dare she question her.

Rhaenyra sighed and got up with the blanket still wrapped around her. Grabbing a simple linen robe, she turned away from her. The blanket fell to the ground, the robe taking its place, hiding her nudeness. Alicent stared at her thighs for just a second. Bruises, lots of bruises, in all sorts of black.

“What happened to your legs?”

Rhaenyra turned to her. “The dragon riding. I am not used to sitting in the saddle for hours anymore.” The tiniest smile sneaked onto her lips. “The cake has to wait, I fear.”

Had she just made a joke? Alicent did not laugh, she stared. Taking bruises without even complaining. She had gone all day without as much as saying a word. It clashed with the lying… person… she expected her to be, always vying for attention. For the first time in a very long while, doubt filled her. The memory of the dead thing clawing its finger-bones through her leg jumped her, panic bubbling up. She had been so certain she would die… those glowing blue eyes staring at her… The flying steps were forever burned into her memory, and then Rhaenyra was there, kneeling beside her, panting, killing the thing. Saving her life. She had saved Helaena too. Jumped into the water without any hesitation at all. She had defended Kings Landing, for hours upon hours, no matter how much it hurt. Doing her duty. Just like she did her duty towards Laenor. Sleeping with him, despite her bruises, no matter how much it had to hurt. Maybe that was all she had ever meant. Doing her duty and making the best of it. Waiting for him to come back, trying to ignore his transgressions. Why would she do all this if it was only for show? Alicent’s head started to pound. Who was this woman?

“Alicent?” Rhaenyra stared at her with a frown.

Heat rose up her cheeks. Words, she needed words, she needed… “You should see your maester about it.”

“I… I cannot. Ours is in Pentos. Rhaenys borrowed him. She wanted one to look after Laena, with her being pregnant. Cannot trust those charlatans over in Pentos, she said, and quite a bit more.” She smiled some. “I offered Maester Gerardys. May I regret my choices now.”

Rhaenyra being selfless? Alicent stared once again. She should ask more questions, search and find the lies, or order her to never get close to Helaena again. No one would get her baby, not over her dead body, yet somehow…

She talked with the servants first. Tracked down every last one of Rhaenyra’s handmaidens and asked questions. Without Ser Criston helping her, it was hard work. All of them said the same thing. The Princess and Ser Laenor slept in the same chamber each and every night. The guards told that the Ser did not leave her at night, albeit Alicent did not give much on their words. Guards were always loyal to their lords. Or ladies, this time.

If Rhaenyra was indeed loyal to Laenor… if she was, if she really was… If her sons were trueborn after all… What did she have against Rhaenyra? What could she have against Rhaenyra? She had suspected her of plotting, of making schemes, plans within plans, because it was what she would have done, but when had planning ever been Rhaenyra’s strength? She was horrible at playing politics. Otto had always said that Rhaenyra would make a horrible Queen. All the many lies, the upset which would follow her taking the crown. All the war, all the blood. Aegon was the better choice, the only choice, the only way for lasting peace. She had believed it for all those many years, watching her take, take, take, never even considering anyone else. Everything was always only about her; Rhaenyra, who could lie without hesitating while swearing on her mother’s grave. And yet… In the moment of truth, she rose to the occasion. Taking on the dead with nothing but a sword, defending the city.

In the dark of night, something fell away.

She had too much of the dragon, Viserys had once said. Unsteady and restless and chaotic. All went counter to planning. Why would a dragon ever bother to hide things? She seemed to have steadied over the years, and she had not even noticed. She had calmed, she had learned to lead, if only a little. She had stopped lying. The uncomfortable truth crept up on Alicent. She had seen who she could be these last few days. A Queen, and a strong one, doing whatever needs be done. The pounding in her head had turned into a steady roaring by now, like a dragon closing in on her. She needed… she needed answers, real answers, true answers.

Entering the Sept of Dragonstone, she stared at the statue of the Father, her gaze moving on to the Crone after only so little. She did not need judgement, albeit judgement she would like. She needed guidance above all else. Lighting up candles, Alicent settled down to pray.

---

Laenor stared after Alicent when she strode out of the room again, her dress flying after her. Could he… go back into his room now? He glanced at the guard, who had done his very best to keep his expression neutral. Not that it mattered much. Some servants checking on the torches had seen him. His predicament did not need words. Once he was back with Rhaenyra, they would come back and ask for all the bloody details. Everyone would know before the sun even rose. He should tell Qarl, he really should, but even he realized it would be the wrong decision right now. The only thing he ought be seen was going back into the room, back to Rhaenyra, or else someone may tell the Queen. Maybe some of his mother’s teachings were bearing fruit after all.

Rhaenyra stepped out of the room, looking at him. He got up without exchanging a word, following her inside. With the door closed behind them, he looked at her. The urge to hug her flared up again. To kiss her and hold her and...

“What did she want?”

“Talk about you, strangely enough. I believe she knows about Qarl.”

“What did you tell her?”

Rhaenyra shrugged. “The truth. Enough of it, anyways.”

A tiny part of him wanted to be mad, may even want to yell at her, how dare she tell his secrets… the rest did not care, not really. How could he ever be mad at her? Qarl was an open secret. Maybe too open, if he thought of it. He had not exactly been subtle. The chance Alicent had heard of them… it was there, and it bothered him way too much. He may as well have told her himself.

“Do I have to lie when I get certain questions?”

---

Once the Queen was done with all her strange questions, Marla needed about five minutes to tell Sharra, mostly because she had to wake her first.

“The Queen wanted to know if Ser Laenor leaves their room at night,” she whispered to her friend, who blinked sleepily. “She asked if they wear different clothes in the morrow!”

“She did what?”

Five more minutes later, Ser Olyver told them the Queen had walked in on the Princess and her husband – only explanation there was. Ser Laenor had sat in front of the room for 10 endless minutes or something around, clad in nothing but a blanket. They could go ask Reylon if they wanted, he had seen everything firsthand.

The rumors moved through the castle like a living thing. Guards told guards told servants told the cooks. Over preparing breaking fast, cutting cheeses and meats and checking the bread, there was barely other talk. The Queen had thrown Ser Laenor out of their room while Rhaenyra and he slept together. Producing more heirs! And then questioned her handmaidens. The questions she had asked turned ever more outrageous the more often they were retold. Ser Erryk heard the worst of it when he approached the kitchen for some cheese, still half asleep. After, he was very much awake.

---

While her mother started to lose her mind, Helaena snuck along the dim corridors, not even scared of the dead possibly jumping her right now.

She had to know, she had to know for certain. From one dreamer to another. From one Queen to… to a princess, to not a Queen, because if she turned Queen… Their dragons falling from the skies… she had never much thought of it until now, trying to hide it somewhere in the far back of her mind. Were they to blame for Daenerys only having two dragons? Did the rivers of blood take all their dragons? All and every last one of them? Yes, yes, she knew it! She had seen it, dreamt it… Yet, knowing and knowing were two different things, sometimes. Hearing of the consequences of their actions made everything more real, more horrible. Two dragons could not win a war. Three could, maybe, Aegon had done it, but never two. Not that her dragons were even as big as his dragons. Balerion may have managed, but not Drogon. He was a little hatchling compared to the black dread.

Opening the door to her chamber, Daenerys looked up. Candlelight danced through the room. She had been writing.

“I have to know,” Helaena said before she could even say a word. “Aegon gets crowned King, and all our dragons die.” Daenerys had to know. If she was the Last Queen, she had to know. “Is that the reason you only have two dragons?”

Daenerys stared at her, the moment drawing longer. She did not say a word.

“Tell me.”

A sigh. “Yes.”

She said some more, but Helaena did not listen. Yes. She wanted to cry, to hide in the next best corner, to throw up, to run away and never be seen again, all at the same time. She trembled. They died because of them. Dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread. Whatever Daenerys saw, it made her move, it made her hug her, which made it all the better and all the worse. Helaena burst into tears.

She failed because of them.

It took forever. Forever and forever. Helaena sat on Daenerys bed by the time she calmed down, snuggled against the older woman, all wrapped up in her arms. It was a sheer miracle Dreamfyre had not yet crashed through the walls. Maybe she knew she was safe. Maybe she knew she had to talk still, maybe…

She died because of them. Helaena’s stomach dropped into nothing, the urge to cry nearly overwhelming. Her dragon died for crowning Aegon King.

“How long? How long until the dead walk?”

“Nearly two hundred years.”

Two hundred… Helaena stared. That long. She had not expected… How even… How was Daenerys even here? How could she be? Not that it mattered. She had seen Balerion as well. Just another impossibility. One from yesteryear, one from the morrow in a hundred, hundred years. They all came together here. Because they killed their dragons.

How could Balerion even know?

Well. He was a dragon. They knew things. Maybe Drogon had done whatever Balerion had done to come to them, and simple as that took his human along. Had Aegon been here too? Had he seen them? Had he seen the dead? The First King and the Last Queen. A shiver ran through her.

“Helaena?”

“I am good.” No, she was not, but what did it matter? “Two hundred years, yes?”

A nod.

Where to even begin?

“How… how do you lose the battle? How do you really lose it? How many… No, not…”

If she wanted to help prevent, she had to really know.

“How long until my father dies?”

By sunrise, Helaena had not slept a single minute. She had snuggled against Daenerys for a while and listened to all her hard words. The cold truth was shocking, even to her, even with all her many dreams. Asking if she told Rhaenyra never crossed her mind. Somehow, she assumed they had only talked of the dead. Then she snuggled against Dreamfyre by the beach, soaking in her warmth, not even feeling the cold breeze of morning. She would save her. Whatever she had to do, she would save her. Dreamfyre would not die because of her.

The thought stayed. Watching the sunrise, it stayed. Watching guards get into position all around the island, it stayed. She had to tell her sister. The thought made her cry again, Dreamfyre nudging her gently. She could not stop it alone, and asking Daenerys to tell her would be a coward’s act. She was grown up now. Being grown up meant doing the hard things, the impossible things. Like turning on her mother. But if it meant saving Dreamfyre… She looked at her dragon, who watched her with warm, soft eyes. She would not watch her die.

Walking back through the corridors with all its dragon carvings and tapestries, the smell of food wafting right past her, it stayed. Helaena was numb by now, numb but determined.

Their dragons would not die. Daenerys would have more than three turned two, somehow, someway.

Just like her mother earlier, she ignored the guard trying to stop her. She shoved open the door with some trouble and slipped into Rhaenyra’s chambers.

She had to shake her sister awake, eyeing Laenor while she did it. He was lying on the other side of the bed, sprawled out.

“Hmmm?” Rhaenyra’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at her all sleepy.

Now, before she lost her courage. Before she could second-guess everything, and she would certainly, as certain as their dragons could fly.

“Aegon will be crowned King.”

“What?”

A shiver ran through her body. The wanting to throw up again. The urge to start crying and never stop, to just run away and be done with it, but she could not run away, she could never. To win against the dead, they had to stand together.

“After Father dies, Aegon will be King. It’s the dream I have most often.”

Rhaenyra stared at her.

“Our dragons, they… they will,” her whisper broke. To say it, to really say it… it was acknowledging all the horrible things to come. The rivers of blood. She was turning on her mother, on her brothers. Abandoning everything she believed in. “… theyalldie. Daenerys has only two because of us.”

Laenor twitched some. Rhaenyra still stared.

“I saw it, I really did.” And then it blubbered out of her. All the horrible secrets she had kept since her dreams turned dark. How Laena was supposed to be dead, how Aemond would claim Vhagar, how Aegon would ascend the throne and the rivers of blood to follow. All the blood. She had never seen so much blood.

“… and the dragons fall from the skies,” she ended.

“I…,” Rhaenyra looked at her, lost for all the words. “I…” and then she moved. Slipped out of bed and pulled her along.

Outside the room, she ordered the guard away and looked at her, no longer lost for words, but sure lost for what to say. She would be too in her stead. What to even say to all that? Rhaenyra’s first action were not words. She hugged her.

“Are you… are you not mad at me?” Helaena whispered against her robe. Mother would lose her mind if she ever knew.

“What? Why would I?”

“Well… because… of everything. Anything and everything and me being crowned Queen instead of you and our dragons dying and…”

“I would never,” Rhaenyra cut her off. “You told me. I have to… I…” The beast beneath the boards. Something twisted inside of her, and for a second, Helaena was scared. Maybe Rhaenyra would kill her. Right here, right now. Never a better moment.

“… thank you,” Rhaenyra said and looked at her, her gaze warm and worried. Helaena calmed. She would never kill her. Why would she even think such things? She was her big sister. Sisters did not kill each other. They did not even harm each other.

“Did you have the dream since the dead?”

“No. Not tonight.” Nor last night. It was nearly strange. She always dreamt. “Please, please don’t hurt mother. Or Aegon.”

“I will try, I promise.”

Helaena stared at her. The best she could ever get, she supposed.  

Chapter Text

Vhagar. In Laenor’s dream, the huge dragon belted for the skies with Laena on her back. His sister was laughing, her hair flying in the wind.

“Do you think…,” Laena yelled –

“…will crown us in the Dragonpit. That has to change now, does it?” The voice giggled unsteadily. What? Laenor blinked sleepy, trying to figure out what was going on and failed. Just a moment ago, he had been flying with his sister; he wanted to go back there, back to the dream.

“First Aegon, then me. None of the smallfolk cheer. They never cheer.”

What? Was that Helaena?

“The rivers, they turn to blood. So, so much…” Her voice trembled. It sure was Helaena. “I have never seen so much blood, Rhaenyra, and then… and…,” her voice broke, “and the dragons fall from the skies.”

Silence.

Rhaenyra got up, two sets of steps moving through the room, and the door fell shut. Laenor lay there and stared at the wall opposite. For a moment, his mind was blank, trying to catch up. What in the seven hells had he just heard? What the… what…

It had been crowned, hadn’t it been? That first word, the first one he heard. First Aegon, then me. In the Dragonpit, and no one ever cheered. A shiver ran through him. They would be usurping Rhaenyra. Take her crown, steal her birthright. How could they dare?! How could they…

The rivers of blood, they would be…

No, no, no, no, whispered a small part of his mind, starting to panic. No. Just no. She was just a little girl! Just a nightmare, nothing else. She had come to her big sister for help, because both her parents were questionable at calming anyone down. He would have come to Rhaenyra too in her stead! As if Alicent would care for –

She’s a dreamer, whispered the other part of his mind, the bigger one, making him shiver again. Easy and simple and obvious. A new dreamer. House Targaryen was beknown for its dreamers. One who loved her sister, this time, who wanted to keep her safe. He had seen Helaena in Kings Landing and he had seen her here. She was like two different people. Here, she was open and bubbly and laughed. He doubted he had ever heard the poor thing laugh back in the Red Keep. If she had dreams like such… The poor girl. That she could laugh at all was a near mystery.

The dragons falling from the skies. His heart dropped. Was Seasmoke among those who fell? Would he die? Would they both die? Would his mother and sister… No. His sister ought be the safest of them all. As if Vhagar could be killed by any one dragon, but maybe three, if Aemond could claim a dragon and Tessarion grew quick. Sunfyre was strong. With a little help… his stomach turned.

They would steal her crown, start a war, kill their dragons. How could the Greens fucking dare?! Who else was with them? Who of the Lords Paramount would turn on them? Who were the traitors?

He had to talk with his mother.

Laenor was halfway into getting dressed when he realized it would be a horrible decision. He had to tell Rhaenyra first. Tell her he had heard, that he knew. He could not bypass her in those matters. Yes, he and his family were involved, had bet their life on her, but above all else it was about her. Her crown would be stolen, not his. He would wait for her, tell her, and then drag her to his mother, whether she wanted to or not. His family had to know.

---

Watching Helaena fall asleep at last, Rhaenyra did not move from her side. Sitting in a chair beside the bed, she waited and watched. She knew. Her little sister knew, knew about it all. Hopefully not the details, no one so young should know all the bloody details. If the rivers of blood were just rivers of blood, it was horrible enough. She did not have to know of her child getting murdered, of her dragon getting killed. How she died.

Reaching out, Rhaenyra’s hand ghosted along Helaena’s arm. No one so young should ever know. How horrible the dreams. She should have known. She should have listened. Helaena had been known for her cryptic words, blurting them out whenever she saw fit. She had tried to tell them, for years now. She had just left her alone with all the madness. How long? How long had Helaena known? How long had she kept it locked up because no one ever listened?

She had been a horrible sister, to all of them. Never bothered with them, not even wanting to. Rhaenyra knew why, of course. As a young woman, she had not cared for any of them. Aegon, never. Just a crying, screaming baby getting in the way, getting all the attention, for he was the firstborn son. She had been certain he would replace her, back when. And once Alicent started to don green… why would she even bother? They were Alicent’s children, only and always Alicent’s. Alicent, who was the replacement of her mother. Alicent, who had snuck around behind her back for months on end, seeing her father, never even saying a word. Until she was suddenly Queen. All her siblings were Hightowers in her mind, not Targaryens. Hightowers were not family. Why would she care for them if they were not family?

Only turned out, they were. By now, she would do anything for Helaena. Helaena, who had come to warn her of the dead, fight them alongside her, defend Kings Landing together and now… she had turned on her own mother and brothers to tell her of the dreams. Of all the horrible secrets, her getting usurped, of the war to follow. Gods. If only she had been a better sister…

Winds long passed by the dragon. It did not matter. She could be a better sister now, and she would be. She had to be. She had to protect her. Make sure none of her dreams came to pass. Mayhaps, she would make friends with Aegon and Aemond in time as well. Be one big happy family. Her father would love it, Alicent would hate it.

Finally getting up, she left quietly. Yes, she had heard it all before, but Helaena telling her… it had a different quality, a different meaning. Her little sister had picked sides, had she not? To support her, until the bitter end. She believed in her, believed she would make a good Queen, she trusted her – with her life. Her stomach turned to knots. She had to be all those things, live up to them somehow. She did not want to disappoint her. Her thoughts moved on, wondered about the what ifs. What if Alicent learned of Helaena telling on her. She would never hurt her daughter, but Otto…

She pushed the thought away with all her might, unease creeping up on her, and focused on Alicent. If she could make friends with her again…

Should she tell her of the dream? Of what would come after? Would she believe it? Rhaenyra mulled it over until she realized it was the wrong question. She would, probably. She had to know of dragon dreams. Not believing was not the problem. If she told Alicent… her former friend may just hear what she wanted to hear. Aegon and Helaena getting crowned. Her stomach turned. She may take it as confirmation that her son had to be King, no buts and ifs. Make her ever more fervent in her schemes. Even worse, she may tell it for all the world to hear, or anyone who mattered. Enough people knew of a dream saving the Targaryens. Now there was another one, telling of Aegon to be crowned. Rhaenyra shivered. No. She would not take the risk.

Tell her father? Again, she pondered the question but turned against it as well. If they told him Helaena was a dreamer now, he might not believe it. Because of Daenerys. They came forward with a dreamer telling of the end of the world, and then came forward with yet another dreamer not even a day later? In his stead, she herself may not believe it. Dreamers were rare, and now she claimed to have found two. Unlikely. Very unlikely.

For one insane second, she wished she would have told him the truth. Rhaenyra giggled. Would make telling of Helaena easier.

To calm her thoughts, she stopped by Jace’ room, watching him sleep, stopped by Luke, and eventually went to see Joff, her little sunshine. Holding him, she smiled, watching him smile back, his little hands trying to reach her, all the while making baby noises. So innocent, so carefree. Her thoughts trailed off again. Harwin… She had to go see him once she reasonably could. She still had no word if he had even made it through the night. If he was alive, if he... Larys... If only the dead had gotten to him.

“My Princess? Is everything good?” Her wetnurse asked timidly.

Rhaenyra blinked, only now realizing she had stared at her son grimly.

“Yes, yes, just…” she smiled somewhat. “Lost in thoughts, is all.” She kissed Joff’s head, smiled at his babbling and placed him back in his crib. “How did he sleep?”

The wetnurse went all in, telling her everything. How much he had eaten, how much he had slept, how much he cried. He did lots of the later when awake, but that was normal in the early days. No need to worry.

Walking back towards her chambers, she did her best to keep Alicent and Otto out of her head, mostly succeeding. She focused on all the sisterly things she could do with Helaena, albeit her mind mostly came up with dragon riding and racing, flying together to all sorts of places. Then again, it would have been what she wanted to do back when she was her age. May, she should just ask her.

She slipped into her chamber, not seeing the glance the guard threw her. Laenor was awake, sitting in their bed fully dressed. Maybe being held by him would make her life this tiny bit better for now.

He looked at her. Their gazes met, and Rhaenyra smiled.

“I heard Helaena.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. Her smile vanished, while her head raced for a reply. She had to say something but did not come up with anything. All her thoughts silent. Laenor looked at her. To hells with it.

“Oh,” Rhaenyra managed. Not her best reply.

Laenor jumped up and paced around wildly, abruptly stopping to turn to her. “I cannot believe it. That the Greens would dare. They all swore to your father!”

“They…. they did, but…” She felt like crying suddenly. The reality of it, the truth of it. “They are just words.”

Laenor stared at her exasperated. “They are words to a King!”

“Aegon will be King then. He can undo our father’s words.”

Laenor stared at her, upset, which slowly turned to horror. “It’s treason.”

“I know,” she whispered. But what did it matter? They would crown Aegon regardless if things did not change enough. A shiver ran through her. All the lands drowned in blood. Yes, Daenerys had told her, yes, Helaena had told her, but talking about it with Laenor was insane. Talking about it with the girls was more what-if in her mind, making plans, hoping they were enough to change, but this… this was reality. This would have consequences because if she did nothing now Laenor would have to believe she was a weak Queen.

“Seven Hells,” Laenor cursed and hugged her. “This will not stand, Rhaenyra. We will not let it stand.”

That he chose her without any hesitation at all… yes, they were married, but knowing what was to come was a different thing. He may have abandoned her just as well. Protect his house above her, protect himself, his dragon. How could he be so loyal?

Laenor held her for a while, not saying a word. Until he did. “We have to tell my Lady Mother.”

No, was her first instinct. They could not tell even more! The more knowledge spread, the harder it would be to control! The harder it would be to keep from the Greens. People knowing was a liability, a danger beyond words, beyond… Rhaenys had known. Since the very day Viserys had made them swear oaths to her, she had known. Maybe she had made plans in secret already.

---

Rhaenys did not look surprised. Appalled, yes, but not surprised. It cut deeper than Rhaenyra ever wanted to admit. She had known.

“I told your father long ago, that knives would come out,” she said, looking at Laenor. “Part of me hoped with all our dragons it would make them reconsider. Apparently not.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “You have to tell Viserys. He must put an end to this.”

“I… am not sure I can.”

“What?” “Why?” they both asked, looking at her. Rhaenyra’s stomach dropped.

“Daenerys is a dreamer. What would you do if two dreamers came forth within as much as a single day?”

“She is a…,” Rhaenys trailed off, staring at her. “You send me to Laena because of her.”

Rhaenyra nodded.

“She would have died.”

It was not a question, just a fact. Still, Rhaenyra nodded.

“Gods be good,” Rhaenys muttered and turned away. Laenor just stared at her.

“Laena would have... What else has she seen?” He asked.

Rhaenyra looked between them. What to tell them? All of it? The real truth? No. Keep the story straight. Tell all of them the same. Maybe she would tell Laenor one day, but not right now, not with things hanging in the balance. She had to sound sane. Claiming her great-whatever-granddaughter from the future had come to them sounded the opposite of sane.

“The same as Helaena, at the end of days. She… she called it the Dance of the Dragons, because it presumably looked like it to her.” It was the same as the rivers of blood Helaena had seen, was it not? Just another word for the carnage. “Aegon takes the throne and war follows. All but two of our dragons die. We all die, our children die.” She sighed and turned away. Luke and Jace and Joff. “I get eaten by Sunfyre.”

Silence.

Rhaenys was the one to break it. “Who takes the throne, then? One of Aegon’s children?”

“No. A son I do not yet have.”

They fell quiet again. Silence turning to silence.

Laenor broke it this time, “How can she know so much? I always thought dreams are cryptic.”

Rhaenyra shrugged. “May the older a dreamer, the clearer the visions.” She hated herself for lying, but what of it? It made sense, did it not? No one could disprove her, thankfully.

“What else did she see?”

Rhaenyra hesitated for a second, thought… to hell with it. “She wrote me a parchment.”

Chapter Text

“Not a word. To no one,” Rhaenyra said, holding the parchment to her chest. “Swear it.”

Laenor and Rhaenys exchanged a gaze and swore.

Handing the parchment to Rhaenys, doubt crept into Rhaenyra, worry taking hold. Was it the right choice? A good choice? Rhaenys may abandon her if she did not like its contents. By the end of it, she sounded like a lunatic. Maegor with teats, Daenerys had said. As if she could hold it against her if she sided against her by the end of it. What could she do about it, if she did? Kill her? Imprison her? Neither would help. Laenor may turn on her, Corlys definitely would…

While Rhaenyra descended into silent panic, both Rhaenys and Laenor stared at the parchment, utterly oblivious to her worries.

Rhaenys frowned. Year numbers. The girl had added year numbers. No dreamer would ever know the when. It was impossible.

“How come she knows the years?” She asked. May it would make Rhaenyra realize she had believed a liar… who had known of Laena, though. How could she believe and not believe her at the same time?

“Rhaenyra?” Laenor asked when she did not reply.

“Hm?”

Rhaenyra looked scattered, to say the least. Rhaenys repeated her question.

“The boys. They are guesses based on the boys. She watched them grow up already.”

It sounded reasonable, but it irked her. Too convenient, too easy. Life was not easy, less of all dreams. As Laenor had said, they were cryptic, hard to interpret, easy to get wrong. Not attached to years.

Still frowning, she started to read.

            Laena Velaryon dies. Aemond claims Vhagar.

One part of it was true for sure. The other, though… She read on, only to stop again only so many lines further on.

            Laenor dies. Killed by his lover in a quarrel.

Both her children, gone. Her disbelief fluttered, while a shiver ran through her. Both her children. Daenerys had known of Laena and it had happened. She would have died, maybe within the day, Rhaenys was sure of it. Without the maester, she would be gone. Dead and cold in the sea. If she had been right about Laena… Both her daughter and her son. She may not fully believe Aemond would claim Vhagar after, but it made sense. The boy was reckless if nothing else, and sometimes fortune favored the bold. Or the idiots, that was. He fit both.

“He would never do this!” Laenor said, getting to the same line. “She has to be wrong. This will not happen. Never. I don’t believe it.”

Rhaenyra hesitated, but said, “I trust you on it.”

He smiled weakly. Rhaenys kept silent, her eyes darting between the two and down to the words. They were getting closer. She had seen them on that beach. She had seen them entering her chambers. Laenor all exasperated about traitors, reaching for Rhaenyra every now and again to calm and reassure her. May they would grow exceedingly fond of each other in the coming time. Qarl may not be willing to lose her son, not willing to share him. If he could not have him… people had killed for less. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her stomach sink. Why did it all make sense? 

Rhaenyra would remarry, would have two more sons. Viserys died. Aegon and Helaena were crowned in the pit. 130 AC, Daenerys had noted. Only 6 short years. She eyed the other year numbers again with an ever-growing fear. It all made sense, which was the worst. How could Daenerys know? How could she know?!

“Who do you marry after… after Laenor.” She would not say it. She saw her son glance at her, may one step away from reaching out to comfort her.

“I do not know. She did not see.”

“Hm.”

The next line made her heart drop.

            Aemond kills Lucerys.

Ripped apart by Vhagar, the note did not say, but may as well have. There would be nothing left of him. His dead dragon likely got washed up nearby Dragonstone, or parts of it, and then it was just asking which dragon had been seen close by. Her gaze flickered to Rhaenyra again. She was stone-faced, watching them.

Things got even messier after.

Daemon and or Rhaenyra had one of Aegon’s children killed. She may have done the same. A son for a son. Daemon, most likely. The act had his methods written all over it. The move was risky, though. Kin-slaying all over again…

The list of houses, declaring for their King or Queen.

She stared at Baratheon far longer than she wanted to admit. They were family. If they turned on Rhaenyra, it meant they turned on her as well.

“By the Gods…,” Laenor muttered and moved away to hug Rhaenyra. “He will… We will stop Aemond, I promise.”

She smiled ever so weakly and leaned against him, closing her eyes. They looked so… close. Caring and trusting, sharing each other’s pain. How Laenor looked at her... Upset and sad and loving. She had never seen him look at her like... like he looked at Qarl. 

The first battles they won, the next… she stared at the line. Rhaenys dies. Nothing else, no further information. Just her death. How… It would need dragons to take her down, she was sure of it. Or a sudden assault, with her unable to get to Meleys in time. Vhagar… but she could outfly Vhagar on any given day. The old one was slow. Maybe both Vhagar and Sunfyre, maybe…

She had to read on. There was more still, there was… She would…

The next line was better at least.

            Corlys Velaryon is named Hand of the Queen.

She smiled at it. Her husband would not fail Rhaenyra, never. Turned out, she picked good advisers. If she just kept listening… Her smile vanished. Rhaenyra had already said they would die. No matter her advisers, the end was set. Unless they changed it, that was.

Jace would call for Dragonseeds, claiming four more dragons to their side. Good. With more dragons… She stared at it. Some Addam would claim Seasmoke and… be legitimized as Velaryon?

Who…? Her gaze darted to Laenor. It could only be Laenor if the boy was Velaryon. Laena had not been with child prior, Corlys could not father dragon riders without her, lest alone his distant relatives. They may have Valyrian blood, but it was too thin to bind dragons. Unless by some strange miracle…

“Laenor?”

“Yes, mother?”

She pointed at the line. He stepped beside her and looked at it. Rhaenys gaze was fixed on his face.

“… legitimized Velaryon?” Laenor read, staring at the words. “Whose bastard is he?”

Yours, Rhaenys did not say. Either her son did not know or… but there was no reasonable explanation, not really, not truly, was there? Or he was lying.

“Vaemond’s blood is too thin for dragon riders, father would never sleep with mistresses and… this does not make sense.”

They both looked at Rhaenyra, who only shrugged. “I did not question it.”

Well… yes. There were too many other horrible things going on, a bastard was barely worth a thought, at least from her perspective. Poor thing. Rhaenys sure would get hung up on -

"You die?" Laenor asked, turning to hug her. Rhaenys blinked and hugged him back somewhat.

“Rhaenyra already said we all die.”

“Yes, but –”

She smiled thinly. “We will make them pay.”

Laenor still looked upset, looked like wanting to say more, but focused on the parchment again, reading on.

First things first… where was her line? Ah, yes. Her heart sank again. Jace died.

Afterwards, Rhaenyra would take Kings Landing; Otto would get beheaded. Finally, dare she say. The Riverlands burned, and on and on it went. Two of their new dragon riders turned traitors, making Rhaenyra turn on the other two… and accuse her Corlys of treason.

She stared at the line again. What did Corlys and this Addam have to do with each other? He seemed to know him, in some capacity. Could… maybe… but Corlys, picking anyone over her? The man would still set the realm ablaze if it would see her on the throne. Maybe… maybe… her head frantically searched for answers. Hells, he may not even be Velaryon. They just had his word. Maybe he was Targaryen, some offspring's offspring down the line. Corlys may just take a liking to him, a very strong liking if he turned on his Queen. Rhaenys shook her head, focusing on the problem at hand again. Corlys doing stupid things. Which was not exactly new. Laenor and Laena had to have their recklessness from someone.

Yes, she disliked Rhaenyra for turning on her love, but he had disobeyed orders, but turning on their dragon riders was madness just as well.

She read on once again, a sigh on her lips. Rhaenyra lost her mind, did she not? She sounded ever more insane the further she got. Was she even ruling by the end of it? Or was she just yelling commands?

“You imprison my father?” Laenor asked.

“I… I promise, I will not,” Rhaenyra said. Rhaenys looked at her. Would she? Laenor seemed happy enough. She looked at him again. All the trust he had in this woman. Just with a word.

The rest was a blur, all seemingly happening at once. Dragonstone fell to the Greens, her Baela taken captive. Anger flared up in her again – how dare anyone lay hands on her little girl? Daemon and Aemond died in battle, taking both Vhagar and Caraxes with them, the Velaryon fleet turned on Rhaenyra at last. Obviously, all things given. Who… who would claim the driftwood throne after all this? Would Corlys take a second wife and father another son? Or Baela’s and Rhaena's sons, if they had any? Or…

            Helaena throws herself off the Red Keep. Riots follow. The dragons in the pit get killed. Joffrey dies trying to get to them. Syrax dies.

Her thoughts stuttered and she stared. The dragons in the pit get killed. She just stared at it. The fall of their house, of both their houses, in four simple sentences. What were they without their dragons?  

There is still more, she thought darkly.

Another battle at Tumbleton. This strange Addam turned out to be the most loyal of them all, dying for his Queen, taking out both Vermithor and Tessarion somehow.

And then, Rhaenyra’s death. Ripped apart by Sunfyre, as she had said. The writing ended. Rhaenys stared at it. How could it just end?! She had to know if her Corlys survived, if Baela would be good, if…

“How do we win by the end of it?” It did not sound like winning.

“The Greens turn on Aegon, I believe.”

Rhaenys stared at her. All that, and for what? Her son would still sit the throne, just a different one. They had eradicated Rhaenyra - and everything else. The might of their house, of their two houses. Near all their dragons gone.

All the blood, all the dead… all to stop a woman from ascending the Iron Throne.

She glanced down at the parchment. A future war in all its details, every move to make, every ally to turn. She crumbled it.

“What are you doing?” Laenor complained. “I am not yet done!”

Before either could make a move, she threw it into the fire.

“Mother!”

“What? Why would you do this?!”

As if she was surrounded by idiots.

“I am saving your lives.” Saving all their lives.

“You –” “Why –”

“This cannot exist. This should never have existed. If the Greens got their hands on it…”

“It was stored away safe–”

“No place is safe,” Rhaenys hissed. “Never. Not for knowledge such as this. One person, one stray handmaid alone is enough to kill us all. If Otto learned of it… any of the Greens…”

She did not end her sentence. It would hand them all their future moves, all their decisions. Everything to undo, everything to change. Mayhaps, they would just fall over Dragonstone after the King’s death. Make a quick, dark, and risky move and be done with it. If they wanted to play games… One may tell Viserys. She was not certain he would side with them. Yes, the Greens made the first move killing Luke, but everything after… Rhaenyra near descended into madness. Any mother would understand, loss after loss after loss, but may not every father.

Laenor paled, while Rhaenyra just stared at her, the graveness of her mistake slowly dawning on her face.

Silence fell. Rhaenys watched the fire burn away their secret. Four now. Five, including Helaena. Too many. Five could not hold a secret. Well, they could, if four of them were dead. She glanced at Rhaenyra and her Laenor. Who was to know they would stay faithful? Who was to tell they did not turn on each other? Maybe Laenor decided to tell Qarl in some strange madness. Maybe that got him killed.

“What would you have me do?” Rhaenyra asked quietly.

Rhaenys stared at the flickering flames. What would she do?

Ideas shot through her mind. Kill Otto, turn on the Lannisters, burn down Oldtown. None of them feasible, not now. Make friends of Aegon and Aemond. No. Make family. Laena would never turn on Laenor, no matter what. Family ought to be sacred, especially theirs. They were the blood of the Dragon. Rhaenyra would have to win over Alicent first, though. Their mother may destroy any progress she made with the flick of a finger.

“Can I think of a reply?”

“Mother! We will stand with Rhaenyra!”

Turning to him, she smiled weakly. Where had he found this loyalty? “We will, by the Gods. I want to think of it, nothing more. Important questions must not be rushed, not if we have time.”

And they had time, thanks to Daenerys, whoever or whatever she really was.

“Just one thing.” She fixed her gaze on Rhaenyra. “You will not imprison Corlys.”

---

She did not think of anything just yet. Yes, her mind swirled with all the things she had heard, with ideas, of all the ways things could go horribly wrong, the fact she would be dead in 6 short years. Just like that. Dead. Her Laenor would die as well, and soon. Her poor Corlys would be imprisoned. And this Addam… what to do of this Addam?

Stalking along the beach, she found the girl from the east, like the guard had said she would. Sitting by the water’s edge with her dragons, stroking the green one’s head.

The black one looked at her as she approached, just as the green one seconds later. Both were staring at her. The girl looked at her as well.

“Who are you?”

No dreamer would ever know the when. No dreamer would ever know all the details.

She stared at her, frowning. “Daenerys.”

“Who are you if they torture you?”

“Why would –”

“Say, the Greens learned of a dreamer. Say, they learned of the extent of her dreams. If you refuse to side with them, they may find other ways.”

War was bloody, if nothing else. All the morals disappeared, the thin veneer of civility. And by the end of it, it barely mattered who began the war in the first place.

Daenerys stared at her. “Rhaenyra told you, did she not?”

“Answer my question.”

“They would not survive for long. Drogon and Rhaegal would come for me.”

“What if they killed your dragons?” They would kill her too. In only 6 short years.

She hesitated but still held her gaze. She saw fire flicker in her eyes… and something else. “I am Daenerys Stormborn. A Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the mother of dragons, the dreamer, if you call me that. They will not learn anything from me. I would rather die than turn on Rhaenyra.”

“Why choose her?”

This time, her gaze flickered, and she looked away. The other took over her gaze. “Rhaenyra’s line must sit the throne, by any means. If I sided with Aegon...,” she shook her head.

Rhaenys moved closer, reaching out for her. “What else did you see?” She paused, answering her own question. “You came for the dead, did you not?”

Something shifted on her face. Fear. Real fear. “If the dragons dance, Westeros will fall.”

---

It haunted her, for the rest of the day, for the start of the night. The look on her face. The girl had seen death. May the Gods be good, little Helaena had not seen the same. She should have asked back then, this morning, which seemed like lifetimes away. After all, the two dreamers seemed to see the same. She had been fully focused on that parchment, then. On Luke dying, on herself dying, on everything which followed.

If the dragons dance, Westeros will fall, and Rhaenyra’s line had to sit the throne. Those were dreams as she expected them. Cryptic and dark and full of terror. The dream of the fall of Valyria sure had been nothing else.

Daenerys bet her life on her. Whatever she had seen, whatever more she knew – she had refused to answer more of her questions – it made her choose Rhaenyra.

Passing through the inner yard, she set eyes on Qarl, training with the boys. Qarl. Qarl who would kill her Laenor, for whatever reason may come to pass.

He looked at her for a moment, bowing ever so little. “My princess.”

Her grandsons looked at her as well. “I did not say to take a break. Practice your moves!”

He had to die. He had to die before Laenor did. When? How? Tonight was her preferred answer, right away, be done with it, but tonight she could not. Laenor would know it was her.

Chapter Text

While the others were at dinner, Rhaenys snuck into Daenerys’ room, searching through her things. Beneath the simple mattress, under her neatly folded robe, inside the one pillow she had gotten. Then all around the table, checking on rocks that may be loose. She had to be certain. If Daenerys wrote her one parchment, she may have written others. The room turned out clear, all except empty parchments. The girl was either done writing or…

Rhaenys went on sneaking around, making sure the others were still eating first. She talked some with the guard in front of Rhaenyra’s chambers and then slipped in without a worry in the world. Who was to stop her? The guard? She had claimed to get something for Laenor…

Again, Rhaenys looked around, and again, she found nothing. Except for pieces of blackened paper in the fireplace. Staring at it, she was strangely pleased. Rhaenyra was learning. Although, just this once, she would have preferred her to be a bit slower. To learn more about Daenerys, may who she really was, from her own words…

She knew the most important things, yes. Helaena and Daenerys had the same dreams, at least to some extent. Aegon taking the crown, the houses taking sides. Still, she wanted to know more, every detail she could get. Poke at her story, ask questions, may catch her in lies or contradicting herself… and then what? Was it proving it was not a dream? That she had spun it all up in her head? She had been right on Laena, and she would be right on Laenor, Rhaenys could feel it in her bones. She would be right about the war as well. Anyone with eyes knew it was coming.

Joining dinner a little later, she watched the others, mostly Alicent, who stared at Rhaenyra or looked at her daughter. Helaena was making jokes with Jace and Luke, laughing and giggling, Daemon of all people joining in on some of them. Viserys smiled. The image of a not-so-happy family.

Her gaze flickered to Alicent again, taking in her face. She had to know, deep down. Something was changing, and she was unable to stop it. If they could use that feeling…

Rhaenys’ mulled over the thought, while she ate her food in silence. The children went to bed first, then Viserys, Alicent helping him leave. For the first time, she stared at his trembling steps, his need for a steady hand. Six years. They were lucky if they even got six years. Daemon followed suspiciously early.

“Did you think of it?” Rhaenyra asked eventually.

Rhaenys nodded. “I want Daenerys there as well.”

May she would give something away.

---

Daemon walked along the beach again, the light of his torch flickering along. Daenerys had not been at the dinner, nor her chamber, which meant she had to be here. Maybe she had watched the sunset and stayed outside. Vermithor was still out here, staring at the waves, Silverwing snuggled against his side. They were two huge shadows, occasionally moving. Somehow, bonded dragons were the cutest of them all, in his opinion. Just like Caraxes and Vhagar… Further away, he spotted Daenerys with her two.

“Daenerys?”

She turned slightly, the light of the torch dancing on her face. By all the Gods, how beautiful she was.

“Can I join you?”

“Yes.”

Walking along between her two dragons, he was well aware of their stares, of the little growls, bared fangs, and finally settled beside their rider, the torch beside him now.

“Are you good?” The way she had cried last time they were out here…

Daenerys glanced at him and looked away again, keeping quiet for a long while.

“I do my best,” she said eventually.

“If you want to talk of it…”

“They are dead. What is there to talk of it?”

“Talking helps sometimes, I believe. Not that it will go away, but...” Things may get better. In time, anyway.

Daenerys did not say a word, did not even look at him. Just stared out at the waves, her gaze far, far away.

She was in the dark place again, was she not? Was she always there, if she went out here? Possible. Only able to show the true extent of it all around her dragons… where she was safest.

“I had a friend. Missandei.” Her lips trembled and she fell quiet again. Drogon moved, nudging her gently, emitting a low, sad growl.

Daemon stared at them. If her dragon was any indication of how she felt, and he was sure he was…

“Tell me of her,” he said softly. “Your Missandei.”

Silence.

“She was a slave. I freed her.”

Ah, yes, Essos…

She fell quiet again. Daemon did not push, just waited. Daenerys was stroking Drogon absentmindedly, her fingers gliding over his scales.

“She followed me into the desert. I gave her the choice, go back home wherever it was or…,” she started to cry again, tears and silent sobs. Daemon had the endless urge to hug her again, to hold her, to make the pain go away.

“She chose me, trusted me, believed in me, and I let her down. If only… If I could have gone anywhere else…”

He reached out, stroking along her arm. She did not move away.

‘The Khals would have killed you,’ it was right on the tip of his tongue, but he did not say it. Daenerys loved the weight of the world on her shoulders, whether she deserved it or not, whether she should carry it or not. She would only be upset about his words.

“She was a translator to some slave master. The man insulted me without break, can you believe it?” She smiled grimly. “Called me horse whore and other nice things… I think I knew I wanted to kill him, right on sight.”

Daemon listened intrigued. She had been a dragon, even back then when she was still married to her Khal. Burned the man herself thanks to some ploy, letting his slaves go. Missandei stayed with her, serving as handmaid, adviser, and translator from time to time. The longer she talked, the happier she looked, but he knew already she would start crying in the safety of her chamber. Talking was good, yes, but horrible as well. If only he could help her better… well, he would find a way. Someone had to help this poor, broken thing.

Rhaegal raised his head, staring at something. Daemon turned. Two shapes were coming towards them. One was Rhaenyra; he recognized her gait. The other…

“What are you doing out here?” Rhaenyra asked once she got closer.

Daemon shrugged. “Talk.” No reason to lie. Rhaenys stared daggers at him again. He should probably lock his chambers at night. Might be she murdered him if she got even the tiniest inkling of him betraying Laena.

Rhaenyra hummed, looking at him thoughtfully. How cute she looked when she was brooding. “We will have to steal Daenerys away.”

Daenerys got to her feet, walking away from him, not without throwing him a gaze though. Rhaenys saw it, her eyes narrowing. Maybe he should sleep by Caraxes’ side tonight, just to be safe. Not that he expected Rhaenys to murder him over talking with a woman… but yes, some part of him did. She was furiously protective of her daughter, just as Laena was of theirs. Drogon moved, following its rider. Rhaegal stayed, staring at him. The flicker of their torch moved further away.

Time to leave. He may be of the dragon and have his own, but this one was not his – nor was it especially fond of him. Despite appearances, Daemon indeed liked to be alive.

---

“Make friends with Alicent,” Rhaenys said. Laenor sat on the bed, watching them. Rhaenyra hummed lowly. Daenerys stood by the window, listening. “Give her reassurances, promise her children and her safety." Whatever she had to hear. "If you want to get to Aegon and Aemond, you have to make friends. Otherwise, she will undo any progress you made.”

Rhaenys fell quiet for a moment, thinking of how to say things.

“I think she feels that something is shifting. You and your sister, your sister and Jace. Use it and use it well. Get to Aegon as soon as you can. You have to make friends of him, make family of him. It’s paramount. Everything else pales. If he sees you as his sister, the likelihood of him usurping you diminishes endlessly. Laena would never turn on Laenor, given the chance.”

Laenor snorted. “She would burn whoever suggested it.”

Rhaenys smiled, warmth flooding her. Her two not-so-little ones… “Yes, that is the thought of it.”

“What if I cannot?” Rhaenyra asked.

Rhaenys frowned, “He is a child. Make do.”

If she could not make friends of children, mayhaps she should not be Queen after all.

“Go for Aemond just as well. You could offer him a dragon egg, any of his choosing. Suggest it to Alicent as a token of sincerity, without any other demands. He would be grateful and only get a hatchling in return.”

Thus, not be a threat during the war.

She glanced at Daenerys. She had yet to say a single word.

“Try see if the children can be friends as well. The stronger the bonds, the better.”

“They were getting along before well enough.”

“They were if you ignore the teasing,” Laenor threw in.

Rhaenyra smiled weakly, glancing at Laenor. “It would end if Aemond had a dragon, would it not?”

Laenor shrugged. “Boys will always find new things.”

“Then make them stop,” Rhaenys said pointedly. “But do not force them, force never helps,” especially with children “But besides…”

“What do we make of Otto?” Daenerys asked. “He is behind it all. He has to die.”

For once, she agreed with her. Otto was the snake in the shadows.

“We cannot touch him.”

“What?”

“If we killed him and it came out, what do you think will happen?”

Silence fell over the room. She looked at Rhaenyra, partly hoping she would speak up. They had to be able to function without her one day.

“Think of it. What would Alicent do?”

Rhaenyra hesitated.

“She would… she would turn on us. Undo whatever progress we made. If we killed her father… she will have to assume we will kill her and hers the second my father dies.”

Rhaenys nodded. She did have a mind after all. Why did she never use it?

“We could sink his ship. Blame a storm,” Laenor suggested. “Kill every last one of his crew with our dragons. No one would be any wiser.”

Now, that was an idea.

“Possible, but I do not want the risk it. I like your idea. We may still kill him later, given the chance, but... If it came out…”

The risks were too great.

“Viserys may strip you of your position. Otto is kin by marriage, whether we like it or not. Killing him would not be well received, not in peace times, anyway.”

She would get him beheaded, in six very long years. The damage he could do until then… best would be lock him in a crate and sink him to the bottom of the sea.

“Alicent would scheme against you again. As Queen, she has influence.”

She paused again. One part done.

“In the meantime, make allies. Convince the Lords Paramount you will make a good Queen.”

Albeit Hightower and Lannister sure were beyond reach. The others, though... That Rhaenyra had never started making allies was a mystery to her. How could she have not? She had to know taking the throne would turn into a hassle even in the best of times. The majority of the great houses had to support her, before she ascended the throne, not after, not during. Maybe she should have strapped her to her dragon and done it herself, a long, long time ago.

At last, she turned to Daenerys. “Any further words?”

The girl held her gaze without hesitation. Whoever she was, she had wielded power.

“No.” A moment of silence. “Yes. Tell Helaena you want to make friends of her mother and her brothers. She may be able to help.”

“I am not certain we should tell her everything.” Not about potentially murdering Otto, for one.

“Of course, we can.”

“She is a child. She may slip up, say something.”

“She will not. She is a dreamer; she has seen the worst already.”

“Did you talk about your dreams?”

“Yes. We compared them. They match. She sees fewer details, thankfully.”

“When did yours start?” Rhaenys asked. May as well jump at it.

“When I was ten. I saw my dragons hatch. Never thought much of it until I got the eggs. Just dreams of a little girl. I dreamt of home too, or what I thought of home.”

Rhaenys eyed her carefully. Fourteen long years… the feeling still did not go away. Life was never that easy.

Accompanying her on their way back to their chambers, Rhaenys watched her. Once again, taking note of how she held herself, shoulders back, head high. She sure carried herself like a noble woman.

“What did you talk about with Daemon?”

Daenerys glanced at her.

“Nothing. He asked me if I wanted to talk about… things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Everyone I know is dead.” What? “We talked about a friend I lost.”

Rhaenys stopped, making her stop as well. “What happened?”

“We were ambushed, my people were murdered. I made out into the desert and hid with my dragons.”

“Who attacked you?”

“I would not know. I slept when it started. My bloodrider dragged me on his horse still half asleep.”

Rhaenys frowned ever so little. Convenient yet again… but attacking the enemy at night would be the way, everything else was a waste of people’s lives.

“I always assumed it was another Khal. They did not like me leading my people.”

A Khalessi… she had never heard of only a Khalessi. It was always a Khal, and his wife, yes, but always the man leading his horde.

Rhaenyra and Daenerys and her. They were not so different after all.

---

Alicent stared at her husband. Sleeping, all oblivious, like he always was. To hear Helaena laugh with those people… she should not be around the bastards, not a day longer. Not that Daemon was any better. To her, he was the definition of bad influence. Whenever he was around, bad things followed. Unreliable, always running away from duties – or fully ignoring them in the first place. It was a near miracle he had turned up now.

He loves his brother, she thought. Whatever was to say of him, he loved Viserys. He seemed to have calmed too in the last years, just like Rhaenyra had. She had never expected him to make children laugh, lest alone join in on their antics.

Home, they had to go home. Go home before things could get worse. Yet, her daughter looking so carefree was stuck in her mind, keeping her from sleeping. When had Helaena looked like this the last time?

She could not remember, which was the problem of it, making everything worse. Why could her little girl be like this around those horrible people and not back at home, safe and sound, with her and her brothers?

Sighing, she turned away and stared at the damn dragon tapestry over her head. Those things always bothered her. If it was up to her, she would round them all up and burn them and be done with it. Place good decorations in the Red Keep, like the Sevenpointed Star, paintings and murals of her home, maybe, just as other regions of Westeros, of course. Viserys was King of the Seven Kingdoms, may as well depict them in his castle, not those things. It was either strange sex positions, Valyria and Essos, or dragons… and the dragons, they always seemed to stare at her, silently judging, taunting her.

You are not a dragon, they whispered. Not one of us. She had never even wanted to be one, she always wanted to yell at them, fully aware that yelling at pieces of cloth would not reflect well on her. She had her faith and her supporters and…

That was not true. In the beginning, she had tried, wearing the Targaryen colors, blending in with them, but nothing good ever came of black and red.

---

Come next sunrise, Rhaenyra, Daenerys, and Helaena entered the caves of the Dragonmount. The light of their torches danced along the smooth rock. Dragon glass, as far as the eye could see.

“We can start with just a little. Further away from the dragons, at best,” Rhaenyra said, walking along as if it wasn’t a maze. “I talked with our blacksmith. He looked as if I lost my mind but may as well. He will add the rocks into the steel.”

“I hope it works,” Helaena said softly. “If it does…”

“One worry less,” Daenerys said.

Helaena threw her a gaze. “Rhaenyra? Can I name a sword?”

“If you find a good name.”

She grinned and darted off, running along the cave, her footsteps echoing off the walls.

“The Dragonsaver. No. Dreamdancer.” She giggled at that. “Can we just name some after our dragons?”

“Certainly!” Rhaenyra yelled back. Helaena squealed and darted around a corner, out of sight, but not out of earshot. More nonsensical names echoed down the way until her babble stopped abruptly.

“What are you doing here?”

What… She threw Daenerys a gaze and they hurried. Who was Helaena talking to?

Someone groaned. Rounding the corner, they got a glimpse of Caraxes… and Daemon, stretching his back. What was he doing here?

He ruffled her hair. “Slept by Caraxes’. Sometimes, I long for his company.”

Helaena stared at him with big eyes. “You too?”

“Yes, of course.” He turned and looked at his dragon. For a split second, Rhaenyra saw true fondness in his eyes, warm and loving. She had never seen this softness before. Daemon stroked Caraxes’ snout, who hiss-rumbled in return.

Glancing at her and then Helaena, he asked, “What are you ladies up to here?”

“We will mine dragon glass!” Helaena blurted out. “Well. Not we, we, but…” she trailed off, falling quiet.

Daemon hummed and looked at her. “You are still at this?”

“Evidently.”

“Let me help.”

Rhaenyra frowned. “What do you know of blacksmithing?”

“Nothing. But I know my way around weapons.”

Chapter Text

Why, why, why had his master said yes to any of this? Ormond wondered, watching the flames dance in front of him. Sweat ran down his face, his heart somewhere in his throat. So close. So damn close. Fire was one thing. Dragonfire, though… he had never been so close to any of them, even though he lived here day in, day out. Stay away from the dragons, had been the first words he heard upon arriving on the island. All of them lived by it, full well knowing one wrong step could be their end. To work for the royal family was both a blessing and a curse, especially out here, with the beasts roaming free. Now, the deformed red one was just a little away. It could turn at any second and rip him to shreds, hells, the both of them. Maybe unleash its fire on them and go for a nice little snack if it got bored of melting steel.

Would it hurt, he wondered again. Or would he just be gone? He had seen the Cannibal roast his sheep once. They sure hadn’t bleated anymore after a single breath of fire, and even if he survived the flames, the fangs…

His gaze moved, from the scaled monster in front of him and to the princess. The literal answer to his musings.

Why had his master said yes? Because he had no other choice. To say no to the princess just meant she would find someone else who would do it, which sure meant they would have to leave. No matter how ludicrous her request – as if rocks and steel would ever work – why not entertain her? May as well. Only then, they hadn’t known the worst of it. She wanted it be forged by dragons.

His master took a breath. Ormond looked at him. The old man looked even more stressed than he felt, which seemed impossible. Panic shimmered in his eyes until he hid it away as good he could.

“My Prince? Can we see the steel?”

Prince Daemon did not even say a word. Caraxes just stopped. A shiver ran through Ormond. Did the dragon know? Did it understand them? Each and every word they ever spoke? Some of the men talked horribly about the dragons… The huge head followed his master while he walked closer to the steel molds, those strange eyes focused on his every step. It sure understood them, which absolutely did not help his panic.

“Ormond! The rocks!”

By the Gods, aye!

Ormond turned and grabbed two of the various bowls they had prepared, bigger rocks and smaller rocks, all the way to hammered to dust rocks. At least dragon glass was easy to turn to powder. Inching by Caraxes, he tried his best not to lose it. The dragon stared at him as well, eyes glued to his movements. Was he a snack? Or not a snack? Or a helpful idiot?

His panic faded the littlest bit when he reached the molds.

The steel had liquified, completely and utterly liquified. He had never seen such a thing. They only ever managed to – how had the molds not melted themselves? How –

“Ormond!” The old man hissed.

They added the rocks, his master mixed the metal and the rocks with a rod, and they stepped back again. Caraxes breathed fire once more.

“When do we tell him to stop?” Ormond whispered while the fire danced in front of them.

His master threw him a gaze. The panic was back in his eyes. “I have no idea.”

---

“In the seven fucking hells,” his master cursed when the steel broke.

The entire first batch was utterly unusable, already breaking apart when they tried to lift it from the molds. As expected, truth be told, still cursing was in order with all those eyes on them. Prince Daemon, Princess Rhaenyra and Helaena, and the strange dragon girl. Well, and the dragon. Not forget about the dragon; not that he ever could.

“Try again,” the Princess said, not even batting an eye.

---

His master sighed when the latest steel bar burst into pieces. Even cursing was gone by now.

“What else, what else… what in the hells can we do?” He muttered beneath his breath, staring at the shards. Only Ormond could hear him. And the dragon, supposedly.

“We could try fold it… but if we can’t hammer it, we can’t fold it.” Another one of those long sighs. Adding the powdered rocks yielded the best result, but they still burst into pieces when they as much as took a hammer to the steel.

The royals talked among themselves. Ormond glanced at them. Only a question of time now until they –

Prince Daemon turned and caught his gaze, a sly smile turning up on his lips. Gods. He had been caught staring.

“Do you have ore?”

“What for?” His master asked. “Smelting a new batch won’t help, my prince.”

The prince smiled the tiniest smile. Maybe just a twitch of muscle.

“We want to be certain.”

---

Watching a dragon smelt was awe-inspiring. Awe-inspiring and terrifying. They needed hours, may, days of careful temperature control, get and keep the fires hot enough, had to steadily check on the forming steel, and the dragon burned through it in no time at all. When Caraxes seemed to waiver, the little Princess bolted away and returned with her dragon. Ormond, once again today, nearly died when claws hit the ground nearby, the big head swung down, and two dragons breathed fire.

The black dragon joined them little later, adding his fire to the madness. He had never felt such heat. Even the Targaryens kept a distance. Prince Daemon stared fascinated.

Around midday, while they used the dragons to reheat the forming steel once more – by now Ormond had the inkling his master had found a liking to the huge, scaled monsters – the King himself joined them. One of the Kingsguard was by his side, sharp eyes taking everything in. They bowed and moved away some more, well, his master did, dragging him along. 

Princess Rhaenyra joined her father, talking in low voices. Ormond just kept staring, while trying his best not to stare. The King. The King was here!

Again, they asked for the dragons to stop breathing fire and continued working the steel, adding plants to burn it some more, or folding and then hammering away on it to remove the slag together with about every other man Prince Daemon had found in the vicinity. Having more hands sure helped.

In time, the Queen joined them.

“What are you doing out here?” She asked, staring at the lot. The King and Queen. The stories he could tell now! Well, besides everything else today. Working beside dragons…

“Forging new weapons,” Princess Rhaenyra said softly.

He may not see the frown on the Queen’s face, but he sure damn heard it. “What for?” The Queen asked. “We have enough in our armouries.”

“We try to find something to kill the dead.”

They what? Ormond stopped what he was doing, immediately getting cursed at by his master. The stone swords were meant to kill those things? But how? Why, even? How had she gotten the idea?

Yet, if it worked… His master and he would be the first to forge them. If it indeed worked, they’d be legendary, just like… like the Valyrian steel smiths.

---

After dinner, Rhaenyra thought to herself while returning to the castle. After dinner, she would try talk with Alicent. Rhaenys had told her to talk with her as soon as she could. Get things moving. From now on, waiting was their worst enemy, waiting just played into the Greens' hands. Giving them more time would be a mistake.

Yet, during dinner, her former friend looked angrier than she had seen her in a while. Displeased would have been a compliment compared to her mood. The dark stare she got when their gazes met did not help either. What had happened?

Viserys told them all, once he was seated for dinner as well.

“We will stay a couple more days. See if the new steel holds. To use dragons to forge…,” he trailed off, smiling amused, and reached for a chicken leg. They had not used dragons to forge since… since Aegon had forged the Iron Throne. Sure, there may have been things here or there, but nothing recorded, nothing of note.

---

Helaena paced around in front of her father’s chambers. Right now, would be the best of moments. He was in a good mood, having learnt of their strange attempt at forging new swords. Her mother was gone, doing whatever she did, but to go in there, to really go…

She did another round of pacing, her nerves nearly running away with her.

She already had made her choice!

But to ask now was so much worse than just siding with them in the quiet of the night. Whatever Daenerys had told her, whatever she had told Rhaenyra, it could have stayed at that. Just like that. A talk in the night, nothing more, nothing less.

If she wanted to help, really help, she had to stay, though. She could not go back.

“You already said you want to stay!” She muttered to herself, which did not help her nerves at all. Telling herself and actually asking on her own were two separate things.

May she really should have asked Rhaenyra for – no, as well! She was grown up now! Grown-ups could ask their own questions. Only the tears forming at the corner of her eyes proved her wrong.

“For Dreamfyre,” she whispered at last, everything for her dragon, and moved for the door. Ser Steffon watched her silently, reaching for the door when she finally reached for the handle. He opened it for her and let her into the room.

“My King, Princess Helaena.”

He bowed and left, the door falling shut again. She was trapped in here. No way back. Never again.

Ser Harrold looked at her curiously. Her father was still awake, sitting in one of the comfortable chairs by the corner, close enough to the fire to be warm, close enough to the window to have fresh air.

“Could I…,” she nearly choked on her own words. Why…? Because! No way back now. Not anymore. Her nerves fluttered again. Was jumping out the window a reasonable course of action? It kind of looked like it. “Could I…” Oh, to the seven hells! They were just words!

“Could I… talk with my father alone?”

Ser Harrold and her father exchanged a gaze. Viserys nodded ever so little, and the big man left, joining Ser Steffon on the other side of the door.

Her father smiled at her. “What do you want?”

What did she want?

Dreamfyre, think of Dreamfyre. Think of Daenerys, too. If they succeeded, she would no longer stand all alone against the end of the world. The latter calmed her down more than she ever thought. If the Last Queen could smile and be nice to her, knowing full well everyone she knew was dead… she could talk with her father.

“Could I stay at Dragonstone? Jace and I… we get along well. I could teach him how to fly, once his dragon is big enough. Same for Luke. The two are good.”

Somehow, she felt like she needed more.  

“I want to stay with Rhaenyra.”

What had she just said? She had never meant to… not so brazenly open, at least. Her mother would never approve.

Viserys looked surprised.

“She… she looked after me well, after we fought against the dead,” she nearly whispered, and then repeated a bit louder.

“And I think Dreamfyre likes the island better.”

None of it was a lie.

“Your mother would be horribly upset. And I would miss you.”

She somehow managed not to snort. When did they ever do anything together?

“Mother will calm down in time.” Nothing she could do against it. “You can let me be here. Right?” He was the King. “Please, father. I… I really…,” she trailed off.

I really want to stay with Rhaenyra, with Daenerys. Help them here, not from far away, never knowing what was going on. She would have to wait, wait for the change of dreams, face all the horrors all alone.

Her father mulled over her words for a moment, but Helaena got the strange feeling it was already decided.

“I will talk with your mother.”

---

Snuggling into Laenor’s arms, Rhaenyra sighed. Somehow, she really could get used to this, all cuddled up in bed. They had always cuddled, but now it felt different.

“All good?” Laenor asked softly, his lips moving against her hair.

“Yes. I just hoped… I do not know.” Things to move quicker? For the stones to be added to just work? “They should be done with the reforging tomorrow. I hope. Do you want to watch?”

Laenor snorted. “Did you just ask me to watch half-naked, sweating men?”

She giggled. “Maybe. I could tell them to fetch some of the knights as well.” Meaning Qarl. Her husband blushed ever so little.

“I –”

Their door burst open and Alicent stormed in again.

“How can you dare?!” She spat at them.

Rhaenyra stared at her.

“What?”

“Do not play a fool!” Alicent hissed at her.

The guard entered the chamber, looking from the Queen to her. “Everything –”

“Out!” Alicent spat again.

The man about fled the room.

She whirled around again, staring daggers at her. No, not daggers. Bloody murder. If she had had a sword, she may have tried use it.

Laenor moved, getting up and in front of her, in between them. “My Queen, what is going on?”

“She knows what is going on!”

Rhaenyra finally sat up, for once happy about her nightgown. “I do not. Alicent –”

“You are stealing Helaena away from me!”

“What?” They both asked in unison. Something about it threw Alicent off guard. She just stared at them.

“You must – you did – earlier while you were at the beach! Set my poor baby girl to it! She would never ask on her own!”

“I – no. I would never.” What was she even talking about?

“Ask about what?” Laenor asked.

Oh, wrong move, dear husband.

Alicent stared at him. “Leave.”

“I would rather not.”

“I said leave!” The Queen hissed. He stood his ground, only looking a little scared.

For a split second, Alicent jumping Laenor and clawing his eyes out passed in front of Rhaenyra’s mind. As mad as she was right now…

“Laenor… please.”

“I will not leave you alone with her!”

“Please. If anything happens I can…” her gaze moved back to Alicent. “scream?”

He muttered and mumbled, grabbed his linen shirt and left after all.

Alicent stared at her again. Some of the rage had faded.

“Alicent… please. What did Helaena do?”

Wrong question. The rage was back.

“She asked to stay at Dragonstone!” Alicent spat at her, about ready to jump her now. May she should have gotten out of bed first. Would make running away easier.

“I… I did not know of this.”

“Of course, you knew! She would never get the idea on her own!”

Rhaenyra did her very best to ban any emotion from her face. The things Alicent did not know about her daughter, they could fill entire libraries.

“We bonded over killing the dead. She gets along well with Jace most of all. I have nothing to do with any of this.”

The disbelief was stark on her face. “Liar.”

Now, she got out of bed. “Alicent! I would never –”

“Lie to me? You swore on your mother’s grave!”

Rhaenyra stopped. There it was. The damn thing she had told all those years ago. Panic rushed through her, and for a second she felt like back then. Caught and afraid and… willing to defend herself, no matter anything.

“I… I am sorry for my words back then.”

Alicent snorted.

“I really am. I wish I could take it all back.”

“Oh, really? What did you do, then? Back then.”

Rhaenyra kept quiet.

“See? You are unable to tell the truth, even now.” Alicent sighed. “Why did I even bother…” and turned away.

Was this it? Would she just slip away? She would hate her forever, for sure, if she walked out that door. Oh, Helaena… she really should have talked with her already, but she had fully forgotten about it. Or rather pushed it away, yes, over a dark stare at dinner.

Rhaenyra closed her eyes. All the damn excuses.

“I slept with Ser Criston.”

Alicent stopped, hesitated for a moment and moved on. Rhaenyra’s stomach dropped. Wrong move too. Why did she always make things worse?

---

After Laenor had returned and her nerves calmed down, she left after all and made her way through the corridors of her castle. This could not wait, not ever. She may be an idiot in some regards, but she refused to be about this. Helaena asked to stay at Dragonstone. Knocking on the door to her guest chamber, she slipped inside. Helaena lay curled beneath her blankets, eyes open and looking at her. The fire was lit, as well as about a dozen candles scattered throughout the room.

“You asked to stay?”

Her little sister nodded. Somehow, she looked scared all of a sudden.

“I…” What to say? She had to say something. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.” Everything her baby sister did meant a lot.

Helaena sat up slowly. “I did not want to leave again. No one… no one listens to me back at home. No one cares for me, except… except Aemond, maybe. Aegon is lost in his own world and mother and father…” she shook her head, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Mother loves me, but…”

Rhaenyra’s heart broke all over again. Everything before the word 'but' was worthless. Mother loves me but – she moved, hesitated for a split second, and sat down, pulling Helaena into a loose hug.

“I will always be with you.”

May the Gods be her witness, she would. Whatever she would have to do, she would keep her safe, all the dancing dragons in the world be damned.

Helaena trembled and snuggled closer, starting to cry.

---

Once she had calmed down – and started wondering how she could use Rhaenyra’s unexpected confession against her – Alicent finally went to look for her daughter. She should have right away after Viserys had told her she would stay behind, should have asked her, but the rage had gotten the better of her. Somehow, it did way too often lately. Since Ser Criston was gone, since the dead, since… since Rhaenyra had saved her life. None of it made sense. How could none of it make sense, still? All of it together, it threw her off balance worse than she wanted to admit. Even worse, now she would have to sit tight on this damn island and watch all of them for however long Viserys fancied, and then have to leave without her baby girl. It was about the one thing she had looked forward to. Come back home and continue as if nothing had ever happened…

She could not, though, could she? Her sworn shield was dead. The dead had happened. Rhaenyra had saved Kings Landing. Sighing weakly, she shook her head. All the things she had to handle…

Opening the door to Helaena’s chamber, she stopped in her tracks once again. Rhaenyra was here... hugging her daughter.

---

Three days later, Ormond was strangely used to dragons right nearby.

“Ought to be enough,” his master muttered, eyeing the cold steel bar from every which angle. They had several of them. Not too many, but some.

Rinse and repeat. Dragonfire melted the steel, they added the powdered rocks. All of them stared at the cooling metal, waiting for it to only be red-hot, not too hot. The King and Queen, the Princesses, Ser Laenor and his Lady Mother, Prince Daemon, the strange girl, and dragons. A whole damn lot of dragons.

Carefully, they lifted the steel from the mold. It took a few more swings of the hammer, this time, but it broke, nonetheless.

“Seven fucking hells that damn smith sure is worthless damn fucker what does he even do,” his master mumbled and turned to try again.

As if anything would change, Ormond thought.

Daenerys frowned when the steel burst into pieces yet again, shards glimmering lazily in the sun.

If forging it all the way from dragonfire did not work… but why? She had really hoped it would work, hoped… she knew nothing of steel, though. None of them did, but the blacksmiths had gone along with… they had gone along because it was them who asked. Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon. If they were commoners, they sure would have long been told to stop it. That it was stupid, impossible, no, insane even. Adding anything to steel would make it weaker, moron.

Sighing weakly, her gaze moved to Rhaegal, who lay curled up nearby, his head propped up on his tail, watching them with his sharp eyes. He grumbled softly when she looked at him.

Everything she had was thanks to fire. It had hatched her dragons, given her the first Khalessar, her Unsullied, her second Khalessar. All the Dothraki, all her ships, after the masters surrendered. Why did fire not help her this time? Fire and steel seemed like the perfect match. Why did it not work? What were they doing wrong? What could they even possibly change?

Drogon nudged her carefully. Daenerys turned, stroking his snout – and stopped. Everything she had was due fire, yes, but the most important thing, the one above all… her dragons… they were through fire and blood. And a bleeding star, a voice far away whispered. She had no bleeding star now… but she did not try hatch dragons either.

Daenerys threw a gaze around. The others stood aside, talking among themselves. The smith and his apprentice were muttering in low voices, looking worried. The last mold was still filled, the metal cooling. She grabbed the rod the master-smith had used to mix dragon glass and melted steel, snapped up a handful of the smaller shards, and stepped next to the mold.

Rhaenyra saw her. “Daenerys, what -”

“Dracarys.”

Drogon’s head shot up and he breathed fire, engulfing her. Screams, right outside.

Her robe withered away in the heat; her skin was shimmering. The rod she was holding got hotter.

“What is she doing?!”

“Daenerys!” Helaena sounded heartbroken, poor thing.

“What…,” the King muttered.

Quick, now.

She ignored all else. She had to finish this while she could. Throwing all but one of the dragon glass shards into the mold, she took hold of the last stone, and sliced her arm, hearing rather than seeing her blood drip into the metal. The rod got hotter still. It would melt while she…

So be it. Dragons did not burn. She worked the mixture like she had seen the smith do until the rod disappeared between her hands. The hot liquid was uncomfortable, all gooey and sticky, dripping off her skin, but in time, it was gone as well. Only she remained, and the metal, all hot and glowing. She could see it shimmer through the flames.

Hopefully, it was enough. Stepping out of the fire, she realized it was Caraxes breathing fire now. They must have changed, like yesterday. They all stared at her, most of them somewhere between shocked and in utter disbelief. Daemon looked beyond curious. Relief spread across Rhaenyra’s face. The King looked about speechless and the Queen as if she had seen a monster. She just stared back at all of them. She was a dragon. Let them see.

Helaena squealed and ran for her.

“You are alive!”

Chapter Text

She did not burn. She did not burn, she did not burn, she did not burn. Alicent stared. The bastard girl did not burn! How could anyone walk into the fire and –

“You are alive!” Helaena squealed and ran for her.

Alicent stared horrified, her instinct to run after her and pull her back, get her to safety only undone by the dragons. Three of them, the black one hovering right behind its rider. Helaena would survive getting close; she may not.

“Do not,” Daenerys said and backed away a few steps. “I am still hot.”

Helaena stopped just an arm’s length away, her hand hovering along her naked belly, her skin still glimmering from the heat.

“You are… How long until you are cold again?”

“A little.”

Alicent just stared. How she could stand there, all proud and brazen, not even covering herself…

She had walked out of dragonfire. Of course, she was proud and brazen. Who wouldn’t be? Who wouldn’t… her gaze finally flickered to the others. Daemon stared at her full of desire, Viserys looked astonished, Rhaenyra strangely relieved, and Rhaenys and Laenor… they were surprised, yes, maybe surprised beyond words, but less than Viserys. The two smiths had averted their gazes, just as Ser Harrold. Some guards further away stared.

She did not burn.

All of Dragonstone would know, likely within the hour. The girl who did not burn. Whether or not she was a bastard, what did it matter now? Anyone seeing her would acknowledge her Targaryen lineage. Whatever power there was in controlling dragons, it paled to this. Targaryens themselves were often seen as Gods, but this… this was… If the common folk learned of it… they may see her as either a monster or some kind of God, blessed by the Seven themselves. No one would ever raise against her - or be the first to do so.

Was it inert to Targaryens? The thought finally ripped her out of her stupor and steered her towards matters and facts. Did her children not burn either? Did Viserys and Daemon not burn? What about Rhaenys and Laenor and all the House Velaryon? Or was it a trait of the royal family alone?

Who was she, then? Whose bastard? There were only ever so many contenders for her father.

Rhaenyra turned to Ser Harrold.

“Could I lend your cloak, Ser?”

He threw her the tiniest gaze and nodded, undoing the clips. Under normal circumstances… but what did normal matter now?

She had to make allies of her, Alicent realized. Whether or not she liked it, liked her to begin with, whether or not she approved. She could walk through fire.

Turning to one of the guards nearby, Alicent said, “Fetch her a robe.”

The man bowed. “Yes, my Queen,” and hurried away.

“…set yourself on fire?" Helaena asked. "How did it happen? Tell me, tell me, tell me. Please. I would die of panic if I set myself on fire! Maybe set everything around on fire too!” Helaena laughed, the sound all pure and soft, in stark comparison to everything else.

“I walked into the fire to hatch my dragons,” Daenerys said.

Rhaenyra reached the two.

“You walked?” Helaena asked, staring at her.

“Yes. The fire burned down… and here I was, with my dragons right beside me.”

“Were you afraid?” Helaena near whispered.

An odd, sad smile turned up on Daenerys’ lips. “No.”

“Here,” Rhaenyra offered her the cloak.

Daenerys smiled at her. There it was. She could see it. How could she be so close to Rhaenyra? How could her baby girl be so close to both of them? She barely even knew either! What had happened between –

The dead. They had fought against the dead together. Bonds forged by dragonfire just as well. Something broke within Alicent. She could not have been by Helaena's side, protecting her. A mother should protect her daughter, but for Helaena… she had let her down, left her alone to fend for herself. Against such abominations. The walking dead.

Rhaenys asked something. She did not catch her words, too bothered by her own hurt… her own failings. She had left her daughter alone, fighting against those things.

“Does it feel hot for you?” Helaena asked.

“It is only slightly warm. I feel the heat but I do not feel it as well. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

Both girls laughed.

Rhaenys stepped closer to Viserys. “Qilōni iksos ziry?”

Valyrian. It was a question, was all she could tell.

Viserys hummed. “Gaoman daor…”

He fell quiet and looked at Rhaenys. More Valyrian words, all down to a whisper now.

The black dragon moved, getting himself between them and the others.

---

Daemon wanted to walk up to Daenerys more than anything in the world, even now not knowing if to kiss her or to hold her to conceal her from the others, but for once he did not move. Rhaenys stood behind him, Laenor beside him. If he acted on any of this, they may actually turn on him. Meleys and Caraxes fighting on the beach popped into his head, nearly making him snort. Caraxes would win, he was sure of it, but for what cost? His brother would not take to public advances either, lest alone his damn lady wife, less alone his own wife. Vhagar may eat him alive if Laena heard of any of this… if she was not quicker herself. Grab a sword from a nearby guard and be done with it. Yes, he wanted Daenerys, ever more now, but he had to be careful, he had to…

…play the games…

The thought made his smile vanish, even dampened his desire.

This, this right here, was why he had left. To get away from it all, all the games, all the lies, the scheming and plotting. His girls should grow up far, far away from it, far away from all the expectations and burdens of their name.

Would he stop, though? No. He had seen her reach into a fire, yes, but to call down dragonfire on herself... He had been worried, for that one second, the initial shock. Then he had looked at her dragons, all calm, still following her orders. If she was dead, they would have behaved wholly differently. Drogon would have screamed and cried for her, he was sure of it, and Rhaegal would as well. Anyone who had heard a mourning dragon ought know – and expect nothing less, which made the others being surprised all the more curious. Did they not have eyes? Did they not remember? Meleys mourning for his mother, Vermithor raging for Jaehaerys. Her dragons had done none of it, which meant she was alive.

When she had finally stepped out of the fire… How her skin had gleamed… together with the utter self-confidence in her eyes, in her posture. Look who I am. Blood of the dragon. Brazen and daring and headstrong. He just had to have her ever more. Who wouldn’t want her? She could walk through dragonfire. He should not have worried, not even for a second. His little bird would never burn. She truly lived by their words.

When that guard with a robe finally turned up, looking around indecisive on who to hand it to, Daemon finally moved. Alicent took it off his hands and very, very gingerly, walked around Drogon’s head. The black dragon grumbled at her. She twitched but did not jump away.

Despite his wants, he only about glanced at Daenerys. She was still naked as day. Too hot still, likely. Beautiful. No, gorgeous.

Daemon stopped by the steel mold and knelt, staring at it from up close. It seemed smoother somehow, not that he had too much experience at staring at liquid steel, but yes, it did. The color… the color was different as well. A tint darker than anything before. The dragon glass… It had to have bonded. It and her blood and the heat. He had seen the small cut on her arm.

How long until they could try? Forever, in his opinion, no matter the answer, which he did not even bother ask. The wait would kill him either way.

---

Metal hit metal, the hits ringing out. They all stared. More hits.

“It does not break,” Daemon muttered, staring at it, staring and staring, nearly caught in a trance. The smiths stopped, asked for further dragonfire. Drogon happily supplied it, and on they went, hammering the not-yet-sword.

Finally, he glanced at Daenerys. “What did you do? What exactly did you do to it?”

Not that it mattered yet. They did not know if it could kill the dead thing, but soon they would.

“I threw the rocks in, cut myself, and worked it as the smiths did.”

All while it was heated by her dragon… maybe that had been the mistake all along. They only added the rocks, mixed it some, and added fire again. They did not work it in the heat.

“Why would you cut yourself?” Alicent asked.

Daenerys glanced at her. “There is power in blood.”

Daemon chuckled. “Our ancestors would agree. They loved blood. And fire.” Well, wasn't that a quip?

Alicent just stared with a frown. More hits rang out.

“How long will it take?” Viserys asked while they reheated the steel with dragonfire yet again.

 “A few days, my King.”

Daemon stayed first with the smiths, Caraxes breathing fire whenever needed, until the sun started to set. Some part of him still expected the metal to break, for everything to be in vain, but the other knew it was done. It would not break, not anymore. Daenerys' blood had bonded it. Fire and blood, indeed. Their words ghosted through his head every now and again, now. Was this how Valyrian Steel was made? With dragons and blood and dragon glass? It sure would not be all, but a part of it. The steel part of it. He could not wait for it to be done, to hold the weapon… and to compare it to his own.

---

Fire bloomed in the darkness, lighting up the surroundings. Viserys smiled softly, watching from his window. Helaena was down there, helping the smiths with the fire, just as Jace and Luke. His youngest grandson lay on the ground, some cloak placed over him, likely sleeping. Ser Steffon stood guard beside them. As if the children needed a guard, he had wanted to say when Alicent insisted on it. They had a dragon. Dreamfyre would eat any threat alive before it even got to Helaena or any of the boys. Dragonstone was safe, safer than Kings Landing by any accounts, but here they were.

The fire died down, leaving only a few flickering torches and the glimmer of the glowing steel. To watch them bond like this… his smile grew. Maybe they could end this silly fighting in time. Rhaenyra may return to Kings Landing, maybe he could even talk Daemon into it. Have all his family at home.

Viserys indulged in his daydreams for the littlest bit, until – at last – he turned towards the matter at hand. The obvious one.

Daenerys.

She did not burn. He knew theirs was resistant to heat, Daemon could even reach into flames for a few moments unhurt, but to not burn…

She was extraordinary. Maybe closest to Valyrians as they once were, at the height of their power. A dreamer, immune to fire, and commanding multiple dragons. Just the thought of it… any of those things alone…

What to do with her? He had avoided the thought until now, hoping to find a solution in time. His tentative plan had been to take her up North and use her to strengthen the bonds between their houses, given they would need the Starks most of all against the coming storm. If the North stood with them forever, it was one worry less. Giving away two dragons though… and now, now it was not even a question. She could not marry away, under no circumstances whatsoever. She had to stay in the family. The power in her blood could not fall into any others’ hands or else it may become a problem in time.

Who to marry her to, though?

Aegon? Aemond? Jace likely not, as Rhaenyra’s heir. He could not marry a bastard, doing so would only upset the Lords. The others were too young to even bother considering.

He could legitimize her. Raising a bastard would bind them just as well. One of theirs, in name, not only in blood. It would be the greatest honor of her life. Yet, to legitimize her meant first knowing of her father. Who of the dragonseeds could even…

What Rhaenys had asked… if she was his…

The door opened and Alicent entered, Ser Erryk stayed on the other side of the door, standing guard.

“Enjoying the view?” Alicent asked.

He smiled. “Yes. Helaena is doing good out there, is she not?”

Something passed over Alicent’s face, but she did not say a word. Just smiled and stepped beside him, looking out as well now. Dreamfyre breathed fire in time. Helaena sat on the ground by now, Jace beside her, talking about something by the looks of it.

“You could visit her, however often you wish.”

“I know.”

They were quiet for a while, watching their daughter.

Eventually, she looked at him, he could see it from the corner of his eyes. The frown on her face…

“What do we do about Daenerys?”

“I have not yet decided.” Whatever he did, he had to think about it some more. Talk things through with Lyonel, get his opinion on things, maybe even bring the matter in front of the entire small council. He would very well ignore their wishes if he so pleased, but their opinions were often well considered.

“We could marry her to Aemond.”

Viserys glanced at her. “He is too young.”

“He is nearly a man grown. If you said to marry her to Daeron, Lucerys or Joffrey, I would agree. They are naught but children.”

He hummed lowly. It was the easiest way, yes… yet, when he thought of ordering her to marry anyone, he had to think of Daemon. His brother never bothered about his commands all too much either, less of all if they concerned marriages. 

“Viserys.”

“I will think of it.”

Alicent sighed. “As you wish.” She looked at him for a long moment. “Is there precedent for it? Targyarens not burning?”

“Not in our family, no. At least not to my knowledge. The closest would be the blood mages. They cast their spells inside the Fourteen Flames.”

“How… how can a bastard girl have such a gift?”

Viserys shrugged. “The world is funny like this, sometimes. It has to be even more elusive than dreaming. Maybe just one, in however many generations.”

“Do you know who her father could be?”

He snorted. Not again.

“What is it?”

“Rhaenys asked me the same; if she could be mine. You would think I knew if I had a bastard girl her age. She is likely of one of the dragonseeds.” Or Daemon, he did not say. She reminded him an awfully lot of Daemon, truth be told.

---

Rhaenys, in the meantime, had turned to Daemon’s shadow. Always keeping well away, but close enough to know where he was going. He had eaten some when he entered the castle at last, visited Caraxes again, and found Daenerys by the beach. She asked a nearby guard what they had spoken of. To his credit, the man looked ever so slightly uncomfortable.

“Of dead people, I believe.”

She all but nodded and thanked him. All those she had lost... Life had to be hard, knowing everyone she had cared for was gone.

Six years, she thought again. Six years and her Corlys would be all alone if they did not change things. Six years and she... she shook the thought off. No time to brood, not now.

Daemon slept in his room, and that was that. For a while. A guard came to wake her when he snuck out of his room at night. He spent ages in the main hall, just staring out at the dark ocean, or the beach, or both of them. Then he went for Daenerys’ chamber, watching her sleep… and then trailed through the castle, stopping eventually.

“Are you looking for something, Rhaenys?”

Oh, of course, he had seen her at some point.

“Why did you watch her in her sleep?”

A thin smile twitched over his lips, and he simply turned away.

“Daemon!”

But Daemon was never one to answer to anyone. Rhaenys sighed. Why did her daughter have to marry the slightly unhinged one?

---

While Daemon returned to his chambers, only briefly considering sleeping by Caraxes’ for another night after all, Alicent finally gave up on sleep. She was staring at the same old dragon tapestry for hours now. Another moment longer, and she may rip it down in a fit of rage after all.

Dressing herself, she wandered the corridors, hoping she would get tired at last. Guards nodded at her, the occasional servant asked if she needed anything, but she did not. She just needed sleep, and sleep would not come. Helaena, Daenerys, that bond they all shared. It was maddening. Insulting. Defeating. She would not been able to help her daughter, no matter if she wanted to. She had no dragon. She could only stand by the side and watch her… watch her make her own decisions. Her little baby girl was growing up. Tears glimmered in her eyes. She should have had a few more years with her. Her only daughter, the little apple of her eye. She was strange, with her love of bugs and cryptic bursts of words, yes, but she loved her, nonetheless. What had been her last one? Something… something about dragons of thread. Just the thought of losing her… to Rhaenyra, of all people…

Nothing could be done about it, not anymore. If Viserys made up his mind whenever Rhaenyra was even slightly concerned, it would not change. Helaena would stay here, no matter anything. She would not scream anymore, even less cry, not in front of the others, not show her weakness. She would, once she was safely at home. Then, she could mourn another loss. All her children, scattered into the wind. She could go visit her. As if she ever would. They never visited Daeron either. Once they were at the Red Keep, they were at the Red Keep. She had to look out for Viserys, help him day in, day out, be there for her… their… other children, look after Aegon most of all. She had to find a way to make his inaction seem plausible, albeit none came to mind.

Soon enough, she ended in front of Helaena’s chamber. Her little one… 

Slipping into the room, she hoped she was awake beyond reason, that they may be able to talk, to make sense of all the madness, maybe to convince her to come back home after all, but of course, she was asleep.

Alicent smiled softly. Of course. Her baby girl muttered and mumbled, turned onto her other side, and muttered some more.

Helaena and her odd dreams, always. The handmaids often told her of yet another nightmare, but Helaena never told of anything.

“Helanea?” She asked, reaching out, carefully touching her by the shoulder. If she slept on, she would leave.

Helaena sat upright the moment she was touched, twitching away from her, and screamed.

“Helaena! All good!”

She stared and stared, her eyes wide and scared.

“Mother?”

“I am… I did not mean to…,” she sputtered, “I thought you slept…”

A guard burst into the room, looking around for whatever threat there may be.

“Nothing happened, ser,” Alicent said. “Just a bad dream.” May not, this time, but he needn't know. The man bowed and stepped out again. Helaena still stared.

Silence and silence. Alicent hesitated. What did she want? Why was she here? She knew all the answers, deep, deep down. Another moment with her daughter, just between them…

“Why do you want to stay here?” She asked.

“I told father already. I really like Jace and Rhaenyra and I bonded over fighting the dead things.”

“You could stay in Kings Landing and fly visit her.”

It was only a couple hours on dragonback.

Helaena’s face changed, and Alicent realized she was keeping secrets. Her heart dropped. She had never seen her so guarded. Her baby girl had always been open, just telling her mind, but now…

“Do you like her? Rhaenyra?”

“Yes, of course. She… she saved my life. Multiple times. In Kings Landing, one of those things fell on me. It... it nearly got me. She was there in time to kill it. I saved her back for it!” The way Helaena smiled, all proud… “We flew together all the way here. Aegon never flies with me. Mother, all the things she knows about dragons…,” and then she devolved into dragon things.

Alicent smiled through it, trying not to cry. She had never seen her so happy.

---

The first thing Rhaenyra did after waking was check on the smiths. She wanted to see the not-yet-sword. Helaena was with them already, all on her own, no guards needed, just as she had thought but never said. Who would dare attack her here? This was her island. If her little sister was not safe, she was doing something wrong. Never mind the dragon right next to her. Helaena hummed happily, looking down at something in her hands.

“Good morrow.”

Helaena looked up and beamed at her. “Aemond will fly soon.”

Rhaenyra stared startled. “He will?”

“Yes. I did not see which dragon, but he will have wings.” She grinned. “He wanted a dragon for so long. Gods, I am so happy for him. He won’t even have to close an eye.”

“What?”

Her sister jumped up. Dreamfyre raised her head ever so little, looked after her, decided she was in no danger at all and snuggled back against the ground.

“Look what I found on my way down here.”

Rhaenyra stared at a slender spider in Helaena’s cupped hands. “I have never seen the pattern it has. Maybe it only lives on Dragonstone?”

Now that she was thinking of it… she really had never seen those in Kings Landing. “Maybe. We could ask Maester Gerardys once he is back.” Whenever that would be.

Helaena grinned. “We have to! Do you know of any others only living here?”

Spiders? Or bugs in general? Rhaenyra did her best not to look disgusted… and a little exasperated.

“We…” She pondered the question, for the first time in her life thinking about bugs. “We have a myriad of butterflies when spring comes. All sorts of colors and sizes. Some seem to glow in the sun.”

Helaena looked as if she had told her the best thing all day. Or all week.

“Some nights, there are glowing bugs down towards the cliffs.”

“Glowing bugs?”

“Yes. Like little, dancing lights in the night. I can tell the guards to keep an eye out for them.”

“Oooh, I would love to see them.”

Sure, she did. Rhaenyra smiled somewhat. “Do you want me to come with?”

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

Helaena gave her a strange stare.

“Princess?”

Both of them looked at the smiths. The apprentice carried the not-yet-sword. One third done, roundabout.

“Yes, yes.”

It got placed on the ground, in the same old steel mold. Not fitting perfectly now, but good enough.

“Dracarys.”

Dreamfyre breathed fire dutifully. Only for a moment now, it seemed. Nothing in comparison to them forging the steel.

The sun moved on a little. Rhaenyra listened to her sister babbling about bugs with a smile, asking questions every now and again. She had forgotten about this too. Gods, what a horrible sister she had been. Her thoughts wandered every now and again. Aemond would have wings, she had said. Maybe it meant… it meant she would talk with Alicent, and their talk would go well. Her brother would pick whatever dragon egg he wanted. Dreamfyre breathed fire again and again. The clang of metal hitting metal.

Daemon came first, surprisingly, enquiring about the sword. Then Daenerys. Then Alicent, of all people.

Helaena jumped up yet again. “Mother! They have bugs here I have never seen!”

Alicent did not even bat an eye. “They have?”

“Yes! I found a spider with a really curious pattern… Dreamfyre squashed it after I let it go. Doubt she even knew it was there.” She looked sad for a moment, but it disappeared near instantly. “They have glowing bugs near the cliffs here some nights… Rhaenyra said she would come with to look at them.”

“Did she, now?”

“She did!”

Daemon stepped closer to her. “Is she always like this?” He whispered into her ear.

Rhaenyra glanced at him. “She is. Not a bad word of her.”

He smiled amused. “As you wish.”

Daenerys stayed behind to help the smiths, alongside Daemon. On her way back to the castle, Rhaenyra looked at the two from afar. The way Daemon behaved around her… as if he wanted her, more than anything in the world. She had seen his gaze yesterday, so full of desire. As had Rhaenys. She had been told of her following him. If she let it go on, Daemon surely would stay by their side, stay wherever Daenerys was, even without her marrying him. She had to secure him, no matter anything as well. If she did nothing, Rhaenys or Laena or even Laenor may push him out a window before long. Her husband had been all oblivious yesterday, but even he would realize it in time.

“Rhaenyra?” Helaena asked, from a lot of steps further on. Rhaenyra looked up. Alicent stared at her as well. For once, she could not read her gaze.

She would manage the talk with her. She had to. Helaena had seen it.

Smiling, she hurried on, catching up to her sister.

Rhaenyra let some time pass by, brooding in her chamber on how to start best, what to say, planning replies to questions and answers. She knew she would manage, but if she did not, she had only so many tries left. With every further misstep, Alicent may turn on her for good.

She could barely remember ending up in front of her father’s and Alicent’s chamber. What she did remember was taking a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, the strange flutter in her belly, and knocking at last.

Ser Erryk opened the door and stepped aside. “The Princess Rhaenyra.”

Her father and Alicent looked at her. He was reading some book about magic in Old Valyria, while Alicent murdered an embroidery. Near timidly, she stepped inside.

“Ah, Rhaenyra. Any word of the sword?”

“They are not yet done, father.”

Viserys nodded. “Come, sit. What brings you here?”

Just trying to make friends of an old friend. Nothing more complicated in the world.

“Could I talk with the Queen? May alone?”

Alicent looked up, frowning. She did not object… yet Rhaenyra realized she may should have come another time. When she was not literally holding sharp needles.

Viserys looked between the two and got up carefully. She watched his unsteady steps with worry. How long until he could not walk alone? How long until he may fell? Broke his bones, his legs or hand. When old or ill people fell, the Stranger most often was right around to get them. Ser Harrold followed him, as did Ser Erryk. The door closed.

“What do you want?” Alicent asked right after, not even looking at her.

“I will look after Helaena, I promise.”

She only got a thin smile, cold as ice.

“We could fly for Kings Landing every once in a while if it pleases you.”

At last, she looked up. “You would?”

“Certainly. Coming for the city on dragonback is easier. Ships are… well… ships. If you would like a certain day…”

“Before the moon turns.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “I will talk about it with Helaena. She will certainly agree.” Hopefully, anyway. They fell quiet again. Alicent stared at her embroidery, fingers dancing on the needle.

“Thank you for…,” Alicent hesitated. “…saving Helaena. She told me one of those… things… nearly got to her in the city, if not for you.”

“We both looked out for one another. I would not be here if not for her.”

Sadness danced on Alicent’s face. What had she said? How could it upset her? They fell quiet again. Had Helaena really seen Aemond having wings soon? This seemed like… like trying to make a dragon fly who was not bonded. Impossible was but a step away.

“I thought,” Rhaenyra started again. “Given the events of the prior days, Aemond should have his dragon egg. He can pick any of those in the caves. Or whichever are still in Kings Landing, if it pleases him better.”

Alicent looked at her again, surprised, but reserved and careful just as well. “What do you want for it?”

“Nothing. With every dragon, we are better defended. I refuse to lose any one of our house to one of these things.”

Another long pause. Like trying to shove a dragon.

“Thank you, Rhaenyra. He will be happy hearing of it.”

Rhaenyra smiled. “I hope the hatchling will grow quickly.”

“May it, may it. Albeit I am still scared of the flying. What if he falls off?”

“His dragon would never drop him, no matter anything.”

Alicent smiled just for a second until it disappeared. “Oh, by the Gods. He will want to sleep with it in his chambers. Likely sneak it in when no one is looking. When do they start breathing fire again?”

“Within days.”

“Seven hells.”

Rhaenyra stared. Alicent had just cursed.

“You can always ask Viserys for help… or the dragonkeepers. They know about everything there is to know.”

“I certainly will.”

Another long pause. She had done what she had to do. A first step. They had not screamed or snapped or thrown thinly veiled insults at each other, which was certainly progress.

“Well... I will leave you to your embroidery.” Or whatever was left of it anyway. She got up and bowed ever so slightly. “My Queen.”

She turned to leave, got to the door.

“Rhaenyra?”

She turned. “Yes?”

“Thank you for saving me. Back on the ship.”

For once, it actually sounded sincere.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

Still no sails, still no wings.

They ought to be back by now! Aemond stood by his window, staring out at the horizon. Where were they? Mother, father and Helaena. At least his sister should be back! She was on dragonback, after all. It was only a couple hours flight, or so he had been told and read. Had something happened? Were they hurt?

His mind jumped to the things immediately. Was his family even still alive?

Aegon and he had stared at the scratches on the outer gate by the city walls, their Kingsguard watching silently. Marks of nails and… and bones. They had tried to dig through the wood and very nearly succeeded, if not for Helaena and Rhaenyra. The two were everything everyone talked about. The skeleton, which had clung to Rhaenyra. How just looking at it had made half the Lords and Ladies flee in terror, how tirelessly the girls had fought, on and on until the things stopped coming. Words of the guards, who had fought the things from atop the walls moved through the castle, day in, day out. Every now and again he caught conversations. Even the commoners talked of it. That Aegon had not helped them… he could still not understand it. Aegon had told him why, yes, but he thought it nonsense. Protecting their city, their home, helping their sisters was more important than anything. If he had a dragon…

… but he had no dragon. He was the only one of all of them. Helaena had just walked into the Pit one day and come out a rider, just like Aegon. Jace and Luke had hatched theirs in their cradle, and he… none of the dragons paid him any mind, none at all. Worse, Dreamfyre had nearly roasted him when he got too close. If not for his appearance, sometimes he wondered if he was a real Targaryen. Maybe his blood was too thin by some strange chance, maybe he was more Hightower than the blood of the dragon, maybe… He just wanted to…

Huffing, he wiped at his eyes. No tears, thank the Gods. Throwing one last glance at the horizon, he turned away. If they did not return by midday, he would ask Aegon if they could fly.

---

“M’lady?”

Drogon stared at the man. He just stood there and stared, his gaze wandering between mother and his head for what seemed like forever. He grumbled lowly, making him twitch. He got even paler, which Drogon had considered impossible.

“May the Gods be good…,” he muttered and took a step forward. “I need to talk to the lady. Please don’t eat me.”

Another step. And another. Drogon watched closely. He knew he was one of the two making the pointy thing, but he still did not trust. People always came after mother with the pointy things, trying to hurt her. If he did any sudden movements…

Another step.

“M’lady?”

Mother did not even react. She was snuggled against his side, all warm and calm against his scales. The man glanced at him again. “Please. Mother have mercy.”

Drogon stared confused. Why should mother have mercy with him? For what? What had he done? What was he planning? Was he going to stab her with a pointy thing after all? His head swung closer, taking a breath. The man smelled so of fear, it was a wonder he was still standing.

“Please, please, please… M’lady?”

Daenerys did not react. Vast asleep, his mother.

He darted for her. Drogon roared, ready to… his mother twitched and opened her eyes.

Daenerys needed a disorienting long second to understand what was happening. The smith apprentice was running for her, pure panic in his eyes, pale as a sheet, and Drogon’s fangs glimmering in the sun, rushing for him.

She jumped up. “Keligon!”

Drogon stopped, only about an arm’s length away from his indented goal, staring all curious, as if he wasn’t going to rip the man to shreds. Was she sure? Something fell to the ground. Daenerys turned. The man had fainted.

---

Ormond blinked. The light blinded him. Was he dead? He expected to be dead. The dragon had rushed for him… Made a wrong move after all. He had lived here for years and years and then… Only he could see the head of the black dragon hovering over him. The lady got into his field of view, looking all worried.

“Are you good?”

“I… I… am I dead?”

But why would she be here?

The lady smiled. He knew her name, had heard it for sure, but he had trouble remembering all the lesser Targaryens. They all sounded the same to him. With the King and his brother and the Princess and her sons, he made the effort. Had to, given the place, but all the others?

“No. I made him stop in time.”

They really were gods. Commanding a dragon, making him stop. If he told a dragon anything, he’d just get eaten quicker. She even more so... She had not burned. He had seen her walk out of the fire.

“I… ehm... M’lady. I did not mean to… I…,” he sat up at last. “The sword is done, m’lady.”

His master and he had discussed who to tell first… and ended with her. She had forged it, they had just formed it. She ought to see it first before all the others.

Timid excitement spread across her face.

She followed him back to their forge, with her dragon following along. Ormond could not help but throw glances at him, his heart hammering, still worried he’d strike, but the black dragon was all calm. As if nothing had ever happened.

“Ormond, finally,” his master said. “M’lady.”

He bowed for her.

---

Daenerys stared at the sword. The color of its blade… it shifted and changed between nearly the grey of steel and all the way to the black of dragon glass.

“Can I… Can I hold it?”

“Of course, m’lady.”

The man offered her the hilt. Daenerys took hold of it ever so carefully and stared at it. How beautiful. She had made it. It was hers. The thought seemed insane. That she would ever forge a sword… Still to be seen if it would work, but somehow, she knew it would. Or expected it to. If it did not… She pushed the thought aside. What if did not help right now.

“I will tell the others.”

The two men nodded.

Daenerys passed her sword back, turned, and climbed on Drogon. She did not want to walk to the castle, not right now. The way would be endless!

---

The wind shifted, carrying the smell of dead. Vermithor raised his head, breathing in again. One of those things. He growled lowly, making Silverwing look up as well. Caraxes crossed by above them, just as Meleys. The black hatchling circled down towards the beach; the green one slowly stomped its way towards his brother. Vermithor was certain he could fly again but did not bother wonder. Hurt dragons could be precarious little things, especially if they were young. To get hurt for the first time… Dreamfyre drew by, roaring all tense.

Vermithor grumbled. Enough was enough. Jumping into the air, he followed the others, followed the smell. Several two-legs carried a box out. Caraxes’ two-legs walked beside it, just as Syrax’, which likely meant… he did not know what it meant. Only, that he ought not burn it – or them. Their dragons would only get upset. Seasmoke would likely get involved as well if Syrax was upset, which meant Meleys would join in. He was not afraid of either of them alone, but to confront all of them would be madness. He could wait to burn the dead thing in time.

Vermithor circled the island a few times, just to be certain the smell only came from the box and not somewhere else. He would not have another dead thing creep up on them unbeknownst!

---

Daemon stared at the sword, staring at the grain of the metal just as Daenerys had done, the meandering of colors. The dragon glass, had to be. It seemed flawless. Well, of course, it was. They only ever had good smiths working their forges. Its color… its color was the most captivating thing.

Moving it around, he swung it, going through some fighting motions. It was light. Not close to Dark Sister, but lighter than any normal sword. Perfectly balanced, quick to turn and move.

How sharp was it? How strong? Could it rival their Valyrian Steel? Or was it simply better than ordinary steel? Even then they ought to forge more of it. The more, the better. Equip their most loyal men with them…

Not that it mattered now. Could it kill the dead? The only question to consider. They had not forged it to be a better steel, they had forged it to kill the dead.

“What do you think of it?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Well made. Light. I think it is a good sword.”

Rhaenyra nodded. Together, they walked down towards the beach, towards the others.

“Do you think it will work?” He whispered.

She glanced at him. “It has to.”

Daemon smiled weakly. Things usually never went as they had to.

Resting his hands on the hilt of the new sword, Daemon hummed lowly, staring at the box in front of him. The sword needed a name because if it worked, it was worthy of a name. Daenerys ought to pick it. She had made it.

Viserys slowly walked towards them, his lady wife right beside him, the three Kingsguard following along. Laenor and Rhaenyra whispered among themselves. The children argued whether it would work or not. Jace bet against it, Helaena for it, and Luke just followed his brother’s lead. Daenerys looked at him silently. Daemon hummed, returning her gaze. What did she believe?

When his brother was by their side, he finally stepped closer to the box. From up close, he could hear it, the scratching and screaming. His heart started to beat faster. If it did not work… if it did not work, he had Dark Sister. If it did not work, they had their dragons. If it did not work, they could lock it up and try again.

The Kingsguard surrounded Viserys.

Caraxes drew closer, growling. Daemon smiled. Whatever happened, he was safe. Stroking along his long neck, he ordered him away with as much as a thought. Caraxes moved, staring at his Daemon.

“Hold it,” he handed the not-yet-named sword to one of the guards nearby, who looked decidedly pale, and drew Dark Sister, slicing through the chains and nails securing the box. Jumping back, he demanded for the new sword. The dragons drew closer still, surrounding them like a pack of hungry wolves. Drogon and Rhaegal, Vermithor and Silverwing, Meleys and Dreamfyre. Seasmoke landed right nearby. At last, Syrax joined them. Even the Cannibal perched on his rocky outcrop. Daemon was sure he was staring at them.

“I hope they do not jump on it,” he muttered lowly. Their own dragons, they may control, but Vermithor and Silverwing…

Holding the sword, he readied himself.

Nothing happened for an endless moment, even the scratching stopped. In the silence, he felt his heart beating in his chest. More scratches, finally, and the cover moved. Vermithor growled.

“Dohaeris, Vermithor!”

Another growl. Daemon was not certain if he had made things worse.

“Drogon, no.”

They all uttered commands.

More scratches, and more and – the cover dropped, and it jumped out, like the worst version of every nightmare. The glowing blue eyes, pieces of skin still hanging to the skull, fully visible teeth and ribs and legs. It hesitated for a second, staring at them, blue eyes moving from one to the other, and then it ran for… likely Syrax, in truth. Rhaenyra just so happened to stand in front of her. Syrax roared. Daemon stepped in its way and swung the sword. It cut through the spine like butter. The thing hit the ground, hissed and screamed. Vermithor rumbled again. It crawled for him now, snapping its teeth… while the legs kept on trying to move, kicking at the ground, shoving themselves forward.

Caraxes drew closer again, staring intently at the thing, watching its every move. Drogon moved closer as well, his head hovering right beside Daenerys.

“Calm now,” Daenerys whispered.

Daemon stepped away from the thing a few times, luring it away from the others.

Another step and another, and he stabbed its head. For a second, he expected it to move on, for the arm to reach his boot, bones digging into the leather, maybe even teeth sinking into his calf…

It stopped. The blue eyes dimmed down and faded. The legs stopped moving.

They were all quiet, staring.

“By the Gods,” Ser Harrold muttered, the first one to speak.

“It worked!” Helaena squealed.

“We can kill them,” Daenerys whispered, sounding way more disbelieving than he liked her to be. Ser Erryk stepped beside him, staring at the thing up close.

Daemon turned away, walked to Daenerys and handed her the sword. “You ought name it.”

“I do not know…” she trailed off, grabbing the hilt ever so carefully as if she could break it. Her gaze wandered along the blade. She had a name; he could see it. May it was forming right now, may she had always known, deep down.

“Dawn,” she whispered.

He smiled. The bringer of a new day.

“I think it is fitting,” he said, soft and warm. Her gaze fluttered to him, and she smiled. His heart near melted. How she could just look at him. Daenerys passed him by, walking to the others.

“I name it Dawn.”

“I like the name!” Helaena said and darted for her to look at it up close. She whispered something to her, making her smile.

“We ought to celebrate,” Viserys decided.

Daemon smiled. For once, he fully agreed with his brother.

---

The moment their humans were gone, a scuffle ensued between the dragons. Caraxes snapped for the dead, only for Drogon to bolt at him, not hurting, but snapping right at his head. Caraxes screeched at the audacity, snapping right back at him, which got his little annoying brother involved, which in turn made Dreamfyre roar. She bared her fangs, closing in on him.

Vermithor grumbled. They all ought to calm down! Their two-legs would not be happy if they fell on each other over a dead thing. The others fully ignored him.

Caraxes and Drogon circled each other, hissing and growling. The dead thing was his! Caraxes grumbled. His Daemon had killed it!

Vermithor stared at them. Jaehaerys would have shaken his head. To behave like this…

Caraxes snapped at Drogon, who roared right back. This time, Dreamfyre did not only roar. She snapped at his tail, making Caraxes screech again, baring his fangs.

Meleys shuffled her wings and breathed fire, burning the dead thing. She stared at them as if she wanted to scold them, rumbled once, and took off.

---

Alicent stared at the others silently. Laughing and talking and eating and drinking. Daemon making jokes again, Helaena giggling along. Ser Erryk looked as if he wanted to join in more than anything in the world but kept his position. They were all so… carefree. As if they had achieved anything.

They really believed they would come again, did they? The dead things. Why else go to such lengths? When Rhaenyra told her this morning that they had those things locked up in her cells, she was one step away from yelling at her again, from demanding Helaena back home… until she realized Helaena likely knew of it – and decided to stay here anyway. If she dragged her all the way to Kingslanding, she was but a dragon flight away from Dragonstone. She could not keep her home unless she literally wanted to lock her up. Viserys… had looked worried, but only asked if they were well secured. Rhaenyra had smiled weakly. They are. I would not sleep a night, if they were not, she had told them. Good enough for her husband. Alicent had about a myriad other questions, but never got around to ask.

A shiver crept through her. They really believed they would come again. Why else lock some up to experiment on them? Why else… but how? How would anyone–

Dreams.

She paled, her gaze wandering to Daenerys. She had come days before the things attacked, come straight to Dragonstone. Not the Red Keep, not Kingslanding, but Dragonstone. Had she really known they would attack here first? Had she really seen it? Viserys had only mentioned his dream once…

There was Daenys, who had seen the Doom. Everyone knew about Daenys.

And now a Daenerys, who had seen… what exactly, she did not know. It had to be horrible though, to bring her here all the way from Essos. She would not have just up and left her life on a whim. She stared at the woman. Dreamer and not-burning and commanding two dragons. She had to be of the royal family.

Helaena changed seats, picking one right beside Daenerys, and they whispered together. None other seemed to care. If only she could hear…

Instead, she leaned closer to her husband at last. “Viserys?”

He turned towards her.

“Do you really believe those things will come again?”

His smile faded, and she felt nearly bad for bringing it up right now.

“I believe so.” He sighed lowly. “Where there is one, there can be many.”

Something cold took hold of her. Cold and unyielding.

Helaena laughed.

“We do have dragons!”

“What for?” Daemon asked.

“Forging the steel,” Daenerys said.

“I will ask Laena. Vhagar could forge it without even catching her breath.”

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes. Oh, now he thought of her daughter.

“Now, that is an idea,” Viserys said, pushing away the dark thoughts on his mind with all his might. “What do we do about the blood?”

“I assume it could be any of ours…,” Daemon said. “Or maybe even our dragons.”

“If you can convince Caraxes to cut him for blood…”

Daemon snickered. “I think I can convince him of anything.” But he knew, not all of them had that bond. Daenerys got closest, and then nothing for a long while.

“I want a sword too,” Helaena blurted out. “Or maybe a dagger. Daggers would be easier. Less steel.”

Rhaenyra smiled.

“Less reach, though,” Daemon countered.

“How about spear tips?” Daenerys asked. “Even less work and better reach.” Her Unsullied had always favored spears, except the closest quarters.

Daemon shot her one of those gazes. As if he was proud of her.

Viserys saw it as well and filed it away. Maybe he thought she may be his as well. He had to ask… but not tonight.

“Mother? Could we have a dagger too?” Jace asked.

She smiled softly and ruffled his hair. “Certainly.”

Viserys touched her arm. “Aegon and Aemond shall have theirs as well.”

She smiled thinly. Suddenly, he was oh so caring for their boys. Either way, she nodded.

“We will need more smiths,” Laenor said.

“We could fly the steel to Driftmark, after things are done,” Rhaenys suggested. “Split the work.”

Oh, of course, no one suggested Kingslanding. Then again, she may not herself. The city could be a foul place.

---

Still no sails, still no wings. It was time. With one last gaze at the horizon, Aemond left his room, with Ser Arryk following him right behind. The Kingsguard behaved like shadows now, never letting them out of sight, never leaving them fully alone. The dead had changed so many things.

(If only he had seen them!)

Passing by Ser Rickard, he slipped into Aegon’s room without knocking. His brother stood by the window, staring out as well. He made a strangled sound.

“Aegon?”

His brother jumped and threw him a gaze, looking strangely caught. He fidgeted around a bit and turned to him at last.

“They are still not back,” Aemond said. “They should be back by now.”

His brother sighed. “I know.”

“We have to look for them.”

“Mother will not be happy.”

“As if you ever care for what makes mother happy.”

He seemed to do the exact opposite of whatever she wanted, even Aemond realized it.

Aegon chuckled. “Just wanted to warn you. What do you think of?”

Oh, he knew! He had to know! He just wanted to hear it.

“We could take Sunfyre.”

If he had his own dragon, he would have flown already. The thought that they were all dead still ghosted through his mind. Would they know of it? Would they hear of it? If everyone on Dragonstone was gone… What should they even do, then? Neither of them could rule! Both Aegon and he, they were too young for it.

His brother hesitated. “You have to hold onto me well. If you fall off…” He looked worried for once.

“I will not.”

Aegon smiled weakly. “Words are easy. We fly around the city first.”

Standing in the shadow of the Dragon Pit, Aemond felt tiny. He felt even tinier when Sunfyre was led out by the dragonkeepers. Aegon stepped close to him without a worry in the world, stroking along his scales. Their Kingsguard looked unhappy.

“Aemond,” Aegon turned for him. Aemond moved closer carefully. “Stroke him.”

Really? He stared at the dragon staring back at him. Would he snap at him? Try roast him like Dreamfyre? Would he –

His brother sighed, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him closer, placing his hand on Sunfyre’s snout.

“Aemond, Sunfyre. Remember him?”

His dragon rumbled. Aemond could feel it under his hand. His heart started to hammer away. What he would give for his own dragon…

“Stroke him.”

Finally, Aemond did. Stroked along the scales, feeling their warmth, staring into the golden eyes. He was so huge. How long until his own dragon was ever as big as theirs?

“You cannot drop him,” Aegon said softly, stroking Sunfyre too. “If you drop him, mother may kill me.”

His words got a deeper rumble.

A few more strokes. “I think it is good.” Aegon stepped away and Sunfyre knelt. Carefully, he climbed onto the saddle, waiting for him to do the same. Aemond needed a little, well aware of the growing annoyance on Aegon’s face, and finally wrapped his arms around his brother.

“Fly!”

Sunfyre shook himself and started to move. A few steps, and then he vaulted into the air, the big wings beating. Aemond’s hold grew tighter. Aegon did not say a word. The dragon circled the city, once, twice, just as Aegon had said. Aemond stared, both at the faraway ground and the back of his brother. How did Sunfyre know? He had read the bond between dragon and rider was unexplainable, but how did he know? Aegon had never said a single word!

“All good?” Aegon asked, throwing a gaze over his shoulder.

 “Yes.”

The Red Keep was so tiny from up here. Everything was so tiny. If he fell… if he fell, he would be dead. Only he was not scared of it. He was flying for the first time.

“Good.”

Sunfyre turned towards the bay. Again, Aemond stared. How did he know?!

The city fell away behind them, the water of the bay moving past, soon stretching endlessly to every side. How far he could see. Wind ruffled through his hair, the body beneath him steadily moving, the beating of wings. One day… one day he would have his own dragon, and they could fly whenever he pleased, how often he pleased… which would be about always. All the things he could see, all the things he could reach… How could Aegon not sneak out every single day and just fly? He would never get off his dragon!

---

Around the same time Sunfyre took off, Daenerys managed to sneak away from the others.

Rhaegal raised his head when mother walked towards them, rumbling lowly, just as Drogon. She smiled brightly, stroking along his head.

“We killed it, Rhaegal. We really killed it! Maybe… just maybe…”

She turned to Drogon, stroking his head as well. His brother rumbled all happy, nudging her ever so carefully.

“I think maybe…”

He felt the sadness well up in her like from far away. She ought not be sad! He wanted the smile again! Rhaegal nudged her, trying for the same result his brother often got. Daenerys smiled scattered, and the sadness seeped away.

“Maybe we really have a chance. If the Dance does not happen” What Dance? “and if we forge the steel every day from now on… or almost every day. I need days too.”

She chuckled and settled down, leaning against Drogon like she always did. Rhaegal rumbled and edged closer, resting his head right beside her. Mother smiled and stroked along his scales. The softest touch, her fingers. She stroked Drogon too.

For a while, they just lay there, and Rhaegal gloated in her not being sad. If only all days could be like this. His brother surely felt the same. He was always upset when mother started to cry again, but there was nothing they could do. Tears did not care for growls and roars.

Drogon raised his head. Rhaegal looked up as well, following his gaze. Shadows moving in the water… he inhaled. No scent of the dead. Drogon rumbled lowly and got up… only to kneel, nudging Daenerys gently. Mother looked at him with a frown and climbed onto his back. Rhaegal watched exasperated how they took off.

How could they…

He had flown all the way here. Things had not been worse since then. They had gotten better. Tasty sheep, warm ground, his brother to snuggle against. His mother. All the other dragons and their mothers or fathers… albeit he had the inkling not all of their humans had hatched them. Drogon roared happily. No dead thing then. Rumbling, Rhaegal opened his wings and did not move.

He wanted to know!

He had to fly then. But they still hurt… all the holes, the cuts and bites in his side…

Drogon turned and looked at him.

Damn the taunting, albeit it was only friendly. Rhaegal flapped his wings as a try. No excoriating pain… and then, very careful, jumped into the air, beating and beating his wings. The air hissed through the holes. The ground was falling away.

The pain was there… as well as relief. He could still fly. A few beats later, he horribly banked to the right, nearly crashing into the water before he could correct his tilt. He could still fly! Some days he had wondered…

Roaring, he flew for his brother and mother. Mother beamed ever more than before.

“Rhaegal! Come!”

He did. When he got close enough, mother reached for him and stroked his head, making him rumble all happy. Today was perfect. At last, he looked down at the moving shadows.

No dead. Just tasty fish. One jumped out of the water directly beneath him.

Drogon fell on it, making sure to keep mother out of the water and snapped it up. Throwing it into the air, he roasted it and caught it back up, munching on it while flying. Rhaegal fell on the next shadow… it slipped right between his claws. Grumbling, he turned for the next, which got away as well. He just could not turn in time to get them. The fish near mocked him when they jumped up right beside him.

After a little, Drogon took pity. Caught a fish and threw it at him. Rhaegal grumbled some upset – as if he could not even catch fish! – but roasted it either way. Flying back for the island, he got aware of the curious stares of the other dragons. Had they never eaten fish? Why? They were surrounded by all the tasty food!

---

Daemon still sat with the others, but he utterly ignored the talk by now. His chin leaned on his hand, while he stared up ahead into nowhere.

His little bird needed a scabbard for her sword. One fitting the deed it had done. He would add their sigil, whether Viserys wanted to or not. She had forged the thing – with three dragons, at times. If anyone deserved their sigil, it was her. A better hilt, as well. The one right now was more a temporary thing. Maybe some dragon scales… not on the hilt itself, of course. Yes, yes, that sounded good. On the scabbard may as well. He had to… task the men here? No. He did not know how they would handle scabbards.

She would be with her dragons again…

…with everyone busy…

His gaze focused on Rhaenys. She was talking with Laenor, but her eyes kept on him. If he left right now, she would only follow.

Later. He would have to do later. Maybe they could watch the sunset together. Daenerys seemed to have an odd fascination with sunrises as well as sunsets. Calling her sword Dawn… He smiled softly. It was a fitting name.

---

Hours later, Rhaenyra had retreated to her chambers. Laenor had left to… well… She had the vague idea he would celebrate with Qarl some more. She was a bit sad, but she did not mind. Only because he seemed to enjoy sleeping with her now did not mean his desires had fully changed.

Her thoughts turned to Harwin. Her loved one…

Gods, hopefully, he was getting better… burn wounds were burn wounds, though. They would never leave. He was burned badly, Laenor had said. She sighed softly. She would still love him. Not that they could see each other anytime soon.

In time, her thoughts turned, back to the sword again. It had killed the dead. Something good, way beyond good, and still it irked her.

Dawn.

The prince that was promised will bring the dawn, Daenerys had said, all the way back when she did not believe her, and she had brought the dawn. In form of a sword. Giving them hope, most of all. A fighting chance, however tiny it may be. If they averted the rivers of blood, they had another chance, and then…

All the others still. The Blackfyre Rebellion. She remembered those, number one, two and three. How should they handle their heirs? What did anything matter if they started murdering each other about three seconds after her death?

Why had Daenerys named the damn thing Dawn? Why would–

A knock on the door.

“Come.”

Her guard entered.

“The Queen Alicent.”

Rhaenyra stared at her, watching how she stepped into the room. It was the first time she had not stormed in.

“Rhaenyra.”

She sat up and nodded. “What can I do for you?”

They both glanced at the guard, who bowed and left.

Alicent sighed and sat on the bed’s edge. “Those… those things. The blue-eyed… You believe they will come again, do you?”

Rhaenyra stared at her. Alicent and her sharp eyes, always putting pieces together.

What now? They had not talked about this. Not with Daenerys, nor Helaena, neither Viserys. He would not appreciate her just telling... but she was asking and asking the right questions. All the things anyone could see.

Oh, the Gods, if only she had told Rhaenys. She wished for her council now more than ever.

“Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra sighed. “Yes. Yes, I do. Why else catch them?” Why else.

Alicent paled and nodded.

“We have to stand together to fight them off,” Rhaenyra said, watching Alicent closely now. Every word could be a wrong move. “Helaena and I only very barely succeeded. I fear there are more of them, and if they all come…” She shook her head. “I do not know if we prevail.”

Alicent was silent for a little while.

“You offered the egg to Aemond because of it.”

“I told you. I refuse to lose anyone of us.”

Something shifted on Alicent’s face.

A knock on the door, and the guard burst in for a change. “Princess. My Queen. We spotted Sunfyre.”

---

Sunfyre circled above the island one more time, his scales nearly glowing in the setting sun. Aemond stared. He had never seen Dragonstone from up here. The castle, still imposing, with all the little details he had never seen before. Dragonheads and tails and claws, gargoyles, strange dogs, even a huge snake curling along one of the outer walls. The rock, though… It was perfect. Staring at it from below did not bring forth the scale. Fused stone, as far as the eye could see. As if straight from a different time… which it was, considering. Aenar had built it after they left the Freehold. Then, the world was still different. Unchanged, with dragons ruling over the known world – or at least all of it they cared about.

His gaze wandered away from the castle and along the beach, all the way to the Dragonmount. So many dragons out here… Caraxes was snuggled into the sand, just as Vermithor and Silverwing some way off, as well as two, he did not know. The green one looked at them, its head following Sunfyre. The Cannibal was staring at them as well from his rock outcrop.

“Hold on well!” Aegon yelled. As if it could be worse – it was worse. Sunfyre slowed and slowed and hit the ground. Aemond nearly flew off. Aegon grabbed onto his arm for good measure, keeping him in place.

“Are you well?” Aegon asked.

Aemond nodded, not trusting his voice. He would have to get used to the landings. His brother undid the leg bindings and slipped off the saddle, looking at him with sharp eyes.

“Come on.”

Yes, yes…

With shaking legs, Aemond climbed off. The moment his feet touched the ground, Sunfyre took off towards the mountain. He roared at Caraxes and Vermithor, who returned the call. Was it… was it a greeting?

“Aemond?”

He looked up at his brother, who looked at him expectantly.

“Can I… Can I have a moment?”

Aegon sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he said and turned away, “Do not take too long!” and walked up towards the castle.

“I will not!” Aemond promised. He watched the dragons for a few minutes longer, how they moved and rumbled, waiting for his heart to calm down, and turned away, even made a few steps…

… they were nearly all down by the beach…

In the Dragon Pit, things were always confined, always dark – not that the sun was out for much longer, but darker either way. Out here, he did not need a torch. Out here, he could back away without getting pressed up against walls, fearing for his life.

Instead of going up, following Aegon to the castle, he walked down. The soft sand gave way under his boots, making walking difficult.

The green dragon stared at him all the way, watching curiously. The black one beside him seemed to sleep, unmoving.

He had just known, Aegon had told him when he had asked about it. He had just known Sunfyre was his. Helaena had said the same, all slow and timid, when he asked her. She said she had taken one look at Dreamfyre, and knew it was her. It had to be her.

What if there could be another dragon, he had asked.

His sister had just shrugged and turned to her bugs.

The gaze of the green dragon was fixed on him, all curious. Was this it? The bond. He was not sure. The poor thing was hurt all over, but still it moved with the strange grace of dragons. It took a step towards him.

The black one twitched and raised his head. A moment, and he growled. The green one stopped, looking at the other dragon. Aemond took another step – the black one jumped up and roared. Aemond huffed and took another step. No dragon would make him stop! All the books said they would challenge their new rider.

Only, there was murder in his eyes. The black dragon rushed forward. Aemond twitched, lost his footing in the sand and fell, just in time for the fangs to close where his face would have been. He heard them snap shut, inches away from him.

“Drogon! No!”

The black dragon growled at him. Hot breath hit his face, and he bared his fangs once more. A moment, another, then he turned away. Aemond saw a woman in a white robe, the setting sun behind her, and she was gone again, hidden behind the dragon. He blinked. Was he… was he sure he had seen her? He stared at the black scales and decided he would not try find out. The green one had turned away as well.

Sighing lowly, he turned some and looked up. His gaze fell on the Cannibal, who stared at him, he just knew it. Old eyes, who had seen so much. Old eyes, wise and dangerous. He had seen Vhagar and Maraxes hatch, he had seen Balerion in his youth, as well as the other four dragons of House Targaryen. May he had even seen the Doom, from far, far away, like Balerion had, like anyone on this island had. How it must have felt… Getting back to his feet, he slowly made his way towards the Dragonmount, his gaze fixed on the wild dragon. The Cannibal. Every dragon was wild until claimed for the first time! Every dragon could…

Something rumble-hissed. It nearly sounded like screechy laughter. Aemond turned and looked at Caraxes, who stared at him. The sound came again, and the bloodwyrm bared his fangs. As if it was grinning. Aemond huffed and walked on sullenly. What did that one ever know? The hissing again, this time more high-pitched. Grumbling, he turned, and his gaze fell on Vermithor, who did not even bother to look at him. Neither did Silverwing.

His gaze fixed on him. Jaehaerys’ dragon. The old King, who had made his father King in the first place. If not for him…

Before he knew it, Aemond turned. Away from the Cannibal and towards Vermithor. The hiss-rumble stopped, but he did not even hear. There was only the bronze fury. Stepping closer, he finally raised his head and grumbled at him, but it was unlike the black one, who had been so full of anger and rage. Vermithor only said… he said…

…let me be.

How did he know? Aemond had no idea. He walked closer still, getting another rumble, then even a roar, fangs bared, but there was no murder in his eyes; just curiosity, like with the green one. Maybe, if the black one had not been with him… it did not matter anymore.

“Lykiri, Vermithor.”

Another rumble, deeper and more dangerous.

“Lykiri. Dohaeris!”

Vermithor looked at him, eyed him, eyed him… Aemond could see the glimmer of fire between his fangs.

“Keligon, Vermithor!”

The glimmer stopped and he got another rumble, deep and rolling. The hiss-rumbling started again. Aemond tried to ignore it.

“Lykiri,” he said again and stepped forward, reaching for the saddle chains. Vermithor let him. Quicker and more certain than earlier with Sunfyre, he climbed along his back until he reached the saddle. Vermithor eyed him, all curious again. What are you doing, boy?

Caraxes seemed to die of a laughing fit. Aemond slipped into the leg bindings and fastened them, took hold of the saddle, and took one last deep breath.

“Vermithor, sōvēs.”

Another long stare. Are you sure, boy? Are you really?

“Sōvēs!”

Vermithor moved. Opened his wings and pushed himself off the ground. The world fell away. The wind ripped at him, roaring in his ears. Vermithor shook himself and shook himself, trying to get rid of him. Then he dove straight down. Aemond screamed, holding on for dear life. The second before Vermithor would have crashed into the ground, he shifted and soared up again… and then dove and soared, again and again and again. His arms started to get weak, the leg bindings digging into his flesh.

What had he thought?!

Nothing at all, that was the problem.

He was fighting the bond. Vermithor roared and shook himself again. One of the leg bindings came undone and Aemond slipped to the side. He screamed again, this time panicking. If he fell…

He would not fall. He would not, he would not, he would not…

Vermithor rumbled and went into a dive. Aemond nearly flew right over the saddle. With the tip of his boots, he got caught against some scales and managed to stay where he was. Staring at the world rapidly coming closer, he knew full well he had gotten within an inch of his life. If Vermithor did another soar and dive…

The dragon levelled out. As quick as he could, he reached for his leg and redid the binding. Taking another deep, shaky breath, he grabbed the saddle again, getting ready.

Nothing happened.

“Turn left!” He yelled over the roaring wind. Nothing happened, nothing at all. How much longer of this? He should have asked; he really should have. Vermithor did not go into another dive, he just shot along, leaving Dragonstone behind. This was… this was bad. If he did not change his mind, they would end up somewhere in Essos. Mother would kill him.

“Vermithor, dohaeris!”

Vermithor did not bother to do anything. Aemond stared unhappy. Why did no one ever warn of this? He was just… he was strapped to a dragon, who did not listen, just along for the ride, wherever and however far away he fancied going.

Oh, the Gods, no. No, no, no. If only he had followed Aegon. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the saddle, a little towards the right, because his leg was starting to hurt. The saddle binding had dug into it while he –

Vermithor turned beneath him, towards the right. They flew an endless turn, a full circle. The dragon rumbled. Aemond stared. He had… He leaned left, and Vermithor turned left.

He was following his cues, he was…

He could not believe it. Not for a moment, and then another.

It was done. He had a dragon. He was his!

A grin spread across his face and he screamed. Vermithor fell in with a roar.

He had a dragon!

Chapter Text

A dragon roared. Aegon froze. The dragons would not roar now unless… unless they were disturbed.

“Aemond…,” he muttered. Turning, he ran for the gate. It had to be Aemond! He had seen him stare at the dragons, but when his brother started to walk up towards the castle, he had stopped checking…

Gods, he should have never left him alone down there. His mother really may kill him now.

‘He is only ten!’ He already heard her yell.

‘I thought he has a brain!’ He heard himself yell back. It would be a fight for the history books.

Stepping out the gates, he got a full view of the beach – and damn Aemond, who was walking away from the two unknown dragons. The black one stared after him.

“No, turn back,” he muttered, staring while his idiot brother walked for the Dragonmount.

---

Daemon stopped nipping on his wine when a dragon roared. It was only Viserys, Rhaenys and him now, chatting about things. How life had been here, how it had been in Pentos, how his girls were. If he would not want to come home, Viserys asked. If he did not miss his lady wife, Rhaenys had asked and stared.

Being closest to the window, he got up in a swift motion and moved to look outside.

“Are they scuffling again?” Rhaenys asked. They had been told about the dragons fighting over the dead thing.

“No. Your son tried to claim Drogon, I’d guess.”

“What?” From both of them. Rhaenys got up, rounding the table already. Viserys grunted.

Turning, he watched his brother have trouble getting up.

Something twisted in his belly. To see him so weak… the years really had not been kind to his brother. He was nearly afraid of what the next 10 would do. If he even got to 10.

Trying to force down the rush of sadness and worry, he crossed the hall and reached for him.

“Let me,” Daemon said softly.

Viserys swatted his hand away and got up after all. Daemon still walked beside him to the window. Rhaenys stared at them, looking as worried as he felt.

“How is your health, cousin?” She asked as Viserys stepped beside her. They all stared while Aemond walked for the Dragonmount. Daemon tried his very best not to snort. There was only one dragon right there. The Cannibal, staring at the boy. He would eat him for dinner, how he ate anyone getting too close.

“I am good,” Viserys answered. Daemon glanced at him. “Some days are just worse than others.”

Some days or all days?

---

Rhaenyra walked with Alicent. If she could redirect some of her old friend’s wrath, mayhaps she could right away start bonding with Aegon. Rhaenys would be proud of her, would she not? For thinking so quickly. She was proud of herself – if it worked, anyway.

Stepping out of the castle, they did not see either of them. The men on the walls were muttering. A dragon roared.

Alicent bolted for the gate, Rhaenyra running right after. The Queen stopped, looking horrified, which was not good. Joining her, Rhaenyra’s stomach dropped. Vermithor was taking off. The dragon shot skywards and then dove. They could hear Aemond scream. He rose and dove again, determined to get rid of his not-yet-rider.

“You have to do something!” Alicent screamed to the backdrop of Aemond’s faint screams. “Get on a dragon and pull him off or –”

“I cannot.”

“What?”

“If you interrupt a forming bond… Vermithor would kill us all.”

Alicent stared at her, the momentary anger fading, turning to utter panic, turning to… she started to cry while Vermithor bolted for the sky again and shook himself, dove and rose, dove and rose…

“No. No, no, no…”

Alicent stopped watching. She was just crying now.

Rhaenyra reached out for her, stroking along her arm. “He is holding on well,” she whispered. Alicent just sobbed. “He really is.” When she did not pull away, in a perhaps act of madness, she hugged her.

As if to prove her a fool, Aemond slipped. Some of the guards on the wall yelled. Alicent still did not look up.

Vermithor was still diving, seemingly doing his all to get rid of the boy. Rhaenyra scanned the sky beneath him for a falling body…

If he fell… if he fell, all her worries would be gone. They would hardly be able to claim another dragon before her father died. It would only give them Sunfyre to worry about. Helaena… Helaena would never fly against them, and Tessarion was still small.

She could not think like this!

Of course, she could. It was the truth of it, no matter how ugly.

“What is happening?” Alicent whispered.

“Vermithor levelled out.”

She dared a glance, and they watched as the dragon shot due east.

“What… what happens now?”

No more diving, no more soaring. He just flew on.

“I… I do not know. He should be able to control him.” Or at least give him cues. Vermithor would follow them… or sometimes not, just out of spite. The early bonds could be the most fickle.

Aegon walked up the stairs, pale as a sheet.

“You!” Alicent spat, nearly flying towards him. “How could you leave your brother alone?”

“I… I saw him walk up the stairs. I thought that was it!”

“You –”

“Alicent!” Rhaenyra yelled, making her stop for once. Both of them stared at her. “It was his own choice.”

“He left him alone! How would you feel if Jacaerys left Lucerys all alone? How would you feel if he could have died?!”

“I would scold him, yes.” She would never yell, but it sure was not a wise moment to bring up. “But what else to do? Is he supposed to watch him every second of his day?”

Alicent muttered something under her breath, staring daggers at her, but did not yell at Aegon again.

“Vermithor is turning.”

Aegon and Alicent turned to stare skyward. Vermithor was flying circles now.

Aegon snorted. “Idiot is-”

“What did you say of your brother?”

Vermithor started to turn to the other side and roared.

“Ah, there he goes,” Aegon said, sounding all the proud older brother.

“He did it,” Rhaenyra said and walked the few stairs down, standing beside Aegon now. Her younger… brother glanced at her, a frown on his face. Vermithor came for them, circling over the castle and roaring again. They could hear Aemond’s faint, euphoric screams.

Rhaenyra chuckled. “By the Gods, that first flight.”

“It really is quite something, is it?” Aegon said.

Aegon fell quiet instantly, staring at her awkwardly.

Rhaenyra decided to purposefully ignore it, “It is! That first time on Syrax… I never wanted to get off her again. She only managed 10 minutes then.” She chuckled softly.

Aegon smiled, still hesitating.

“How was your flight with Sunfyre?” That she had never asked…

“Good.” More silence. “Better than good. Gods, the wind in my hair…,” he seemed to crack, speaking on.

Alicent stared at them exasperated.

---

Aemond took a deep breath as the ground got closer. If he hit the ground like Sunfyre… he did not know if he had the strength left to hold onto him. He may just fly off the saddle after all and hurt himself in the fall. Make things even worse for Aegon. Did the bond even persist if he failed to get off him? Did it rip? Would he lose him?

Vermithor angled his wings and landed, gentle as a feather.

Aemond did not even realize. He was all wrapped up in his panicking thoughts. Vermithor turning on him would be so… probable. He never got anything good. The best thing ripped away from him within seconds. That sounded like his life. He would just –

Vermithor rumbled at him. He blinked and finally realized they were already on the ground.

When…. How… When did he land?

Carefully climbing off, he rounded his body and stroked his head gently... not that he could stroke a dragon rough. Did they even feel their touch? Well… Sunyfre seemed to have liked it. As did Vermithor now. His – how insane to think it! His! – dragon rumbled at him and turned away, flying back to Silverwing who stared at them. He rumbled at her, nudged her, and then snuggled against her.

He had a dragon.

Grinning all happy, he turned on his heels and made his way up to the castle, in better spirits than ever. Until he saw Aegon come bolting down the stairs, mother and Rhaenyra only a few steps behind. His stomach dropped. This would not end well, not at all.

“You fucking madman!” Aegon yelled and ripped him off his feet to hug him. “You claimed Vermithor, bloody hells.”

“I… I… I… I did.”

“You are a lunatic, Aemond.”

He got another squeeze and Aegon placed him back on the ground. Aemond stared at him. He looked all happy and proud. Was he not… was he not angry with him? Mother must have yelled at him.

“Ehm… thank you?”

Aegon’s grin just got bigger.

The two adults finally reached them.

“Well done, Aemond,” Rhaenyra said.

He just stared at her. What? Why would she…

Gentle steps came closer. Aemond turned and saw the woman in white approach.

“You are real?” He blurted out.

She stopped to stare at him.

Aegon burst into laughter. “Of course she is real. Did you lose your eyes?”

“Aegon,” Alicent scolded.

“Aemond, Aegon,” Rhaenyra said. “This is Daenerys Stormborn. She came from Essos with her two dragons.”

Both boys stared at her. Aemond leaned closer to Aegon and whispered, “Did she say two?”

His brother nodded.

How was that possible? Every rider only ever had one. Even Aegon, the big one, only ever rode Balerion. Rhaenyra had said… he paled.

“Did I try to claim your dragon? I never meant to, I…” You did not go after another’s dragon!

She smiled weakly. “All good.”

Mother ruffled his hair when they turned for the long way up. “Well done. I said you would get a dragon.”

He grinned again. “I really did!” He would about never get tired of saying it!

While they walked up the many stairs, Aegon fell a little back, walking beside the woman in white.

“What did you do in Essos?”

Mother threw a glance over her shoulder and looked at him with a frown. Aegon did not even see.

“I was a Khaleesi.”

“A what?” Aemond asked, stopping to look at her.

“She was married to one of the horse savages,” Aegon said.

“They are no savages.”

“Did you lead them?” Aemond asked. A Targaryen, wherever she had come from, would surely do nothing else but lead, and to lead the horse savages… she had to be strong!

Aegon snorted, wanting to speak up again.

“I did. After my husband died, I did.”

“What happened?”

She smiled weakly. “My dragons, I presume. People always wanted to steal them while they were still young. Little after they hatched, another Khal came for us. Surprised us in the dead of night.”

Aemond huffed. “How dare he!”

“Aemond, come,” Alicent said, and he moved on.

“How big was your horde?” Aegon asked.

“Some forty thousand strong.”

Aemond stopped again, fighting down the urge to turn and stare at her. Forty thousand?

His father patted his shoulder all proud.

“Well done, Aemond. To claim Vermithor…,” Viserys smiled. “It sure took courage to approach him.”

“I… I was not afraid then. I just did.”

Viserys’ smile deepened.

“Your father was the same with Balerion,” Uncle Daemon said, watching them from a little afar.

“Oh, he was old then. Gentler.”

“He was still Balerion.”

“You got a dragon!” Jace squealed, flying down the hall and hugged him. “You really got a dragon! How was it? How was the flight? Luke and I saw some of it! To hold onto that…”

Aemond told, all proud, leaving out the detail where he had slipped and nearly died under his mother’s watchful gaze. Helaena and Luke joined them while he spoke.

“Well done, Aemond,” Helaena said, smiling. “I never thought you would… there were only shadows.”

His sister and her cryptic words. “Thank you, Helaena.”

“Can I see him?” Jace asked. “Maybe all of us?” He looked at Luke and Helaena.

Aemond grinned. “Of course!” They could go right now and – he looked at his mother. “In the morrow?”

---

Aegon stared at the decorations in his guest room. The usual dragon tapestries, yes, a few stone dragons staring at him from the walls… but what intrigued him most was a tapestry of naked men and women… doing things. Was this really considered normal in Old Valyria? He tilted his head, staring at one particular depiction. He had to try this one day.

His door opened. Turning around, he already expected his mother, come back to resume the yelling in privacy. She would scold him for having looked at that tapestry as well. Seven hells, why did she always sneak in on him while he was doing something unbefitting?

It was not his mother. It was Aemond. He looked all small again, his happiness from earlier gone.

Aegon still awkwardly stepped away from the tapestry, sitting down on his bed.

“What is it?”

“I… I wanted to apologize for getting you in trouble. Are you mad at me?”

Aegon stared at him for a couple seconds.

What?

Mother. Alicent would have screamed at him – had even started, if not for Rhaenyra. His older sister irked him most about it all. His mother yelling at him he had expected, Rhaenyra stepping in absolutely not. Pushing the thought away, he smiled weakly. His brother. Always thinking about everyone else first. He considered it a weakness, truth be told, but sometimes it was endearing.

“All good.” He patted the spot right beside him and waited for Aemond to sit down. “You claimed Vermithor. Nothing else matters.”

“But–”

“Hush. I said nothing else matters. Do you miss him?”

Aemond tried to hide his smile and failed miserably. “Yes.”

“We could sneak out, you know?”

The mischievous sparkle in Aemond’s eyes was absolutely worth getting yelled at if they got caught.

Watching him stroke the big dragon, Aegon grinned, all proud again. His brother really was a madman.

Aemond turned. “Do you want to stroke him?”

He would love to. Vermithor stared at him while he stepped closer. So much older than Sunfyre… so much stronger. Letting his hand glide along the scales, he looked at Aemond.

“You really were not afraid?”

“No. Only while we were flying… I slipped once. Nearly fell.”

Fear passed through him. The thought of losing his baby brother, just like that…

“Never tell mother. She did not see.”

Aemond nodded, “Were you afraid when you claimed Sunfyre?”

“No. He tried to throw me off, yes, but…,” he shrugged and smiled. “I knew he would not, you know? I just knew.”

---

Laenor sighed, snuggling closer to Qarl. Couldn’t all days be like this? Were all things just worked out?

His lover chuckled. “Happy?”

Laenor just hummed, not deigning it with an answer. Of course, he was happy. They had a sword to kill the dead, he had Qarl, he had Rhaenyra, he had his boys. His life had never been better. Which reminded him, he ought to talk with him about Rhaenyra… not that he really had to. People had eyes… or ears, in this case. He had even heard the cooks gossiping about Rhaenyra and him, caught in the act. If the Queen would like to be in his wife’s stead… Laenor had walked on, deciding he was not that hungry after all.

Qarl pressed a kiss against his neck and stilled. As if his love would ever kill him. Just the idea was ludicrous. To suggest something like this…

A knock on the door. Qarl shifted and Laenor realized he had fallen asleep. The guard in front of the door opened it the tiniest bit.

“Ser Laenor?”

He hummed lowly and got up, pulling a blanket along to hide his nudeness. He had planned on sleeping in his arms tonight. Why did they get bothered?

He joined the man by the door, who did his very best to not look into the room. As if he did not know what they were doing. Sometimes, Laenor was worried about it… then again, as long as the man stayed on Dragonstone, who would he tell? For him, it would be an inconvenience. For the guard, it was death.

“What?”

“The princess wants you to know that Aemond claimed Vermithor.”

His smile faded, just like his good mood.

“Seven Hells.”

He could hear Qarl move.

“What is it?”

“Close the door.”

The guard did. Sighing, this time very different in nature, he turned, dropped his blanket and gathered his clothes which were strewn across the room.

“What happened?” Qarl tried again.

Laenor shook his head. “You will know in the morrow.”

Qarl caught him while he fetched his belt from somewhere in the bed.

“I would rather I hear from you.”

Laenor hesitated, staring at him. Half the castle had to know already… but still…

He did not answer. Qarl huffed and pulled him in for a kiss.

Qarl hated being left out, some part of his mind noted all of a sudden. He was used to being his only priority, besides his boys and acting married, and now…

“Dragon things.”

Qarl chuckled. “Did someone get eaten? The Queen, maybe?”

Laenor stared at him horrified. Qarl was a commoner, whispered the same voice. Just knighted. He could say things like this, or rather, he was used to being able to say things like this. No one ever bothered about commoners, unless they turned too great a hassle. Laenor could not. He would rather not even be overheard having heard it.

“Never say things like that!” Laenor hissed and turned away. Not while they were in the castle, anyway. They could always be overheard… Only commit one thing considered a sin at a time, was his belief.

“I did not mean to…”

“Oh, you meant to.”

Laenor still stole one last kiss.

Entering their chambers, Rhaenyra looked surprised of all things.

Did she… did she not believe he would come? It hurt.

“The Greens have Vermithor?”

She nodded.

“Seven Hells. Seven fucking hells. We wanted to give him a dragon egg!”

“We still have Vhagar.”

“I really do not wish to see a fight between the two. They may both die.”

What Vermithor lacked in strength, he made up in ferocity. If the Gods were hateful, he may even come out the winner.

“I know, I…” Rhaenyra sighed. “I will do what your mother said. Try make friends with him.”

“How?”

She smiled weakly. “It is a young bond, Laenor. He will need help. I doubt he was taught anything about dragons.”

They stared at each other for a few moments. What makes you so sure he will accept it from you, he never asked. She had had luck with Helaena, but the boys sure were a different matter. Aegon, most of all.

She reached out for him, and Laenor moved, slipping out of some of his clothes again. Wrapping his arms around her, he watched her snuggle close with a small smile. Her back, all warm against his chest. She was tense, no matter her words. Worried, now that he looked closer. The Greens had Vermithor.

“I missed you,” he said softly.

Rhaenyra snorted. “Liar.”

“I swear!”

“Thank you for coming,” Rhaenyra whispered what seemed like ages later.

“Always.”

---

Getting closer to Vermithor with the others in tow, Aemond still could not believe it.

He was his. He had a dragon.

Sometime during the night, he had awoken and wondered if it all had been a dream, one of the best ones he ever had, may… until his hurting arms and legs reminded him of the truth. He had held on to Vermithor. The big dragon had accepted him! Mother and Rhaenyra followed them along, staying a little away.

Vermithor raised his head as he approached, breathing warm air at him. Aemond smiled and stroked his snout.

“Be calm now, Vermithor. Do not hurt the others.”

His dragon rumbled at him, all soft. That was a yes, was it? In dragon-speak.

“He is like two Dreamfyres,” Helaena muttered, staring at the big dragon.

“Vermax fits into his head,” Jace said, staring just as well. Luke was hiding behind him.

Aegon chuckled. “He really would.”

“You can approach,” Aemond said, and the others followed. Aegon reached out to stroke his head. Soon, the others followed his lead, all stroking his dragon. Aemond looked at Vermithor, for any signs he may not like it… but he was all calm, just as he had told him to be. In fact, he looked rather pleased.

“You really are crazy, Aemond,” his brother said.

“He is!” Jace agreed. “I would have never.”

Aemond smiled timidly.

“Luke, you can come around. He still has not eaten us.”

The little Strong just tugged on the back of his brother’s robe and muttered he would rather not. Jace chuckled. “Baby brothers.”

Aegon barked a laugh.

Aemond huffed. He was a baby brother!

---

Alicent stared at the huge dragon from far away enough to be safe. That Aemond had to pick the biggest one… All the children just flocked around it without a worry in the world. As if they could not get eaten any second! Well, except Lucerys. The boy was simultaneously too afraid to look and too stubborn to leave.

“To think I was worried he would sneak his dragon into his room.”

Rhaenyra chuckled. “One worry less. It would be pretty obvious now, would it?”

Alicent smiled weakly. “Well. A wall would have to be missing.”

Rhaenyra snickered. “Perhaps you will have to drag him out of the Dragon Pit every other day now.”

“Like Ser Harrold with you?” She nearly froze after the words were out. Where had that come from?

The Princess grinned. “Yes, likely.”

---

“Do you want to show us how you fly him?” Jace asked all eager.

Aegon laughed. “Just like any other dragon!”

“Mother and Father fly differently!” Jace insisted.

“I would love to see,” Helaena said.

Aemond held her gaze for a moment and smiled at last. “If you want me to…”

“Yes, please!”

Aemond climbed up onto the saddle carefully, trying his best to ignore the ache in his arms and legs… and his shoulders. The latter burned as if they were on fire. Strapping himself into the saddle at last, he took hold of the saddle.

“Vermithor. Sōvēs!”

Vermithor did not do anything. He did not even shake himself.

“Sōvēs!”

Still nothing.

Jace giggled.

Aegon stared at him darkly. “He just needs–”

“Jace, quiet,” Rhaenyra cut him off, walking towards them now. Jace fell quiet instantly. “Apologize.”

“I…” he mumbled the rest.

“Look at him,” Rhaenyra said sternly.

Jace blushed and looked up at Aemond. “I am sorry I laughed.”

Aemond stared perplexed. No one had ever apologized to him, even less forced by the adults. No one had said a word after the horrible pig incident. He had been ready to be sad, even hurt, but then Aegon had defended him and now…

“Good. Away with you all,” Rhaenyra shooed them away. Aegon stepped back and joined their mother, while Helaena darted away with Jace and Luke. Aegon looked after her with a frown.

“Young bonds can be precarious, Aemond,” Rhaenyra said, looking up at him. “Do not worry of it.”

“But...” Sunfyre had never disobeyed. Dreamfyre had never disobeyed.

“He did not have a rider for nearly 20 years. They can be stubborn. Imagine you did not have to listen to anyone for all that time, and suddenly someone orders you around.”

He hummed lowly. If she put it like that… still… climbing down, trying to hide his grunts and groans, he looked up at her.

“How do I make him like me better?”

“Oh, I think he likes you already.” She glanced at his dragon. “Otherwise, he would not have chosen you.” She paused for a moment. “I would suggest bringing him food. All dragons love food. I am told he loves young sheep most of all and despises goats.” She winked at him. “Stroke him often. Unless he pulls away, just leave him be then. Never touch him while he eats.”

Aemond nodded, all serious. He would hate being bothered while eating too.

“Where can I get food for him?”

Rhaenyra smiled. “We have sheep nearby.”

---

While Vermithor roasted a sheep his young rider had brought him, Drogon stared at mother. She was standing in shallow water, where the ground was firmer, and was swinging around her pointy thing. Upwards and sideways and downwards, and whatever way, again and again. Why did she even bother with it? She had him! His claws were better than the pointy things! In his opinion, they were utterly useless. They would never be able to hurt him, and as long as mother was on his back, they would never reach her either.

Mother grunted when she swung the pointy thing upwards again. Drogon rumbled a little. Now it was making her do unhappy noises as well. If the thing did not smell like her, he would try losing it during a flight. Just bank too much one day and it would be gone.

Daenerys turned and smiled.

“Yes.” She lowered the pointy thing and walked to him, placing it on the ground. “You forged it well,” she said and stroked his head. Drogon rumbled lowly. Moving, he stared at the thing up close.

Mother still stroked him. “It is marvellous, is it not?” She sounded all proud. Drogon saw no other way than to rumble again. As if he would disagree with her.

The sand shifted behind them. Rhaegal growled lowly. Raising his head, Drogon watched the man he did not like approach. The rider of snake dragon. Always coming for mother when she was at her saddest, always with his smiles and soft words. How he looked at her… how the ugly man had looked at them when they were just wee little hatchlings, way back in that first city with good food. Was he going to put her in chains and never let her go as well? Did he have to burn him to get her free?

“Daemon,” mother said.

“If you want to learn how to fight, I could teach you.”

Daenerys stared at him. A moment of silence passed, another. The man just stood there, looking at her. Drogon hated the small smile on his lips. If only he could make it go away.

“I would like that, yes.”

Mother patted him one more time, stroked Rhaegal, and then walked away. Drogon stared after her. Rhaegal growled again. Oh yes, he would never. Drogon got up from his comfy spot in the sand and stalked after her. He would not leave mother alone with him!

---

Daemon offered her a sword.

“The edges are blunt,” he said. “We cannot hurt each other except bruises.”

Yes. Obviously. Better than their swords. Grabbing it, Daenerys immediately felt its weight. So much heavier than hers. She glanced at Dawn, which rested beside Dark Sister.

Daemon hummed lowly, taking hold of his own blunt sword. “Take a stance.”

Would he not show her? Taking hold of the hilt, she raised it in front of her.

He circled her. The desire was in his eyes again. If he was anybody but who he was… The matter was moot. He was her however-many-grandfather. She would not even entertain the thought.

Only… only some tiny part of her did, especially in the long hours of the night, when all she saw behind closed eyes were the dead hunting her.

Daemon was so many generations ago, what did it even matter? He was just a name in a line, leading up to her. What would it matter if she gave in and went for his chamber? She would be safe in his arms, she was sure of it, fully and truly safe.

He wanted her for his own selfish reasons, yes, but he did care for her. He came to ask how she was, he listened to her, sat beside her while she cried. Only ever he. What was this any different to all the other times? Everyone she had ever known had always wanted something of her, to use her to their own ends. Jon had wanted her for her army, for her dragons, for her dragon glass. The only people who had been undoubtedly loyal had been Missandei and Grey Worm. And maybe Ser Barristan and Asha, strangely enough. Drogo, once she had made him respect her. All the others, even her strong bear…

Could she not turn it around, once every while? Just use him.

Would he allow it, though? Would he even care for her after she gave in? Or would he just throw her to the wayside? He was no Jon. For all his flaws, he had been softer, gentler, and loyal… until he was not. The last real memory she had of him was wanting to set him on fire, right in that damn crypt.

My real name is Aegon Targaryen.

And after it was just snow and blood and death. She preferred the night before that one. Sharing a bed in his chambers, the crackling fire… she had nearly felt safe then, even with the looming threat right above their heads. How confident he had looked…

“…too much weight on one foot,” Daemon said, forcing her back to right now. Daenerys tried to focus. “It makes you unstable. If I make you trip or kick away your foot, you will fall, thus be dead in a real fight.”

Humming, she leaned back onto her other foot, only she could not hold the sword well then. It was too heavy.

“Lower your sword.”

“What?”

“You hold it too high. If someone attacks you from the side, you do not have time to parry.”

“Oh.” She lowered it carefully. The hold was better too now.

“Better. I will show you a few stances, you copy them.”

She nodded.

“Then we will fight slowly, which gives you time to do the stances well. Once you are experienced you can change them however you see fit.”

She nodded again.

“Questions?”

“No.”

He smiled. “Good.”

Daemon showed her stance after stance, giving them all a name. Daenerys copied them as good she could.

“Your elbow must be higher up,” he said while she tried to do the hanging stance. He stepped behind her and pushed her elbow up carefully.

“There you go,” just a whisper. She could feel his breath against her neck, all warm. A strange mix of panic and desire rushed through her. To feel safe again… truly, fully safe…

While he stepped away, he stroked along her arm. She stared at him, her heart pounding away. What would he do if she told him no? The possibility scared her worse than many other. What would he do if she said yes? Not that it ever was an option, no matter her nightly broodings. Laena may turn on them. The Velaryons themselves may. If they lost their strongest ally because of her…

Drogon grumbled lowly. She threw him a gaze and tried to smile. All was good. Or something like it. If she ignored the pit in her stomach.

“One more stance and we try fight.”

She nodded.

The next stance came and went and Daemon raised his sword.

“Attack me.”

She stared at him. “How?”

He smiled. “Just do.”

For a couple seconds longer, she stared, frantically going through all the stances they had tried. Which of those… the high stance, yes.

Metal hit metal. He caught the hit all casual.

“Interesting choice.”

“Why?”

He stepped back quickly, and she stumbled forward.

“You leaned all your weight against me,” Daemon said after she found her footing again. “If you can overpower an enemy, do as you please. If not, it is plain dangerous.”

She huffed and took hold of her sword again.

“Parry me.” He said, moving his sword slowly. She did. Again and again, because even slow he was quicker than her. They traded blows and traded blows. Her arms started to ache.

Eventually, he stepped back. “Good. You are good at guarding.”

“I am slow as –”

“Speed will come in time. Attack me again.”

She nodded and attacked him, taking care to just strike his sword now, again and again, forcing him a step back… or he stepped back to play along. They traded some more hits, until his sword was way too low. Taking the chance to go all in, she brought her sword down from high up, aiming for his shoulder. He caught her strike after all.

“What did I tell you about your feet?”

“What?”

Before she had even time to look, he hooked his foot around hers and made her fall forward. Daenerys hit his chest. Looking up, there was the pit in her stomach again. The panic, all raw and dark. He smiled and cupped her cheek, his warm fingers running along her jawline… along her lower lip… The way he looked at her...

Drogon breathed warm air on them, just inches away now, and grumbled.

Daemon chuckled. His finger ran along her lip again. “I think someone wants your attention.”

He was speaking about himself now, was he? If she leaned in…

“Well. I better give him what he wants.”

Regaining her balance, she stepped away from him. The way he stared at her now. Daenerys smiled, temporarily reminding Daemon of his own damn smile, and moved to stroke Drogon.

---

After another quickly roasted and devoured sheep, Vermithor nudged him gently. Aemond stared, lost for words. This was… this… that a big dragon could be so gentle.

Reaching out for his snout, he stroked him again. Another rumble… and then Vermithor got up and turned away. Aemond watched, how he jumped into the air, flying the short distance to Silverwing and snuggled against her.

Ripping on Aegon’s door, Aemond found it locked. He still hammered against it.

“Aegon?”

No sound from inside.

He sighed, leaning against the door, waiting, hoping… but no steps ever came. Darn older brothers.

Who to ask… he could not ask mother, she did not know anything about dragons. His father? How much did he really know? He had barely even been bonded before Balerion died. Helaena? Maybe. She would try to help for certain, but she knew nothing about mates as well. Dreamfyre had no mates. The maester? Seemed strange. Yes, they knew much, but they had no experience, not with dragons. Maybe he could go for the dragonkeepers… but they were so far away. He did not want to walk all the way to the Dragonmount. Sighing, he wandered through the corridors, not paying any mind to where he walked. Could it wait for later? Could it maybe even wait for the morrow? Aegon would join breaking fast if nothing else. Sometimes, he skipped dinner.

No. He would not be able to sleep. But who to ask? There was no one.

Rhaenyra?

He snorted at the thought. Yes, she had helped him, even made Jace apologize… but just the thought. His mother would be mad, maybe even madder than she had been at Aegon for leaving him alone. He did not want to be screamed at.

Joining dinner without answers, not that he had looked for any, he felt all out of place. Aegon was not here, near as expected. His father beamed, talking with Uncle Daemon about Essos-things. Helaena giggled with the Strong bastards. Rhaenyra simply ate, watching the table. Laenor leaned against her every now and again, whispering something into her ear, making her chuckle. Rhaenys was talking with Daenerys, staring at Daemon non-stop… and sometimes at him. The only other person all quiet was his mother.

She looked at him every now and again, even tried a smile, but did not speak.

“Did you fly today?” Jace asked.

Aemond blinked over his pork ribs. “No.”

“Oh. A shame. I hope you do tomorrow. I would still love to see! How… how was landing with him? Mother always says landings can be rough.”

Why… why was he talking to him? Could he not just let him eat in peace and be done with it?

“Good, really. He landed all soft. I barely realized he did.”

Jace grinned at him. “I bet Vermax will drop like a rock.”

Helaena giggled. “I think the older they are, the better they land.”

“Drogon is all gentle too,” Daenerys joined in.

“Lucky. The first few times I flew Seasmoke… I swear, he did not even slow down.”

Daemon barked a laugh. “How many bruises?”

“Way too many. I considered changing back to horses until he calmed.”

Rhaenys chuckled. “He did not.”

“Well. No one would trade dragons for horses.”

His father smiled weakly, sadness dancing in his eyes.

“How long until Vermax is big enough?”

“A few years still, dear,” Rhaenyra said. “I would guess three or four.”

The older bastard sighed weakly. “Way too long.”

“What should I say?” Luke piped up. The entire table burst into laughter.

They were all talking dragons… Aemond looked from face to face, his mind all sharp. If he asked now…

“Can I ask something?”

Rhaenyra smiled at him. “Certainly.”

“Vermithor… he… how strong is that bond between mates?” Not the real question he wanted to ask, but close enough. He would not tell the entire table he was scared that his dragon would not even fly home with him, that he would simply refuse to stay with Silverwing. The others would laugh at him, surely, if it happened. Part of him could already hear it.

“He will fly with you,” Daemon said. His eyes told him he knew exactly why he was asking. “Caraxes and Vhagar are mates as well. Look where my dragon is now.”

Well. Daemon was bonded to him for years. It was fully different from his new bond!

“Did they produce eggs?” Viserys asked.

“Ha. Not yet. You would know, I promise.”

They changed the topic as if things were done. Father speculated about eggs of the mighty Vhagar, the rest joining in all too happy. Only Daenerys watched him thoughtfully.

---

Hours later, Aegon snuck out of his room. The guard opposite his chamber did not even blink. Maybe they were used to sneaking around guests. The thought made him chuckle. Slipping into Aemond’s room three doors on, he smiled weakly. Asleep, the idiot. Thankfully. He had heard his knock, but then… then he really just wanted some peace and quiet. How nice everyone was here. How terribly, horribly nice. How Rhaenyra had stopped his mother from yelling at him, how she looked after and joked with Helaena while breaking fast, how she had approached Aemond and stopped her bastard boy from insulting him. It was all so… so strange. So stomach-turning strange. And mother had just let her on all those occasions, which made it all the stranger. He mulled it over for a second. The latter made sense, now that he thought of it. His mother was scared of the dragons and knew nothing of them. She would have never approached them… or even followed Rhaenyra. The first time, Vermithor and Aemond had distracted them, and with Helaena…

He turned, closed the door carefully, and snuck into Helaena’s room, who was asleep as well. He stared at all the fire in her room, from candles to oil lamps to torches on the walls. What in the seven hells? It was hotter than the hottest summer days in here! Dancing around the various fires, he reached out for her, only to hesitate. He had not woken Aemond, but would Helaena? He ought to let both of them sleep. All the things he wanted to ask could wait for the morrow. Only they would drive him insane until then. He stared at his sleeping sister for a few moments longer.

Why was everyone so fucking nice here? Why? It was downright scary.

---

In the morrow, Aemond snuck out of his chamber again. Down the corridors, out the gate, all the long way to the beach. Walking towards his dragon, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Daenerys was already out here, stroking her black dragon. Their gazes met, and she smiled at him. Aemond smiled back timidly. To have two dragons… to have led a horde… he had so many questions! One day, he would have to ask all of them. While he approached Vermithor, Caraxes started with his hiss-rumbling again. Aemond shot him a gaze.

“Silence!”

The hissing just got louder. Darn dragon. Huffing, he looked back at Vermithor, who stared at him by now. Silverwing eyed him as well.

Approaching, he stroked his dragon carefully, who rumbled in return. He really seemed to love getting stroked.

 “Good morrow. I do not yet have sheep. I will get some soon, I promise.”

Another rumble. Did he understand him even if he did not speak Valyrian? Or did he just like the sound of his voice?

“Can we fly today?”

No rumble.

Caraxes near screeched behind him, which got a growl from Vermithor. Oh, if only he could speak dragon!

“Unless he throws you off, he will fly for you,” Daenerys said softly. Aemond twitched and whirled around, which made Vermithor growl. Drogon growled right back. She had snuck up on them.

“Quiet, Drogon.”

He stopped, mid-growl.

“How would you know?”

She smiled weakly. “Drogon refused to even let me climb him after our first flight. Growled and hissed. Then he abandoned me.”

He stared at her. “He what?” He glanced at the black dragon, whose head hovered right beside her. He did not look like leaving her for any second longer than however many he needed to eat.

She smiled softly and reached out for her dragon, stroking along his neck. “He did. He even left me for a while. Always came when I needed him, when I was in danger, but always left again. I am convinced he knew what I was feeling, even from far away. And then… then he stopped leaving altogether.”

Aemond stared. Was the bond… was the bond that strong? He had never thought of it.

“Do we want to fly together?” She asked.

“I do not know…”

“He will. Do not worry too much of it.”

Her dragon knelt. Aemond stared at it. Another thing Vermithor did not do for him…

Young bonds could be precarious, Rhaenyra had said. He climbed up to the saddle carefully, staring at Daenerys when she just scaled hers, sitting on him without a saddle. He had wondered how she flew, with no apparent saddle chains on her dragons, but had been too scared to ask. What if she thought his question stupid? To fly without a saddle…

He took hold of his, happy he had one.

“Vermithor. Sōvēs.”

A grumble.

“Vermithor.”

“Stop worrying,” Daenerys said gently.

“But –”

“Hush. Stop.”

He stared at her… taking a deep breath, he tried to clear his head. Things still irked him, Jace laughing, how could the damn bastard dare, how he had nearly died claiming him, how…

He waited until the last thought had fallen silent.

“Sōvēs.”

He felt him move. How the huge body jolted into action, the strength running in his every muscle, and then the wings beat and beat. The ground was falling away. Aemond stared. What… why?

Drogon soared beside him, nearly looking tiny right next to Vermithor.

“He feels your worry. Worried dragons are apt to not behave.”

He stared at her in disbelief. It was… it was so easy, but it made sense. Would he want to fly, if his new tiny friend was worried out of his mind? No, he would not. All the things that could go wrong!

Circling higher, Aemond smiled then grinned and then screamed, with Daenerys’ laughter in his ears. Vermithor roared, as did Drogon.

Chapter Text

Dragons roared, ripping Alicent out of her sleep. Seven – she would not curse the Gods, not even now.

Her Lord husband chuckled beside her. “I figure Aemond is flying.”

If he was… she had to tell him to not fly over the castle. Or the city, back at home. People sure would not take lightly to getting awoken by dragon roars every other day.

Still, she smiled while she slipped out of bed. Aemond had been so worried Vermithor would not fly for him… and now he did. Of course, he did.

Looking out the window, she saw naught but a wing, and gone it was. The dragon roared again.

Her son had Vermithor. Just the thought. Her father would be pleased.

The second largest dragon of House Targaryen. One to rival the mighty Vhagar. Her smile turned grim. She had always worried about the dragons… she still worried about the dragons, but things seemed more equal now. They would be able to defend Kings Landing, if the need ought to ever arise. And it would arise, she knew it. If they went for the throne…

Her gaze ended on the green dragon, still lying on the beach.

If they betrothed Aemond and Daenerys, it would give them two further dragons. Maybe enough to stand against – that was insanity. Daenerys was loyal to Rhaenyra, no matter…

A thin smile turned up on her lips. Maybe, in time, she could make her see the real her.

Which real her? The one who had held her as she cried? The one who had been willing to give a dragon egg to Aemond? Willing and ready to put aside enmities…

Alicent shooed away the thought. She could not fall for Rhaenyra’s words. Words were cheap, easy for a liar…

She had stopped lying too.

Oh, enough of this! Turning away from the window, she looked at her husband.

“Viserys?”

Time to better their odds.

---

“You can really command them both?” Aemond asked, looking at the green dragon beneath them. No one could command two dragons. It was just not possible.

Daenerys looked and him and smiled. All the doubt on his face.

“Do you want to see?”

Aemond nodded. He would not believe it until he actually saw it, because there was just no way.

Drogon tilted to the side, and Daenerys let go of one of the horns, reaching out toward the other dragon.

“Rhaegal! Come!”

The green dragon looked up and stared. Aemond stared right back at it. Nothing happened. Of course, nothing happened. There was no possible –

He opened his wings, flapped them, once, twice… and jumped into the air, flying for Daenerys. When he got within reach, Daenerys stretched her hand out, and stroked along his snout.

Aemond stared. Simply stared, somewhere caught up in utter disbelief and awe.

“How?”

No one could!

---

Vermithor stared at the green dragon. He knew he was a brother to the black one, knew they had flown together… but to actually see the dragon girl give him commands? Why would he follow them? He would never follow orders of not-his-rider, unless they were utterly in his own self-interest. Like he had helped Rhaenyra when the things had come. He would surely not jump into the air and join her side, just on a word. Even less so fly where she commanded him, right beside his brother.

Why would he even listen? Did he not know she was already bonded? Was he a little slow, maybe? Still hoping for her bond, which would never come. She had already given it.

He brooded about it for the entire rest of the flight, brooded and brooded, not always picking up on Aemond’s commands.

No one ever commanded more than one dragon! It did not happen. The end of it.

Only she was doing it, right in front of his eyes.

How? Why? How would it be…

Maybe…

Maybe she came from the place Balerion had sometimes sung of? The city of a fourteen fires, the place of wonders, far, far away in the East, further than any of them had ever flown.

Truth be told, he did not fully believe Balerion. The dragon had been old when he sang his songs. There surely could be no place with a hundred, hundred dragons in the skies, all their roars mixing to a single song, the ground always warm to their scales, and the food as plentiful as one ever wished. Even the winters had been warmer there, the black dragon had claimed. Warm and short. All before the sky had changed and the world had rumbled.

When they were back on the ground, Vermithor stared at the dragon girl and inhaled her scent, much to Drogon’s dislike. He had to know. Jaehaerys, his first human, may he sleep the long sleep, had always prided himself on knowing things. Not knowing now was akin to madness.

The black hatchling rumbled at him. Vermithor utterly ignored him. He just moved closer to the girl, staring. There was nothing special about her.

His young rider felt uncomfortable, he could feel it. “Vermithor,” he said. He still ignored it, until he was just inches away from the girl, and inhaled her scent again. The green one growled as well now.

She was of the dragon, yes, how all the others were. Not any less, not anymore. Not like the scaled hatchlings, who always died.

“Vermithor. Dohaeris.”

Serve. Serve, he did. He did not rip her to shreds, did he? He inhaled again. A bit of worry, yes, but nothing to… there was something, something he could not place. Beneath the smell of the dragon, deep, deep beneath it…

The black one growled again, inching closer now.

Serve, his little one had said. Vermithor rumbled, breathed warm air on the dragon girl, and took off, back to his Silverwing.

---

Aemond stared after Vermithor.

“What the…”

“Sometimes, they are strange. I would not mind too much of it.”

Aemond smiled. “Maybe he likes you.” He was liking her a little bit…

Daenerys chuckled. “Maybe.”

“Can I... can I ask about your…” how had it been called? Khal...ess… there had been an r in there, somewhere, he was sure of it. “… time in Essos? With the horse people.” Bad catch, if there ever was one.

“Certainly.”

Before long, she told him of all their strange customs. Of praying to a horse god and a big rock, the mother of mountains, of believing the moon was a goddess too. What was not a god, he wondered and listened on. Of blood riders, of braids and their meaning, of gathering in Vaes Dothrak every now and again. How murder was forbidden there… only it happened after all, in creative ways.

“Blood may not be spilled,” she said and winked.

Of always eating horse meat, oh, how she had loathed it by the end of it, of having to eat a whole horse heart to prove her worth to the tribe.

“You ate the whole thing?” He asked, staring at her.

“I did. Took me hours.”

He barked a laugh. She was crazy too!

A guard approached them. “M’lady. The King demands for you. My Prince.”

“What does he want?” Aemond asked.

“I would not know.” The man motioned for her.

Daenerys looked at him and smiled. “Till later.”

He smiled right back and nodded. “Till later.” Hopefully, they could fly again.

---

Entering the main hall, Daenerys found the King on the stone throne. Alicent stood by his side, her expression guarded. The three Kingsguard stood by the steps to the throne, hands on the hilts of their swords.

Oh, what now?

“Your Grace.”

She still did not bow. She would never bow for anyone.

“My lady. I thought on what to do with you.”

Her stomach sunk. Some command would come out of it, some command she would not like.

“You will marry my son Aemond.”

She about stared at him. Aemond?

“It is an honor, my lady. Many a woman would envy you,” Alicent said.

Aemond? “He is but a child,” Daenerys finally managed.

“He is nearly a man grown.”

Yes. In another 10 years, she may finally think of him as anything other than a child.

“No.”

King and Queen both stared at her.

“You will marry him,” Viserys said.

“I will not. I will never marry again.” How to… “My husband died. He rides in the nightlands now. The second one I considered was murdered. I assume the third would fare no better. Do you want your son dead?”

“You will do as the King commands.”

A smile twitched over her lips. “If only I was one of his subjects.”

“You are –” Alicent started but fell quiet when Viserys raised his hand.

“I would rather fly East.”

“What happened to your husband? And whoever you considered,” he asked, all soft.

“You know of the first. The second was stabbed to death by his own people. I refuse to try again.”

“Aemond would be different. No one would dare touch him, nor you.”

Yes, well. They had to get past Vermithor.

“No.”

“You will be bound to my House.”

“I am already.”

“Not even in name.”

For a second, she was speechless. Not even in name. How could he dare?

I am more dragon than you.

I was a better Queen than you will ever be.

You do not deserve the throne. If only you died quicker.

She did not say any of it. As much as she wanted, she could not dare.

“I am blood of the dragon.”

“Mere a dragonseed. There are hundreds of you out there in the wind.”

“How many of them have dragons?”

How many of them had seen the end of the world?

Viserys did not respond.

“If… if this is about offspring, you needn’t worry. I cannot have children. None of my blood will challenge yours.”

“You cannot promise it.”

“I can and I do. My dragons are the only children I will ever have.”

“You will have children before long,” Alicent said cooly.

“And they may take your dragons, earlier or later. I will not have a house to challenge mine.”

Oh, like your own sons and wife?

“I will not have children,” Daenerys said again. “I had plenty a chance, and nothing ever came of it.”

Viserys stared at her, but his expression softened slowly.

“Would you bend the knee and swear fealty to me as King and Rhaenyra as my heir?”

“I would.”

“It would make you one of my subjects, thus I could command you.”

Daenerys’ lips twitched into a smile. The man had some cunning after all.

Viserys got up. Alicent glanced at him. He walked down the steps, and the Kingsguard moved with him. Daenerys stared. Were they afraid she may stab the old man?

“If you have children, I will put them to the sword. If you flee, I will have my dragon riders hunt you to whatever end you flew. There is no place you could hide. If you found your own house, I will burn it to the ground.”

Daenerys smiled weakly, “As befits a King.”

“You will never marry into another House, you will fly wherever I command you, fight whoever I tell you.”

As if he ever would. She was oddly pleased, still. He had to get something for letting her go.

“I will, your Grace.”

“Kneel and swear.”

The one thing she would not do. Her gaze flickered to Alicent, who looked displeased with the whole arrangement. Had Aemond been her idea? The boy sure was a gentle soul, but no one she would ever marry, not that she planned to marry anyone at all.

Daenerys stared at Viserys again… and for a moment, actually considered marrying.

If Aemond was already married to her, he would never win the Baratheons.

If Aemond was married to her, she would turn him easily. They would have Vermithor. But would he fly him against his brother? Unlikely. Would he fly him against her? Unlikely too.

She would have her name back. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.

Aemond would be a good lad.

Marry or kneel, kneel or marry…

She would be essentially free if she knelt. The best he would ever offer her… or fly east, but flying east would mean leaving. She could not leave, not right now, not when everything went so well. Aemond started to like her, one way or another. If she let the opportunity slip through her fingers, just because… Would she ever forgive herself if things failed because of her? The answer was no. Her stomach sunk. She had to stay. They had to change things. Stop Alicent and Otto and Aegon, stop the Dance… stop the dead. Defeating them was worth more than her ego, more than anything. 

“Decide,” Viserys whispered.

Decide. Right now, right here. Her stomach turned again, no matter what. All the things she was losing, letting go. Now even her freedom. She would be sworn to someone.

Daenerys sunk to her knees, keeping straight. Bow, she would never. A dragon did not bow. But a dragon did not kneel either. Her gaze flickered to Alicent again. Hopefully, it was worth it in the end. 

“I swear fealty to King Viserys and his rightful heir, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I shall be of service whenever called upon. I swear it, by the old gods and the new."

Viserys smiled softly.

“Rise then, Daenerys.”

---

When the girl had left, Alicent stared at her husband.

“Why did you relent?” Why had he just given in? They ought to bind her to them, not only get empty promises! Once she had sons and dragons for those, who would even care about some oaths? She may even steal dragon eggs from them, as Daemon had done all those many years ago.

Viserys glanced at her. “Would you rather I push her away? We need her.”

“We do not need her!”

“We do. For the swords, we need her. For her dragons… having them close is better. What could I do if she left for Essos?”

Hunt her down, Alicent did not say. Do what he had promised he would!

“We may still change her mind in the years to come,” Viserys said softly.

Alicent stared. Had she misheard?

---

Leaning against Drogon, Daenerys stared out at the waves, watching them come and go and come again. It changed nothing for her, did it? She would fly for Rhaenyra, whatever happened. She did not have to marry. She did not have to… But it felt different. Sworn to someone. A Viserys. She had never been sworn to anyone. She had been the one people pledged fealty to, not the other way around.

She had knelt. A dragon did not kneel.

Steps came closer. Daemon. He would know somehow. Or… or Viserys had simply told him. Of course, he would…

“You swore to my father and me?” Rhaenyra asked.

Daenerys smiled. “Either this or marry Aemond.”

“Mm. May I?”

“Of course.”

Rhaenyra approached and sat down beside her. They were both quiet, staring out at the waves.

“Nothing changed… but it feels different.”

“I doubt he will ever command you.”

“I know.” And still… and still. If she was called on, she had to serve now.

What was it different than fighting for Rhaenyra? She would have done it of her own volition, that was the difference. She had bent the knee.

Rhaenyra reached out for her and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You flew with Aemond in the morrow?”

“Yes, yes, I did.”

She told her of their talk after. How he seemed fascinated by Dothraki culture.

Maybe… maybe she should have married the lad. Drogon, Rhaegal and Vermithor… not that he could protect her for years, but he sure would try. Daenerys smiled at the thought. The boy, trying to act all grown up.

---

Said boy lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling. She could control two dragons, yes, she could. She had commanded 40 thousand horse people, getting them to like her by the sounds of it. She had survived after her husband’s death, with just her two little baby dragons. He had to ask how she had gotten them next time they talked, his curiosity gnawing at his mind. His thoughts circled back to their flight. How she had looked, just clinging to Drogon’s back. How she could even dive all carefree was a near mystery to him. He would be scared out of his mind. The wind alone…

---

Approaching the dragons by sunset, Daemon stopped in his tracks. Her voice drifted over to him, as well as… he frowned. Aemond’s? What would the boy want from her? Walking by at a distance, just acting as if he was going for Caraxes, he threw a gaze at them. He got a good view of Aemond… and smiled weakly. He looked at her in awe.

He petted his dragon for a bit, watching the sunset from the corner of his eye, and then returned back along the beach. He wanted to get her alone, at last. He wanted to… first talk about her bending the knee to Viserys, yes. , Certainly, it would bother her because it would bother him just as much. She had been free all her life, and now she had to answer to someone. Get her to talk, how he always did. Her guardedness disappeared the more she talked…

Daemon slowed. Daenerys was gone. Only her dragons stared at him from afar.

---

Three times. Aegon stood by the window of the main hall and grinned. Three times, Aemond had gone flying with Daenerys in the last days. Someone sure was infatuated! His second one… or maybe his first. That handmaid from when he was seven barely even counted. At least he had upped his standards. Picked a strong dragon rider. Good for him. Not that anything would ever happen between them, but good for him. Maybe… if he was still enamoured in a few years… He snickered at the thought.

“What are you laughing at?” Helaena asked from behind him.

Aegon glanced at her. “Nothing really. Aemond is flying again.”

“Ah.” Helaena stepped beside him… and Aegon went to grab her a chair to better look out the window. “He flies well, does he not?”

“He does. Getting better every day.” Aegon grinned. Wait. Did he really sound so proud? Glancing at Helaena, he figured yes. She smiled all soft.

Aemond screamed again, followed by Vermithor’s roar. That sure would not get old for a while.

“I swear if he wakes me up every morning…”

Helaena chuckled. “You will lock him in the cells?”

Aegon barked a laugh. “Now, that is an idea. Do you want to help? You tell the guards to open the doors and I drag him through. And you can lie to mother. No one would ever guess it was you.”

Helaena snickered. “I cannot.”

“What? Why? Please. It would be fun!”

“I will stay here.”

He stared at her. “You what?”

“I will stay here.”

“Yes, I… Why?” How? Mother would have never agreed to it! She loved Helaena, maybe more than all of them combined.

Helaena looked uneasy for a moment. “I… I grew fond of Rhaenyra. She was there for me when we fought the things. And… and I think Dreamfyre likes it here better, free of the Pit.”

Aegon still just stared at her. “Mother… allowed it?”

He had never seen a guilty smile on her face, but now it was there.

“I asked father.”

Aegon just stared. His… his little sister had turned cunning. Who was she? What had happened to the timid girl, whose greatest joy in life was counting bug legs, or whatever it was this time?

---

“That is your Uncle Aemond, see?” Rhaenyra said gently, holding Joff to look out the window. As if he even recognized anything at that distance yet. Her baby babbled happily either way.

Laenor chuckled softly. “Do you think we should take him flying soon?”

She glanced at him. Standing a bit away, watching them. All the affection in his gaze… she was still not fully used to it, truth be told, but she started to like it.

Daemon and Viserys sure had not been hurt when Princess Alyssa took them flying within days.

She hummed lowly. “Do you want to fly Joff?” She moved him up and down a bit, horribly mimicking a dragon’s flight. Joff squealed happily.

“That sure is a yes,” Laenor stated.

Rhaenyra chuckled. “I wager, he would agree to anything right now.”

“Eh. We have to take what we can get.” He stepped closer. “Can I hold him?”

“Of course.” She handed him over, staring at his hands for just a second to make sure he held him well.

“Well, big boy?” He moved him around a bit, getting him all giggly. “Who wants to get eaten by a dragon? Yes, who wants to get eaten?” Joff squealed again, all happy.

Rhaenyra snorted and shook her head, smiling. Syrax would never eat her little ones.

“We can ask the biggest dragon for help, yes we can!” Laenor went on, kissing the crown of black hair. “I fully believe your Aunt would help us.”

She burst into laughter, which in turn made Joff giggle. The look on Laena’s face, in case Laenor ever truly asked. He threw her a quick glance and grinned, before fully focusing on making Joff giggle some more.

How he had looked at her again… how good he was with the boys…

Vermithor roared, cutting off wherever her thoughts had wanted to go. He was right either way. Aemond was more important than any potential brooding. Turning back to the window, she watched the bronze fury land on the beach. Her stomach sunk ever so little, staring at Drogon and Rhaegal nearby. How small they looked… If it ever came to a fight between any of them… he may kill Syrax without even trying. He may rip Vermax and Arrax apart without a second thought. What was there much of a difference between Vhagar or Vermithor compared to the little ones? Both of them were huge.

Laenor stepped beside her, his lips right by her ear. “If you need anything…”

She glanced at him and smiled.

“Thank you.”

What else could she do? What else, what else…

Watching Aemond walk back towards the castle, Rhaenyra hummed. He had not even known about the fickle bonds.

---

Entering their library, Rhaenyra passed right by the writings of maesters, any copies from the Citadel they had acquired over the years. Bar a few exceptions, they only were of Westeros, of their histories, their believes. Aegon had supposedly studied them extensively. Nothing she cared for right now.

She only had an eye for the few Valyrian books they still possessed. Mostly histories of the Freehold, its wars, its rise, the 40 families, and a manual about dragon grooming. The latter, she had come for.

Walking through her castle, while holding the old book carefully, she wondered if Aemond could even read Valyrian, if he could speak it, if any of them could. She had been raised speaking and reading it, but ever since her mother was gone, Viserys barely spoke it. She did neither for that matter unless she taught her boys. Why should she, after all? In Kings Landing, all they ever spoke was the common tongue. The only exception had been with Daemon, but he had been gone for long years now.

She had to teach them, she decided. All of them, if she could. Helaena may just join Jace in his lessons. If only they had a tome about Valyrian bugs. Her sister would be able to decipher the runes in no time at all. 

Rhaenyra stopped in front of Aemond’s guest chamber, hoping he was back already.

Everything to keep her boys safe; everything to put an end to all the horrors that came after.

No, that was the wrong thought. Everything to make her family grow. She saw it in Helaena, how happy she was compared to staying in Kings Landing, how much she loved her, how she never wanted to miss her again. If she could make the same bonds with Aemond and Aegon…

… if they were one big family…

Maybe, just maybe, she would even get her old friend back in time.

Finally knocking on the door, she waited.

Quiet from inside. Maybe he had gone for Aegon, maybe he was in the kitchens sneaking himself some food, maybe –

Shuffling, and Aemond opened the door. He stared at her with a frown.

“How was your flight?” She asked.

“Good.”

Oh, those damn one-syllable answers. They could all do them. Helaena, Aegon, him.

“Can you read Valyrian?” She asked, skipping further pleasantries.

His frown turned deeper. “A little. Why?”

She showed him the book, holding it ever so carefully.

He stared at the cover.

“Zaldrīzes means dragons. The others…,” he looked up at her, his timidness battling curiosity. “What is it about?”

“How our ancestors took care of their dragons.”

“How… We have a book about that?”

“Hm-hm,” Rhaenyra smiled. “Someone obviously thought it useful. I would guess they were common in the Freehold.” At least, among the dragonlords.

“Can you… could you read it to me?”

Why else would she have come? “Certainly.”

She ended up sitting on Aemond’s bed, with him right beside her, his eyes flitting along the runes he could barely read, and told him of the certainly insane craft of trimming down a dragon’s claws.

“I would like you to not try that,” she added by the end of it.

Aemond smiled a little. “I would never. Why would I want Vermithor’s claws to be lesser? Strange book.”

Rhaenyra chuckled.

“In a later chapter, they say if our dragon ever gets cold, we ought to guide it into the fires of the fourteen flames.”

“That seems… impractical nowadays.”

She grinned. “Only a little. It does have good advice as well. How to treat their wounds, how to help a wing heal, how to remove a fang if they break it in battle. The latter is rather deadly again.”

Aemond snickered.

“At the end, there is a short chapter about how to handle the first flight and all sorts of flying maneuvers. I can only guess there was a second book all about dragon flight.” If there ever was, it was gone now. “Anything that sounds interesting to you?”

He hummed lowly. “The flying maneuvers?”

Rhaenyra nodded and carefully turned the pages.

---

Passing by on his way to his chamber, Daemon heard her voice. Rhaenyra. Cocking his head, he stepped closer to the door. Aemond’s room. Her voice was thin through the solid wood, but he heard enough to know. He had read the same book to Rhaenyra, way back when. How excited she had looked, how happy… how giddy to try with Syrax, once she was big enough to fly. Only he had never bothered translating. He had to explain a word every now and again, even more often in some chapters, but he had never translated.

The Hightower boys could not even speak their language.

The bitch Queen, surely. With her oh-so-fervent belief of the fucking Seven…

Only, this time, he could not only blame her. Viserys ought to teach them or have a maester or a dragonkeeper do it at the very least. Anger bubbled up in Daemon. How could his brother…

What else did they not know? The thought was so sudden, it near surprised him.

If they could not speak, they could not read, they could not… How well could they even control their dragons? Especially in the early days, commands were crucial. What if they did not know a word and their dragon… did what? They would know stop and stay and serve, they just had to.

But there were so many finer commands. A dragon may not always listen to the bond or cues in Aemond’s case. What if he could not even tell him to turn left or right or fucking land?

If any of them lost control of their dragon… It may shatter the belief that they were above men, above certain aspects of the law. If the Crown was not seen above the normal Lord, then what? If they lost control, they would lose power. The early days were proof enough of how fickle a grip it could be. How often Aegon had to fly Balerion through the Kingdoms, to remind the Lords of their oaths. There may be riots… not that they ought to do much about dragons, but it could encourage. The Dornish sure knew a thing or two about shooting dragons out of the skies. If their enemies learned of their weaknesses and dared make friends of the fuckers down south…

Daemon shook himself and finally moved on. How could Viserys not think about any of this? How could he not realize? He was putting all of them in danger.

He was so lost in thoughts, he walked straight past his chamber.

“Daemon?”

He stopped and turned towards the voice. Daenerys. “Yes?”

“Can we train?”

Of course, they could. Of course, they did. He parried her sword strikes with half a mind, still brooding, still wondering.

Steps came closer and stopped by the training area. He glanced towards it. Rhaenys. Of course, Rhaenys. Always Rhaenys. Her dislike of the situation was palpable. He would either have to sleep beside Caraxes again…

Daenerys grazed his shoulder. He saw it from the corner of his eye and turned away at the last second, but she did get the hit. How proud she looked, his little bird.

“Do not gloat.”

“What?”

Not ten seconds later, he had her pushed against a wall, panting, disarmed, those beautiful eyes staring at him surprised. Gods. If Rhaenys was not here… but she was, and she stared.

He stepped away, no matter what he wanted. "Pick up your sword. Again."

Daenerys did, looking all sullen and grim. "Well done, though."

The tiny smile he got for it. Oh, how much he loved it.

---

Finally, Alicent thought and smiled, watching as the Targaryen ship set its sails, readying to leave the harbour. Viserys stood beside her, surrounded by his Kingsguard. Servants moved provisions aboard. Towards home. Away from here, away from all the madness it entailed. Back to normal, or so she hoped. Not ever really fully back, with Helaena staying in this cursed place, but nearly. She could focus on Aegon and… she had to bury Ser Criston. Send word to his family. Send a raven to her father just as well, tell him of Vermithor. And Daenerys. All the good, all the bad. And maybe a few things she would never tell.

Sunfyre landed nearby on the beach, Aegon looking like all the King he would one day be. Helaena circled above them and landed as well. For a split second, she could see beyond the years. To make Aegon ever more legitimate, he had to marry his sister. It was one of those queer Valyrian customs. She hated most of them, truth be told, but sometimes… sometimes, progress meant embracing them. Helaena would make a fine Queen one day.

Vermithor circled above them. Aemond did not land. Then the black one came. Alicent stared at her. What did she want here? Then the other golden dragon came. She stared at Syrax. Why would Rhaenyra and Daenerys…

Syrax moved for her, to her horror. When she got closer, ever closer, soon within striking distance, the dragon stopped and Rhaenyra slid off her back.

“Helaena, Daenerys and I will accompany them halfway to Kings Landing.”

“Half… you will not fly with us?” She looked at Aegon. She had expected as much. “Why hurry? There is no need.” She wanted her children with her! They ought to be on the ship, with the damn beasts –

“They are restless, Alicent,” Viserys said. She had near forgotten he was even there. “Would you want to wait on us for days?”

“I –”

“We have to get there first,” Aegon said. “We have to see if Vermithor still fits in the Dragon Pit!”

Helaena burst into laughter, with Rhaenyra falling in a little.

“We really have to!” Her baby girl said. “When did Vhagar not fit?”

“It’s years now,” Viserys stated.

“What do we do if he does not?” Aegon asked.

Alicent tuned it out. Not minding, not even caring. All the damn dragon talk. She had just hoped… hoped for a few normal days before all her old and new duties came rushing back at her. Looking after Viserys, looking after Aegon, straightening his mess, hoping Aemond would not get eaten, missing her Helaena. May write another letter to Daeron.

Soon, she had to watch all of them take off. Vermithor turned and followed the smaller dragons. How huge he was… would she ever get used to how huge he was?

---

Aegon grinned while trying his best not to grin. He had never really flown just for the fun of it - not with others anyway. The times before he had to look after Helaena, back when she had just bonded with her dragon. To have to look for her... Gods, how boring it had been. Dull and boring. Now, his little sister shot along smoothly, without a worry in the world. He could just enjoy flying while not being alone. Vermithor circled around him again, Aemond snickering.

"Get out of the sunshine, idiot!" Aegon yelled, still grinning, may, and Sunfyre flew up again, his scales gleaming in the light. How beautiful he looked. How beautiful beyond words. Syrax fell in beside him.

"He sure looks marvellous."

He hummed. "Thank you." Somehow, he could accept compliments for Sunfyre without a worry in the world. "How come Syrax does not glow like this?" They were both golden, after all.

Rhaenyra shrugged. "Dragon scales are a curious thing. Maybe yours are a little more reflective?"

He hummed lowly and then snickered. "Perfect for blinding people."

Rhaenyra burst into laughter. 

"You could use it during a fight!" Aemond yelled all eager from below. "Blind your enemy."

"When would he want to blind an enemy?" Helaena asked.

"Only one we have right now would be Dorne... Off to a conquest, I say!"

The girls and Aemond laughed... albeit Helaena looked strangely worried.

"I fly in and blind everyone, Daenerys confuses them with her two dragons, Aemond scares them shitless, and when they are all running around headless, Rhaenyra and Helaena go in for the kill."

"You sure are a master tactician," Daenerys remarked dryly.

"Why, thank you!" 

"Why do the girls go in for the kill?"

"Cause they got experience in dragon fighting. We know nothing of it." Dragon size did not matter if he could not command him. Aemond would need a little while still. Maybe forever.

Aemond huffed. "Well, we can learn." His gaze moved to Rhaenyra... and before Aegon knew it, Vermithor soared again, taking his sunlight away. Damn baby brothers. "Which would be the most important flying maneuvers?"

She hummed lowly. "If we went for Dorne... You would have to learn to dodge scorpions first." 

"How do you?" Helaena asked, jumping at it. 

Rhaenyra stared at them thoughtfully, not saying a word.

Oh, please, he really wanted to know, now that his siblings had started it. "Rhaenyra?" Aegon tried. "Please. I solemnly swear, we will not fly conquer Dorne anytime soon."

She stared at him, just stared and... she sighed, and Aegon somehow knew they had won.

"Never stop, never slow," Rhaenyra started. "A moving target is harder to hit than a steady one. Fly with the sun in your back, if possible. Never… never fly at them headfirst, no matter how alluring.” She took a moment. "The more erratic you fly, the better. Be unpredictable. For the other… Scorpions have to turn. They have to reload. Heavy little fuckers. Circle down around them." Another pause. "It is all theoretical, of course.”

"Could you show us?" 

Another moment and Syrax shot high up in the air and circled down, up again, down again, up, up, up, then she dropped like a rock, even her wings folded.

“Always move, never stay too long in one path.”

Syrax darted up again, swayed sideways, turned and tumbled… Aegon stared at her. It near looked as if she had lost control. Trying to aim at her would be a mess... he grinned. It was the whole point, the only point.

“Be unpredictable. Understood,” he muttered to himself. Hopefully, he would never have to use it. 

Once Syrax had steadied again, he asked, “Which other flying maneuvers ought we know? Theoretically, of course.”

Rhaenyra hummed, staring at him thoughtfully once more.

Chapter Text

Snow whirled around him. The leaves of the Weirwood tree whispered.

He sat there and waited, watching the dancing snow. He had felt something in the south. A whirl of magic and power. He had waited, wondering if it would happen again, wondering what it had been in the first place. Nothing had come of it. The south lay as quiet as it ever did. Day passed to night passed to day. The leaves whispered again. All he ever did was wait or so it seemed.

When the shadow in the east had loomed large, he had waited.

When the men of old had raised the Wall in the south, he had waited.

When the champion with his sword of fire had come for them, he had fought and fallen back for they could wait. He could wait. Men were mortal, even the makers were mortal. They were not. They had time. They could wait. All things passed, in time. Except the whispers in the trees and the fall of the snow. Maybe, if he waited just long enough, even the Wall would fall.

But he did not want to wait just that long. Moving now was dangerous, with so few of them, but it was wise. The shadow was gone, his own strength returning with every passing winter. Part of him was curious what had befallen them. Maybe, the makers of the shadow had turned on them as well.

Their beasts, may, he thought. Dragons. He had caught their name in a dream a long time ago before the shadow in the east rose. The Empire of Dragons. And in a single day, they were near all gone. He could sense what was left of them, their power, their magic, concentrating beyond the Wall, but their might was fading. Disappearing, with every passing summer. If only he could see across, see how many, how dangerous they really were. If they were naught but little babes, he would even risk it. If he could bring down the Wall, that was.

Everything always turned to the Wall, where all his visions ended. Even the trees, even his dreams. In the end, he did not worry. He would handle the Wall, he would handle the dragons, as he handled all things. For right now, the Wall was the bigger trouble, the very thing keeping him locked up.

The thought came and went and he fell back into waiting. The tree whispered. He glanced at it. Was the old man watching?

His general returned, his new soldiers trotting along. Men and women, all blue eyes. The former inhabitants of a village, some 300 miles south as the crow flew. They were so far up North, no one would miss them, no one would even know they were gone. Just another empty village. Looking at his general, he slipped into his mind, seeing all that had happened. The uneventful journey south, the killings, the uneventful journey north. Everything had gone as expected. No one had seen, no one would tell.

The tree whispered again, the sound growing louder.

Lurching at it, he touched the bark. If the raven wanted to play his games so badly, he may as well play along. Images flickered by, from all the other trees. He saw a woman pray, a maker offer blood to it, and some fighting right nearby. A man died, taking an axe to the head. His murderer jumped over him and screamed in victory.

And then, his attention was drawn.

The raven really wanted to play games. The second their minds got close, he may mark him. The second he was marked, he would never get away. He smirked. Whatever madness had befallen the old man, he would use it. He surely knew how to bring down the Wall. Ravens knew everything.

It was not the old man, but a boy. He lay on the ground before his tree, clad in furs, with the sign of the wolf clasped to his chest.

A Stark. Oh, how he hated them! For building the Wall, for –

His eyes were blue.

Confusion swept over him. He had never killed a boy like him, let alone a Stark. He would remember killing a Stark. How could he even use the trees? Only a dreamer could, only a raven –

At last, the boy told. I thought you would never touch the tree.

Who are you? He demanded.

He is a raven too.

He stared at him. It was the boy's voice, yes, but…

Frowning, he forced more of his magic into the tree. Some leaves froze and fell. The bark turned icy.

His vision got clearer, the bond stronger. More dead than he had seen since the Long Dark, and himself, staring right back at the tree.

They had the raven. They had… he grinned. They were free. Free of the Wall, free of its restrictions, free of…

When do we take him? How do we bring down the Wall?

There will be a dragon.

He nearly snorted, if he even could snort. They did not cross the Wall. One time, he had seen one of the beasts. His thoughts had rushed south when it entered his realm, into the little crow he controlled for years now. A silvery beast, all wings and fangs and claws, but he did not mind for any of those. What he minded for was its magic, burning bright and powerful through the snow, through all the distance. Fire made flesh.

It had shaken him, even though the beast had fled right back across the Wall, where he could not see, where he could not reach. May it had felt his presence too and ran.

Maybe it was a chuckle of the Gods. A last whisper of the makers, playing their games with them. Fire made flesh to their flesh made ice. Total opposites. Suddenly, it made sense that he had barely been able to raise the dead, barely even dreamt, while the shadow ruled in the east. Their fire had burned too bright, diminishing his own magic. But in the end, he did not worry. 

There will be three who are unafraid.

Images flickered in front of his eyes. He saw three dragons and a girl a rider. He saw how he took one of them down, how it screamed as it fell. How it emerged from the waters of a lake, flapping its wings, blazing blue eyes. He shivered for the first time in millennia. How much power it held. Fire made flesh made ice. They would be free at last.

The raven falls together with the Starks.

More images, this time of a castle he had never seen, but he recognized its banners. Direwolf of Stark. He watched himself walk closer to the boy, sitting in some kind of chair, not yet blue eyes, with all the corpses of his defenders strewn around him. Are you happy, raven? Are you proud of all the dead?

A touch and he turned and was one of them. A blue-eyed raven.

For the first time in a long while, he smiled, truly happy. The when did not matter now. In time, everything would fall into place. They would bring down the Wall, take revenge on the Starks, take the raven, and once they had the raven –

The dragon girl escaped.

It would barely be a bother! They had the raven! They could find her, hunt her down and–

She slipped away. To you.

She had what? How could she… no one could cross into the past, or else he would have done it a long time ago. Go to before the Wall was built and kill their champion before he could rise, before he could forge the sword of fire. May even to before the makers turned on them. Killing them would be oh so easy before they allied with the threat, turning traitors to their own cause.

How?

I do not know. I could slip into her magic thrice, but it faded.

Thrice… What had he done with it, he wanted to ask.

His other self went on before he could, She is meddling. Changing things. The raven says the past is uncertain.

He stared at the boy and himself without words. She… she what? It was a cruel joke of the Gods, he was certain of it. A last whisper of their might, to rip it all away the second they succeeded. Now that they had all things at last, all their goals, all their hopes, all fulfilled… and a little girl came along and… and meddled.

More leaves fell as the tree froze. The bond flickered. For a second he was alone, just standing in front of a tree, then the boy was back.

What changed? He demanded. He had to know and find a way, somehow…

The raven is uncertain. It is not yet done. May the worst can be avoided.

How?

The him beside the boy smiled, and his worries started to fade. If he was smiling, things would turn in their favor.

She may come north. The boy says she can be reckless. The other he grinned now. I know where she will go.

Kill her, he did not say, but he did not even have to. The implication was obvious. She was changing things. They could not have things changed, not when they had finally succeeded.

Where to? He asked.

He saw the dragon fall again. The last leaf fell and the bond broke. The tree was dead.

For a few moments, he stared at it, mulling everything over. They had the raven and they may not have the raven. They had won and they may not have won. If the girl changed too much… his mind reached out to his first general. They had to go south. No matter how much he hated moving so far south already, they had to go. Kill a girl and stop her meddling.

Maybe… and he smiled at last, his worries gone for good. Once she was dead, they could claim her beast. Maybe, they could even claim her beast and have it kill the girl.

Chapter Text

The main road was too quiet. He had never seen it so empty, in all his long years. It was near eerie. Lyonel stared from the back of his horse. There should be people out here, talking, arguing, may some late-night bartering. Even the pub seemed empty. 

Did Viserys die? Had the King died, and no one had told him? Why else would the city be so quiet? Maybe the crown had ordered a period of mourning, which he thought nothing of personally, but…

But why would he not have been told? He was the Hand of the King. He had to be told! The only raven they ever got was from Rhaenyra, inquiring about his and praying for Harwin’s return to good health. As if he ever would, but he would live. Without Laenor jumping through his window, neither his son nor he would be. They would have both died in the flames. He owed the good Ser more than one life, more than he could ever repay. Not that Ser Laenor needed anything. He was the Princess’ consort, a Velaryon, a dragon rider. Yet, if the day ever came…

They passed gold cloaks, always patrolling in pairs, all holding torches. The lights danced along the empty roads.

The closer they got to the Red Keep, the more guards he saw, the more lit torches and fireplaces. He nearly felt like in the depths of winter, only it was no winter, with the cold still years away.

“Hurry on,” he ordered, and they hurried on, urging the horses faster.

The quiet pulled on his nerves. The stillness. Getting ever closer to the Red Keep, his stomach sunk, while his fear rose. He had expected to be angry, mad even, but he was not. He was only scared.

… if Viserys was indeed dead…

Reaching the gate, he had to order it opened for the first time. The guards let him in, looking weary and worried. What had happened here?

His men dismounted, as did he. The most loyal of his. He would not return to Kings Landing unprotected, not after what had happened at Harrenhall. His two prisoners were dragged along.

Ser Arryk stood by the stairs, he too holding a torch. What was it with all the torches?

“Lord Hand,” he greeted. At least he was still Hand.

“I must speak to the King.”

Was Viserys dead? He would tell now, would he?

“The King has left the city. He travelled for Dragonstone.”

Lyonel exhaled. Still alive, then.

First things first.

“Throw Larys into the black cells.”

He could see the question flicker over Arryk’s face. Why? But he never asked.

---

With the most important thing taken care of, Lyonel watched his men turn his son’s chamber upside down, tearing through his belongings, ripping through the bedding, throwing his clothes everywhere, looking for any tiny thing out of place. What the men had said… or not said, for they had no tongues. All the four of them, who they had found after Seasmoke had picked up on the first one. The dragon growled at them, fangs bared, not letting any of them go. His guards had surrounded them as well – with a respectful distance to the dragon. The way the men had pointed at the fire and then at his son.

“Harwin set the castle ablaze?” He asked in utter disbelief. As if. But the men shook their heads and pointed at his son again, the noises of urgency they made, the sheer panic…

His son…

“Larys?” And they nodded.

His own son. Something had died within him, then and there. If it was true…

They found nothing of interest. Just letters and more letters, a few books surely borrowed from the library, a dagger under his pillow, a curious collection of canes, notes upon notes, but nothing plotting the murder of his own kin.

For a second, he wavered. For a second, he worried. Had he done him wrong? Had he really put the words of four mute, crazy men above his own blood? He ought have talked with him first! Ought have…

Laying eyes on Larys, he knew it was real, beyond the second of a doubt. The way Larys’ eyes widened when he saw him. Surprise, and not the good kind. The men had told the truth.

“Father?”

Lyonel stared at him, his heart fully breaking, wondering what he had done wrong in the lad’s life. Where had he strayed, where had he failed? What to even say? How could there be words?

His own son had wanted to murder him. He and Harwin. For what? Why? Why, why, why? He did not want to believe…

He would be Lord of Harrenhall. Only reasonable explanation. The thought alone made him sick. All this for titles and lands?

“Why?” And in a second of wavering, he added, “And who?”

It had to be someone else’s scheming behind it all, it just had to be. Only it did not make it any better. Someone wanted him dead, and his own son was all too happy to oblige. The urge to throw up was back again. If he ever got a name out of him… he would string them up himself.

Larys stared at him, the surprise fading, and he stepped away into the shadow of the cell.

---

Walking along the corridors of the Red Keep, he felt beyond tired. As if the years on his shoulders had doubled in an instant. Someone wanted him dead, it was the fact of it. He had to be careful, now. More careful than he had ever been. Stopping, he yawned. Part of him wanted to go to bed, get sleep, maybe forget about it all… Only sleep never brought peace. He was back in that room then, hearing Harwin scream, smelling how he burned, that sick sweet scent of burning flesh, and in his dreams Laenor never came.

There was still work to be done, he decided on the spot and turned. He could not go to bed before he had answers!

He asked the first guard he laid eyes on. The lesser ranks always knew gossip, did they not?

“Why is the city so quiet? What happened here?” What about all those torches?

The Ser looked uneasy if anyone ever did. “Lord Hand…,” and did not speak on.

“Well?”

He hesitated again. “Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Helaena defended the city on dragonback.”

They had what? Had there been a siege? Had the triarchy become mad? If there had been one on landside, he would have run up against a blockade… or burned ground. No one could lay siege to Kings Landing. The thought was ludicrous.

“From what?”

The man just stared, all uneasy.

“Tell. Me.”

“It… it is hard to believe on words alone, my Lord Hard. It is… I… it…”

Lyonel stared exasperated. This was like pulling teeth. “Go on.”

“I… It…” Another long pause.

“Go on.” If he had to say it one more time…

“It were skeletons. Walking, screeching skeletons. I helped fight them on the walls. Burn them the Princess said and…,” he just babbled on in near madness.

Lyonel stared. Whatever he had expected, it was not this.

---

Of course, he had to corroborate the story. He could not take the word of one man alone. Ser Arryk said had seen none of it, having been in the castle while whatever occurred, but he confirmed that people talked of it. Lots of people. Lady Rowan spoke of nothing else all day long, to anyone who wanted to listen to it - or not. How a skeleton had attacked the princess, how the dragon had snapped the thing up. Without Rhaenyra, they would all be dead, she said. And if one stayed just long enough, she would start to whisper about Aegon. She had heard the princesses herself, yes, she had. They could not get the help of Sunfyre without Aegon and Aegon never showed. Instead, Laenor Velaryon had come. Lyonel blinked surprised. The good Ser again.

Then there were the men who had defended the wall close to the River Gate and then there was the gate itself…

The other Kingsguard agreed, giving him names of the most talkative guards, knights and lords. They all told him the same story. Dead things had come.

---

At last, Lyonel stared at the River Gate.

Something had tried to dig through. Scratches of weapons all over, but mostly there were the marks of... His stomach turned. What had happened here while he was gone? 

A man carrying a fishing rod passed by and glanced at him. "Gruesome, ain't it?"

"It is. Did you see any of it?"

“Me not, m'lord, but a friend did, aye. Said the Princesses dragon picked a thing out of the water. 's all ribs and bones.”

Even the smallfolk now…

A dragon roared. Lyonel looked up, for one insane second expecting to see Ser Laenor fall from the sky to explain the madness. He seemed to always be where he was needed. It was not Seasmoke but… he stared in disbelief as Vermithor circled overhead, turning towards the bay. Wasn’t he King Jaehaerys’ dragon?

Chapter Text

Daemon ducked away under her sword and backed away. Someone was copying his moves, which just made him all the prouder. Grinning, he parried her next strike and pushed her back again. Daenerys lost her calm on the defensive, fumbling her guards. If this was a real fight, she would be dead.

“You parried better the first time around,” he remarked once he had her pinned against a wall again, taking a second to look at her. Her slightly flushed cheeks, her panting, those bright, sharp eyes… Ideas rushed through his head where she would look just like this as well. She huffed and pushed against him – not that he moved at all. Daemon glanced to the side. Rhaenys stared at them. She had come sometime after they had started training, making him realize one of the guards had to have told on them. He did not even have the men under control anymore.

Stepping back, he huffed ever so lowly. Did she not have anything better to do?

Well. Apparently not.

“I will slow down again. Try to parry me.”

His little bird nodded all grim.

The second try, she was better. Horribly slow, but better. Daemon aimed at her, again and again and again, and she always parried. She even managed to not get pinned against the wall this time, which, well, was regrettable but good. He loved her off balance.

Stepping away, he hummed lowly. Too slow for a real fight… she could train, yes, but some people were just not apt at parrying.

“What now?” She asked, watching him. “What should I do about it?”

“Training mostly, getting used to things. May observing can help you. Find a weakness in the enemies fighting style and exploit it, as quick as you can. At the end of days, it is kill or be killed.”

Rhaenys snorted.

Daemon sighed and turned. “Do you have anything to say?”

Her eyes narrowed. The resemblance to Laena was near striking when she was mad.

“No. I simply enjoy watching sparrings.”

“Oh, do you now? You never watch Jace or Luke.”

If looks could kill, he would drop dead. He knew he was pushing it, but he wanted her gone. Her questioning his authority on fighting skills was somehow even worse than all the other things.

“I do. You would know if you were here more often.” The tiniest pause and her gaze moved to Daenerys. “Why not ask a knight for help?”

“I saw her dance through the water and offered. What of it?”

“I was not dancing.”

“May as well have been.”

Daenerys huffed.

“Are you training Baela and Rhaena as well?” Rhaenys asked, ignoring them.

“No. They never showed interest.” Maybe he ought to now, with dead things creeping around.

They stared at each other. “I am certain they would appreciate it. Spending time with their father.”

She looked at Daenerys again, staring ever softer daggers at her as well now, and turned away at last.

Daemon all but hummed. Finally. With that attitude, may it was good she had never been Queen. He would certainly not have as much leeway as with Viserys.

“If this…,” Daenerys started.

“Oh, do not mind.” He turned back to her and smiled. “Again.”

---

Sitting on his bed and staring out the window, Daemon knew full well he had overstepped a line. Making Rhaenys even madder… He should have at least made something of it, not only train with her after. The consequences of his actions came in form of a knock, followed by Rhaenyra slipping into his room.

“Daemon,” she said.

He nodded at her, not even asking why she had come. He knew. Rhaenys had to have gone to her. If it was anything else, she would have asked him over dinner. Rhaenyra settled on the edge of his bed, looking at him.

“You ought to fly for Pentos,” she said. Exactly what he had expected. Back to hearth and home, or something like it. “We need Vhagar for forging the steel.”

Of course, they did.

“Father has sent ravens to order ore to Dragonstone. I want everything in place. If Laena can travel again, that is. I could send a ship as well, if you prefer.”

He all but hummed.

“You suggested it yourself.”

Now, it was a sigh. “I know.” He glanced at her. “How upset was she?”

The tiniest twitch of lips. “Very. I was worried she would try feeding you to Meleys.”

Daemon chuckled weakly. Caraxes would never allow it.

“I want you to leave in the morrow. I will not send you away in the dark of night.”

Ah. Rhaenys had asked for that? He did not reply.

“Daemon?”

“I will. Do not worry of it.” Fighting her on it right now would not lead to anything. She was right, after all. They needed Vhagar, even more so with Vermithor gone. If he stayed, he would only have to contend with an ever more dangerous Rhaenys. “I will bring you the world’s best steel forger.”

Rhaenyra chuckled. “Thank you. See you at dinner?”

He all but hummed.

She was up and near gone through the door, when he spoke up again, “I would take that ship.”

May they had to moor it for a while in the harbor, but Laena sure would appreciate it. At least, they would not have to ask for a ship back to Westeros. Suddenly, having to beg for scraps bothered him beyond words.

She smiled. “Certainly.”

The door fell shut, and he just stared at the wood, unmoving. To fly back for Laena…

His stomach sunk. She could be dead. Pentos may be in flames, depending on how Vhagar had taken to her death. His girls… his girls may be kidnapped, for all he knew. They were Targaryens, after all. They had a hatchling. Whoever had given the dragon eggs to Daenerys was still out there, walking free. They may dare to try again by stealing his daughters. Never a better opportunity.

Caraxes moved on the beach and stared up at the big stone house. His Daemon…

---

Daemon skipped dinner right away. He would not give her the satisfaction to mock him with her smug smiles. Bundling up his few belongings, he snuck to the kitchen for a quick meal, and made his way outside. At the gates, he stopped, calling a guard at random. “Tell Rhaenyra I left.”

The man nodded and turned away.

Daemon stood there, sighting the sky. Nothing but blue, not a cloud anywhere. The sun was starting to set. Perfect for a night flight.

Letting his gaze wander over the island, which had once been his, he ended up staring at Daenerys’ dragons. She would be with them, would she not? She always watched the sunset.

---

Walking along the beach, Caraxes drew closer towards him already. His dragon knew like he always did. Daenerys was where he had expected her to be, with her dragons, leaning against Drogon. Dropping his things into the sand, he walked closer, fully aware of the black dragon staring at him, following his every move.

“Can I join you?” He asked. She glanced at him and nodded. Drogon grumbled and lowered his head back onto the beach.

Sitting beside her, they watched the sunset, both of them not saying a word. Daemon glanced at her every now and again. She seemed more composed than any day before, which was good – and a shame. He had gotten close quickly just by being there when she fell apart. Things would likely be different when he came back. May she would not even need him anymore, which was a shame as well. He had liked the feeling.

“I wanted to say goodbye,” he said at last. “I will leave for Pentos. Rhaenyra wants Vhagar.”

He had expected a chuckle, really, but she did not. She only glanced at him.

“Who would not?” She spoke.

“Aye. Who would not.” It was Vhagar. “It will make forging steel easier for certain.”

Daenerys hummed lowly. “I never thanked you. For keeping the fire going.”

He smiled. “Oh, no need.” He had been the curious one. Rhaenyra had even yelled at him back then. He had only stared at her, not ordering Caraxes back. If she was dead, she was dead. What of it? They could not turn her to ash worse.

“Continue with the sword training. You could be good at it, I believe. You have potential.” Something, oh so many people lacked all their lives.

This time, he got a genuine smile. “I will.”

“Good, good.”

They fell quiet again, back to watching the sun. It was bleeding across the waves now. Only a few minutes, at best. Only a few moments left. Leaning closer, his arm touched hers. Near unbeknownst to himself, he inhaled her scent. He would miss that one too.

Now or never… If he made a move on her, what then? What next? Laena would be hurt, no, beyond hurt if she ever learnt of it and she may learn of it. Rhaenys could very likely be watching. May from a window, may somewhere nearby, albeit he had no idea how she would be hiding on a damn beach. May one of the guards around, again, yes.

What of it? It would only take a moment, only… surprising even himself, he went for never, leaning away again. “Take care.”

She smiled weakly, which did not look like a smile at all. “Safe flight.”

Caraxes moved closer again. Getting to his feet, he walked for his dragon. From the corner of his eyes, he saw something pass over her face.

“Daemon?”

“Hm-hm?”

“Could you… could you hold me? Just for a moment.”

He stopped in his tracks, turning back towards her. Where in the seven hells had that come from? Then again, he knew. She had told him, time and again. She had lost all her people, having been attacked in the dead of night. Some had been ripped to shreds, she had said. Likely murdered by multiple riders at once. Fears like that, scenes like that, did not go so easily, even if she had dragons now, even if she was safe now. He too knew the scars of war. He just never spoke of them. As far as he could tell, only ever he even cared for her, listened to her, kept her company while she cried. To see him go…

“Of course.”

Back by her side, he settled on the ground and pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her. How warm she was. She snuggled close and sighed, her hands resting against his chest.

He could just hold her, be there for her…

Why bother lying to himself? He wanted her. Ever since she had stepped out of the fire, it was not even a question anymore. Before, he may pretend not to, hope it would dim down and fade, one day it would for certain, after… well, after was after.

Daenerys shifted, that cute sigh again. How relaxed she was…

Daemon reached for her chin, moved her head upwards ever so gently, and kissed her.

---

For a few moments longer, Drogon was blissfully unaware of what was going on. Want shimmered through the bond, making him rumble lowly. The last time he had felt –

Then it was panic, sheer and bright. He jumped up, finally looking at the two again, the damn man he loathed and mother, who had jumped to her feet, looking so panicked there were not even words. He roared, bared his fangs and –

Kill him, yes. For whatever he had done, kill him.

The wrong-roar of the snake dragon filled the air, and he was in front of him, covering his nasty rider. Did he not see how despicable he was? He sure had to! Rhaegal jumped up, rumbling too now. Mother’s panic just grew. She darted for him.

“Drogon, no!”

Damn the orders. He attacked him, drawing blood. The scales of the snake dragon were harder than expected, and he was faster than expected. His head shot forward, going for the area under his wing, where the scales were thinner, and sank his teeth into it.

Drogon roared, backing away, out of reach, all ready to fall on him again, wanting to rip his damn long neck off. Together with Rhaegal he would succeed, he was sure of it, even if the scales were harder, rip his rider to many tiny shreds, make him blood in the sand, make him –

Mother stood in front of the snake dragon and stared him down.

“Dohaeris, Drogon!”

But… but he did serve her! Maybe better than she herself even knew! It was better when he was gone, better for all involved, better –

“All good, Caraxes.” The nasty man had gotten up from under his dragon, stroking along his too-long neck. “All good.”

The demeanor of the dragon changed instantly, putting him to shame. He stopped all hostility on a single word alone.

Drogon hissed and went on staring. If mother would only move. Why was his brother not moving? Maybe he should just dart around her, all things be damned… and then it got worse.

Mother turned to the snake dragon and its rider, keeping herself between him and them at all times. “Is he well?”

The man looked at the small wound he had drawn. If only he had not been surprised by the strength of the scales if only he had bitten deeper…

His fingers ran along it, coming up lightly bloody. “Yes, he ought to. I will fly by the dragonkeepers.”

Mother stepped beside the nasty man. “I am so, so sorry.”

She was what?

The nasty man glanced at her and smiled somewhat. “Do not worry of it.” He cupped her cheek, getting another growl from Drogon. How could he dare touch her?! “You should check Drogon’s wing.” And then he did the face smashing thing. Mother did not panic – or not worse for the matter.  

---

Caraxes stared at the insolent black thing while Daemon climbed onto his saddle. How he could have dared to go after his rider. He ought to have hurt him more than he had, only going for a warning-bite. His Daemon had not even done anything! One moment, he had been all relaxed, desire shimmering close to the surface, yes, but it had happened often lately. Caraxes did not namely approve, but he did not bother either. His Daemon had been happy, was all that mattered, and then all went to… was it the seven hells again? Daemon would certainly use the word. It made him rumble a little. His rider and his seven hells.

Daemon started moving the many straps of the saddle around, tightening some of them, he could hear it. He eyed the girl. Vermithor had said… She smelled so much of panic, would he even smell anything underneath? Glancing at the black one, he moved closer carefully, inhaling her scent. It grumbled. Orders were given. Caraxes fully ignored all of them; he rather took another breath.

The scent of the dragon, yes. There was nothing remarkable about her, nothing at all. Why would she be more powerful than any of the other two-legged dragons? She smelled of Daemon too, which was not exactly surprising given they had held each other.

It was the one thing Caraxes was jealous of. Two-legs were so light and gentle and soft. If he wanted to snuggle up against Vhagar, there were always horns and wings and claws somewhere in the way. Once she had accidentally rolled onto his tail and hind wings. How it had hurt! He may have awoken half the castle with his screeching. To make matters worse, Daemon had come for him only a little later, looking all worried. To this day, Caraxes remembered the expression on his face, his hair in all sorts of ways, the little light he carried flickering... How embarrassing. How beyond embarrassing. Two-legs would never have this happen in the first place.

“Well,” his Daemon said. “Take care again.”

Daenerys smiled. The panic deepened still.

“Safe flight again.”

Affection and sadness bled through the bond, just as desire. Why did he even care so much for her? She was not even his mate! He had Laena!

Fly.

The silent command took his broodings away and he started moving. Soon, the ground fell away. Turning, he roared his goodbye. At least Silverwing answered in kind. The black one just stared at him.

---

What in the seven hells had she thought? To ask Daemon of all people to… to… She had seen his desire, time and time again, and she went and asked him to hold her? Of course, he would try to…  

Daenerys dropped onto the sand and hugged her knees, shaking all over. She knew exactly what she had thought, what she had wanted. Just this once… and she had felt safe which was the worst of it, all safe and sound, for the first time since Winterfell. He had been warmer than Jon had ever been. May more blood of the dragon, may…

She could not even talk to anyone of it. Rhaenyra… Hells, how would she react? Daemon of all people… If Rhaenys heard… she had seen her stare earlier. Her patience with her was running thin as well. Why do you not ask a knight?

Rhaegal nudged her, looking all confused.

Stroking him slowly, Daenerys calmed down somewhat. She would just never tell. Simple. Once he was back, she would keep her distance as good she could, until his gaze turned normal. Never allow him to sit beside her again… which meant she would have no one here to talk to. She could not tell it all to her dragons. They could not answer.

Drogon nudged her, this time, rumbling all sad. 

It would just be another secret to the pile. What of it?

---

For the first part of the flight, he brooded about Daenerys. How soft her lips had been, how warm, how she had kissed him back. His lips tingled just thinking of it. How much he had wanted to keep kissing her, to hold her, to make her feel safe however she needed to. Those few moments before everything went to shit... The second kiss he had just dared. She could have backed away, then, just taken a step but she had not.

Did she want him or did she not? Based on her actions, likely both at the same time. He knew he wanted her, more than a lot of things, even more than he had wanted Rhaenyra. The latter he had gotten under control, as good he could. Having Laena, having been gone for years had helped. This now… was it just a moment? A flutter of circumstance? The dead attacking, the madness of it all, seeing her control two dragons… but ever since he had seen her not burn, he doubted it. Something had changed. Her being his bastard… it was no longer an option, not anymore. As he never truly knew, discarding it was easy. Thinking of her as his daughter and wanting her was sick, even for him. He would never go after his girls. Just the thought… he shook himself a little, pushed it far, far away, and returned to better things.

Her walking out of the fire, yes… how her skin had gleamed… her forging a sword, which was lighter than any he had held except Dark Sister.

Who would not want her?

Once they returned, he had to be careful. Acting all brazen in front of Rhaenys and the others was one thing, but he would not in front of Laena and the girls. He did not want to break his small family into pieces. It was about the best thing he had since… always. He had never been happier than in Pentos, away from it all. To have to return now…

Well, at least Laena would be happy. The girls could bond with Jace and Luke, and likely Helaena too. Daemon smiled weakly. Bonds growing ever stronger. Was Rhaenyra trying for this? An actual family, including all of them. He disliked the mere thought of it, but he had already started going along, following her lead, if only to make Otto madder. The thought of giving him a stroke through being somewhat nice to his grandsons was strangely alluring.

He brooded for a while how to go about all of it. Keep his family and his desires separate enough while still spending time with Daenerys. No one would say anything about sword training, would they? No one would object to watching the sunset every once in a while. He was just spending time with her, yes.

In time, he got sleepy. Leaning his head against the back of the saddle, he waited for sleep to come. It never did. In the quiet of his thoughts, his fears crept up on him, growing ever larger as the distance turned smaller. With every wing beat, the possibility drew closer. Caraxes rumbled at him.

If Laena was indeed dead, if his girls had been taken… He would find them, no matter how long it took, no matter what he had to do, who he had to kill. No one would take his daughters. Viserys may object if he accidentally started a war with the Free Cities but fuck them. Fuck all of them. May they burn. About time they reminded Essos what dragonlords could do.

---

Caraxes descended slowly, flying towards the few lights of Pentos. Daemon stared, not even trying to see anything beyond shapes in the dark. His dragon may, but he could not.

Caraxes slowed and slowed, the sound of waves came closer, and then he landed on the wall of the Prince’s estate, staring down at the pitch-black yard. Daemon strained his eyes, despite better knowledge, trying to see. Just darkness, darkness and darkness… and Vhagar growled her welcome.

Just hearing her made him smile, his fears calming. If she was here, all would be well. If she was here, Laena and his girls were well. No one would dare harm them with the biggest dragon in the world sleeping right outside.

Daemon had about time to get off, and then Caraxes was gone. He could not see, but he sure heard them. Shifting and rumbling and grumbling. A hiss, another grumble, quiet, and then even more rumbling. Dragons sure were curious beasts. If only he could see, but he had a pretty good idea of what was going on. Caraxes loved to drape his long body over hers. Turning, he walked towards the lights of the castle.

---

He checked on Baela first, then Rhaena. Both his girls were sleeping soundly, never to know of his worries. Entering Laena’s room took longer. He just stared at the door unable to move, although he knew she must be well. Vhagar would not be in such happy spirits if she was not. He had heard all the grumbling, the tiny happy growls. And still… last time he had seen her, she had looked like death. Still alive, in comparison to the actual dead thing, but he knew how dying people looked. That last flight may have killed her.

Being scared was pathetic. All the things he had seen and he was worried about entering a room. At last, he slipped inside and approached the bed. She was sleeping, her breath all calm and quiet. Strong breaths, not the weak little ones he feared so much.

The color of her face was better. She no longer looked like walking with the Stranger any second now.

The lack of sleep hit him all at once. Grabbing for a nearby chair, he stripped off his coat, settled down and –

“Daemon?”

A hand cupped his cheek. His eyes fluttered open. Laena looked at him, all soft and warm. Gods, how he had missed her. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss against her palm. She smiled.

“How are things?” She asked. “How are you?” Oh, his wife. Straight to questions. Should he not ask how she was?

“My back hurts.” She laughed. Near worse than when he had slept beside Caraxes. Chairs were not for him, not at all. “Well otherwise. Things went well. Everyone is alive.” Except for Criston Cole, not that he even minded. Where to even start? Maybe the good news, yes. For her, at least.

“A moment…” He got up first, stretching his back. Laena chuckled again. It would be well, in time, and soon. Viserys may not move for days. Gods, how different they were. Sitting down again, he stole a kiss from her. How soft her lips… He had missed kissing her.

Daenerys had been warmer, his head all too happily supplied.

“Well?” Laena asked, looking at him all expectant.

“I changed my mind on going home.” Home. Westeros was no home to him, but he would never tell.

She beamed, nearly, and then suspicion dimmed her face. “What changed your mind?”

He smiled vaguely. “Rhaenyra asks for Vhagar. A lot has –”

“Father?”

Daemon turned, right in time to catch Baela jumping at him.

He ended up lying in bed beside Laena, one arm wrapped around his wife, with his girl snuggled against his chest. Rhaena watched them from the far side of the room, not coming closer. He glanced at her, thinking about motioning for her, but discarded the idea. If she wanted to stay away, so be it.

“They asked about you every day,” Laena said softly, stroking his cheek.

“Did they?”

“Hm-hm.”

“We did!” Baela said. “How was it over there? Were the… were the things there too? Is everyone well? Please, say that they are well!”

He glanced at Laena, who all but shrugged. Had she really told the girls of the dead things? Oh, the Gods. Daemon told, only pausing to answer all the giddy questions. Of all the things in the water they had burned, of the villages turned empty, of the bastard girl with her two dragons, decidedly skipping over the fact how much he wanted her. Not a story for his girls, anyway. Laena snorted when he mentioned her but did not comment. Rhaena stared at him and walked closer at last.

“Two dragons?” She asked.

“Hm-hm. Do not ask how she controls them. It is something in her blood, I’d guess.”

“Could I… could I claim one?”

“I doubt it. Aemond tried–” He turned to Laena. “He claimed Vermithor.”

“He what?”

Rhaena huffed. “Everyone has dragons.”

“I think Rhaenyra is trying to make friends of the Hightower children. Of all of them. Helaena follows her like a lil hatchling.”

“She what?”

“Father?” Baela asked.

He turned to her “Yes?”

“I flew on Moondancer.”

“You… but… she is tiny.” Damn tiny.

Somehow, Baela managed to look all innocent. “I wanted to see what Vhagar was doing…”

Daemon stared… and started to grin, hugging her tight. She had become a proper dragon rider!

Chapter Text

Baela clung to Moondancer, her little wings flapping and flapping, taking them higher and higher. She would soon have managed the wall of the estate.

Daemon grinned, prouder than he had ever been. Hopefully, the little dragon would grow quickly. Just the thought of being able to fly with her... Hells, he would have to look out for her, did he not? She would surely try to sneak off alone.

Caraxes moved, flapping his wings lazily to cross the distance to the wall, and then stretched his long neck to nudge Moondancer ever so carefully. Baela giggled, while her dragon rumbled all happy.

At last, Moondancer landed atop the wall and roared a thin victory roar. Caraxes rumbled beside her, turned towards the sea, and roared himself. Birds nearby took off in a panic. Daemon laughed. Vhagar watched from her spot in the yard.

“I wonder when I will have a dragon,” Rhaena muttered. He glanced at her. Always whining, this one.

Leana leaned against him, whispering a “Please,” into his ear. He stared at his wife and then back at his daughter. Please. She should be happy for her sister, not continue the endless complaining. Yet, if he scolded her, the mood was broken just as well. Ever so faintly, he sighed. He had played nice with Helaena and Aemond, may as well continue. 

“In time,” Daemon said, ruffling her hair. “Do not worry of it. I was near thrice your age when I claimed Caraxes.”

“You… you were? I always thought you were younger.”

“I was not. I think I always knew, not that getting him was to be expected.” Who would have thought Aemon to die? “You will know, one day, and then just walk up to a dragon and claim it. Just like your mother did.”

She must have heard the story a thousand times by now.

Laena smiled. To see him interact with her… “Well,” she leaned against Daemon some more, searching for support. “I knew what I wanted.”

Daemon barked a laugh and turned to kiss her. “You sure did.” If only she was not getting paler again… “Should I bring you to your room?”

Laena shook her head. “You stay with the girls. I will get back myself.”

He hummed, nodded, and kissed her again.

In time, he ended up sitting on the wall, with Rhaena on his lap, Caraxes’ head resting beside him on the stone, and Baela sitting on his other side, leaning against him, with Moondancer’s head in her lap. 

Rhaena threw glances at him every now and again, all full of doubt and disbelief. What had happened to her father? He had barely spoken a word to her in ages. Or at least it felt like it.

“When can we fly together, father?” Baela asked.

“She still needs to be a little bigger. Maybe once she can carry you for some ten minutes?”

“Heard that, Moondancer? You need to grow quicker!” Moondancer rumbled, looking at her all eager. “How many sheep do you think can you eat in a day, hm? One or two? Maybe three?”

Daemon chuckled. Reaching for his dragon, he stroked him. Caraxes rumbled, blowing warm air at him.

Rhaena looked at her father again. He was still so happy… if she asked something of him now, maybe…

“Father? Could you… could you take us on Caraxes? The both of us.” She had barely ever flown with her father. Baela had, many times.

He looked at her, strangely thoughtful. A pause, growing longer, making her certain he would say no. She had overstepped, whatever it was. Baela looked at her too now, and then at their father. She did not want the good mood to end.

“Father?” She said, “Please!” He barely ever said no to her.

---

When Laena woke up from her nap, Daemon sat beside her bed again, in the cursed chair, and flipped through some book.

“Reading something interesting?”

He looked up, and that smile was back. Just like Rhaena had realized, he was way too happy, happier than even the day Moondancer had hatched.

“No. Just killing time.” He put the book aside and stole a gentle kiss from her lips.

“Did you do something with the girls?”

“Hm-hm. Took them on a flight. All those bindings do come in handy from time to time.”

Laena smiled. She knew it would work out.

“Where are they?”

“In the library with the maester. Set them to study Valyrian.”

Good. It gave her time.

“Did you go after the bastard?” She had heard the admiration in his voice while he talked of her. Daemon never admired anyone. If he had gotten her, he would sure be just as happy as he was right now.

Daemon frowned, his smile fading. “No.”

“You did sound rather stricken with her.”

He sighed. Reaching for her hand, he intertwined their fingers and kissed hers.

“She is… intriguing.”

Her eyes narrowed. Her husband never called anyone intriguing.

“She hatched her dragons herself, Laena. Cast blood magic to make the eggs crack. I have never met someone just like her.”

Oh, this was not good.

Daemon looked at her, smiling weakly, and kissed her hand again. “Do not worry of it.”

She all but hummed. She did, though. She knew Daemon. He got what he wanted. Maybe the only exception was Rhaenyra.

“Tell me of her.”

And he did. How she had been given to a Khal, how she had led his Khalasar after his death, how she had gone into the Red Waste to evade others hunting after her. In the end, it did not matter. She was ambushed, all her people killed. He talked on and on.

When he fell quiet at last, Laena hummed.

Intriguing indeed. If nothing else, she sounded interesting, she had to give him that. Hatching two dragons, controlling two dragons… who would not think her interesting? She had even helped forge steel which could kill the dead things. Daemon had evaded all her questions on the matter, only saying they had mixed dragon glass and blood.

“The way you talk of her… do you want to talk me into something?”

Like being friendly with her, which would about never happen. Or… or allowing him to go after his desires.

Daemon snorted. “I do not want to talk you into anything.”

Laena stared at him. There was more he did not say. Whether the girl knew or not, she was entertaining her husband. What should she even do if he decided to go after her? She could not stop him. Sit idly by and do nothing, like all the other ladies had to? Please him and play along? Oh, he would love that, would he not? Fly for Driftmark with her girls and ignore him ever after? Daemon did not take well to being rejected, not at all.

“You are infatuated with her,” she said at last.

Daemon had the shred of decency to look near guilty.

“Will it pass?”

He kept quiet, which broke her heart.

---

Rhaenys kept eyes on Daenerys for the next days. She did not act differently, except for spending ever more time with her dragons, which in itself was nothing to worry about either.

She threatened Qarl to train her or else when he initially refused, she was told by a guard.

“She said she would tell the Princess if need be. Find her someone else who would,” the man reported. “If she did, may his services would be no longer required.” Rhaenys had smiled, not wanting to laugh in front of the man. The girl sure had guts. If only she had not gotten so close to Daemon.

She tried some more to learn about that last dragon scuffle, the reason behind it all, but no one had seen anything. Only, that Drogon had suddenly fallen on Caraxes. The black dragon was protective if nothing else, thus, there had to be a reason.

One sunset, Rhaenys made her way along the beach slowly. Daenerys sat leaning against Drogon, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face blank. The very expression of all not well.

How to start? She played through some lighter talk to start things off but discarded all of them. Daenerys would see right through her.

She finally stopped some ways off.

“What did Daemon do?”

Daenerys looked at her, ever so slightly surprised. “Nothing.”

Wrong way, she knew right then. Still, she went on. Maybe, with some luck…

“Drogon attacked Caraxes.”

If only she had seen it herself, but by the time she had found a window, the bloodwyrm was already flying for the Dragonmount.

Daenerys shrugged. “He nearly ate one of our smiths. I would not think too much of it.”

Oh, was it ‘our’ now already?

“What did Daemon do?” She asked again. Drogon raised his head, looking at her curiously.

“I told you. Nothing.”

“Do not lie to me.”

Daenerys sighed. “He near attacked Caraxes once before. He must have held a grudge.”

“Why are you protecting him?”

“I am not.”

Sure, she was. Only trying more would only push her away further. She would have to wait, she guessed. Continue watching Daemon once he was back, tell Laena of it, albeit she was not sure what to do about it all. Loathing him for not being faithful to her daughter was one thing, protecting their dreamer was another. They could not lose her to a maniac, for as if he would stop going after her. Not after she had walked out of the fire, not with how he had stared at her during their training fights, so full of desire it turned her stomach. One time, she had been certain he would pin her against the wall and do whatever he pleased to her. He had been close; so, so close. Daemon knew no bounds, not when he wanted something. One may ask his first wife on the matter. If only Viserys had not sided with his brother like he always did.

“You should be careful around him,” Rhaenys said ever so softly. Drogon rumbled. She glanced at the black dragon. If only she could talk with him.

---

The Red Keep grew bigger and bigger as the ship drew closer. Soon. Despite all else, Alicent smiled. Home. Her own room. She could finally find excuses to stay away from her Lord Husband. Being locked up with him always turned her nerves to shreds.

First things first was Aegon, of course. She had already hatched some plans. She would have him distribute food to the poors, yes, maybe have him be seen in an orphanage. Looking after children was always well received. May have him pray in the sept. She would have him circle the city on Sunfyre just as well. He had to be seen on his dragon, no matter anything. Be seen, again and again. Maybe he could spend some days with the city watch as well. Be seen defending his damn city for once, albeit the latter she had to carefully think about. If they did it too soon, it would look desperate.

When their ship pulled into the harbor, her heart sank. Lord Lyonel was waiting for them, horse carriage, guards and all. She had hoped he would never come back, not after this most unfortunate fire. Surely, he would want to stay by Harwin’s side.

Lyonel bowed when they finally walked off the ship, Alicent steadying Viserys steps. “Your Grace. My Queen. Welcome back.”

Viserys smiled.

“I would need to talk with you once we are back in the Red Keep.”

“What about?” Viserys inquired.

Yes. What about? If he brought up the dead as well, she may start screaming.

“Later,” Lyonel said, more serious than she had ever seen him.

Alicent stared at him all the way to the castle. Lyonel was riding beside them, the Kingsguard surrounding the carriage, their guards trailing along behind.

What could he want? Talk of the fire at Harrenhall, surely. What else? Maybe… a tiny smile formed on her lips. Maybe he wanted to lay down his duties, yes, ask to resign after all. Surely, the scare had gotten deep into his bones. Lyonel was not the youngest anymore. He wanted to be at home with his son, yes. Maybe Larys had been…

Could he know of Larys?

The thought was so insane, she dismissed it right away. How could he?

Still, her heart pounded. What she had asked of him… and what he had done in return. Not in her worst nightmares, she had expected it. Larys. Willing to kill his own kin. Just the thought made her skin crawl. She would have to do something about him. Send him away, yes. Make him leave no matter what, swear him to secrecy somehow. He was a liability, and she hated liabilities.

In the end, Viserys sent her away to talk with Lyonel in private. Walking along the corridors, Alicent huffed. She was good enough to walk him up to his room, but not good enough to listen to their Hands' words. A damn farce, all of it. A brazen insult! If only her father was here. If he was Hand, none of this would be happening, none at –

Opening the door to Larys’ room, she stopped dead in her tracks. Utter chaos in here. Someone had ravaged through the room and ripped everything apart. Even his garments were torn.

No. No, no, no. By all the Gods.

She could not breathe.

She did not run, for running did not befit a Queen, but she hurried as quickly as she could.

This could not be happening. No, no, no.

When she at last reached the cells, she was pale, her stomach a ball of fear. Her knees grew weaker, while the guard led her, the torch flickering in the darkness down here, illuminating the worst of the worst for but a second. Prisoners of the Crown, most of them never to see the light of day again.

The guard stopped and she stared. Larys Strong. He looked up at the light, the faintest of smiles.

“My Queen.”

For the first time in all so many years, Alicent felt panic course through her veins. If he should tell… tell all of it, tell who had asked for this most heinous crime…

“Larys,” she replied, trying her best to keep her voice steady. What did you think, she wanted to yell, full well knowing it would not help.

She had not asked for this but what did it matter now? They were bound in it. Whatever name he would say, if he said one at all, would die. Viserys could not watch someone attack his Hand. By the Seven, never mind Viserys. Lyonel would demand a price in blood.

Her stomach sank further still. She did not even know how it was possible.

She was dependent on a kinslayer, on his every mood and whim. She had handed all power to a madman.

---

Daenerys tried her best not to move. The tailor pinned down the dress around her waist, then at her shoulders.

“How long will it take?” Rhaenyra asked.

“A few days, my Princess,” the man replied, stepping back to eye her again. “Some more…” and he found another spot to pin down at her back.

“You will look brilliant once I am done, my Lady,” he said after he had stepped back once more.

Daenerys only smiled politely. “I believe, I will.” It was one of Rhaenyra’s old dresses, after all.

Helaena hummed lowly, watching the entire affair. Rhaenyra would wear black and Daenerys too now…

“Should I wear black as well?” She asked. She did not want to be the only one not wearing their house colors! Flying North was on behest of the Crown or else Rhaenyra had said. Their father wanted… something. She had not fully listened – she knew it was about making allies of the Starks, after all.

Rhaenyra stared at her, not saying a word for a couple moments. “If you want to.”

“I… I think so, yes.”

Rhaenyra hummed lowly. “May we go with red. Would make your mother less mad. Hopefully. Perhaps.”

Helaena giggled.

“We do not have a dress your size, though. May of some handmaid’s child, but…,” she shook her head. It would not do for a Princess. “Tailoring one will need too long.”

“We could dye mine,” Helaena said. In time, she would have to get more of her clothes.

Rhaenyra hummed again. “Let me think of it.”

“Rhaenyra?” Daenerys asked. They both turned to her. “I wondered if we could fly past Harrenhall.”

A smile spread over Rhaenyra’s face.

Helaena frowned. “It’s only ruins.”

“I know. Still. It was the first castle to fall. I would love to see it.”

“We can certainly stay a night,” Rhaenyra said, still smiling. Helaena looked at them confused. Why did they care about Harrenhall?

---

The faintest sound behind his locked door. Cregan moved, grabbing his dagger. He would love to go for Ice, but it was near unusable in confined quarters.

Had they finally come to kill him? He did not want to believe his uncle would steep so low… but he had already shown he had little interest for the rule of law.

Closing in on the door, he stopped right by it, waiting for the next sound whatever it may be.

A whisper came, “Lord Stark?”

His maester…

“There was a raven.”

A piece of paper got pushed under his door, and then steps hurried away, accompanied by the faintest clinks of the chain.

Cregan stared at it. A letter… picking it up, he retreated to his bed. The Targaryen seal…

Lord Stark,

before I ascend the throne, I wish to see all my Kingdoms myself. I would be honored if you would have us at Winterfell.

He smiled wryly. As if anyone could refuse. He skimmed the letter. Before the moon turns… three dragons… he stared at it. No one had ever hosted three dragons. It would be an honor – he snickered – and a curse. His uncle would lose his mind if he never learned of any of this, he would… his smile vanished.

This was an opportunity. The one he had waited for. It may only be a few months now, but sometimes it felt like years already when the damned man on his throne had refused to step aside. He would go and raise his banners and try to take his rightful place. If he did not succeed in time, the Princess would surely side with him; from one rightful heir to another. Cregan grinned ever more now. What should Bennard do? Stand against the Crown? Stand against three dragons?

After the letter was burned, he made his way outside. Cerwyn would help him. They had talked of it, time and time again. He had a chance now, one way or another. Only a fool would not take it.

Chapter Text

Silverwing stared at the sky. Cloudless, speckled with the tiny lights. Stars, they called them, yes. Still, Vermithor was not coming for her. No wings blotting out the little glowing dots, no roar to greet her. He had to come back, he just had to. Any moment now.

When a new sun rose, she still stared. Still no one, still no sound of wings. Where was her mate?

Gone with his new two-legs. They always flew where the small dragons wanted, stayed where they wanted, did what they wanted. He had little choice.

Sitting up to all her height, she rumbled sadly until her sounds strung together to a song. She had hoped they would be free for a little while longer.

---

Watching Rhaegal fly, Daenerys’ heart sank. She had hoped beyond hope, willing and ready to convince Rhaenyra to take him with, but he still banked at odd angles, his wing beats off every now and again, making him lose height. Rhaegal grumbled when it happened yet again and turned back towards Dragonstone. Drogon followed, landing right beside his brother.

Climbing off, Daenerys circled Rhaegal, fully aware both her dragons were staring at her, eyeing his wings up close again. Too many holes, still. She huffed at herself. As if anything had changed from a mere moment ago. He could not fly, end of it. Not for long stretches and not quick.

Sighing, she settled beside Rhaegal’s head, stroking him gently.

“Drogon and I, we have to leave,” she said softly. Rhaegal rumbled. “All the way back to the cold place.”

Worry snuck into her as she said it; out here, to her dragons. It was real now too. Back to Winterfell… back to… the memories flooded her like they did for days now. The wave of dead coming for Drogon and her, again and again and again. Waking up to a dead thing hacking away at Drogon’s belly, just an arm’s length away from her… 

Drogon nudged her, ripping her free. Her cheeks were wet. Wiping away her tears, Daenerys sighed. This again. Why could it just not stop? Why could she not be done? Why – Pushing the thought away, she focused on Rhaegal.

“You wait here. We will be back, I promise,” she said, stroking his snout. Rhaegal only rumbled. “Be good, yes? Do not eat anyone.” A tiny pause. “You can help them work the steel. I bet they will need help.”

Rhaegal stared at her for a few long seconds. Not even a rumble. She did get a nudge, though. Daenerys smiled weakly, leaning against him for a change, and listened to her dragons rumbling along while she stared at the waves. To leave Dragonstone again... to go North again... North never meant anything good for her. 

---

“Why can’t I come with?” Jace asked, whining ever so little.

Rhaenyra chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Someone must have an eye on your father.”

Laenor barked a laugh. “I will be on my best behavior, I promise.”

“You better be. Or else I will hear of it.”

They exchanged a grin and Laenor stepped close to kiss her. Rhaenys still stared at them. Even now, she could not fathom how it had happened. After the dead, yes, but how? When they were gone, she would finally fly for Corlys and tell him all of it. Her Lord Husband would certainly approve, albeit she already disliked his words.

Told you he would outgrow it.

Rhaenys was not so certain. Laenor simply liked Rhaenyra enough to not bother about her being a woman.

“Mother?” Jace asked, judging the timing just right.

“Yes?”

“Can we help with the blood?” If he wanted things, best was to surprise his parents. The special steel needed their blood, he had heard them talk of it. If they all had to give some, he wanted to help too!

Rhaenyra looked torn on the matter, but before she could say a word, Laenor ruffled his hair. Jace huffed. Only his mother was allowed to mess up his hair!

“A little, I am sure.”

He grinned. A good a yes as any.

Helaena watched from Dreamfyre’s back, feeling all sorts of strange and torn about it all. They were so affectionate… she was not used to seeing this, not at all. Her mother had given her a rather timid hug before they left, but it felt empty compared to this. All the smiles and talk… even her brothers had hugged her tighter, but they sure had not joked or laughed.

“When do we leave?” She asked, somehow unable to watch it much longer.

Rhaenyra glanced at her and smiled. “A little now.” She hugged Jace and Luke again, kissing both on the head.

“Be good, you two.”

“We are always,” Jace said with the conviction only a secret troublemaker could muster. She smiled weakly, hugging him tight once more. Everything to keep her boys safe, everything at all. If they succeeded at making allies of the Starks already, he would never have to fly all the way North, may she would never have to send him away at all. She could send Rhaenys to Strom’s End if it should come to pass. She would make it out alive, one way or another.

“Look after your brother,” she whispered to Jace, who nodded all serious.

She kissed Laenor goodbye again, relishing in his gentle hug, and then she was on Syrax.

“Take care of my island.”

Laenor grinned.

Rhaenys smiled. “We will, Princess.”

---

“Does it ever stop being fun?” Helaena yelled over the wind, which was messing up her hair. May she should have put it up in a braid after all.

Rhaenyra grinned, she could see it, and Syrax swayed closer to Dreamfyre.

“No!”

Gods. Just hop on her dragon and she could be happy, making her wonder why she had barely… She pushed the thought away. Not this, not right now. Past was past. She had her big sister now.

“Could you maybe show us some more flying maneuvers?” She had loved her teaching them, back together with her brothers.

Rhaenyra hummed lowly. “How about…,” another moment, and her eyes lit up. “…defensive flying?”

Dreamfyre soared above the others. Helaena stared at Syrax and Drogon, her dragon’s shadow dancing on their scales. How would anyone ever be surprised by this?

“Then I dive at you?” Helaena yelled.

“Aye. Go for the wings,” Rhaenyra yelled back. Very sneaky, this sneak attack. Grabbing her saddle harder some more, Dreamfyre folded her wings, missing Syrax by inches. The golden dragon roared and followed right after, trying to snap for her, never doing of course. The claws got closer and closer, making Dreamfyre beat her wings harder, outpacing her. Thankfully, young Syrax was slow. Helaena giggled. No matter how serious this was, no matter what Rhaenyra had said, this was like playing catch on dragonback – and by all means, she was winning!

Helaena got Syrax when they repeated it the other way around – Dreamfyre gently nudging her tail when they got close enough. Same with Drogon. None of their dragons could outpace her. Grinning, she started to babble soon. Of the time Aegon had read her a story when she could not fall asleep. The times Viserys had told her all sorts of stories about the Freehold, back when she finally mustered the courage to ask, how many dragons had roamed the skies, how seamless and perfect their cities had been. The Red Keep was naught but a pile of rocks in comparison. Having seen Dragonstone after, she carefully agreed. That one-time Aemond played catch with her back at home, which ended with mother scolding them for running into the servants. Her smile faltered somewhat. All those moments had been before the dreams, before the worst of the pranks. Before… No. Not that either. She turned to look at Daenerys instead, Dreamfyre shifting closer.

The sea turned land as they shot past Rook’s Rest. Half-way.

“Did you dream lately?” Helaena asked.

Daenerys looked at her and shook her head.

“Me neither,” Helaena said, and her voice dropped lower. “I have never not dreamt for so long. I fear it’s bad.”

“They will come, in time. Do not worry. They never truly stop. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe we are changing things, but not yet fully. Whatever the dreams are, they do not know what to show us yet.”

The words were meant encouraging for sure, but Helaena just stared uneasily. Fear started to sneak up on her. If the powers which made them dream did not know, what did it mean for them?

“That is even more scary.”

Daenerys seemed utterly oblivious to her worries.

“When you dream again, do tell,” she said. “Sharing them makes things less lonely.”

Her first instinct was to say no. It was not even a discussion. No one ever listened anyway, no matter what she tried – only that was no longer true now, was it? Rhaenyra would want to know, Daenerys wanted to know. She stared at the two women, her uneasiness fading again. They would come again, in time, the dreams. Maybe, Helaena smiled again, maybe the next time she dreamed, things would be better. They had to be better!

“What was the happiest dream you ever had?” She asked on a whim, trying to get the bad mood out of her head. There had to be good ones too, there just had to be.

Daenerys hummed. “My dragons hatching. I was within the fire, felt it all cool on my skin...” She smiled. “I heard them singing, Helaena. The most beautiful sound I have ever heard. And then Drogon crawled up my leg and looked at me.”

“Where you… where you afraid?”

“Gods no. He was all gentle, where you not?” She let go of one of his horns and petted him. Drogon rumbled.

Helaena grinned. Hopefully, her dreams were taking note! “Do you... do you dream the same dream more often when it gets closer too?”

“No…” she frowned and fell quiet. “Maybe. I dreamt of Viserion coming after me near non-stop before it happened.”

“Viserion?”

She hummed. “The blue-eyed dragon. He was mine before…,” she trailed off and shook her head.

Helaena stared, torn between wanting to ask and feeling terrible for even thinking of it. The blue-eyed dragon had been hers? What had happened to it? How had the bad man gotten him? How…

Wait.

Viserion? “Is he…” Helaena giggled. “Is he named after father?” What did Viserys do to deserve a dragon being named after him?

Daenerys smiled weakly, still ways off happy. “No. After my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Ah… I had two. Both are dead.”

“Oh.” Why did she ask all the wrong questions today?

“How were they? Your brothers,” Rhaenyra asked, finally joining in. She had not wanted to interrupt their dream talk, but now that they had moved on…

“There is not much to talk about, really. Rhaegal was killed by the Usurper, Viserys… well.” She smiled grimly. “He got what he deserved. He would have made a horrible King.”

They fell quiet again. Helaena felt ever so little relieved. At least, it was not only her asking the wrong questions.

“He did tell you of the prophecy, though,” Rhaenyra said.

For a second, Daenerys did not remember what she was talking about, then it clicked. The princess who was promised.

“May the only good thing he ever did.”

“How did he die?”

“He got a golden crown. A liquid one, that is.” Daenerys fell quiet for a moment. “He broke all laws of Vaes Dothrak and threatened to cut my son out of me. I watched him burn for it.”

They fell quiet again. What to even say to that?

Rhaenyra managed after a few moments, “Merry guy.”

Daenerys snorted.

Helaena looked at her sister. “I like our Viserys better.”

“I sure do too!”

---

The towers of Harrenhal reached for the sky like crippled, burned claws. Daenerys stared at them from afar, a shiver sneaking down her spine. Drawing ever closer, she fully realized how huge it was… and how horrible it must have been. The blackened, melted, twisted stone, entire sections of walls missing, arches collapsed, ceilings gone. The smaller inner castle stood regardless, no matter missing walls or not, albeit small seemed like no fitting word.

All this, the work of one dragon alone. How mighty Balerion must have been, even then. What the three could have done… razed it entirely, most likely. Left nothing but melted stone and corpses. Drogon circled down and landed in the yard, right next to Dreamfyre and Syrax. Even with three dragons, they had ample space. It sure was the biggest castle ever built.

Rhaenyra slid off her dragon gracefully and watched if Helaena needed help. Of course, her little sister did not.

Steps came closer. A white-haired, old man stood at the top of the ridiculous long stairs, leading up to the castle proper. Guards held banners of House Strong.

“Ah, Princess. Welcome, welcome. First time dragons ever meant something good here.”

Rhaenyra laughed and approached. The man hurried down the stairs as good he could, bowed and kissed her hand. “Simon Strong, the castellan. At your service.”

“You honor me. How is Harwin?”

His smile faded somewhat. “He is well. But you have to understand, he was badly burned, my Princess.”

“I wish to see him later.”

“Of course, of course.”

“What do you think happened here? That fire, I mean. When I heard of it…”

“Do not tell me of any curse, by the Gods. This place is not cursed beyond dampness. Men set it ablaze. Did Ser Laenor not tell you?”

“He did. I wanted your opinion on things.”

Daenerys stepped beside Helaena, touching her shoulder. They sure seemed superfluous right now – as things ought to be, she guessed. Rhaenyra had to do the talking to gain allies.

The man smiled wryly. “I would look at Larys. No one better. Lyonel talked of throwing him into the black cells. Fitting place, in my opinion.”

“Oh. He did?”

“Aye, he did. His rage was something to behold. But. Let us talk of better things. I have food prepared for you and yours… and some goats for your dragons, if they will have them.” He glanced at the three beasts in his yard. Just for a second, his composure slipped. “They will not burn anything worse, will they?” He whispered.

Rhaenyra smiled. “I promise, they will not.”

“Lucky me.”

“Before we go, could you maybe tell my companions of the past? Lady Daenerys is intrigued by the castle. Princess Helaena is sure curious as well.”

Simon bowed to the Princess and nodded at the lady, eyeing her. If Rhaenyra had not specified her as a lady, he would have guessed her just another Princess. The black dragon behind her made it seem plausible. It looked exactly like he imagined the Black Dread, just in tiny. Albeit tiny for a dragon could still eat him in one go.

“What do you want to know, my Lady?” He asked.

“How Harrenhal fell. I was told stories, but…”

“Oh, stories. So many of them, and near all false.” Just like the damn curse. They never heard the end of it. He led them through the yard, pointing out spots here and there, up at the castle, the towers, side buildings, and on the walls. Stone, blackened by Balerion himself.

“Some of the men say, at night you can still hear his wing beat. All nonsense, of course. It’s just the wind.”

Daenerys smiled politely. He talked on, of Harren the Black, and his quite quick end.

“Whatever else stories you heard, Balerion just roasted them to death. I would have bent the knee in his stead, but alas. Only the Gods know what madness crossed his mind.”

“I guess he thought his stone would hold,” Helaena said very softly, staring at a melted wall. Leaning closer to Daenerys, she whispered something. Daenerys stared at her.

Simon went on, utterly oblivious that he had lost his main audience.

“Madness, I tell you. The Valyrians ruled over half the known world, as you of course know. As if stone would stop them.”

Rhaenyra chuckled. The man sure had a point.

He talked some more, how Harrenhal traded families, again and again. “May there is a curse after all,” he said dryly and walked on.

They ended up at the Godswood. A black-haired woman sat by its roots, staring at them.

“They say the tree is the only thing that survived the dragon. Nonsense too, I tell you. Wood burns. They must have planted a new one after. Not that Harren had any love for them in the first place. Was used all throughout the castle.”

He looked at the woman. “Alys. The Princess Rhaenyra and hers.”

The woman got to her feet and bowed. The leaves of the weirwood tree rustled.

“Do not mind her either. She is a bit strange,” Simon said and turned to them. “Food, now? How exactly do dragons eat?”

“Messy.”

Simon barked a laugh, trying to hide his worry.

Rhaenyra followed him, stopping when she realized the others did not come. “Will you come along?”

“A moment,” Daenerys said softly, staring at the tree.

“I will stay with her,” Helaena said, staring at the tree as well. Rhaenyra glanced at it and frowned. Was she missing something?

Once they were gone, Daenerys dropped her voice all the way to the faintest whisper.

“You saw Balerion?”

“Yes. He was in the sky behind Seasmoke and that blue-eyed... Viserion.”

Just for a second, she felt like crying. Helaena had remembered his name. Her little one. If only… she pushed the thought aside. She would not cry, not now! A dragon did not cry.

“This cannot be.”

Balerion was dead, for years now.

“I tell you, it is.”

But… she had been up there, above the storm, above the clouds. There had been no dragons as big as Balerion. She would have seen it! There had been only… only night. Her old time, she was sure of it – or at least had been sure of it. It had been cold up there, biting cold. Like winter. Like a Long Night. What other dragon should there even be? There were only hers, and they all had been beneath the clouds.

“A black dragon saved me?” She asked again. She had never stopped to ponder what had happened, not that day, not any since. It had just slipped her mind.

“Yes.”

How… what…

“I think it was Aegon himself,” Helaena said very softly. “Last Queen saved by the first King.”

A cold shiver ran down her spine, making her skin prickle. There was a certain symmetry to it, yes, a horrible beauty. If Aegon had seen the attack on Dragonstone… he sure would have believed it was a dream. Her stomach turned. He sure would have believed they had to stop the dead, through any means available. Was the prophecy all their fault?

“What happened to the man of ice?” Daenerys whispered. If he was in the past… if he was with Aegon…

“I do not know. I closed my eyes at it.”

He could not be in the past. If she was in his stead, she would have raised an army of the dead and ended things before they even began. But then what had happened to him? Where was he? No. When was he? What time had been above the clouds? Had he maybe fallen back into the future, after the past had gotten him? Gods, her head.

The black-haired woman moved towards them, staring. Her gaze unnerved her.

“You should not be here,” she whispered at her.

Daenerys only stared, dumbfounded.

---

After dinner, some light talk and ever more looking around the castle, Daenerys lay in her guest bed, hugging herself, and stared at the empty room. The huge, empty room. Even here, the stone was twisted, making shadows move and creep. The flickering torch sure was not helping either. The non-stop, maddening drip of water. Simon sure had not joked when he said the place was damp.

The shadows moved again, the wind whispered.

You should not be here.

Fear pooled inside her. What did the woman even mean? Did she know, maybe? How could she? How could anyone?

Closing her eyes, she tried to force her thoughts away, trying to just not think. Not that it helped, of course. Her head just went on to her other problem. Helaena and Balerion and Aegon and… and the Night King. He must be… somewhere, someplace. He had not killed them yet, which likely meant he was not with Balerion, if the dragon had even been him in the first place. Yet, which other dragon may there be? There were none but hers, there were none but Aegon’s. After the Dance, there were none as well. At least for now.

Had the Night King simply snuck away? Was he still here maybe, just gone far away? Was he gathering the dead already? Raising every person who ever died, but wouldn’t they hear? Or would they simply jump them one day? The wave of dead taking Winterfell had been quick enough. Part of her could already see them. All those glowing, blue dots in the night…

Wind howled through the corridors, and it indeed sounded like wings beating. Part of her expected a roar, maybe their dragons would indulge them. No roar, this time. Only silence, which was somehow even worse. The only sound was her own breathing and the drip-drip-drip.

Before long it would drive her mad.

In time, her thoughts went where they always went. All the dead, the wights, the Night King. How he had smiled when she tried to burn him, just looked at her and smiled. Viserion... Jon… he sure had blue eyes too now, just as Ghost and Missandei and…

Hugging herself tighter, she curled into a ball.

“Calm down,” she whispered. Only it was not helping, it never did.

She just wanted some peace. Why could she never…

Her thoughts went to it before she could stop herself, before she could shut them up. Daemon’s arms all wrapped around her; her head leaning against his chest, his calm breath right by her ear. He had been… he had been warm and safe. Those few moments before he had kissed her…

Her door creaked open.

Daenerys sat up, reaching for Dawn, which rested beside the bed. Who in the Seven Hells…

It was Helaena, looking all tiny inside the huge doorway.

“Can I stay with you?” She whispered, her voice echoing back from the room’s walls, turning all loud and clear.

“Certainly.”

“This place is strange,” Helaena muttered against her, once she was snuggled into Daenerys arms.

“It is,” Daenerys muttered back. The wings beat again.

---

Rhaenyra was utterly oblivious to it all. Just stone walls around. Dragons were more fearsome than any of this could ever be.

The guard holding a torch led her through a sheer endless maze. In time, she ended in front of Harwin’s chamber. Finally…

“Thank you, good Ser,” she said. “You can leave.”

The man bowed and walked away. Soon, silence swallowed his steps. Rhaenyra stared after him. How curious. Slipping inside the room, she found the maester and a young man attending to his wounds. They were changing bandages, moving him around carefully on his bed.

Harwin glanced towards the door and smiled. Half his face was covered in bubbles.

“My princess.”

The maester looked up, just as the servant.

“Do not mind,” Rhaenyra said. “Finish. Please.”

She stepped closer. His arm was black and charred, pieces of skin missing, the flesh beneath all raw and red. His legs looked no better, nor did his waist. His chest seemed unhurt, just as his other arm, however little consolence it had to be.

Once they were done, the two men bowed and left.

Finally, Rhaenyra stepped closer, settling on the huge bed and looked at her beloved. Harwin reached out for her with his unhurt arm, with his unhurt hand, and stroked along her face. Tears welled up in her eyes. Rhaenyra blinked them away. All this for…

“How bad is it?” She whispered.

“Horrible. I get milk of the poppy all days. Today I took less.”

Rhaenyra smiled somewhat, her hand hovering beside his face. “Where can I touch you?”

“Wherever it looks less hurt. Without the…,” he trailed off. The bandages. The bubbles. She all but nodded and moved closer to kiss his cheek. Harwin turned his face, pressing his lips against hers. He twitched when he did, but he did not break away. Rhaenyra kissed him back, all slow and gentle. He sighed, his arm carefully wrapping around her to pull her close. Rhaenyra accidentally brushed against his leg, and he froze, grunting in pain.

“I am so –”

“No matter.” Harwin kissed her again. “Just…” He gestured at her garments.

Part of her wanted to laugh, make a quip about him only wanting her out of her clothing, but given his condition… given his condition, she only nodded and slipped out of her flying clothes. The trousers, the tunic, the cloak. Only in her undergarments, she settled on the bed again, draping herself beside him. Her hand slipped onto his chest, stroking gently, and he pulled her in, kissing her once more. They kissed and kissed. His hand slipped into her hair, stroking all gentle. As if nothing had changed...

Time passed. How long, Rhaenyra could not say. The candles seemed dimmer when they broke apart at last. In time, she rested her head on his unburnt arm and looked at him. Harwin smiled as if nothing else mattered.

“They say Ser Laenor saved me.”

“Hm-hm.”

“How could he?”

“I sent him.” She could already hear his ‘How?’ “We have a dreamer.”

Harwin stared at her. Everyone knew what a dreamer meant, at least of the Great Houses. They had made sure of it.

“I… please, send my regards. I owe them my life. My father’s…”

“If you wanted, you could tell her yourself. She is here.”

The stare again; lost for words. “I insist!”

Rhaenyra smiled. “I will tell her.”

“How… how are the boys? How is Joffrey?”

“They are well, all of them. Joff grows quickly, cries… depending.” She chuckled. “Jace promised to look after his brothers.”

Harwin smiled. It near looked like a grimace, with only one half of his muscles really moving. Rhaenyra leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth again.

“They miss you,” she whispered. Harwin shifted and hugged her again.

“I miss them too.” The tiniest pause. “I missed you.”

At last, she started to cry, silent tears falling down her cheeks. Hugging him wherever she could touch, Rhaenyra snuggled close.

“I missed you too. Not knowing if you had survived or not…”

She shook her head and pressed her forehead against his cheek. Those days… They felt like a dream now, after everything else.

Again, for a while, they held each other. Rhaenyra got up, lighting more candles. There were no torches and no lit fireplace, she noted. Just candles secured in stone bowls. Then she was in his arms again, nipping on his jawline until she finally reached his lips, enjoying every second they could get.

“How long – will you – stay?” Harwin asked between kisses.

Rhaenyra broke away. “Only the night.” He knew that one already. “We will fly on in the morrow.”

“Where to?”

“Winterfell. The Wall.”

“Winterfell? How come?”

How come… Rhaenyra looked at his shining eyes. If he was in pain, and she fully believed he was, he was hiding it well.

The truth? Or part of the truth? That she was making allies? The dead? He would hear of it earlier or later anyway…

“Another time? It takes long and… it is hard to believe.”

“Try me. Only the shortest version. I was saved by a dreamer.”

Rhaenyra chuckled. “It is hard to believe.”

“Rhaenyra.”

She hummed, stroked along his cheek, and kissed him again instead. When they broke apart again, he still did not let go.

“The dead,” she said.

Harwin stared at her confused. “The dead?”

“Hm-hm. No more questions,” and she kissed him again. 

---

The corridor seemed endless. Whenever she thought she had to have reached the end of it, it started anew. Endless tapestries adorning the walls, endless flickering torches, endless little dragon skulls staring at her, which really ought not be here. She knew, even in a dream.

“Rhaenyra?” The faint voice of her mother.

Her mother. The thought of seeing her again, even if only for a second, sent her running, along the endless, endless corridor. This time, it ended. This time, she flew through a door, falling into a room, hitting her knees. Blood seeped through her skin, tainting her dress. The candles flickered.

Mother.

Dragging herself up, she saw Aemma, just how she remembered her to be. Silver-gold hair, those soft, warm eyes, but pale. Oh, so pale. She lay in her bed, cradling her huge belly.

“Mother,” Rhaenyra whispered.

Smiling, her mother motioned for her, and before she even knew it, Aemma cupped her cheek. Her hand was cold.

“You flew again, did you not? You smell of dragon.”

“I – I did. I have to…” North, part of her wanted to say. She had to go North. She wanted to hear Aemma telling her she was doing good, that she was doing all the right things, that making friends of Aegon was right, that…

She had to tell her of… what? What had it been? Something about…

Aemma smiled her soft, warm smile. So much love in her eyes.

“You will never be enough, Rhaenyra.”

She stared at her, stunned into silence.

“Look what you did. All the mess.”

Rhaenyra turned and stared at the room she had just walked through. Blood, all the blood, and dragon skulls staring at her. One was of Caraxes, the other Syrax and…

“I wish Baelon had lived instead of you.”

---

Harwin was ripped out of his slumber. For a second, he thought it was his own nightmares, the dream of fire, night after night after…

But there was no fire, and he was not the one screaming. Rhaenyra sat upright in bed and panted, looking so panic-stricken, it nearly broke his heart. He moved, albeit it hurt. He hugged her, albeit it hurt worse.

“Rhaenyra.”

She was tense and shaking, not even reacting. Harwin pressed his lips against her cheek. “Just a dream.” She relaxed at last, slumping against him. He wanted nothing more than scream.

“All is good, all is good,” he still whispered, and she moved away, thank the Gods, she did.

---

The shadows were hunting her. Wings beating. Screams and smell of fire.

Wherever Helaena turned, she could not see, but the sounds, oh the sounds found her. All those screams.

And then came the steps. Following and following, no matter how quickly she ran. Ever calm, ever quiet, and always following.

Stumbling, she found herself in the Dragon Pit. The steps brought forth Aemond, staring at her with a frown. He was older, way older, one of his eyes hidden by shadows.

… it had all started with the eye…

Father’s dagger dangled from his belt. Vermithor was moving in on her, his big head moving ever closer.

“I… I never meant to…,” she stuttered and backed away, backed away until she hit the cold wall of the Dragon Pit.

No way out.

“Yes, you never meant to this, you never meant to that,” Aemond said, his voice cold as ice. “You never think about these things, do you?”

Where was Dreamfyre? Why was she not with her? Why was she alone?! Panic crashed over her. Aemond stepped out of the shadows at last, and she stared. One eye violet, the other glowing blue.

“You betrayed us, Helaena.”

Vermithor rumbled and shot forward. His fangs dug into her, ripping her apart. Helaena barely had time to scream. First her arm, then her stomach, then… she fell to the ground, her heart hammering away weakly… and then she watched. Watched her own blood run along the ground, forming pools and puddles.

Aemond knelt before her, both eyes blue now.

“Remember your place.”

Chapter Text

Hands grabbed him, ripping Larys out of what little sleep he could get; he got dragged out of his cell, along the corridor. No one bothered for his screams. Some of the other prisoners whispered… and then quiet, except for the sound of steps. He got thrown into another cell, the door locked – and nothing. Absolutely nothing. Darkness, silence. Part of him wanted to scream, to curse them, but he knew it would not matter. As if they could even hear him. Feeling around in utter darkness, he realized it was naught but stone under his fingers, along the walls. Ever the same stone. His new cell was big, at least. Why move him here? Why bother? The black cells were bad enough.

After however much time in complete darkness, the door opened again and a man stepped inside, carrying a torch in one hand, a leather bag in the other. Two more men followed, their faces hidden by masks. The door was locked behind them.

“Well, Larys,” the first man’s voice was soft and sweet. “I am told you like fire.”

---

Daenerys was ripped out of her dream by screams. Helaena trashed around, hitting her.

First catching her arm, she thought better and hugged her. Helaena whimpered.

“You are safe,” Daenerys whispered. “I am here. I have you.” What else to say? Just a dream? They both knew ‘just a dream’ could have horrible consequences.

The trashing seized, which turned to trembling, joined by crying. Daenerys hugged her all the tighter, humming a song Viserys had sung to her about a lifetime ago, back in the house with the red door.

Eventually, the trembling stopped, and Helaena only sniffled.

“Do you want to talk of it?” Daenerys whispered.

Helaena kept quiet for a long while. Daenerys near thought she had fallen asleep again after all, when she spoke at last.

“Aemond had blue eyes. He killed me, he and Vermithor.”

A shiver ran down her spine. The Night King had to be here after all. They had to tell Rhaenyra, they had to –

“It was no dragon dream, though! It was… it… I do not know.” Trailing off, Helaena snuggled against her some more.

---

Turned out, she had fallen asleep again after all. The first thing Rhaenyra saw upon opening her eyes was Harwin, vast asleep. She smiled. If only she could just stay here, in this bed, by his side. Never get up again, but she knew it was no option. It had never been. If only… if only she had picked him sooner. Back then, maybe, after that disastrous hunt. She remembered Harwin grinning at her when she marched into camp, bloody and all.

Reaching out for him, she let her fingers ghost along his arm, along the side of his face, along his lips, never touching. How much she wanted to kiss him again…

Rhaenyra snuggled some more into the bedding and watched him sleep instead. She would not get this sight for ages either. To just see him lay there, all calm and quiet… As if nothing was amiss, as if the fire had never happened. If only… if only she had believed Daenerys sooner if only Laenor had been quicker… those few days, which she had wasted, going on about her life. She started crying silently. Her love might have been fully unhurt, never to know of anything.

Harwin moved. Of course, opening his eyes right now. His hand cupped her cheek, his voice all soft and low.

“What is it?”

Rhaenyra shook her head and leaned in to kiss him. How to even tell? I could have stopped this. All of this.

---

Vermithor roared happily, spraying up water droplets with his claws. His little one screamed ever more euphoric. He was so of joy, this one, it thrummed through him like a new heartbeat. A most welcome change! Jaehaerys had been full of worry in his last years. Worry, if he had made the right choice. Worry, if it was enough, all of it. He had told him as much. Vermithor had only rumbled. He did not understand their world. Humans thought in so little bounds, always worrying about the next tiny thing. Balerion had once said they could not think further, for their sight was limited. Back then, he had been upset. As if his rider was limited! Now, he understood. If he asked Vhagar, she sure would agree as well.

Caraxes may not, but he was near young still, and he had found his perfect rider. His and he, the bond was so strong it defied words. He had felt it when he was close to them; he had seen it. No words ever needed, not even gestures, nothing. They just knew. Sometimes he wondered if Caraxes was even bothered about having lost his first rider; sometimes he wondered if he even remembered him. He did not act like it. There was only… how was his name? Vermithor knew Viserys, Balerion’s last, who had followed his Jaehaerys on the funny chair, but his brother…

His little one leaned back, and he bolted skywards. They soared and soared, the big water falling away. His little one screamed happily again. Vermithor fell in with a roar. In time, he would know his name too, and in time he would never forget it.

The wind shifted, coming from the big water now, driving the smell of men and wooden boats and spices and –

He inhaled again, and roared, rushing along. His little one grabbed the saddle, worry bleeding through, but Vermithor did not mind. He did not mind either, when his little one started to yell at him, to slow down, to turn back, to serve. He minded a little when he started to be scared, but it was not enough. Not yet, anyway. May a year from now, it would have been.

Silverwing roared at him, breaking through the clouds. The speed she had! He roared right back, and they circled each other. His little one was stunned. They drew closer and closer, as close as their wings would allow. Vermithor managed to nudge her neck. Silverwing rumbled at him, so full of affection, it eclipsed all else.

He turned back towards the big city at last, Silverwing right by his side. The miles turned small together, while she rumbled of what she had seen. The black hatchling had gone after Caraxes, could he believe it? And the girl a rider had smelled of Daemon – yes, that was his name! Only Vermithor had forgotten right the next second. He just did not bother to remember.

---

Aemond stared at the silvery dragon, while Vermithor took on a life of his own. He did not react to commands or cues. Just flew on, right beside his mate. At least he had deigned himself to fly back for the city. Part of him had worried that he would just fly on forever, or may worse, abandoned him halfway to nowhere. He had his mate again, what did he need him now?

And yet… watching Silverwing fly beside them, he had to think of Daenerys and her two dragons. Did the mate bond extend his control onto other dragons? Was that how she did it? Her dragons sure seemed close. She told everyone they were brothers, but did she truly know?

Did he… did he have two dragons too now?

“Silverwing, dohaeris!”

Silverwing glanced at him and hissed, baring all her fangs. Vermithor grumbled and shook himself so violently, he would have fallen off for good had he not been strapped in.

He sure got the message, even though it was wordless.

No and do not dare.

---

Leaving the Kingswood behind, Otto stared ahead. Kings Landing, in all its hideous beauty. About time. His horse had turned lame some two days ago. Gods be good, he had not wanted to exchange it for another one yet again. He may have already killed three in his mad dash north. Larys’ letter… it haunted him. Only three lines, but effective three lines, robbing him of sleep and sanity, bringing into question all the long years of his planning.

      The city is under attack by an unknown threat. Rhaenyra and Helaena are defending us. Aegon does nothing.

No one travelling the road south had heard anything – or had been willing to tell. A band of knights had exchanged gazes once, but their Lord had only stared at him, and they had ridden on. Whatever it had been, it seemed not apt for talking. What could even threaten Kings Landing? Pirates? The dragons would burn them. A turned crazy nearby lord? The dragons would burn them. The only plausible option ghosting around in the far back of his mind was Daemon. Come back from his stay in Pentos, gone mad and had decided he wanted the crown after all. If he had convinced his lady wife, who would be able to stop him? No one would, no one could. Viserys would have to yield – but it made no sense. The princesses would not have been able to defend the city from him. Aegon standing down would have even been the wise decision then. If Rhaenyra got killed by Daemon, a lot of his worries would just disappear. He would even be able to use her death. The crown ought pass to the King’s next child, not to the Usurper.

But there was no Caraxes lording over the Red Keep, nor Vhagar. His thought was moot.

Crossing through the River Gate, he stared at it with a frown. Carpenters were swarming around, exchanging the wood, hammering away.

Whatever had attacked the city sure had left scars.

Worse, he thought. Good that it was getting replaced already, undoing the evidence, wiping away memory, but worse. The people must have seen whatever it had been, and they had seen Rhaenyra defending them.

A dragon roared. Otto twitched. Even after all his years in the capital, those damn beasts…

He stared, while he watched Vermithor and Silverwing fly for the Dragon Pit. The former had a rider on his back. Someone must have…

For the first time in a while, he smiled. Aemond. Gods knew how he had gotten to Dragonstone, but he had done, and he had done well. No one else could have claimed a dragon. His smile turned a grin. They had the second largest dragon in the realm now, they had the King’s dragon flying for them. People remembered Jaehaerys and his bronze beast. Simply by existing, it strengthened their claim. A dragon had chosen sides.

“Father!” Alicent said, hurrying down the stairs. His daughter was smiling. Otto smiled right back, touching her shoulder in a try to make a connection. Alicent always reacted better afterwards. “Why did you not send a raven?”

“I was not certain when I would arrive.” He really had not been. It would have taken days longer if he had not been able to exchange that last damn horse.

Alicent nodded.

“Do you know what happened here?”

Her smile faded. “Let us speak in my chamber.”

Otto stared at his daughter, wondering if she had gone mad. The dead? He was willing to believe that something had killed Ser Criston, but certainly not something dead. He would have to talk to more people to figure this out… only Alicent just kept talking, and the more she talked, the worse it got.

A Targaryen bastard with two dragons.

“Two?” Otto had asked in disbelief. No Targaryen could ever control two. No matter what he believed as fact, Alicent had nodded.

“The girl is loyal to Rhaenyra, beyond a doubt. I tried to convince Viserys to betroth her to Aemond, pull her onto our side in time but…,” she shook her head, “She swore to Viserys and his rightful heir. The girl means trouble, worse than I can even put into words.”

Otto stared at her. Two more dragons for Rhaenyra…

“She does not burn,” Alicent whispered.

“What?” Had he misheard?

“The girl. She does not burn. I saw it, as well as our Kingsguards. The entire island whispered of it before we left. Viserys says the gift is rarer still than dreamers.”

For once in his life, he was lost for words. If the smallfolk heard of this… they would either believe her a God or a monster, and he did not want to bet on either. If the people chose the former, no one would ever turn on Rhaenyra. One of the Seven had chosen her personally. What was this madness? May they could ask the High Septon to denounce her as a demon.

“Rhaenyra pulled Helaena onto her side.”

This time, he did not even ask what. Otto just stared.

“Viserys allowed her to stay.”

There was so much hurt and anger in her eyes, Otto reached out for her again. Alicent smiled ever so weakly and turned away. “Rhaenyra promised they would come visit, but I doubt it. I may use it in time to change his mind.”

“Good.” At least something. “Do you have plans for what to do with Aegon?”

“Oh, certainly. I will have him distribute food soon. As well as have him fly with Sunfyre. The more he is seen, the better.”

Perfect. He had expected nothing less.

“Vermithor…,” he started. He had to hear it. Until now, he had only made reasonable assumptions.

Alicent smiled. “Aemond’s.”

Gods be good after all. If all their dragons flew, they may take down Vhagar, and once Vhagar was gone… Their biggest problem was solvable now. If the Gods were good, Daemon may even manage to turn his wife against himself before Viserys died. With the rogue prince, everything was possible. If Laena did not fly for Rhaenyra once the time came... unlikely, because of Laenor. Yet, under the right circumstances…

“Do you know anything of Daemon? Did he write to Viserys lately?”

Alicent frowned. “Why do you ask of him?”

“Just so. Curiosity.”

“He was at Dragonstone. Made eyes at the bastard.”

For the third time today, Otto was speechless. He had what? This… this was perfect. Exactly what he needed. Laena would certainly not sit idly by and watch her husband go after other women. Velaryons were too proud for it. May she would go after the bastard herself, the thought of Vhagar ripping her two dragons apart made him smile, or turn on her husband, yes, or… Now, if only he could influence the girl somehow. Turn her towards the worst of all desires... Maybe… maybe he could find someone to whisper into Rhaenys ear. She would not watch idly either, but he had no loyal men on Dragonstone – nor High Tide for that matter. The Blacks had seen to it.

“Father?”

He was so busy brooding, he did not reply. How could they use this curious situation, for they had to use it.

Alicent asked again.

He glanced at her, ever so slightly exasperated. “Yes?”

“I...”

Knocks on her door. Alicent turned towards it, staring near scared. Otto frowned. What was she afraid of?

“Come in.”

Aemond bolted into the room. “Mother! I…,” he stopped and stared at him. “Grandsire.”

“Talk on, Aemond.”

Aemond looked at him ever so timid. If only he could have made a better bond with them.

“Ehm…” his eyes, still glued to him, slowly moved back to Alicent. “I went flying again and Silverwing came for us. We flew together for a bit. She even followed me when I turned Vermithor!” He paused. Otto stared at his grandson ever so curious. Silverwing had followed him? He wanted to tell him to go on, damn it, but Alicent kept quiet. With her children, at least for now, he was following her lead. “They could not chain her in the Pit. Vermithor burned one of the dragonkeepers when they tried.” Another pause, even longer this time. “Do you think Father will be mad?”

Alicent exhaled. “I doubt it, but we need to tell him of what happened.”

She glanced at him. “May we continue later?”

“Certainly.”

---

They were quiet when they flew on. No talking, no laughing. Just wings beating and miles rushing by. In time, the sound was all there was.

Rhaenyra’s thoughts always circled back to the dream, to her mother, to her words. How horrible they had been. A knife to the heart would have been nicer. She was never enough…

Blinking away the damn tears yet again, she tried pushing the thoughts away and glanced at Helaena. Her sister was brooding, holding onto her saddle. She had only muttered “Dreams” over breaking fast and refused to elaborate. It sure was a wise choice. They ought not discuss dragon dreams with others present, less alone that black-haired woman staring at them non-stop. Did she even blink? Ser Simon had tried to make the best of it, and Rhaenyra all too gladly joined the conversation.

Daenerys had been quiet too, lost in thoughts of her own. Had both of them dreamt? What were the odds? Had they talked of it already?

Before they left, Harwin had talked with Daenerys, thanking her endlessly. If she ever needed anything… but she had only smiled. Rhaenyra had sent the dragon, not her. Still, he insisted. And asked her to always send a raven if anything was amiss in the damned castle. Daenerys had laughed and promised.

Once they were alone, Rhaenyra had kissed him one last time; maybe a couple times, his arm wrapped around her… there were no words to say goodbye, not really, none of them good enough.

The mountains surrounding the Vale turned ever bigger as they were drawing closer.

Drogon shifted a bit. She watched how Daenerys stared at the Trident from afar.

“Do you want to look at it?” Rhaenyra asked.

Daenerys glanced at her. “No!” There was something in her eyes.

All good? Rhaenyra near asked, only she had said no already.

And that was that.

While they were descending between the Green and Blue Fork, Rhaenyra thought of Laenor for the first time. Should she have told Harwin? Should she tell her husband? Not as if he did not know exactly what she had been up to; they had not changed their agreement, after all. He still went and saw Qarl too. Nothing had changed, had it? Only everything had changed. Could she love them both?

Slipping off her dragon, she tried to shove those thoughts away too. Enough of all the damn brooding… only nothing really changed. They nipped on their provisions in silence, with Dreamfyre and Syrax dozing away. Drogon jumped into the river and hunted for fish.

Daenerys laughed.

To Rhaenyra, it was as if some spell broke. May Harrenhal was cursed after all, no matter what Simon Strong had said.

“I had the most horrible dream,” she blurted out.

“You too?!” Helaena asked and stared.

They traded dreams. By the end of it, Rhaenyra held Helaena in her arms, albeit she was not certain who was hugging who right now.

“This will never happen,” Rhaenyra muttered. “I will not let it happen.” No matter what she had to do…

“Can we… maybe… fly by Kings Landing on our way back?” Helaena asked, looking at her.

Rhaenyra nodded. Perfect opportunity for bonding some more. She had promised Alicent either way.

“Helaena?”

“Yes?”

“Was it… was it a dragon dream?” Rhaenyra asked at last. She had to ask, had to know. If it was… But her sister shook her head, making her exhale. No Aemond to join the dead.

“It sounds like fears,” Daenerys said at last. “Of all of us. The worst that could happen.”

Rhaenyra stared. “You dreamt too?”

“Yes and no. More of the same.” Her gaze flickered for a second, and Rhaenyra frowned ever so slightly. Liar. But why would she lie?

“You all had blue eyes by the end of it,” Daenerys added. That one was true.

Rhaenyra had the urge to hug her too, but Daenerys did not look like wanting any hugs. Drogon trotted back to them, dripping water everywhere, nudging her gently. Daenerys stroked his snout for it.

“You killed me with some dagger,” she went on.

“Oh.”

Daenerys smiled weakly. “At least it was quick.”

They looked at each other for a couple of moments. Daenerys started to giggle. Oh, so casually talking about getting murdered… Helaena fell in, as did Rhaenyra. The giggle turned laughter until none of them could breathe. The dragons stared at them as if they had lost their minds.

---

When they flew on at last, Daenerys went right back to being tense. The closer they got, the bigger her fear. To see the North again… she knew there would be no dead. She knew she would be safe, as safe as she could be. They had three dragons, after all. Who should harm them? Who even could harm them?

Only her fear did not mind. Her head always jumped back to the wave of undead, coming and coming, following them unrelenting.

The moment when they had climbed over Drogon’s back, already coming for her.

The moment when she had woken up, a wight only an arms-length away from her, trying to stab Drogon in the soft area beneath his wing…

How Missandei would have died… what of Gray Worm and Jorah… and Jon.

… Jon…

She had seen Jon run for his life after Rhaegal crashed into the ground, just for a second, never to know what had become of him. Had Rhaegal returned and gotten him? Or had he just flown away? She could not ask her dragon, could she?

Only… only she could. They understood questions. A rumble would be a good a yes as any.

Jon… but what did it even matter? If he was not dead then, he would be dead now. As if he could have run for… how long exactly? Daenerys frowned.

“Rhaenyra?”

She turned, looking at her, Syrax swaying closer.

“How long was I unconscious after I got here?”

“A couple days. A few weeks passed until you were better.”

Her heart sank. Yes. All of them were dead, no matter anything. Fear pooled in her stomach again.

Everyone gone. Simple and easy… and dead. Undead, which was worse. At least, she would never have to see any of them again… which was even worse.

Drogon rumbled at her.

“All good?” Rhaenyra yelled.

Daenerys nodded all sullen. She did not want to cry, not right now, please. She shifted slightly and Drogon swayed away. She wanted some space, she…

Staring at the mountain directly in front of her, dread took over whatever little space was left.

She had not recognized it as they just passed by but with Drogon directly flying for it…

Her heart hammered away. She knew that mountain. She had… the last time she had seen it had been a dawn, biting cold, with snow whirling around her. Memories roared their ugly head, just images, fleeting and gone. Moments, none of them making sense.

They had been falling… The glowing blue dots of undead eyes staring at them while the ground came tumbling closer.

All the pain.

White flakes of ash dancing in the wind.

Drogon had curled around her, yes, and then… then nothing. And the mountain. And more nothing. Daenerys started to snap for air, trying her best to calm down, to keep her head straight, to…

She had nearly died somewhere here.

Something broke inside her and panic rushed in.

---

Rhaenyra felt sick to her stomach while she watched Drogon dive. All good, yes. None at all was good. She should have… what? Asked again? Daenerys would not have answered. Syrax set after them, Dreamfyre passing her by. When she landed at last, Helaena was off her dragon already, but she did not move, she just stared, looking lost and scared. Rhaenyra stared as well. Daenerys was on the ground beside Drogon, trembling, crying. The black dragon looked at her forlorn, nudging her. The crying just got worse.

Walking over, she knelt and pulled Daenerys into her arms, holding her close. The trembling just got worse.

Helaena stepped closer, still looking lost. “What is it?” Her little sister whispered.

Rhaenyra shook her head but reached out for her. In the end, she hugged them both. Daenerys’ fingers dug into her tunic, snuggling closer as she cried. Rhaenyra just hugged her tighter. How could she have missed this? It had to have been there, straight from the beginning. Yet, Daenerys had always acted so strong…

Fooled by appearances, she thought grimly. She had been a moron for not seeing.

In the end, the trembling stopped. The tears. Drogon rumbled lowly, nudging all of them in a try to get to Daenerys.

“What happened?” Rhaenyra asked softly, stroking along her back. Daenerys looked up, all red eyes. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. A moment, another.

“They… they hunted us here. Viserion and the Night King and…”

Tears again.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra hugged her tighter. Daenerys trembled again. Just the thought… the memory of falling, the ground coming closer… she had expected to die, deep, deep down, to just never wake up again. Somehow, she hadn’t, somehow… that she had never thought of it again… but of course, she had not thought of it. Who would want to? Who would ever want to?

Rhaenyra stroked along her back and Helaena hugged her tighter as good she could, and started to hum the same melody she had for her at Harrenhal.

The memories rushed in. Good and horrible, all the like.

Viserys, singing to her when she had had a fever… the brother he once was, before he got ever-angry, ever-paranoid, ever…

Daenerys burst into tears again.

Her thoughts were one insane mess, all screaming at each other, arguing, going in circles, again and again, and all the time her fear grew, fear of… the mountain, yes. The falling, the blue eyes, the snow…

None of it could harm her, one thought tried and made it all the worse. She had nearly died. The Night King had followed her into the past, hunted her again, not even 200 years were enough to stop him. The wights, moving over Dragonstone like a wave… As if he would not try again, as if he would just give up, as if he would stop. Hells, she did not even know when he was. He may just be nearby, maybe watching her, maybe…

It was all her fault.

Viserion had brought down the Wall. Without him, without her flying north, without…

They would all still be alive. They would all still… they were dead because of her. Only because of her.

Her scattered thoughts jumped at it, all at the same time, making it real.

She had killed her people.

---

Daenerys did not know how much time passed. She was still in Rhaenyra’s arms, a hand was still running along her back when she finally calmed somewhat. Helaena was quiet, hugging her, her face pressed against her shoulder. The fear was still there, running through her like poison, but it was less, it was near manageable.

Looking up, she found Rhaenyra’s gaze. All calm and warm and worried.

Where to even begin? They would ask questions, she knew it, and demand answers. Maybe not right now, maybe not tomorrow, but in time. Her stomach sunk.

Maybe at the worst, the one that had driven her mad. May as well start somewhere.

“I killed them all,” Daenerys whispered.

“What?”

“I brought down the Wall.” To say it seemed insane and at the same time a relief.

Rhaenyra only stared.

“My dragon, he… Viserion… If I han’t flown north of the Wall, he wouldn’t have died and… and…”

Rhaenyra hugged her again, with both arms this time, and kissed her forehead. “Sssh. This is not your fault.”

But it was. It was all her fault. Viserion was dead because of her, the North was gone because of her. The tears came again, the panic bubbling up.

Why could it not stop?! Dragons did not cry!

Rhaenyra cupped her cheek, stroking her face, wiping some tears away, and smiled at her.

---

“Do tell. Please. What happened to your dragon?”

Daenerys leaned against Drogon, hugging her knees, and felt utterly exhausted. She would give near anything to get hugged again. Just to be held, to feel something close to safe…

Daemon had felt safer than Rhaenyra, her head supplied. He really had. Warmer and safer…

“Daenerys?” Rhaenyra tried again.

Hugging her knees tighter, she sighed. She had to stop thinking of him.

“The King in the North, Jon Snow, had this insane idea…”

And she had gone along with it, for lack of better options. What should she have done anyway? Lock him up? Oh, Sansa would have loved that.

“Catch a dead thing, like we did. Only they had to go way up North for it. I accompanied them to the Wall, not wanting to go further because…”

She paused and frowned. She could not remember, truth be told. May plan her assault on Kings Landing?

“I do not remember. For a couple days, I waited, but they did not return. I took my dragons to look for them, thinking they got stuck in some storm, mayhaps.” If only she had never found them… She told them of the lake, of the group of men being stuck on that damn island, and the dead attacking them.

It had been a trap, had it not been? Those fuckers did not mind for water. They had waited, waited for her.

“The Night King, he had… he had spears of ice.” Her voice broke. “He shot Viserion out of the sky.”

“By the Gods,” Rhaenyra muttered. Helaena looked scared. “You could not have known.”

“I should have. It was my duty.” The damn prophecy. She got good at remembering it. Maybe, one day, it would be second nature. “He died because of me. Because I did not want to believe.”

Rhaenyra moved from her spot of leaning against Syrax and stroked along her arm.

“He died protecting you.”

Her words were so innocent, so true… From one second to the other, she was close to tears again. Drogon nudged her, grumbling lowly. With some difficulty, the moment passed.

She went on with her story. How they made it back across the Wall, how they called for a Great Council, showing off the wight. How it was all in vain, for the Lannisters never came.

“Pay their debts my arse,” Rhaenyra muttered.

Helaena burst into giggles. Daenerys near smiled, which felt strange after all the tears.

“The Wall was broken by Viserion, we made our stand at Winterfell. You know the rest.”

Rhaenyra was quiet for a few moments, taking it all in.

“I stay with what I said. You could not have known. I would not have expected it. Dragons always seem invincible.” She paused. “We do know now. Gods. Fighting them gets ever more troublesome.”

It did, indeed.

“I do feel responsible,” Daenerys said. She would always, likely. As if it would ever go away.

“Well. We will beat them this time,” Helaena said, all serious. “We will. We have to.”

Rhaenyra barked a laugh. “We always pay our debts.”

Helaena laughed. Daenerys cracked a smile. Yes. With fire and blood, they would.

---

They stayed where they were for the night, ate some, talked some – of anything other than the dead or dreams. Dreamfyre snapped up some deer nearby. Once Helaena was asleep, a cloak placed underneath and atop her to make matters as comfortable as they could be, Rhaenyra settled beside her again.

“Do you want to talk some more?” She asked in a whisper.

No.

Yes.

After she had started, it all bubbled out of her. She told of Missandei and Grey Worm, of Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan. How she got her second Khalasar – or all the Khalasar. Semantics.

How all of them vanished in the wave of dead before long. Just gone.

“Missandei was in the crypts…” Her stomach turned. She would have died a horrible death. “I hope it was quick, I really do.”

Rhaenyra stroked along her arm again.

“Can I ask something?”

“Certainly.”

“How come a Snow is King in the North?”

Daenerys smiled weary. The one thing she did not want to talk about. It still felt too raw, truth be told. The hurt, the loss, the betrayal, all of it.

“The Starks near got wiped out by the Lannisters. Only Sansa was left of trueborn children at the time. The northern Lords raised her bastard brother.”

He is a Targaryen, in truth, part of her wanted to add but never did. If she said a word… if she said a word, she was no longer the last dragon, she was no longer the Last Queen, as Helaena called her. She would just be some Targaryen, second in line to the Iron Throne. She would be no one. 

“After my dragon died, he bent the knee. Honestly, I wish I could trade it in sometimes. Get my Viserion back.”

Rhaenyra smiled. “I bet we all would. What is the loyalty of a man, even of a Kingdom, in comparison to your dragon?”

A tiny smile twitched over her lips. “I fell in love with him.”

“Ooooh!” Rhaenyra fell silent, staring at Helaena, who just mumbled and turned under the cloak, staying asleep. Rhaenyra exhaled and chuckled, glancing at her again.

“You did?” She whispered.

Daenerys nodded. And before she knew it, she talked about Jon. How gentle he was, how loyal, how stupid at times. How he would not lie to Cersei fucking Lannister at the Great Council.

“He had to do one single thing!” Daenerys whispered angrily. How they travelled north together. The damn endless time on that ship. They sure had made the best of it. Rhaenyra chuckled, knowing.

“The Northerners were… cold, to say the least. His family hated me. He went as a King and returned a Lord. The other Lords and Ladies hated me too.” She sighed. “All a mess. Sometimes… sometimes I wish I had stayed in Essos.”

Rhaenyra squeezed her shoulder again. “Nothing worth doing is ever easy.”

Daenerys snorted. “I think I… I expected gratitude at least, you know? I took all my men north, both my dragons, and all I ever got was stares. I could have… I could have just let them die up there as well.”

Rhaenyra hummed, agreeing without words.

“Jon and I, we got along well. I took him flying once. He said I ruined horses for him.” She smiled at the memory. Back then, when things were not all bad. “We argued right before the battle. It was… Gods, it was ugly.”

Rhaenyra looked like asking but considered otherwise.

“I saw him run away from the dead at some point. I guess he is dead too.” Easy to assume. All of them were.

“My condolences.” Rhaenyra hugged her again. May as a precaution for more tears. Daenerys snuggled against her and shrugged.

“I think… I am not as sad as I ought to be?”

“Mmm… I think you may be sadder than you know. You cried for a long while.”

“Did I?”

Rhaenyra nodded. Daenerys blushed. To show her weakness so openly…

---

Syrax perched on the most intact-looking tower of Moat Cailin, with Rhaenyra on her back. They stared due north. All flat land, forests, and some hills. The ends of the Neck with all its swamps, but would the dead even care for them? They came in winter, supposedly. If the rivers froze, so would the swamps. They could just walk over it. As if wights cared much for trees. Defending this place would be a death trap. They were better off strengthening Winterfell… but what of it? The dead had taken it once, they would again.

Staring at the far horizon, she imagined a map of the North, all its mountains and rivers and valleys. Every Targaryen spent about ages staring at the painted table, in one way or another.

There was not much of a natural barrier they could use. Several mountain ranges between the Wall and Winterfell, yes, forests, a few lakes. Or they could pass by the Dreadford with nothing more than open lands. If the dead took Winterfell, the North was theirs. The Riverlands were theirs. The Crownlands, the Reach… the Vale may stand for a good while, with all its mountains, but what of it? The dead could just pass them by and return with every living thing turned.

How would they ever have a chance?

Maybe… maybe the Eyrie. They could host dragons, host some armies… but it was tiny. Too tiny for any of their endeavors. It may be the last place standing, but once the dragons started falling, even the castle in the sky was no longer safe. If only they had more space. The only castle big enough to stand a chance… Rhaenyra snorted. Harrenhal, but it would take generations to rebuild proper. Why hadn’t Aegon burned down any other castle?

“Where to?” She whispered to herself. Where should they fight? What should they try to save?

May Bran the Builder had the right idea after all. Stop them at the Wall, for everything further south was madness.

How to defend the Wall, though? Once it was broken… once it was broken, the Gift turned against them. Just plain open fields to stream across. They would get overrun.

Dreamfyre circled towards her. Rhaenyra threw one gaze at her sister and Syrax took off.

“How is she?” Rhaenyra asked once they were back on the ground. Helaena only shook her head.

Daenerys had managed quite well right until they had reached Moat Cailin. The empty stretch of land after the Neck had sent her into another panic, may even worse than the one before. She could guess why, and she did not like the answer.

Hugging both of them again, Daenerys calmed down eventually.

“What was it?” Rhaenyra asked after all.

“I… I watched the dead stream across the land here. They were… they were everywhere I could see.”

“From dragonback?” She had to be sure.

“Yes, of course. I think Drogon and I were even higher.”

Her stomach turned. So many… and at the same time, it answered her question. They did not have to bother with Moat Cailin.

---

Come next morning, she stared at the land beneath them while Syrax soared ever higher. To imagine all she could see were dead… She had never fully grasped the sheer size of their army, the endlessness, the hopelessness. This was the end of the world, as Aegon had said. The end of the world of men. Of course, Winterfell had been overrun. As would every other castle. How in the name of the Seven should they stand against this? How did they ever have a chance?

Syrax dove, joining the others again.

“All good?” She yelled at Daenerys, who merely nodded. She had offered her to fly with her while breaking fast, but she had turned it down. Maybe being separated from Drogon would make things just as bad.

---

They rested about halfway to Winterfell, finally changing their flying clothes for their dresses. Rhaenyra helped Helaena into hers, trying her hardest to remember all the nifty and quick moves her handmaidens always did. Tighten all the straps on the back, yes, but what else? Was she missing something? Securing her old one for Daenerys was easier. At least she had worn it once. Daenerys did the same for her.

She glanced at her over her shoulder.

“You have to keep calm when we reach Winterfell.”

Daenerys just looked all the grimmer. “I know.”

It may still get bad. She expected it to get bad. The damn castle was the very place everyone had died.

“Stay in the air if you need a moment.”

She all but nodded. They could not see them weak, no matter anything. Dragons were not weak.

In the end, she eyed them both, smiling. Helaena in her very, very dark-green dyed dress, as close to black as they had managed, and Daenerys in black, with dragon scales along her shoulder and chest. They looked like proper Targaryens.

“How does it look?” Her baby sister asked, very well aware of her stare.

“Beautiful.”

Hopefully, Alicent never got to see it.

Helaena grinned.

---

Staring at his castle, Cregan sighed. The direwolf flying on its banners was a farce. At least the men had refused to loosen arrows on them. Yet, if the dragons did not come soon… he could not supply his army for long. He had not fully thought it through. Truth be told, some part of him had hoped his uncle would surrender the moment he saw them. Banners of Cerwyn, Hornwood and Manderly all flying together. Or may he had hoped a loyal man would raise the gates; he knew there were some, the very reason he refused to attack just as well, but naught had happened. They had closed the gates and waited them out. Anyone holding Winterfell could just wait them out.

He had declarations from Deepwood Motte, Barrowtown and Bear Island, but none had come till now. Likely too far. Not everyone could send riders along good roads as White Harbor had done. He had not even bothered with Karstark, the Boltons or Umbers. The latter was too far north to make it down in any reasonable time, the former… the former he was not certain of their loyalties. Karstark would never rise for him. If he was lucky, they would sit it out. If he was unlucky, they would help his uncle for his damn lady wife. No one had bothered too much about him marrying a Karstark back in the day. A good match, aye, his father had always said. Now, it did bother him.

“My Lord!”

Cregan turned, watching one of his outriders return in a gallop. Ser Quent, was it?

“My Lord, I… I…”

Oh, this was not good.

“What is it?” He asked, forcing himself to sound calm.

“I spotted banners of the flayed man to the east. May half a days’ march.”

Cregan closed his eyes. May the Others take him. There was his answer. If only they had gotten all the ravens Winterfell had sent. Maybe he should ride out and trade with Lord Bolton himself. Maybe, the worst could still be avoided. He did not want his Lords to fight each other. Preferably, he did not want any blood be spilled at all. This was between his uncle and himself, no one else. Maybe he should challenge him to single combat. End this madness, one way or another.

Way too many maybes, he thought darkly.

“Thank you. Take a rest.”

The man nodded and finally dismounted.

---

Osric stared at the sky, stared and stared. He sat in front of the tent he shared and stared. His horse was grazing somewhere nearby. He had not done anything else for days now. Lord Stark had asked for those with the best eyesight. By all means, he had not expected this. Maybe loosen an arrow on Bennard Stark when he dared walk the walls, not staring at the skies. Today was full of unbroken white clouds, and smaller, fluffy ones beneath.

“Seen anything?” Walder asked, settling beside him.

Osric snorted. “That one looks a bit like an ox if you ask me.” He pointed at one of the clouds. Boredom did the strangest things. He had not watched clouds since he was a little boy.

Walder barked a laugh. “It does!” He fell quiet, scanning the sky. “That one may be its butcher.”

They both burst into laughter. For a split second, he saw something, but he was not sure what it was. May just a bird? His mind was growing dull and imagined things anyway. Some five minutes later, which they spent pointing out ever more ridiculous cloud forms, he saw it again. Something breaking through the clouds… a tail? He only stared dumbfounded, and gone it was.

The moment he saw wingtips – this time he was sure of it – he jumped up and sprinted through their camp. Walder yelled after him. His friend sure had not seen. He burst into the tent of the young Lord Stark, panting for air.

Lord Stark and Lord Cerwyn looked at him. They had stared at maps prior, by the looks of it, likely discussed them just as well. The huge Valyrian sword rested against the table they had brought with.

“Spotted a… a dragon…”

He had never seen someone’s facial expression change so much, so quickly. Cregan Stark went from deeply worried to grinning within the span of a second.

---

“I think we are there soon!” Helaena yelled. “Dreamfyre wanted to go beneath the clouds!”

Rhaenyra nodded. While looking at her sister, Dreamfyre dipped into the clouds again. Helaena let go of her saddle, letting her fingers run through the white, screaming all happy. She was wet by now, fully, dripping wet. At least, she could get dry soon.

One more time, she glanced at Daenerys. She looked calm enough. Hopefully, it would hold. Flying above the clouds had been a brilliant idea. Not seeing the land helped.

“Let me land first.” Thus, Syrax dove through the clouds. Water droplets clung to her wings when they reemerged from the whiteness, her own dress dry enough. It had only been moments, after all. Rhaenyra frowned while her dragon descended. Winterfell was being besieged… and both sides flew direwolfs. What was the meaning of this? People were running around on both sides of the wall, yells drifted up to her, but she could not understand a single word. Her eyes scanned the banners of the camp. Manderly, Cerwyn, Hornwood.

Turning, she watched Dreamfyre get closer. “Stay in the air!”

She never saw her sister but her dragon levelled out, as did Drogon a little later. They were circling above her.

The men on the wall darted away when her landing got obvious. Syrax growled at them no matter. Still too close for her dragon’s liking.

“What is the matter of this?” Rhaenyra demanded.

“My apologies, princess!” A voice yelled from down on the ground. Syrax moved, allowing her to look. A young lad looked up at her, a silver direwolf pinned to his leather armor, the ridiculous huge sword of the Starks strapped to his back. “I hoped to have this mess sorted before your arrival. Welcome to Winterfell!”

“This is madness,” an older man said, making his way through his men on the wall. Another one, wearing a direwolf pin clasped to his shoulder. There was a certain likeness between the two. “Do not listen to any of this, my princess. My nephew has lost his mind!”

“I could say the same of you!” The lad on the ground yelled.

Rhaenyra stared at the older man. Nephew…? Her gaze moved down again. Cregan Stark, then, flying the banners of his lords. They had come when called upon.

Bennard’s heart near stopped when the golden dragon jumped off the wall, descending to the ground.

Arrows! He thought but he stopped himself from saying it. He could not kill the princess!

Chapter Text

Daenerys watched uneasily as Rhaenyra followed the lad, walking past rows of soldiers. Northerners, all staring at her, some even pushing forward to get a glance. Of course, they would stare at a Targaryen. How many northern knights would have ever seen one? And still…

Her gaze swept over Winterfell and stared at the men staring up at them. All they could ever do was stare, was it? Hopefully, Rhaenyra would not get the same damn stares. The hate she had gotten back then, the disdain... They had even rivalled the masters of Yunkai and Mereen. How come the North’s smallfolk hated her just as much or maybe even worse than the slavers of Essos? What had she ever done to any of them? Drogon grumbled. At least the whole mess bothered her enough to keep her head from thinking about other things.

“Shall we land?” Helaena asked.

Daenerys glanced at her. “No.”

If whatever happened down there went bad, they were better suited in the air. They could fall on them quicker. Not that Syrax wouldn’t be the first to burn down the whole camp if anything at all happened to Rhaenyra, may the castle as well while she was at it.

---

“… he refused to step aside,” Cregan said. “Ever since I was nothing but a prisoner in my own castle. My uncle claimed to want to further educate me,” he shook his head. “The woes of ruling, Cregan, he always said, and followed it up with some useless lesson. Nothing I wouldn’t know already, nothing I couldn’t do myself.” He scoffed. “I did learn with the maester while he was busy acting regent. After your letter, I made for Cerwyn on horseback and refused to leave.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her gaze moving from Cregan’s face, glancing at Lord Cerwyn, and at last settled on the map on the table. The lands east of Winterfell, all the way to the White Knife.

His story reminded her so much of her own, it was near strange. His birthright snapped away, with him unable to do a thing. Family betraying family, betraying their oaths, betraying blood. Just like her, he was trying to better his position. How funny the world, sometimes.

What to say now? They were waiting for her to speak. She could feel the stares. Gods, if only she had brought an advisor with. Well, no. The first mistake was her father not mentioning this entire mess to her. Seemed like vital information to have, but he had skipped it. Or forgotten about it. Or ignored it. He had only talked of Moat Cailin and the need to reinforce the North. As if a stable North was not crucial in the first place.

“What are your next plans for the siege?” She finally asked, looking at Cregan again. Surely, asking for their next steps was wise, right? She should not impose.

Cregan glanced at Lord Cerwyn.

“I hoped to not even have to besiege them at all, princess. Uncle turned out more stubborn than I thought.”

She nodded again. He never used his name.

“What do you want to do with him?”

“I planned to put him in chains, but…”

Another of those glances between the men.

“But?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Our outriders spotted Bolton’s banners. May half a day away,” Lord Cerwyn said.

“I am not certain of their loyalties, princess,” Cregan added, looking ever more worried. “I never send for them, they just came, which… I do not wish to spill my men’s blood for my uncle’s madness. I do not wish their lives on my hands. This is between him and me. If need be…,” he trailed off. “I do not wish to spill his blood either. He is family, no matter what he did.”

Rhaenyra stared at him. It was near unsettling, how similar their stories… Vast responsibilities thrust onto one person alone. So many worries, so many fears, all the things to consider. One wrong step and thousands would die.

The rivers of blood; Helaena’s words ghosted through her head. If Cregan got killed through some unfortunate event today, the North may even turn on itself.

She forced the thought away.

“May I think for a moment?”

Rhaenys had said to consider things if they had the time. They sure had a few minutes.

“Of course.”

The men stepped away, giving her some space. She could hear them whisper to each other. Rhaenyra stared at the map again. What would Rhaenys do…? If only she had brought her with, if only... but she could not brood on any of this either.

She turned away, staring at the closed flaps of the tent.

She did not even know Cregan. A few nice words, nothing more. Part of her wanted to talk to Bennard first, see what he thought of things, appear diplomatic, but there was no reason for it, in truth. Cregan was the heir, and he was of age. Winterfell belonged to him.

The banners she had seen, all the men she had walked past…

Manderly, Hornwood and Cerwyn already stood with him, no matter anything. Cregan had said he had received declarations from the Houses Dustin, Glover and Mormont as well. Near all the North. The Lords had picked already.

“Do you have word from Houses Umber and Karstark?”

“I did not send for Lord Umber,” Cregan said. “They are too far north to help. Karstark… uncle is married to one.”

Rhaenyra closed her eyes. She should have known that. “I see.”

All she had to do was to support him, then. Walk up to the castle and demand…

No. The most pressing issue was the Boltons. If they came to fight for his uncle, they may fall on any men still outside the walls, whether or not they held the castle by then. They were talking about lives here.

“How about…,” she turned around at last, looking at them again. “…you send a letter to Lord Bolton or whoever heads this army. Order them to stand down. As Lord Paramount, they have to follow your command.”

The tiniest smile appeared on Cregan’s face. She had picked sides too now.

Still, he said, “I am not certain they will.”

Yes. The entire reason for this talk… To make sure they stayed away until this hassle was dealt with…

What to do, what to do…?

The answer was so obvious, she nearly groaned.

“I will add mine own. I doubt they would dare disobey you and me.”

Cregan stared at her… and started to grin. “I can ready a rider at once, princess.”

A rider… “Oh, no need. We will send one of mine.”

A dragon would make certain they came no closer. Both men looked the tiniest bit stunned.

---

Daenerys nearly broke when she laid eyes on Cregan. Younger, more stocky of body already but so obviously Stark. She could see Jon in him, many generations down the line. The shimmer in his eyes sometimes, the way he spoke, the way he smiled…

May she was imagining things by the end, but what did it matter? She was grateful when Drogon launched himself into the air on her command, turning due east. She could bother some Boltons. And maybe stop thinking about Jon.

Which instantly made her think of Jon again. He had told her of Ramsay, who had nearly killed them all, who had near broken Sansa. He had told of Roose, who had betrayed the North, may worse than any other. To join forces with the Lannisters of all people, turning on his own king. Maybe it would not be so bad if she burned them all. As if anyone would miss them.

Only Rhaenyra had not allowed her to do so. She had been sent to bring letters… and to make sure they stayed away. Nothing more, nothing less.

---

Watching Drogon grow ever smaller in the distance, Rhaenyra hoped all would go well. No bloodshed, no fire, no nothing. She hoped Bennard would come to his senses as well. Doubtful, but one could hope. May the Crone lead her through this mess.

Cregan stepped beside her. They watched as Drogon slipped from view.

A few moments later, Rhaenyra turned towards him. Enough of watching dragons.

“What do you need of me?”

“If you could convince my uncle to end this madness…”

Well, yes, obviously.

“What if he refuses?”

Cregan stared at her. As if the possibility had never even crossed his mind. “He would… he would never. You speak for the Crown.”

Rhaenyra shrugged. “People forced into a corner can do the maddest things.”

The young Lord stared at her once more, mulling things over by the looks of it.

“You could order the men to raise the gates. I doubt they would refuse.”

She hummed and nodded in earnest. “I will talk with your uncle. I would love to take you with me but…” she trailed off while she stared at Helaena, all wrapped up in furs to help her dry. They did have one more dragon rider.

“Do you think he would hurt you?”

A long sigh. “I want to believe he wouldn't.”

She mulled it over herself. This was ever more his fight than hers, thus he should be seen fighting it. It was a gamble, though. A risky one, at it. Yet, the men inside had already refused to attack him once. Sure, they would do so again. 

If his uncle lost his mind… once the realm heard of any of this… they would judge her. Unable to quell rebellion, unable to help, unable to protect the heir of Winterfell, unable to make people stand down.

“Do you want to come with?” She asked in a whisper, looking at him.

Doubt and worry… but he nodded. Rhaenyra took a breath. If anything went wrong… this was like walking into the Pit without a drop of dragon blood.

“Do I have your blessing to put him in chains if he refuses?”

“Whatever you please.”

---

Cregan watched the young Princess soar for the sky again, her dragon turning and landing on the tower of his castle. The beast roared, making men all around twitch.

Maybe he should not have agreed… maybe he should have just let her handle things. There would be no shame in it. Certainly, he hadn't thought they would depend on a literal child for their safety.

“Do you think it is wise…,” he started, glancing at Rhaenyra.

She smiled. “I trust her with my life.”

Oh my. “I shall be honored to do the same then.”

The girl had a dragon, no matter her age. Rhaenyra nodded and they walked on. Five of his men followed. He would not enter without guards, doing so would be even more mad than depending on young girls atop big dragons.

The golden beast grumbled when they approached. Cregan stopped in his tracks, just staring. The men he had chosen froze as well.

Rhaenyra did not even mind. She walked for her dragon and stroked along its neck, saying words he did not understand.

“Is… is anything the matter with it?” He asked. Rhaenyra glanced at him.

“No. I’d wager she feels I am worried.”

Dragons could feel?

“Shall we?”

“Yes, yes.”

Shall the madness end, one way or another.

His uncle stared down at them when they approached the walls. Cregan was extremely aware of the beast trotting along behind them, watching men shy away from the corners of his eyes when they even got close. As if it was a dog. A huge, scaled, fanged, fire-breathing dog.

“Why is this beast on my tower?” His uncle barked down. “I demand it leave!”

“I gave her leave to place however many dragons as she pleases on my towers!” Cregan yelled back.

They stared daggers at each other again. The hate in his uncle’s eyes… it was so much more disturbing than he remembered. Had it always been there and he had never seen? Had he not wanted to see? Was the Princess right and he may do horrible things? Should he stay outside after all? Should he tell her to just set her dragon on him? It would end things rather instantly. But how would it reflect on him? On both of them? Horribly, he was sure of it.

They raised the gate. Rhaenyra walked on, not even hesitating. Cregan stared. It was what he had wanted, what he had hoped for… and still, he was scared. Only a fool would not be. The princess was worried as well, she had said so herself. His stomach dropped further.

“My Lord?” One of his men asked.

Yes. He had to move. He could not be seen as weak. Walking into the yard, his heart still hammered away. If they loosened an arrow, just a single man… if his uncle grabbed a bow… it had gotten to him, it really had.

The dragon atop the tower stared down at them, following their every move. Wing beats, yells, and the golden beast landed right next to Rhaenyra.

“I will not have this –” his uncle screamed.

The golden beast turned and roared, and he was silent.

Some of his fear faded. The dragons were holding Winterfell, in truth. It would go to him, no matter what his uncle wanted. It was just a question of time now, a formality, of words being talked. However this went would decide their fates, yes, but all the facts were settled already. The flipped coin had come down. He had the Crown's support.

His uncle stepped into the yard.

Rhaenyra nodded at him. “Lord Bennard.”

They closed the gate, and he was caught. His five men surrounded him, wary eyes darting everywhere.  

“Princess Rhaenyra,” his uncle returned and bowed. “I thank you for returning my nephew into my custody. His foolishness had to come to an end.”

Cregan stared. Had he been played?

Rhaenyra only smiled. “I cannot have the North tearing at itself.” Was she really… No. He refused to believe it. “Cregan is of age. He has no need of a regent anylonger.”

Something ugly passed over his uncle’s face, while Cregan tried his best not to smile.

“My nephew is not ready to take over, princess.”

“I believe he is.”

“With all due respect, you do not know him. Neither do you know the North, how vast it is, how brutal. You do not know what it takes to rule –”

“I do know,” Cregan fell in. He could not have him talk for longer. Their men were listening. “Father raised me into it, you know just –”

The ugly stare was back again. “He lacked towards the end!”

Whispers started, spreading along the walls and through the yard.

For a second, Cregan saw red. How could he dare insult his father? His hand twitched. He wanted nothing more than –

“My Lords. I will not listen to insults.”

“I will not see my house fall to ruin, princess. The youngling cannot rule anything. I watched him these last years. You would understand if –”

“He will. As is his right,” Rhaenyra said ever so calmly.

“It is my right! It passed to me when –”

“How can you dare?” Cregan snapped. “I knew you were a disgrace but –”

The dragon roaring from atop the tower made them both stop. His uncle looked rattled, which made him smile. He feared the dragons, no matter his pretending.

“I would ask you to step down, Lord Bennard.”

“I will not.”

Once again, Cregan only stared. How could the man dare? His uncle surprised him ever more.

“You will not?” Rhaenyra asked.

“You are naught but a princess. You can’t order me anything.”

Was he mad? The whispers grew louder, turning into mutterings.

“Will the dragon eat him?” Someone closer to the gates asked, not even quiet.

“I am the Crown.”

“You are not. You are not the King. I only take the King’s word.”

The whispers died down, from one second to the other.

Rhaenyra walked, stopping closer to him. His uncle towered over her, staring her down. She did not look one bit intimated. Her dragon rumbled, though, its claws digging at the ground.

“Who do you think sent me?”

Would he kill her? But the second he did, he was dead. Could Winterfell even withstand two raging dragons?

“Then show me a letter with his command.”

Gasps now. Even his guards stared, paying attention to their surroundings forgotten.

“Stop this, Uncle. Before you bring ever more shame on us.”

“Me? Shame? You are the one who started this farce! By running away like a little pup! If you had returned like I ordered you… and then you had the audacity to ask this lousy girl for help!”

Had he just… “What did you call her?”

They started yelling at each other, hurling insults, getting ever closer. Cregan barely even registered that the princess stepped back again, stroking her rumbling dragon. His uncle punched him square in the face, followed by another hit to the jaw. Cregan staggered back. Before he could even get his bearings, his men jumped Bennard, pinning him to the ground. His uncle yelled and yelled commands, to loosen arrows, to kill them, damn cowards, and got drowned out by dragons roaring. No one moved, no one at all.

Everything after was a blur. Cregan waved away the maester wanting to check on his bleeding nose, fidgeting around and trying to hand him a cold rag even as he walked, yelling commands. The men followed them without a second of a doubt. May the two dragons on his walls helped. The gates were raised, his bannermen streamed in, and Lord Cerwyn took command as well. Benjen, Brandon and Elric were put into cells, Lady Margaret was locked in her room, with two of his guards posted in front of her door. Cregan watched over his uncle getting locked up personally, staring while the heavy oak door was closed, the key handed to him.

Part of him wanted to just throw it away, be done with it all, but he knew he could not. He could not have him here either, though. What to do with him?

His men looked through the castle and the crypts, searching for any nasty traps or enraged guards, but found nothing.

Before sunset, ravens flew from Winterfell to all the Houses of the North, and one lone bird towards Kings Landing.

Standing in front of his throne, Cregan stared. The direwolfs carved onto it seemed to stare back at him. He could barely believe it. It felt like a dream. The strangest, craziest dream. This midday even, he had worried about fighting off the Boltons, how he should supply his army, his silly siege, and now he had his castle.

Was he really, truly ready? Maybe his uncle…

No.

Steps came closer, soft and slow. He turned. The Princess Rhaenyra.

“My princess, I…” How to even start? He had never imagined any of this, not in his wildest dreams. He had hoped she would help sort this mess, yes, but not so quick.

He meant to bow, but bowing felt like too little for all the help. He knelt. Rhaenyra stopped and stared.

“I apologize for my uncle’s words.”

“No need.”

“There is need. He is a Stark. His actions reflect on me.”

A moment of silence, and he could see she was searching for the right words.

“You are forgiven, then.”

He smiled ever so weakly.

“Rise, Cregan.” A tiny pause. A smile danced on her lips. “Lord of Winterfell.”

He really was now, was he? Cregan grinned and rose. Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

Chapter Text

“What do you want to do with him?” Rhaenyra asked once more.

Cregan hummed. What to do with him? What, really? There were only ever so many options. Maybe keep him locked up forever, let him rot in his damn cell, maybe…

It was out of his hands now, wasn't it?

The realization hit him all at once and somehow, it was freeing. It was not his to decide, not anymore. He wouldn’t have to worry about it. His uncle had yelled for arrows, to kill them, to kill both of them, all of Winterfell had heard it. The King would never let it stand. To order the murder of a royal, less alone the heir to the Iron Throne… he really had lost his mind, had he?

“I doubt it matters.”

“I asked my father for leave to decide in his absence. It matters to me, your opinion.”

Cregan smiled weakly. Easy words without a reply from the King.

“His Grace could decide to put him on trial. Make a show of it.”

Of what happened to enemies of the crown. Have him hanged no matter what. Or rather burned. He was thinking of Tragaryens, after all. Albeit dragon fire maybe was too much honor for his uncle. He had ordered his murder too, after all. Kinslayer. Only the refusal of his men had saved him, had saved them all.

“My father was never vengeful. Not one for spectacles either. Well, he does love hunts and tourneys and feasts, but I think it ends there.”

Cregan smiled, no matter the dire topic. “I can respect that.”

Rhaenyra smiled and they fell quiet. He turned, staring at his throne again. To really have it back…

“It looks beautiful, your throne.”

It truly did.

“I doubt it compares to the Iron Throne,” he said regardless.

“Mm… it sure is more imposing.” They shared a glance and Rhaenyra smiled. “Yours does look more comfortable, though.”

Cregan burst into laughter. There was a truth in that.

---

Once she was alone in her guest chamber, Rhaenyra closed her eyes and leaned against the door, taking a deep breath.

Everything had gone well, no one had died, the Boltons had not yet turned up, which likely meant Daenerys was holding them at bay. Cregan had his birthright back.

She had been so, so close to things going horribly wrong. The one second after Bennard’s command… she could act as if it did not bother her, as if it had not scared her, but it had. Of course, it had. To loosen arrows on them... Helaena and Syrax would have likely torched the castle the very same second. It would have fallen back on her, all of it, if she survived. What a great princess she made. Burned down an ancestral home while trying to help.

Even before then… She had had no idea what to do when Bennard refused her twice. Without Cregan accidentally supporting her, she may have been forced to just not do anything. She could not be seen not doing anything, not when she claimed speaking for her father. As if a simple raven could stop them.

The last thing...

“Lousy girl,” she muttered. How long since someone had insulted her straight to her face? She could not even remember. Her father sure would have opinions on that as well. Rhaenyra smiled. No matter how things had started out, now they were settled. This was a victory, both for Cregan and for her. She had shown and proven she could solve problems without bloodshed, without using the dragons besides deterrence. The court sure would talk about that too. What Alicent would think of it… would it help sway her? Make her see that she could be a good Queen one day?

If the Gods were good, maybe. Another step done right.

Rhaenys would love to hear the news as well, would she? The urge to be told ‘well done’ flared up again, as ridiculous as it was. She was well beyond needing other’s validation. Only, deep down, she would still love to hear it. Playing politics was so tiresome.

Moving towards the window, she stared outside. Winterfell, its yard, the wall, lit torches flickering in the night. Men were still patrolling along, likely to make sure all things stayed quiet. Syrax lay there, the fire of torches shimmering on her scales, her head propped up on her tail, staring straight at her. Rhaenyra smiled softly. What she would do without her…

While settling into bed sometime later, Rhaenyra pondered on what to do next for about the first time in her life.

Make friends of Cregan, yes. It was the most important thing. If he stood with her already, Jace would never have to fly North. If she made even more allies from now on, maybe it would deter a takeover by the Greens altogether. Why bother trying to steal the crown if four of six kingdoms stood with her regardless? If she could make friends of Highgarden…

Rhaenyra smiled.

If she made allies of the Tyrell’s and the Greens dared anyway… they could simply send a dragon south and keep the enemy's host at bay indefinitely. There was only the Roseroad up to Kings Landing and any way around it was easily defendable, either by dragon or by sea. She only had to bother about… what was his name? Alicent’s youngest son. Tessarion may grow a hassle until then, but nothing she could not handle. Simply send two dragons and be done with it.

She had to remember to ask for his name. Maybe… maybe her father, yes. Helaena needn’t know.

---

What had he thought, what had he thought, what had he thought? He had insulted the princess. The heir. To call her authority into question was bad enough, to want to see evidence, and now… he…

Bennard whined, hating himself for the weak sound. It had just slipped out. If the lousy girl hadn’t come, he wouldn’t have to worry. He had thought it while she walked away with his damned nephew earlier, when they came back… and then…

Even hitting Cregan had been an error, but one which he may have gotten out of. Not anymore. Not after he called for the murder of a Targaryen. To loosen arrows on them… What in the name of the Others had befallen him?!

He knew. Desperation, fear, the golden beast growling at him again, looking as if he was food… and then fucking Cregan of all people started to scold him, insult him. As if he disgraced this family!

If he was lucky, he would get burned to death. Supposedly, it didn’t hurt. One died too quickly.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. His sons would be imprisoned, just like his Magaret. Maybe…

No. He had no power anymore. His damn nephew and the lousy girl held it all. The only thing he could do…

He opened his eyes again, staring at nothing. Demand a trial by combat the very same second they opened the door, yes. He may get out of that one alive.

---

With the first light of day, Cregan stood on his wall and stared at the two dragons. Laying side by side, in scaley heaps, twitching every now and again. Were they sleeping? Or were they awake? He could not tell. How could anyone?

He owed them everything. Yes, Rhaenyra had been the voice, but the dragons had made it so. For the first time, he could understand why Torrhen had knelt. Fighting three of those beasts and even larger ones would have been insane. Why bother? Why kill his men for nothing? He would have to surrender, no way out. Only question was the amount of corpses at their feet. Or maybe he would have been burned with all his heirs, like that southern King.

“Good morrow,” Rhaenyra greeted.

He turned towards her and smiled. “Good morrow, princess.”

“Did you sleep well?” She asked.

“I did. Not been knifed yet.”

She snorted. “They better not. The dragons could likely smell your murderer. Blood clings, or so I am told by the hunters.”

Cregan chuckled. “At least I’ll be avenged. Can I ask for a specific death?”

Rhaenyra laughed. She sounded so carefree, it was near stunning. “If you want to.”

“Hmm… make it not quick, then. If you can.” Whoever killed him would be loyal to his uncle. With him gone, the birthright would fall to this man, and to his sons after him. If he could at least make his loyals suffer, one thing done.

“Oh, of course, we can.”

“Really?”

Rhaenyra hummed. “Want to watch them eat?”

No… only he had asked for it, hadn't he?

Cregan stared, while the two dragons munched on sheep. Bones breaking, meat ripping, little pieces flying around, the smell of singed fur. The bleating had stopped quick enough yes, but it was a mess. A very impressive mess. His stomach turned. He swallowed back against bile. He could not retch.

“I will fly for Daenerys,” Rhaenyra said calmly, as if watching animals get ripped to shreds was nothing to even bother about. “I assume all went well but…”

“Aye, the but,” Cregan said. He felt the same. It had driven him near mad last night. Maybe Daenerys had never found them, maybe they had ignored her, no matter how mad it sounded. His uncle had been mad too, after all. May they would come under the cover of dark…

No one had come. And still…

“Can you look after Helaena while I am gone? Not that I expect her to need much minding.”

“Of course.”

Rhaenyra smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Oh, no need, he wanted to say but never did. She had said it already, which likely meant she was serious. He had never expected her to be so... forthcoming and polite. Most men he had ever asked had said the royals were arrogant madmen.

---

“Take care while I am gone,” Rhaenyra said softly.

“I will! No one will get past Dreamfyre and me!”

Cregan wanted to laugh, this one sure had spirit, but Rhaenyra only smiled. He followed her lead.

“I already feel well defended, princess,” he said.

Helaena grinned all happy. Yes. Right words.

Rhaenyra ruffled her hair and looked at him. “We will be back within only so little.”

He nodded and bowed.

Watching the golden dragon turn smaller and smaller, he glanced at the young princess. What to do with her? He ought to entertain her while Rhaenyra was gone. Never easier to make a good impression and his father had always said impressions were vital.

“Do you… want to take a look around?”

Helaena looked up at him. “I would love to!”

He started with the Godswood. May not all too interesting for her, but it seemed right to pay the Gods their respect first. Helaena just stared at the tree uneasy, near looking scared.

“What is it?” He asked after he had prayed for a mere moment, looking at her. If he scared his guests…

But she only shook her head, until her eyes lit up. She darted for the tree after all. Cregan watched ever so slightly confused how she picked up a butterfly, its wings red as the leaves.

“That one is beautiful,” she whispered, staring.

Cregan smiled weakly. “They sure are. Maybe the last ones this summer.”

“Really?”

She carefully let it go, watching after it. To be so gentle… again, he was surprised. Controlling a dragon and not even harming a bug.

The hot springs she thought way more fascinating, even kneeling at one to touch the water. Cregan stared worried, trying to remember which ones of those had been the hottest. For some of them, the water was scalding, too hot to even think about touching, but Helanea seemed to be in luck. She pulled her hand back, unblemished.

The little girl looked up at him. “Perfect amount of warmth,” she declared.

Cregan burst into laughter. “I take it you like hot baths?”

“Oh, I love them! I think all of us do. Aegon always complains when his gets too cold.”

He chuckled again. Good to know, probably. The girl started to babble. He hummed along, asked questions and talked with. It was easy to get along with the young princess, he realized. Surprisingly easy. Later on, he thought she had a disarming openness, just happy about near everything.

They went along the various buildings, the armory, some towers, the stables. Helaena started at their horses for quite some time, and Cregan wondered if she could even ride. Maybe she had never needed to – she rode a dragon, after all. Why bother with horses after?

His little tour ended at the crypts. He only mentioned what it was, doubting she would have any interest at all in his ancestors, and went on to show her around the Great Keep after all.

If he was at it already…

---

Lew Bolton, the third son of Desmond Bolton, stared exasperated when yet another dragon flew for them. More commands? What else could they possibly want? This one was golden, now. The Princess Rhaenyra rode a golden one, right? How silly of him to confuse her and this Daenerys. Truth be told, he had never even heard her name, but given she was a woman grown and had a huge dragon he did not ponder it all too much either. Targaryen names all sounded the same to him anyway. May he had heard it in passing. Maybe some cousin or a cousin’s cousin. He really should have paid more attention when the maester talked of the royal family, but he had never really expected to have to interact with them. His father and his brothers, yes, certainly, but he? Third sons could stay up in the North without ever seeing the King, at times. The Northern Lords, he knew, all by sigil and by name but anything further south?

The dragon landed beside the black one, which had turned out to not be Balerion after all – too small, anyway – and its rider slipped off. Princess Rhaenyra, this time, certainly. He would lose his mind if she was not.

He carefully walked for her and bowed. “Princess Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra smiled. “My Lord?”

“Not yet.” May never, unless he founded his own house. “Lew Bolton, Princess.”

The princess hummed, her gaze flickered along the camp, throwing a glance at Daenerys, and back to him.

“Lord Cregan Stark has taken up rule in Winterfell.”

The tiniest smile twitched over Lew’s lips. Of course, he had, after the crown started to support him. Any idea to the opposite was ludicrous. His father had been as ambiguous as one could be without facing accusations of treason after. He knew what he should have done. Support Bennard. The two men got along splendidly. Lew had been given leave to decide right on the spot as well, though. If Cregan had amassed enough of an army to be of trouble, he would have joined him without a second thought. They were loyal to House Stark, which Stark exactly sure was open for interpretation from time to time, at least according to his father. Behind closed doors, anyway. He himself thought the mere idea insane. Cregan was the rightful heir. As if he would grasp for his brother’s birthright one day, just because.

“House Bolton will happily pledge their allegiance.”

As was customary when a new Lord of Winterfell rose. Just going along. His father would be upset, having to pledge to a literal child. His words.

The princess stared at him, as well as her dragon. The beast’s gaze seemed to tear right through him.

“Were you given orders to attack Cregan? The truth now.”

“I would never. We received a raven from Bennard, only the Gods know why. We always stood faithfully with House Stark.”

Something passed over Lady Daenerys’ face.

The dragon grumbled at him. Rhaenyra hummed lowly and turned to her cousin or whatever they were.

Lew stared. What were they talking about?

Rhaenyra looked at him again. “Did you hesitate to stand down?”

A shiver ran down his spine. She knew. Had they talked about that? Likely. The truth then. Done with the petty lies.

“Only for a moment. I did not expect dragons ever in my life, princess.”

Another of those hums.

---

Entering the Great Hall was a mistake. Sadness rolled over Daenerys, just as guilt, followed by panic. It looked the same. Daenerys stared, her gaze trailing along the stone, along cracks she had stared at for hours. Less tables, yes, different tables, different torches as well, but everything else was the same. The literal same.

Everyone she had seen in here was dead.

A hand stroked along her back, near making her jump.

Yes. They had a role to play, an act to do. She at least.

Daenerys sat through the talks, fully beside herself, not remembering a single word. She rather stared at a certain spot. Missandei had sat there, sometimes with Grey Worm beside her, sometimes not, smiling at her when she had to give hard talks. Her people had loved her, even here.

Why had she ever come?

Would the same happen again? Would they all die? Oh, this was nonsense. But was it really? The Dance may yet still come to pass. Maybe this time, it would turn even more bloody.

Walking through the castle after was just as horrible. The corridors looked largely the same. Some little details here and there, a door looking newer, a chair placed where there had been none, some tapestries she had not seen… but it were the same old corridors. Little details did not change the fact.

Walking for her guest room, she made a wrong turn out of habit, grabbed the door without even thinking, slipped inside… and froze when Cregan stared at her. Jon’s room. They had spent near all nights in here together. He had kissed her by the fireplace and held her close… she remembered his smile against her neck and the softness of the furs…

“I… my apologies…,” she stammered.

“Oh, do not mind.” Cregan smiled. That same damn smile. Or she was losing her mind. Maybe a bit of both. Daenerys was not fully certain. “People get lost here all the time. All the corridors look the same.”

Somehow, she managed a laugh. They did not, but she took it.

“Do you need help to find your room?”

“I… I… Likely.”

The man smiled. “Let me, then.” She followed him through the corridors. Walking behind him, it was easier to ignore. He was not Jon. And still... following a Stark through Winterfell...

“Thank you for holding the Boltons at bay,” he said.

This time, Daenerys smiled for real. “No need. I rather enjoyed it. Heard horrible things about them.”

Cregan glanced at her. “They do not flay anyone no more. We put an end to it.”

She all but smiled. Until Ramsay, supposedly. “I would never dare to imply otherwise.”

“Well.” Cregan scratched his neck. “They do have a reputation. Here we are, my Lady.”

The damn man even opened the door for her. She nodded at him, entered… and turned to look at him again. It was in his eyes and his smile she was sure of it. Some memory of Jon, not even thought of, which would drive her mad.

“Could I train with your master-at-arms?”

“You want to… well, yes, certainly. We could train together before dinner if it pleases you.”

“It would.”

Cregan smiled at her and turned, walking away. Daenerys stared after him, closed the door, counted to ten… and allowed herself to break apart. Whenever she saw him, she thought of Jon.

---

Cregan tried to read through some of the hundreds upon hundreds of letters his maester had brought him. The man had copied near every last one his uncle had ever sent, knowing or at least hoping he would one day take control.

“As the Lord of Winterfell, you must know what happened,” he had merely stated and pulled even more letters from beneath his bed. And his closet. And even the pantry in the kitchen no one ever checked, or so a servant told him later. Where had the man not hidden letters?

There were some in his uncle’s handwriting as well, those the maester had refused to send – unbeknownst, of course. Sometimes ravens just went lost, aye.

And then letters they had received, but only one for every hundred others or so. Stealing and hiding those had been an even more dangerous task. His uncle may have realized earlier or later… but the old man had been crafty, and all had gone well. How much he owed everyone… Lord Cerwyn for his friendship and support, his maester for planning for the afterwards, his men for standing down and refusing that last order.

Sighing, he put the letter down. He could not concentrate, not at all. He’d rather be… he glanced out his window. With his men, aye. They had not even celebrated.

---

Helaena stood in front of the crypt, staring. The two guards in front of it eyed her but did not dare say a word.

A graveyard, she knew. Cregan had said his ancestors were here. A crypt… Dark and damp and cold, likely.

Perfect for all sorts of bugs!

She could not wait to see some more new kinds, those who only lived up North. The cold surely created new ones, some who had adapted. Only, she was scared as well. Graveyards were dark places, not only literally. They scared her. She knew there was nothing to fear, the dead here were dead-dead, really dead, but still… When she was even younger, she had always thought the corpses were watching her.

She wanted to go in there but at the same time, she did not want to go in there.

If only… Helaena turned on her heels.

She burst through a door – the right one, this time.

“Rhaeeenyyyyraaa? Can we… can we go look at bugs? Please? Please, please, please? There are lots in the crypts, I bet!”

Her older sister needed a second, maybe even two. Staring, blinking… and then she nodded, smiling.

Helaena grinned. She was the first person in her life who ever smiled when she talked about bugs! Her mother had always looked mildly bored out of her mind.

“Oooh, that one is beautiful,” Helaena whispered, eyes wide with joy while she reached for a fluffy, white spider. The little thing froze in her hands, not moving.

“Do you know it?” Rhaenyra asked, looking at it a little closer – over her shoulder still, yes, but close enough for Helaena.

“No.” She reached for it, carefully stroked along it, and giggled. “It’s soft. May it has fur for the winter.”

Luckily, she did not see Rhaenyra’s disgusted stare. By the time she looked at her sister again, she only smiled.

“Is it?”

“Hm-hm.” She put the spider back where she had found it, watching it scurry away. They walked on, Rhaenyra holding the torch, passing by rows and rows of stone kings, empty eyes staring. A sword placed on their laps and direwolfs beside them.

“Were the wolves really that huge?” Helaena asked, staring at an especially big one. It was bigger than a pony!

“Yes. Some maesters even believe they survived north of the Wall.”

“Really? That has to be scary.” She let her hand run along the stone snout, its fangs… and caught a centipede.

“This one is boring,” Helaena said, let it go, and hunted on through the darkness.

---

Daenerys panted, parrying strikes. Thoughts had come and gone and fallen quiet. Now, there were only the surely forming bruises and moving and seeing. She parried another hit, but only barely. Daemon would have disarmed her by now or pinned her against a wall. So fond of walls, the man. So fond of staring at her.

The thought faded again.

From one second to the other, it happened. Parrying another strike, she saw the opening. The man’s sword was too high. He would never be able to… Be quick, Daemon had said as well. She shifted her weight, turned ever so slightly, and struck. If it was a real fight, she may have opened his guts. The master-at-arms stared at her surprised.

“I… I think you are dead,” Daenerys managed, panting, stepping away.

The man barked a laugh. “Indeed. Again?”

“Yes, please.”

She did not manage to hit him again, but she started to see the openings. Once she paid a mind to it, they were painfully obvious. How could men even survive?

The chaos of battle, surely. In a real fight, she would not have time to stare at her enemy. She’d be dead by then. At least, she did not lose her sword. The little things.

At some point, Cregan joined them, watching from the sidelines.

She failed at parrying yet again, his sword aiming for her shoulder. If she was hurt already… she struck for the master-at-arms side, using one of Daemon’s moves. The man all but stared at her surprised.

“Well. We are both dead at least.”

Both, the good ser and Cregan, burst into laughter. Daenerys smiled. Right now felt good… her smile vanished. She was thinking about Daemon again.

Well, of course, she did. He had trained her.

“You fight well,” Cregan said. “Mind if we cross swords?”

Somehow, she managed to smile again. “I do not.”

After she had lost three of their four sparrings, one quite badly, truth be told, she stepped aside, watching other men fight, eyes locked on their moves, searching for the openings once more.

Cregan stepped beside her, watching as well. From the corner of her eye, he somewhat looked like Jon. 

---

Rhaenyra lit a candle and retired to bed, the old book under her arm. The story of Brandon the Builder. The maester had cautioned it was more myths and legends than history, none of it ought to be believed, but she did not mind. Maybe there were hints in here, even the tiniest specks of truth could help, whatever they may be.

She flipped through the first pages. Stories of the end of the Long Night, all in conflict with each other. The same old story of the hero among them, the one man to challenge the Others… wielding a sword of dragonsteel. She stared at the word. That one was new. How could he… no matter. She rather flipped the page and read on. More variants followed, among them that it had taken endless armies of men to drive them North, together with the children of the forest, another claimed it had been all the children’s doing in the first place, they and their brittle weapons. The very last one spoke of a treaty between men and the Others, one to end all killings. Once again, Rhaenyra stared. What could White Walkers want of them to agree to a treaty? Strange idea.

The book turned somewhat factual after, telling of Bran raising the Wall. They had known back then, had they? Known that the dead would come again, that they were only sleeping, biding their time. Why else bother with the Wall?

How long until they had forgotten?

A knock on her door.

She looked up. “Come.”

Daenerys slipped inside. Her eyes were red. Oh, to the seven hells, she had cried… no. She was crying.

“Can I…”

“Yes. Just… let me put this thing away.”

Slipping back into bed, she wrapped her arms around Daenerys, only now realizing she was trembling.

“What is it?” She asked, stroking along her back. Last time, it had helped.

“Everything looks the same.”

Rhaenyra stopped. She had expected anything, but not this. If things really looked… Just the thought... Having to walk the very same halls… a chill ran down her back. It sounded like a nightmare. No. Beyond nightmares. Nightmares ended at some point, this, though, this would never end.

Maybe… maybe she should send her ahead to the Wall, but would anywhere in the North be any better?

“If you want to leave…,” she whispered still.

Daenerys shook her head and snuggled closer.

Quiet for a long while. She just held her, stroking along her back, waiting for the tears or the trembling to stop. Whatever happened first.

Neither did. Daenerys broke the silence.

“I keep seeing them. My friends, my men. Jon. Walking along the corridors…”

The crying got worse again. Rhaenyra merely hugged her tighter, pressing a tiny kiss into her hair, unsure of what to do. She felt so helpless. If only…

She should have never brought her with.

---

Even three days later, Cregan could not fully believe he had his castle back, his home, his birthright. All his, at last. Some part of him still waited for something horrible to happen, anything, maybe getting poisoned during dinner after the knifing had not happened, but until now nothing horrible had come to pass. Well, except Ser Varly getting singed by one of the dragons. His damn men had made a sport of it – whoever dared to get closest without getting killed. Until now, thankfully, he had not lost anyone to sheer stupidity. He even played with the idea of posting guards around them. Not for the dragons, mind you, but for the men.

Like every morning now, he stopped by the dragons, eyeing them from his wall. He still tried to figure out how intelligent they really were. Some maesters claimed they were no better than dogs, others said they rivalled or even surpassed humans. Up till now, he had not seen much of either theory. Only that they never attacked the men who brought the food.

Rhaenyra joined him.

“Good morrow.”

Cregan looked at her and smiled. The golden beast perked up at her voice, staring at them.

Dreamfyre rumbled and… stretched, by the looks of it, snuggling to the ground in an ever so slightly different position. Drogon did not pay them any attention whatsoever. Dragons sure were lazy.

He glanced at Rhaenyra, wearing her usual smile. She always smiled when she looked at Syrax.

“How close can you get to them?” Cregan asked. “Without getting roasted, I mean.”

“Depends on their mood, truth be told.”

“How close could I get right now?”

Rhaenyra eyed the dragons and then him. “Do you want to try see?”

Fuck no. Only, yes, please. Maybe his men would stop if he just won their silly game – then again, most likely not. It would not count in their eyes. He had had intel. Cheated, aye.

Walking up to them with Rhaenyra by his side, he did not feel all that much protected. Three pairs of eyes glued to him, watching his every step. Staring and staring. As if he was food. To them, he may. Wings rustled, tails moved, low growls. How could the women just walk up to them, fully unafraid?

Syrax moved. She stalked for them, Cregan froze, but the dragon did not even look at him. It went straight for Rhaenyra, pressing its snout against her chest, nudging her, and rumbled.

She laughed and stroked her.

“I missed you too,” Rhaenyra whispered to her dragon. Another rumble. Cregan stared.

Rhaenyra glanced at him again. “Do you want to touch her?”

Did he… “I… can… can I?”

A smile, and she motioned for him, stepping aside ever so slightly. Syrax stared at him for every inch he got closer. The eyes of the others were glued to him as well. Dreamfyre rumbled.

“This is Cregan, Syrax. He is a new friend of ours.”

No rumble this time. Syrax just stared.

“Give me your hand.” He did, all his thoughts gone. Her hand pressed his against the warm scales. Something in his head screamed, fully expecting to get eaten… only he never was. He twitched a finger carefully… then moved his hand, stroking the beast. How warm the scales, how soft to the touch. He had always thought they would be rougher. Syrax stared, stared… and rumbled lowly. She had introduced them had she not? Did that mean… did they understand every damn word?

He brooded about it all day long, while pouring over letters upon letters, by now believing it would never end. He even asked the maester about it, who unsurprisingly had no answer. Dragons were not exactly their area of expertise.

He asked during dinner, watching the young princess be the liveliest of them all.

“Do dragons understand us? The… the common tongue, I mean.”

“I think they do, yes,” Rhaenyra said.

“They may just not always listen,” Helaena told and snapped up another pork rib.

Daenerys kept quiet. This one always kept quiet. She was strangely withdrawn, keeping to herself most days. The only times he saw her out and about was when she was training with her sword.

“I guess it is like… casual conversations to them. Just words. If we want them to listen, we speak Valyrian.”

“Do they always follow your command?”

“Of course.”

Silly question. What he had insinuated… Cregan wanted to sink beneath the table. Just disappear in the ground.

“Some bonds even transcend words. I have never heard my uncle say a single command to his dragon, and Caraxes follows him anyway. It is near scary.”

“He…” Cregan stared. “Really?”

Rhaenyra nodded. Well. That gave him something new to brood about. Certainly not distracting.

Back in his room, he flicked through more letters, not really having it in himself to pay any attention at all. Dragons. Commanded without words. Of course, the people would think they were Gods. Even he started to think it ever so slowly. To command a dragon with thought alone… like… like the wargs of old. He knew the stories, most northerners did. Skinchangers and greenseers. Men controlling direwolfs and stags and birds, over miles and miles away. Albeit there sure was a difference between smaller animals and a huge fucking dragon. Still, maybe… maybe the Valyrians were all just wargs themselves, but of a special breed. They looked distinct enough for sure. He grabbed another letter, barely read it and – essence of nightshade? He stared at it again and frowned. His uncle had wanted to order it in questionable amounts.

He ended up showing the letter to Rhaenyra, looking for some honest counsel without any pleasantries. She stared at it for quite a bit as well.

“This could be damning,” she said at last. “No one needs that much nightshade, unless…”

Cregan’s stomach turned. Yes. Unless. 

“He could argue he wanted provisions for winter.”

“Those are not ordered in the height of summer. May fall, at best.”

He knew! Cregan felt sick. Near killed him after all, near usurped his own brother, the scum. Hate simmered through his veins for the first time. The darkness that man had kept hidden away… How little he knew of his own uncle. Sickening. How much else was left to be uncovered?

Part of him wanted to march straight down to the cell and beat the shit out of him. 

“Do you want help looking at those things?”

He blinked. What? No… yes.

Back in his room, he handed a bunch of letters to Rhaenyra, and they read side by side. In time, they started to talk, trading stories. Her life sounded beyond fascinating. Grown up at court, flying her dragon whenever she saw fit, having the throne suddenly passed to her. He did the same, telling her of growing up in the North, of the harsh winters, the howling winds, of the castle being the only warm place for miles and miles. May all the way to Kings Landing. She had laughed, then. In winter, she had always snuck into the Dragon Pit, she told, to the dismay of her mother. Cregan laughed. If he had a walking firepit, he sure would have done the same. Time slipped away near pleasantly. They filed away the letters, into concerning piles and everything else.

“Are you betrothed?” She asked suddenly.

“What? No. Why?” Albeit he feared he knew. Rhaenyra handed him the letter. Lord Manderly, offering the hand of one of his daughters…

He stared at the lines, again and again. Was he promised to someone and didn’t even know it yet? His uncle had been acting regent. He had all the authority to make matches.

“Was there ever a ceremony?” Rhaenyra asked softly.

“No…” But it did not matter, did it? He would not break a vow.

“It’s just a letter of intent, then. I about drowned in those things. No matter, you could argue your uncle was not sound of mind.”

He… he really could, could he? The man was locked in his cell. Sounded very not-sane.

Cregan smiled weakly. “Thank you.” She had seen what had worried him, just like that, and calmed his fears.

---

Lord Glover and Dustin arrived together, with their respective hosts. Not that they needed more men anymore… Cregan still welcomed them, throwing a small feast. His grandsire hugged him even, ranting about his uncle’s audacity all night long. That Lord Glover was still well while his father was gone...

Rhaenyra joined the other Lords, even walking among the men, joining in with talk and jokes. Helaena watched, all eager. Daenerys only stared, her gaze near empty.

---

Clinging to Drogon’s back, Daenerys felt the cold air rush past them, his wings beating and beating. She was so close to tears again, it was maddening. She always was here. During the day, she locked it away as good she could, only really feeling like herself when she trained. She was always thinking of him too then, which she should not, but ended up doing anyway. Daemon was always just there, at the fringes of her mind, popping back up. He really had gotten into her head, had he not?

Maybe, once she flew south again, she could start to forget about him too. She could never entertain him. She would not risk Laena. For right now, though, the cocky idiot was a most welcome distraction.

During the night, ghosts haunted her. Memories. All the good, all the screams. The way they had just fallen silent haunted her worst of all. She had heard them die.

How long had Jon made it? Until the very end? Had he heard them fall silent too? Just the thought… and she had left him there to die. Left him alone. Abandoned him.

No. Drogon had taken her, which did not help her guilt at all. She should have saved him, must have…

In time, they landed. In time, she ended up staring at the stars. Bright and shimmering, and all the same as two hundred years from now.

The sadness welled up again, deep and endless.

She had to stop. She had to… if she looked back she was lost.

Only her past seemed to hunt her, no matter what she did. There was only so much time she could run away until she inadvertently ended at some cliffside. Face her fears or jump and maybe die.

May Daemon had been right after all. Maybe she had to talk about it, all of it. Not just the bits and pieces she had managed up till now.

Drogon nudged her, rumbling, curling around her. Daenerys smiled weakly and stroked his snout. It had to be hard for him too. Seeing her break time and time again, having lost his own brother…

Viserion. The most gentle of her three… She had never really mourned him either, just never having the time for it. Maybe… maybe she could start there.

---

Lord Umber’s raven came first. He pledged allegiance to House Stark, to him, just as Cregan had expected; once again sending condolences for his father’s death, and that he may rule just as long as he had. Cregan smiled weakly. There had never been bad blood between them.

Lord Karstark’s letter came second, full of empty words and perhaps threats. He stared at the lines, mulling them over. In the end, they asked for Lady Margaret’s release, just as the boys. Whatever their father had done, they were not to blame. He would either have to call them south or take some of his men and ride up north. Remind them who was allowed to make demands of him – not that he did not consider it. At least, maybe, he could release his uncle’s wife. As a token of his goodwill.

Before he could make a decision, while he still brooded about the letter, their damn audacity, a third raven came. This one looked ever so slightly dishevelled. His maester fetched some food for it while he took the letter off and stared. The Targaryen seal. Word from Kings Landing, had to be.

Chapter Text

The screams echoed back from the walls, seemingly turning into even more screams. The one thing that always surprised him was the human capacity for screaming before they passed out.

“Well, Larys?”

“Fuck you!”

Defiance. Oh, how he loved breaking those. The man smiled. Larys either protected someone he loved or he may actually be innocent. Not that he bothered to ponder either option. It was not his line of work, his line of work was making people talk.

Humming along, he broke some of his fingers. More screams. How beautiful they sounded. How gentle. Larys had a voice for screaming.

“My father will have your head for this!”

“Oh, I doubt it. Who asked you to burn down the castle?”

No answer.

“Well, then. How much of a foot do you really need?”

The hammer came down, right on his clubfoot. More screams, as well as tears and sobs this time. They were getting somewhere.

He stepped close to Larys. “Who asked you to burn down the castle?” Always the ever-same question, always, always, always. It promised safety from the pain.

“It was Al-”

His eyes lit up. Here they were. He waited, but the rest of the name never came.

“Who?”

“No one.”

“Do you want to lose your other foot as well?”

The horror in his eyes. And still, Larys stayed silent.

---

“Your Grace?” A hand touched his shoulder.

Viserys’ eyes fluttered open. All dark, except the torch. Ser Harrold stood by his bed.

“What is it?” Why wake him now?

“The executioner wants a word.”

Oh. That business.

“Send him in.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

Ser Harrold let the man enter and stood like a shadow by the door, certainly having his own doubts about the whole ordeal.

The man in the unassuming grey clothes approached, smiled and bowed. “Your Grace. The…” His eyes darted to the Kingsguard. “…recipient of our services near spoke. I think it is only a matter of time until we get a name.”

Viserys nodded. “Good, good.” He could not have someone try murder his hand and get away with it unscathed. An attack on Lyonel was just as much an attack on him. Someone needed to pay, and he would make certain they remembered it. “Do you have an estimate? How long it may need.”

“There are certain ways... I have best results in… I could guarantee an answer within a week.”

Viserys hummed, wondering for a split second how much of Larys would even still be alive by then.

“I will take your word for it.”

The man bowed again.

If he failed, he could still find another.

---

Alicent stared out her window, at the unnervingly quiet city. She missed the chatter, the always present noises. No matter how many men patrolled the streets at night and kept fires lit, the smallfolk had not yet returned. They locked up inside their houses once night fell. Too scared of the dead.

Rhaenyra had saved them. Rhaenyra had put the feud between uncle and nephew to rest as well, under threat to her own life. Alicent’s stomach turned when she as much as thought about the damn letter. Certainly, Rhaenyra had never been in real danger, with the dragons right nearby, but what did it matter? People would only remember Bennard Stark ordering to murder her. An attack on the crown itself.

He had to be put on trial, he had to be executed, right then and there, by dragon fire of course, Cregan Stark shall handle it as the North usually settled its own affairs, he ought be sent to the Wall, stripped of all names and titles. The small council had argued for hours. Alicent had tried to steer things her way but admittedly, she had been distracted. If Rhaenyra was up there, where was Helaena? Had this mad woman taken her with? Had she put her baby girl in danger yet again?! She was trying to murder her, she had known it! Just the thought of Helaena being there, within all the chaos… Her poor girl would be scared to death!

Maybe she should drag Jacaerys to a battlefield, just to return the favor. Where she would find one, she did not know, but she sure would try.

“Damn her,” she muttered and turned away. Sleep was out of the question anyway. Alicent set to wander along the dim corridors again like she often did now.

Rhaenyra making political moves of her own, making allies, helping raise a Lord – nay, a Warden – to his rightful place. All the castle talked of her. How heroic she was, always putting her life on the line. Rhaenyra had never done anything for the benefit of others. Never! She had only ever done what pleased her, and yet here she was…

The whispers moving through the castle... not at all helped by Ser Erryk, Harrold and Steffon telling how the Princess had slain three wights on that damn ship, all on her own. She had saved Queen Alicent’s life, aye, and Ser Laenor’s just as well!

Rhaenyra the protector, they called her. Rhaenyra the mediator. Her stomach turned once more.

How could all their plans be threatened so easily?

We underestimated her, Alicent thought grimly. Rhaenyra had never been one for planning! And yet…

It did not matter, not really. Moves and counter moves. She had to act, nothing more. She had to remind the people they had a first-born prince as well. One who would help and protect them even better.

---

Higher and higher. The city fell away, getting smaller and smaller.

Higher, still.

Rumbling, Sunfyre all too happily obliged, beating his wings and beating his wings. This was perfect! Aegon even enjoyed it, albeit there was a bit of annoyance, but there always seemed to be annoyance. It didn’t have anything to do with him, at least!

“Good enough,” a mutter, barely words in the wind. Sunfyre knew anyway. He turned, his scales catching the sun, and glowed. Happiness flooded him, both his and Aegon’s, and he bolted a little higher after all. A hand touched his neck, right next to the saddle, and stroked. Turning his head, he dared a glance. Aegon was grinning. If only he did so more often! His one always seemed to be in thoughts, always worried, always annoyed. He didn’t even come for flying! Sunfyre hadn’t minded all too much, thinking it was the way of the world… until he saw Vermithor and Aemond. Vermithor’s little one was in the uncomfortable stone cave near every morning, releasing the chains, and gone they were, up in the sky, up in the wind. How much he wanted it too. How jealous he had been. Maybe, if he made this flight good enough…

A thought. Sunfyre was not sure what to make of it, but he got the following command. Folding his wings, he fell, then darted upwards and downwards, shifting and turning, as erratically as he could manage. The happiness rushing through him was near addicting.

A roar, followed by a second. Turning, Sunfyre roared back.

Look! We are flying too!

Vermithor caught up to him with ease. Silverwing was circling them, throwing curious glances their way.

“Want to race?” Aemond yelled.

“Definitely!”

---

Otto never planned to eavesdrop on the King.

Well, that was a lie.

He never expected to hear the things he heard.

He had moved along the hidden corridor behind the King’s quarters, just to see if Alicent was still with him, needing to talk with his daughter – at least that was what he told himself, what he planned as an excuse. He may as well have knocked. Truth be told, he had been often here lately. Just by the odds, he had to hear something eventually.

Viserys’ voice, faint like a whisper. He could not catch words, but he saw Lyonel’s face after. Near broken, the poor man. Obviously, after what had happened, not that he had all too much sympathy. He still loathed him for having been named Hand after him.

For his daughter to be so brazen about handling their enemies… he had never expected it. Yes, she had seemed shaken, but morals be damned. Trying to get rid of the Strongs had been the right move.

“Are you certain?” Lyonel asked.

Viserys nodded.

“Gods be damned.”

Lyonel shook his head and sighed, looking ever more broken.

---

Aegon stared at the people staring up at him. The Targaryen banners moved lazily in the wind. As if they did not know him. As if the silver-gold hair and the Kingsguard did not give things away. What else would his mother come up with? He could refuse, sure he could, but… for once he did not want to know the consequences. She had threatened to cut him off wine if he did not fly every morning. He had no idea how she would manage, but she would. Queens and mothers combined had curious powers. There were so many other possibilities, all worse. Maybe send Aemond away. Hells, maybe send him away to some gods forsaken hinterland like Daeron. Admittedly, Oldtown was not nowhere, but he would get nowhere. Maybe the Iron Islands. Windy, wet, and fucking mad people. Maybe some tiny city in the North. He would freeze to death up there.

Ser Arryk glanced at him, as well as some of his guards. The people started to mutter.

Yes, yes.

He glanced at the parchment Alicent had written for him, threw it away, and started to distribute food.

“For you”, “here” and “I hope it helps!”

Soon enough, ever more people came.

“Oh, thank the Gods, my Prince!” “Thank you, Prince Aegon!” “May the Mother bless you!”

He stared at the people, the glimmer in their eyes... Fuck this. They should not love him! They should remember Rhaenyra and Helaena saving their sorry asses, not him giving tiny handouts. If his mother succeeded here… The fucking crown was looming in his mind again. He had truly hoped this was over and done with, but apparently…

“Princess Rhaenyra asked me to distribute the food,” he said on a whim when yet another woman thanked him. “She is ever worried for the smallfolk.”

“Is she? Where is the princess, then?”

“Of course, she is. Up North, doing the crown's work, putting out rebellions.” That one was quite an embellishment, but as if they would ever know. “Father cannot travel long distances quickly, having no dragon and all.”

The woman hummed, thanked him and Rhaenyra for a change, and left. Aegon sighed. That one was…

He simply went with it, told every last one of them the same story, talked up Rhaenyra, and mentioned how heroically she had defended the city for hours and hours on end.

On his way back to the castle, he ended up in a pub, much to his guards dismay. He sure deserved a drink after this shitshow!

“Drinks on me!” He yelled while entering, grinning at the bellows and shouts he earned. He found a table and near instantly got a beer placed in his hand.

“Did ya prince hide in his bed while the city was attacked?” Someone yelled.

One of his guards turned towards the voice, but Aegon stopped him. He sure knew what would happen to the poor guy.

“Never! Watched them from my window.”

He got a snort for it. “Why didn’t ya fight?”

Someone muttered “coward” and worse.

He raised his beer and took a swallow. “Cause this. Was drunk. Flying drunk is the best way to die. May fall off or worse. I fucking love being alive.”

The pub burst into laughter.

“I like him alive too!”

“Aye!” “Me too!” “More drinks for us!”

Aegon smiled, all pleased.

“Do you know what attacked the city?”

Well… he had heard the rumors… just as they must have. Enough folks had seen them, enough folks were scared of them.

“Dead things. Walking skeletons.”

The pub turned quieter.

“Told you, is true!” Someone whisper-yelled.

Soon enough, he had an audience, chairs gathered around his table, all eyes on him. This time, he loved the attention. This was just him, not his damn mother forcing him with thinly veiled threats.

“Did the princesses tell you of the fight?”

He still had no idea. He really should have asked back at Dragonstone, but then he had only thought of Aemond, and how creepily nice Rhaenyra had been acting.

“Aye, they did.” He would not tell the smallfolk of their non-existent relations, seven hells. After all, he had seen them fly, he had seen the scratch marks on the gate, he had heard the talks of Lady Rowan. Everyone had heard her talk, earlier or later. “Fished the dead out of the bay and burned them. Again and again and again. There were more than a thousand of those things, easily.”

Mutterings went through the crowd.

“My sisters did splendid. Especially Helaena, given how young she is.”

And then, somehow, he ended up talking about his sister for ages.

---

Alicent scratched at her nails listening to Ser Arryk’s report. Aegon had turned her carefully laid out plan upside down. He had done nothing else but praise Rhaenyra, claimed it was all her idea, made them remember. As if perfect Rhaenyra gave two fucks about any of them. Right now, it sure looked like it, though. Defending the city, having her younger brother hand out food… People would talk, rumors would spread and bolster her even more. She should have gone with Aegon, watched… but she had hoped her damn son would do what he was told. She had half a mind to barge into his room and yell at him, but what would it help? She needed a shorter leash on him. Maybe harder things, more uncomfortable things.

---

Someone ripped open the curtains. Aegon groaned. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted as if something had died in there.

“Get up, Prince Aegon.”

Fuck, why? He turned in his bed, away from the voice, away from the light. Hands grabbed him and forced him upright. He pried his eyes open again. Two guards directly in front of him, as well as some servants further away. The latter looked uncomfortable at the very least.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Is by order of the Queen.”

Fuck his mother too.

He got washed and dressed no matter. Dragged down the corridors, stuffed into a carriage, a parchment pressed into his hand. Aegon peered down at the swimming handwriting. Alicent. Again, some madness. Again, some try to garner sympathy. He would just not, he would… He ripped the parchment to shreds without even reading it.

Some twenty minutes later, when he got shoved into an orphanage, he regretted his choices. Should have at least taken a peek, should have…

All those children were staring at him, just like a Silent Sister. What should he… why…

His head was killing him. The light was too bright, even the faintest noises too loud. What should he even do here? Talk with them? Cheer them up? Make them laugh? He feared he would rather make them cry. Looking at the Silent Sister, he hoped for some help, but he only got a stare.

Sighing, Aegon looked at the children again. All ragged and dirty. Could he not be anywhere else but here? Why he? What had he done to deserve any of this? Just cause he was born first. If only Aemond had been the first. Then again, he would never wish this on his brother.

“I… ehm…”

Those sad, scared eyes.

“What… what happened to your parents?” He asked, staring at one of the boys at random.

“Died of illness. I thought they were only sleeping for the first few days.”

He stared. What to even say to that?

“I… that must have been horrible.”

He got the tiniest nod.

What now? What in the seven hells now? He could not just continue on, talk about something else. He needed to say something in return. Anything. He tried to think of words, but his mind only came up with Alicent yelling at him. He would not yell at a damn orphan.

They were all staring at him, all… if only he had read that fucking parchment.

Helaena popped into his head. Helaena, all smiling, while Rhaenyra ruffled her hair. He sure would never ruffle anyone’s hair, but maybe…

Aegon walked through the room, trying his best not to sway, and awkwardly patted the boy’s shoulder. He had seen Rhaenyra do the same to her children and those seemed to like it. The boy smiled somewhat.

“What is your name?”

“Naggle. Ma prince.”

Who the fuck named their boy Naggle?

“How did you end here?”

He ended up sitting beside the boy, listening to his story. Naggle had lived on the streets for some time, surviving on scraps and stranger’s kindness, getting sick more often than not. The first time, he had been scared out of his mind he would never wake up too. He started to steal as time went on. One day, the city watch grabbed him and brought him here, instead of cutting off his hand, as befit a thief.

“At least it’s dry and safe,” Naggle ended.

Aegon hummed lowly. The room was moving funny. Maybe he should drink less after all.

“Can I… Can I do anything for you?”

Shy glances were exchanged, but no one spoke. As if they would dare, in truth. To ask anything of him… silly suggestion. He may offer, but they would never ask.

---

Aegon stared at the armor laid out for him. Deep dark green leather, emblazoned with the three-headed dragon, and a black-and-red cloak. He would stand out like… like… well, a Targaryen prince. When he had been told he would join the goldcloaks, he had been happy, hoping to just blend in. As if, though. If the people did not know it was him, why bother in the first place?

He glanced at the two men who had been ordered to look after him. They didn’t even hide their judging gazes. Aegon would do the exact same thing in their stead.

“Do you have something… less this?”

“Think we have some black leather armor your size, m’prince. You could get a gold cloak as well.”

“Anything better than...,” he gestured at it.

Casper barked a laugh.

Blending in, he still felt like a pretender, wearing the gold cloak for nothing. Casper and Erich looked out for him and dragged him along. Most of the work was boring, repetitive, and more boring. Patrolling the streets, the walls at times, the streets again, breaking up petty fights. He caught one thief, which was about the highlight of his week. As the day passed on, Aegon grinned evermore. No one paid him any mind besides the golden cloak. He had gotten insulted, yelled at, shoved once, spat at. Near all those had had consequences, of course, but not because of him. He was just some soldier. Exactly what he had wanted.

As the sun set, the city changed. The last sellers on the market packed up and disappeared in a hurry, mothers yelled their children inside, and men hurried home.

The hustle of the day turned to silence. Even his favorite pub locked up.

He stared.

“What…”

“They are scared of the dead,” Erich said quietly. “Are told they are safe, but…”

He shrugged, as did Casper.

Aegon looked at the two. “Did you see them?”

“Aye. Fought them at the River Gate. Most of us did. We held the wall.”

They… “Did they… did they really try to scratch through the gate? How was it? How…”

“Aye, they did. Horrible, m’prince. Phillip and Rupert and some others heard them dig through the wood. Worst sound in all the seven hells.”

Aegon shivered.

“We thought we were done for till the dragon came.”

“Which one was it?”

“I would not know.”

“Maybe Syrax?”

Casper all but shrugged, seemingly not minding for nor against Rhaenyra.

In the barracks, he heard more and different variants of it all. They all had the same in common: the horror, the hopelessness, and the fear of the blue-eyed things. Alongside his newfound friends, he got drunk after all.

---

Aegon yawned while stabbing some cheese with his knife. He caught Alicent’s glare and did it right away again.

“Did you know they add bells to their braids? It has to be so annoying! Or maybe you just grow deaf to the sound? I bet you grow deaf. The other option would be to go insane.” Aemond chuckled and babbled on. About braids and their significance, how much he wanted one too in fact, about the size of Khalasars, about the big one, who had slaughtered an army way bigger than itself during the Century of Blood. Imagine those fighters and dragons! They would rule the entire world, not only Essos!

Otto stared, ever so exasperated.

Viserys of all people chuckled and asked questions. Aemond jumped at it, all eager.

Aegon stared at his father. He had started to pay attention to Aemond, a little at the very least. After he had claimed Vermithor. He was not sure if he loathed him more or less for it. He was already hating him for dropping Aemond again soon. His father always did, his bouts of attention never lasting.

---

Ser Lester followed the cook and his hand, cell by cell. The door was opened, the prisoner eyed, food shoved in, and locked again. Most near jumped at the bowl, never going for them. Every single man down here was dead, it was only a matter of time. Even here, they seemed to cherish being alive. Barely anyone ever tried to escape. Not that they would get far.

He slowed when they approached the special cell. He hated the thing. Not that any cells down here were good, but there were some even worse. His fellow guards said no one could hear the screams from inside this one. Made for torture, aye, made for horrible fun times. The whispers of it, Maegor himself had it put in for his special guests. He had used it extensively, or so they claimed. The man sure had been a monster. Thank the Gods for Jaehaerys, and Viserys after him.

Unlocking the door, he frowned. Larys Strong lay on his side, away from them. The man had always sat while they came in, staring grimly. May looking ever more broken as time went on, but staring grimly, nonetheless. He had liked him, as far as he could like any prisoner without getting executed on the spot. No making friends with enemies of the crown.

“Larys Strong?”

No answer.

“Hold the door,” he told one of his fellow guards and entered the cell, holding the torch, trying to hold his breath. The usual filth of cells, more blood than last time… Stepping closer, he knelt.

“Larys?” He touched his shoulder. The man just flopped onto his stomach.

Oh, to the seven hells. This was not good.

Pulling his glove off, he touched his skin.

Cold.

---

Alicent fluffed up Viserys’ blanket and wrapped it around him once more. Once she was done, he grabbed for his book again. He had exchanged Valyrian histories for legends of the North. Whatever he wanted to find in there.

Arguing broke out in front of their door. Alicent turned, even Viserys put his book down. Yells, curses, someone groaned.

One of their guards slipped inside. They got a glance of Ser Erryk restraining someone.

“Apologies, your Grace, my Queen.”

“What happened?” Viserys asked, his eyes darted between their man and Ser Erryk in the background.

“’tis Ser Lester. He guards the black cells. Says he needs to talk with you.”

“Why is he restrained?” Alicent asked.

“Touched the door before he was allowed to do so.”

“Ser Erryk, let him come.”

Ser Lester stumbled in, looking quite roughed up.

“Is… my apologies… your Grace.”

“What is it?” Viserys asked.

“Larys Strong is dead.”

The following second seemed to last forever. Alicent’s blood ran cold. Had he talked? Did they know, did they… She glanced at her husband. His face had fallen.

“Do you know what happened?”

Ser Lester looked ever more uncomfortable.

“The… the cooks said… his last soup looks and smells strange.”

Silence.

Larys was poisoned. He was poisoned. Must have. By the Gods, he had been murdered. To keep him quiet. No. To keep her safe. Her. She felt like throwing up.

“Have the grand maester look at him.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

The man bowed and limped out of the room.

Everything after was a blur of chaos. The cooks were rounded up, detained and questioned, trying to figure out who was behind it all. Lyonel Strong had started crying at the news, or so the servants claimed. Certain was only, he had locked his door and refused to step outside, no matter who asked for him.

Deep down, she knew already. Her nerves thrummed, the panic. What if the cook told? What if some servant had done it and talked? What if…

A few hours later – she would not make that mistake again – she entered her father’s guest chamber.

“Ah, daughter,” Otto said, as casual as ever, looking up from some letters. As if he was fully unaware of the chaos. Or did not mind it.

“Did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Do not play me a fool.”

“He was close to talking, Alicent. He was a liability.”

He murdered him. Something inside her broke. First blood and it was on their hands. Not Rhaenyra’s, theirs. Taken a life. Taken someone she had promised to protect.

“How could you? By the Gods, how…”

“I only did what you could not.”

She stared. How could he dare? How could he dare blame her? How…

“Reluctance to murder is not a weakness.”

“It is. Earlier or later, we must –”

Alicent turned on her heels. She would not listen to this. Planning murders. Viserys would never want murders. Some part of her knew there would be blood, but she still prayed it could be avoided. There had to be some way.

The corridors were strangely blurry.

Rhaenyra went around making allies, they were murdering theirs.

I refuse to lose anyone of us, she had told her when she offered up the dragon egg, when she talked of the dead things which may or may not come again.

Empty words, yes, of course they were but what if…

… what if…

Her world started to spin.

Chapter Text

Cregan took a deep breath. To sentence his own uncle… Rhaenyra had offered to do it for him, but this was his duty too. He could not shy away from the difficult tasks.

Sitting on his throne, with Ice beside him on one side and Rhaenyra in a place of honor on the other, he felt beside himself, as if he was only watching. The Hall filled with the Lords Cerwyn, Dustin, Glover and Mormont, some of their men, some of his, some of those who had served his uncle until the very end, all muttering and talking. Rhaenyra glanced at him and smiled.

He rose, reaching for Ice to have something to hold onto. Silence fell when the doors opened. Bennard Stark managed to look commanding, even in chains, even while being escorted by his most trusted men.

“I demand a trial by combat!”  

Cregan stared. To be so brazen, so sure of himself…

“Your request is denied,” Cregan replied.

“You cannot deny –”

“I can and I must. Your fate has already been decided. In the name of King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name…,” Cregan rattled off the titles, mixing up some of them to his horror, but it was too late when he realized. He had already spoken them. His uncle smirked. Couldn’t even say titles right. “… you are to be sent to the Wall, stripped of all ranks and titles.”

“The Wall?” His uncle snorted. “What if I refuse?”

“You will be executed as an enemy to the Crown.”

Another snort. “By whom? By you?”

Oh, he would like that, wouldn’t he? Make him a kinslayer. Bring shame on their house, on him especially. What had he ever done to the man? Or maybe this was just the end of the rope he had reached.

Before he could say a word, his uncle spoke, “I have never laid hands on the princess, I swear it!”

Cregan frowned. What was he trying to do here? Plead his innocence in front of his other Lords?

“You ordered arrows shot at us,” Rhaenyra said, calm as ever.

“Words spoken in madness, my princess. I regret them ever since.”

“Oh, I am sure you do.”

Some of the men snickered.

“Silence,” Cregan ordered. He could not let him speak again. He should have never in the first place.

“You will either go to the Wall or be executed in the name of the King.”

Something glimmered in his uncle’s eyes.

“The Princess Rhaenyra will do what needs be done, in place of her father. I am told her dragons are hungry.”

The glimmer died.

---

Leaving his castle behind so soon after taking it felt all wrong. Cregan stared at his banners flapping in the wind and sighed, wishing he could just stay. He did not want to go, not yet.

Another thing he had to do. How many more would there be?

Endless, he was sure of it.

At the same time, he looked forward to seeing the Wall again. It had been years since he had gone north, not that all too much ever changed. Castle Black would stand, the Wall would stand, and the Watch would complain about Wildlings.

As his host started to move, his uncle complained non-stop, grumbling, cursing, and muttering. How he could dare, how… The guards riding beside him showed nothing on their face.

“If you are not quiet, I will have you gagged,” Cregan told while riding past, catching up to his guests. For a while at least, his uncle was silent.

The dragons circled above them but disappeared soon enough when they realized how slow they were. The beasts always turned up before nightfall, snuggling to the ground near their riders, making erecting tents a hassle.

Cregan stared at them with worry, wondering what they were up to when they disappeared. Hopefully, they did not burn down castles or eat his smallfolk.

---

Snow whirled around her, endless, dancing snow. Helaena stalked through it, trying to see.

There were shapes behind the white, moving and shifting. She was certain one of them was a dragon. Or… or because of a dragon. It was about some dragon, for sure. There was no fear, still, which surprised her. When the dream had started, she had nearly panicked, expecting the blue-eyed things to run at her and stab her, may another blue-eyed dragon, maybe something worse, albeit she had no idea how something could be worse.

But there was nothing. Just the snow, just the biting cold, just the tingle that she was missing something. It was near more unnerving than seeing actual dead things.

For a second, the shifting, white wall ripped, and she saw Daenerys and... she stared at him curiously. A boy. Their gazes met and she shot upright.

Helaena bolted from her bed, near tripping over her own feet, and managed to catch herself.

The one lamp she had insisted on flickered. Rhaenyra was snuggled into her sparse bedding, sleeping soundly. Daenerys lay beside her.

The tent fabric flapped quietly.

“Daenerys?” She whispered and shook her.

She hummed lowly, her eyes fluttering open.

“You have to stay away from snow!” It slipped out before she could find better words, all hurried to not forget. Sometimes, the not-too-horrible dreams could slip her mind. This one seemed to pull away already, even as she was trying to think of it, to talk of it, like water running through her hands.

Nothing to see, something whispered inside her, and she knew it was a lie. She was missing something.

“’s bit late for that,” Daenerys muttered, her gaze far away. Was she even fully awake?

Helaena huffed. “You really have to…”

Rhaenyra stirred. Helaena fell silent, staring at her. She was waking everyone… Mother would be so mad at her. She did not want Rhaenyra to be mad at her! Just the thought… Daenerys muttered something again, this time in Valyrian. Helaena only stared, watching her turn away again.

Snuggled back into her bedding, she told herself she would just try in the morrow, yes, no need to be so worried. She had barely even seen anything! She just had to remember…

By the time she woke up again, there was nothing left, except a strange fear of snow. She remembered the word, at least. Somewhat.

While sharing bread and some cheese, she managed to work up her courage to ask. Not being able to speak a word of Valyrian at home… at the Red Keep was one thing, to admit it to her big sister was a wholly 'nother matter. She was scared she would judge her. Unable to speak their own language.

“Rhaenyra?”

“Yes?”

“What does ozemi… ozmij… mean?”

Her sister stared at her for a few seconds.

“Ozmijegon?”

“Yes! I mean, it sounded a bit different but…” she mumbled nothings.

“To miss someone. Why?”

“Daenerys said it last night.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze wandered to Daenerys, who blushed ever so slightly. The silence turned awkward, somehow. Helaena frowned, trying to figure out why. What had she said to make things strange?

“I bet you miss many people,” Rhaenyra said after a few seconds and looked back at her. “How much Valyrian do you speak?”

Helaena pointedly stared at the ground. The question she had feared. Rummaging through her head, she found at least a few words. Dragon and fire, of course, and fly, but…

Rhaenyra blinked. “Oh dear.”

---

The trees passed by, on and on. To Helaena, they seemed endless. If they had flown, they would be there at least five times over by now, certainly. Just bind the bad uncle to one of their dragons, strap Cregan to Dreamfyre or Syrax, and off they could have gone. But no. The grown-ups had insisted on using the slow horses. Hers was stupid as a rock, not even listening to her cues. When she leaned left or right, it just went on straight. Dreamfyre would have understood.

Rhaenyra hummed when she was done.

She grinned, all proud. She got that one by now! Rhaenyra always said it when she got something right, always praising her. If she failed, she still got encouraging words from her.

“What does 'tree' mean?”

“Gueze,” Daenerys said.

“Nearly. Guēse.”

“Is it?”

“Hm-hm.”

Daenerys looked embarrassed again. Helaena glanced at her and smiled timidly. She had no words, and Daenerys butchered the sound surprisingly often. At least, they could learn together!

---

Cregan grinned when his guests laid eyes on the Wall for the first time. Still far away, at least a day’s ride, maybe even two, it appeared on the horizon, one unbroken white-blue line, stretching for all the eye could see. The greatest thing men had ever built.

Helaena’s eyes shimmered, her mouth standing open. Rhaenyra stared as well. Daenerys seemed to brood. The latter at least had turned happier after they had left Winterfell. He had heard the woman talk! He had watched her ride. Better than the other two – better than all his men combined, truth be told. She moved as if she had been born on horseback, even on a horse unknown to her. He had even seen her smile every now and again. Whatever had befallen her in the castle, it seemed to have passed.

“How long is it?” Helaena whispered.

“300 miles, princess,” Cregan answered, stopping his horse beside them.

“I… that…,” she turned to Rhaenyra. “Can we fly for it? Please? I want to see it from above!”

The princess hesitated.

Just the thought… Cregan stared longingly. He would never be able to. Rhaenyra glanced at him. “How far is it from here?”

“40 miles. More or less.”

“We could be back within the hour!” Helaena pleaded.

Rhaenyra bit her lip as she stared at her sister. A moment passed, another.

“May as well.”

As if the dragons knew, they turned up little later. Landing right nearby their riders, freaking out their horses like they always did. Cregan watched as the three made preparations to leave.

Should he ask? The thought was entirely mad, audacious, daring, brazen, beyond what etiquette allowed, and yet... To see the Wall, to see it from above… he really, really wanted to. He would never get the chance again.

“Princess Rhaenyra?”

She glanced at him, stopping to check on her saddle chains.

“Could I… could I come with?”

The silence was longer this time. She was searching for words again, he could see. How to best politely say no?

“Of course, you can!” Helaena blurted out.

---

Why the fuck had he asked, Cregan wondered for the umpteenth time while he climbed up the saddle chains, settling behind the Princess Helaena. Her dragon had turned its head, staring at him, unhappy by the tiny grunts and growls it made. Helaena said words to her beast, but it did not stop the grumbling. Sitting behind her, the girl turned.

“You see the straps? Wrap them around your legs.”

He eyed the leather bindings to the saddle. That should keep him alive?

What had possessed him? The stare of the light blue dragon was unnerving, just as much as the stare of the golden beast, which seemed strangely disapproving if he had ever seen a dragon disapprove of anything. Princess Rhaenyra had not looked happy about any of this, but she had not turned down her sister either. Only the black one looked on in what seemed like amusement. Maybe they had their own bets on when he would be eaten or tumble to his death.

Cregan grabbed the straps and ended up binding himself to the saddle more tightly than Helaena herself. Rhaenyra kept a close gaze on him. If he did something wrong, she would tell, right? The young princess eyed him with a smile.

“Hold on to my shoulders, I would say.”

What? No! He could not just touch a royal!

A word and her beast pushed itself off the ground.

Cregan screamed, his heart hammering. The world fell away, turning smaller and smaller. From up here, his host was barely worth mentioning.

Air rushed past them. His stomach did strange drops whenever the dragon shifted or turned and it did so often. Part of him was convinced it did so on purpose. He had seen them fly, and it had never done this before!

To be bound to such a beast… to be at its mercy…

Helaena glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “It is quite something, is it?”

It sure was! What could he say to not show his panic?

Two words. He could manage two words.

“It is!” He yelled against the wind, and Helaena laughed. She looked so happy…

The princess shifted and the dragon turned, following along, stopping its strange twists. Drogon joined them soon after, followed by Syrax. The three flew side by side, just gliding along. Rhaenyra threw glances at them every now and again.

The Gift rushed by underneath, the miles turning small. How quick they were. How far he could see. The forests they had passed through on their way here, the mountain chains off towards the Bay of Ice, the Wall, growing larger and larger. Its ice was glistening in the bright sun, near blinding.

His nerves calmed, and he could appreciate the insanity of it all. He was flying. He truly was, he…

He screamed, happier this time. Helaena laughed again, and he thought he even got a chuckle from Daenerys.

A chill filled the air and Dreamfyre hissed.

---

Syrax grew more tense the closer they got to the Wall, hissing and rumbling. Rhaenyra frowned, stroking what little she could reach of her neck.

“Lykiri, Syrax,” she muttered, sure her dragon could hear her. She slowed down, grumbling ever more now.

What was it? What bothered her so much? Was it the chill in the air? Dragons hated the cold, yes, but… Dreamfyre slowed even more, falling behind her. Rhaenyra frowned, glancing over her shoulder. Helaena looked just as confused as she felt. Only Drogon flew on. Men on the Wall yelled when he approached, running, jumping, everything to get out of the way. Landing, ice splintered under his claws. Drogon stared across and roared.

---

Daenerys stared ahead, fully calm to her own surprise. She had expected to panic, to be fearful, but there was nothing. Only a strange determination. Hate, even. The Wall stood, as powerful as it had ever been. They had more dragons, and they would have ever more as time went on, they would have more men when they called upon them, for the Great Houses were all loyal... or loyal enough. House Targaryen stood at the height of its power. May they still would lose, but they sure would try. They had a chance, they truly had. The more she changed, the greater their odds.

She glanced over her shoulder, watching Syrax fly parallel to the Wall. May Rhaenyra wanted to see how impressive the structure truly was, the endless ice…

She looked ahead again. The dead things would not be a force now, not yet, not for a long while. Jon had told her, that the things must have slept somewhere, maybe far up north. Only the year he had joined the Watch, things had gone awry. Until then, it had only ever been Windlings the Night’s Watch had to bother about.

Only ever Wildlings…

Drogon pushed himself off, wings catching the wind, and he soared onwards, across the small stretch of open land until the forest started. She did not know exactly where to go, not remembering that damned flight, but Drogon sure would.

Viserion.

Where to grieve him better than the place he fell?

---

Rhaenyra stared when Drogon flew on.

“Daenerys!”

But Drogon was too far already. Huffing, she leaned for the Wall again. Syrax all but hissed.

“Dohaeris, Syrax!”

Syrax shook herself instead.

Another rumble, but she turned.

She stroked along her neck again, trying everything in her power to calm her down.

---

The second she was above the Big Ice Thing, something snapped.

Rhaenyra was gone.

Syrax shrieked, looking for her. Had she dropped her? This could not be! She had been all secure on her back and now she –

Something touched her neck!

Her head snapped around and she hissed. There was someone on her back! How could they dare! Had they thrown off her little one?!

She was about ready to breathe fire at the intruder when it talked with Rhaenyra’s voice.

Syrax stared. She… what? Inhaling, she tried to find her scent, but there was only ice and water and blood, long, long ago dried. She could not smell anyone.

Her wingtip crossed the Ice Thing, and horror ran along her scales. Syrax’s head whipped around again, and she stared at the horizon, watching Drogon turn smaller. Something was watching her, something was…

Shying away entirely, she crossed back over the Ice Thing.

As suddenly as she had disappeared, Rhaenyra was back. Her smell, her warmth, her feelings, fleeting as they were sometimes, the knowledge of belonging. Hers! Hers alone! Syrax rumbled relieved, glancing back again. Still, the woman… this time, she knew it was Rhaenyra.

---

The world rushed by beneath them. Sometimes, Daenerys saw people staring up at her, sometimes they just stood and stared in awe, hopefully, sometimes they ran, screams carried up by the wind, and each and every time, she smiled somewhat. The very first time they ever laid eyes on a dragon, for they had never seen Balerion and his. They should have been more in awe, really, but even those had only ever loved Jon.

Eventually, Drogon descended. She recognized the mountain, standing tall and lonely, and the lake beneath it. Snow lay scattered around, starting to melt in the sun. For just a second, it struck her strange – but what of it? Surely, only summer snow. The North could have it by years! Getting ever closer, she expected to burst into tears again, but she did not. She was calm, composed, and yes, sad, but no tears, nor the boundless panic of the days prior.

Landing and sliding off Drogon, she felt sombre.

Daenerys smiled somewhat. Only here, only now, she could grieve her child. Back in her own time, the dead held anything beyond the Wall. She could have never… Kneeling, she touched the ground. Dawn’s scabbard clinked against some rock, the snow melted beneath her hand.

Everything looked so peaceful, so calm. Waves lapped up against the shore, a brisk wind ruffled her hair, patches of more and less snow scattered around. No one would ever guess what happened here… would happen here.

Her Viserion… the gentlest of her three… Tears ran down her cheeks, but she smiled as well. She had loved him so much, just as much as she loved her others. All her little ones grown big. She missed him. If only she could watch him fly for the skies one more time, hear his roar… What she would give to get him back…

Drogon rumbled and nudged her. She stroked his snout and looked up at him.

“I miss him so much,” she whispered and got another rumble in return.

Settling down by the lake’s edge, she stared at its waves. Her son would crash into the ice and sink, she remembered his blood glistening in the sun, she remembered his scream, the sound as he fell…

Maybe… maybe she should burn something in his honor. Targaryens always burned their dead.

Drogon stomped towards her, pressing his warm snout against her arm. Daenerys smiled. This was… it was not good, but it was something. It was a start.

Snow shifted and she turned towards the sound.

Chapter Text

Something hissed through the air. That sound… Drogon turned his head at the last second and shifted – still it hit him. Biting cold crashed through his scales. Pain, pain, pain, and cold, colder than anything he had ever felt. It rushed through his muscles and bones, seeped into his blood. Roaring, his thoughts vanished.

---

Daenerys saw it all. When it happened, it seemed slow. The White Walker emerged from the snow, aiming and throwing a spear. Jumping up, she managed half a step, and hot blood splattered onto her. Screeching, wing beats, and Drogon was gone.

She stared, unable to move, unable to think.

She was alone. With a White Walker. With… Why… how… They should not be here, not for a long while, they should be sleeping! They…

It got closer and closer, walking towards her in utter calm. 150 yards, maybe. A hundred. She could run, but where to and for how long? They had hurt Drogon, they… It would catch her, she knew it would.

“Welcome, Dragon Queen,” the thing said. It sounded like ice sliding against ice, making a shiver run down her spine, all the hairs on her neck standing upright.

It ripped her out of her stupor, at the very least.

She would die. A part of her had always known. That dream, long, long ago, of her passing beneath the Wall and seeing the little tent, with Drogo and Rhaego waiting for her…

Cold certainty ran through her, and she pulled Dawn. If she died, she may as well put up a fight. A dragon would not go whimpering.

“How did you know?!” She yelled. She had not even known herself, not until she stared across the lands beyond the Wall, not until Winterfell, in truth, when she decided enough was enough. Face her fears. She had not meant it so literal.

The thing only smirked.

“We know things.”

It drew its own sword, thin and shimmering blue like the Wall.

If only she was not alone. If only… Jon was with her, yes. He had fought those things before. If only… But she was alone. No brooding and hoping would save her. She took one last breath. May the Gods be good, and Dawn withstood that blue, shimmering thing. Part of her expected the sword to cut straight through her own, to cut through her, and be done with it.

The first crossing of blades, there was a high-pitched sound of metal meeting… something. The White Walker stared surprised.

She bolted forward, striking for it. She needn’t win. She just had to scratch it, if the stories were true. The thing dodged her, surprise ever growing… only it faded near instantly. A smirk settled on its lips.

“Fighting is useless,” it told.

They crossed blades, again and again. It fought in earnest now, and she could barely withstand its strikes. Her arms hurt. A few times, after she failed her parries, she managed to dodge the blue sword, twist and turn out of the way, just in time.

Another blow, and she startled, slipping on the melting snow.

Mind your feet, she heard Daemon tell her, a life ago. Mind your fucking feet. She hit the ground, grunted, rolled onto her side and jumped up, all in one motion. She didn’t even know she could move like this.

She bolted for it again. Surprise was her only chance. The White Walker parried her as if there was nothing to it. They traded more blows. It raised its sword, maybe to strike at her with all its strength, hoping to simply end it.

Too high, Daenerys thought and tried to stab it.

The sword came down, hard and swift. Dawn clattered to the ground.

Fell for his feint, silly, Daemon whispered in her mind.

Backing away, Daenerys wondered how it would kill her. A stab through the heart maybe or…

It only cut at her. A strike and blood shimmered on her flying trousers, ice spreading along the fabric.

What –

She did not hear her own scream, nor felt how she hit the ground.

Cold. Biting ice cold. It seeped into her blood, rushed through her body. She convulsed.

Her sight turned fuzzy. Everything turned cold. Down her leg, the ice ran, turning her toes to icicles, up her leg, her waist, spreading from there like claws, tearing at her, ripping, reaching for all she was.

Deeper and deeper, she fell. Into darkness, into ice, into cold. She was drowning in it. Daenerys twitched and convulsed again.

The deeper she fell, the colder she grew… and then she saw him. A boy with glowing blue eyes, standing beside the other thing, both staring down at her. A little wolf clasped to his shoulder; lines of ice ran along his face.

The cold spread through her, quicker and quicker, her own panicked heart working against her.

Faces drifted past her. A girl, dark skinned, smiling softly. An old man, grim but gentle all the same. Tiny beasts, scaled, with wings and fangs. They sang for her. The tone gave her strength, hope – something ripped at her, and she slipped even deeper still. A man, black of hair with grey eyes, looking ever so worried. Something about him… Two more followed, who had silver-gold hair. The latter smiled at her, his gaze full of...

She is fighting against it, she heard it say inside her head.

Give it time, the boy answered. A soft voice, a voice she knew, but the name was gone. It has never been attempted before.

Who was he?

Who was she?

Why did everything hurt so much?

What was hurt?

Something else slipped into her mind, more powerful than the thing and the boy combined. Full of cold and darkness and –

Home. She would be home. She would have a true family, everlasting. A new image pushed into her mind, of blue eyed things, surrounded by endless white, their skin fair and gentle, glowing like moonlight. They all smiled at her.

Some part of her wanted to tell yes, to make it all go away.

No. Home was a house with a red door, home was the scaled beasts, the sound of wings and their roars, home was…

---

Mother was slipping away.

It was the one thing that ripped Drogon awake. The coldness in his veins wasn’t even that bad anymore, his blood winning out a fight they could never hope to win. He turned hard.

They were not after him. They were after mother! She may be a dragon, but she was so little. So much less power, so much less strength! He beat his wings and beat his wings, as quick as he could, as quick as the pain would allow, but fuck even the pain. He had to get to her if it was the last thing he ever did.

Their bond trembled and shivered, her warmth slipping away. He had never felt this, not even when she lay bleeding in the snowstorm, when he was worried her fire would fade, that she would die. There had always been her warmth. Warm and comforting and there.

Something reached into his mind, brazen and powerful. Drogon roared, shook his head and roared again. The thing slipped away, but barely. The bond trembled, turning thinner and thinner. Maybe only a few threads now, maybe…

It did not rip. It grew cold. Something horrific reached for him.

He saw her, laying by that damned lake, twitching and screaming. Something was wrong with her eyes. An ice man was reaching for her, but it was not the ice man. He never roared. He just fell, opened his wings, and breathed fire.

---

The heat ripped her up again, all the way from the cold place. She was still cold, biting and painful beyond words, but she had thoughts again. He was surprised, all distracted, staring up at the flying beast, she could tell, still feeling him inside her mind. He had been an Umber once, long, long ago, before the Wall was raised.

The other thing was raging, trying to claw at her mind.

You will not – but it got pushed away by the heat of the fire, in the presence of her thoughts.

Daenerys crawled for her sword. Steps followed. Dawn… just… just a little… just… but it may as well be worlds away. Drogon circled above them, keeping them wrapped in flame. The man reached for her again. This time he would just break her neck, she knew, their try be damned. It had failed. They had gotten close, yes, so, so close, but it had failed. Her fingers slid along Dawn’s handle, failing to get a hold. Better the girl was dead. The cold of his fingers whispered against her neck, biting cold as any winter ever was. Just a second now. Her fingers closed around her sword. Daenerys whirled around with whatever strength she had left.

Dawn nicked his arm, and he broke to pieces.

Chapter Text

The shards of the White Walker rained down on her, feeling like daggers to her skin, ripping her away. The cold started to spread again, the whispers. Further away now, quieter, but there all the same. She saw the blue eyed things again, and this time, some tiny, still aware part of her counted. Twenty. Just twenty.

So few.

Was it the truth? Were it all?

Yes. He had looked into her, and she had looked into him in turn.

She drifted away, the whispers growing and growing. Nothing, nothing for a while.

---

Warmth. Warmth and safe.

The cold disappeared, her thoughts returning.

She was safe. Daenerys tried to move but could not, she tried opening her eyes but could neither.

The last time she had felt safe like this… Was Daemon holding her? Had he come? How would he even know? Maybe, he had wanted to speak to Rhaenyra, and…

If he was holding her, would he kiss her again? Some part of her wanted him to, more than she would ever admit. His lips on hers, all soft and gentle…

… she had even kissed him back…

Panic flickered up in her, sanity trying to reign her back in, but it quieted and floated away. She was too tired for the big emotions.

All she wanted was the safety he promised, his warmth. He would be able to slay a White Walker, she was sure of it. Maybe he was on par with or even better than Jon, if the stories could be believed. The greatest swordsman of his time.

No. Stop it. He is your great-great-something-grandfather! The saner minds tried again, horrified. She could not…

She was not even directly related to him. By Targaryen standards, they were near strangers. Maybe closer to cousins, if anything at all. They were generations apart!

He does not even care for you! Her thoughts snapped back. He never did. He wanted her for her dragons and the power in her blood, nothing more, nothing less. No difference to all the other men before. The way he had stared when she stepped out of the fire…

But he does care, something else whispered. Yes, yes, he did. He looked out for her, gave her company, had even helped her train. Without Daemon, she would be dead.

Without Drogon, she would be dead as well.

Daenerys burst into laughter. The thought was so abrupt – she could laugh.

Near timid, she opened her eyes, hoping… No Daemon. Only fire. Just for a second, she was sad about it.

Shifting, she groaned. Her wounded leg refused to move. Reaching for it, she felt the cold cling to her fingers, even with the fire.

The flames stopped. Daenerys looked up at last and saw Drogon, sitting beside her, blood glimmering on his scales, that damn spear protruding from his side.

They were still here. At this damned lake, with this damned mountain. She should have never come. There was no need, never, not really. She could have sat atop the Wall and mourned him, all safe and sound.

She would have never killed a White Walker either, though. Killed one of his strongest generals. She grinned, no matter anything.

She had killed a White Walker. Only with luck, granted, lots of luck, but the deed was done. It was gone and she was still alive.

With more trouble than she ever wanted to admit, she got to her feet and pulled the spear out, the thing biting cold in her hands, but in comparison to her leg wound, it was near summer warmth. For what felt like ages, she stared at Drogon’s wound, stared at all the blood. She could not even stop the bleeding. Maybe with fire…

Carefully, she turned and limped to the lake's edge. She was here, no matter how stupid it had been. May as well make the best of it.

Awkwardly kneeling, she touched the water, letting it run over her fingers. Viserion…

Drogon nudged her. Looking up, she realized how exhausted he looked, how tired. Her poor big one. Reaching up, she stroked his head.

They flew, but only a few miles. Drogon was tired beyond words and flying naked mayhaps was the worst idea she had ever had. Just this once, she wished she had a saddle. Or some more clothes.

The night came and went. In the darkness, pressed against Drogon’s warm scales, the cold seeped into her again, and with it, the whispers came, tearing at her mind. She could not wake him for fire, not right now. He too needed rest, maybe even more than her. Without Drogon, she had no chance at all. Hugging herself, she tried to tune them out, but it never really worked. Images flickered in her mind, glimpses coming and going. A weirwood tree, leaves freezing and dying. He was mad, mad beyond words, yelling at someone.

She grinned again. “I will kill the rest of you too.”

He stopped then, in whatever he was doing, and the image changed. Daenerys snickered, only it faded right away. Did he see what she saw as well?

She woke to the whisper of men, mixing with the whispers in her mind. Drogon rumbled quietly beside her. Peeking out from under his wing, she saw Wildlings staring at them. Swords and daggers and spears in hand, but they did not approach either. They just stared.

She slipped out from under the wing.

“Give me your cloak.”

The stares changed. Daenerys only stared back. So many men had looked at her like this, it barely even bothered her. As if she was something to be owned, only existing for their pleasure. What could they do to her? What could they do that hadn’t been done before? Nothing. One of them approached.

“One more step and you will die.”

He stared at her, uncertain for this one second, and then he smirked. “I doubt it. That monster is –”

“Drogon, Dracarys.”

Drogon snapped awake at her command, thank the Gods. His head whirled around, and nothing was left of him but ash. Drogon had singed her freezing leg too, just as her arm. The entire side of her body, in truth.

Screams and they ran. One man fell to his knees and started to… pray?

Daenerys walked for him slowly, wary, and took the cloak off him after all. He was still babbling nonsense when Drogon took to the skies.

The next night, Daenerys existed in some form of daze, the whispers growing ever louder, and every now and again something tugged on her mind.

Yellow, glowing eyes were coming for her. She stared at them, mesmerized, wondering if she had lost her mind entirely. Was it a ploy? Did it have blue eyes in truth?

Drogon opened his eyes and breathed fire. A bear, she realized. A bear, just a bear, roasted and getting eaten already. She got up, gnawing at it as well.

---

Three days. Three damn days. Once again, Rhaenyra stood atop the Wall and stared at the horizon. Still nothing. Still no black wings. Where had she gone? Had she gotten lost? Had she gotten killed in some crazy accident? Had Wildlings gotten to her while Drogon went hunting?

They could not even find her. Yes, she may convince the Lord Commander to send out rangers, but what of it? The lands beyond the Wall were endless. They would never find a single dragon and a single woman.

Syrax shrieked at her. Rhaenyra turned and eyed her dragon. She hovered near the Wall, eyes fixed on her as if she could disappear any second now. Whenever she was atop or on the other side, Syrax lost it to varying degrees. At least, she had not yet tried to set everything on fire. Dreamfyre was no better.

“Do you think they got lost?” Helaena whispered, staring at the horizon as well.

“I hope so,” Rhaenyra muttered. What else to tell? I hope she is not dead? She would not say this to her little sister.

A man passed them by, nodding at her. She returned the gesture. Most of them, she knew by now. There was only ever so much she could do to calm her nerves, slowly losing her mind while waiting, thus, she had talked, making somewhat friends at the Night’s Watch. Most were good lads, in stark comparison to all the whispers. Only criminals, murderers, and rapists served, only the worst of the worse. It was not true, not at all. From the south, most men had come for petty crimes, like stealing or poaching. From the north, most still joined by their own free will. Defending their homelands was an honor.

She had brooded about how to use it for their advantage but came up with nothing. No one from Kings Landing would give two fucks about defending the North. They had to make it honorable again… or incentivize it better, like paying out gold, but how much, and what good would it do? Noble families had no need for gold. The smallfolk may, but how much was a father worth? How much a son? Like trading lives for nothing. Just the thought made her feel sick. May they could offer freedom of taxes for serving however many years, maybe…

She knew the answer, deep down. Summon all the Lords Paramount and their greater vassals to Kings Landing, or to Harrenhall for that matter, having the space for them all, and show them one of the dead things. Serving at the Wall would mean standing against literal monsters. Then again, it may scare more people away than was any good. When the time came, they would call on their banners anyways, and they would have to answer.

She talked with the Lord Commander as well… or rather listened to his complainings, asking for more resources, gold and men. She had nearly gotten a word in when he launched into complaining about Wildlings. She did promise some help, but he only smiled politely and looked wary. Empty words. The good Queen Alysanne had given them the New Gift… only they barely had people to tend to it. Maybe… maybe they could send farmers up North, but what would it help yet again? It had been abandoned for years now, and for good reason.

Cregan greeted them from afar when they finally had ground beneath their feet, much to the joy of their dragons, who tried their very best to cram themselves into the yard, rumbling happy – to the dismay of everyone else around.

“Still nothing?!”

“Still nothing!”

---

Rhaenyra nipped on not-too-horrible soup, Helaena not eating anything beside her, when one of the men in black joined her.

She eyed him, seizing him up. She had not talked to this one yet.

“My princess, may I ask something?”

The two brothers on the table next to them snickered.

“Certainly.”

If it was something vulgar, she would throw her soup at him.

“Could you send more furs for the winter?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Half our new brothers are still green behind their ears. We have some from the Uplands. That’s as far as south goes without being Dorne,” he lowered his voice. “The bastards have never seen real snow. May half of them die.”

This was a jest, right? She eyed him, and then the two fully grown men trying their hardest not to laugh.

“I bet you can keep them warm otherwise,” Rhaenyra said. The lips of the man twitched. This was a trap, was it? The inappropriate joke was but one pause away. She hurried to talk before he could, “I’ve been told locking someone outside at night may help. Gets them used to the cold.”

All three burst into laughter.

“Heard that, Laswell? We’ll drag you out at night!”