Chapter Text
The clearing near a babbling stream with a crystal pool was the perfect sanctum for Rhaena and her dragon. The latter lay gorged and resting only a few yards away, his silhouette in repose blending easily against the forest canopy, the blazing amber of his eyes shuttered.
Rhaena unfurled her sleeping pad at the mouth of the rocky overhang where she camped. She fed the fire a little at a time from the pile of kindling gathered earlier, keeping its flames small and near smokeless.
Nigh one moon had turned since the Bloody Gates closed behind Lady Jeyne, and still, before sleeping Rhaena relived over and over in her mind her three nights spent in the mountains of the Vale.
Toward the end vultures began to circle the sky above but she pushed forward, halted only by exhaustion when she slept a few hours under the stars with no shelter from the biting wind. The memory of her mother's words carried through the gales, echoing in her mind,
'...there is more than one way to bind yourself to a dragon...you have a harder road... if you wish to be a rider, you must claim that right...'
She was drawn to destiny by something in the blood, as one possessed. Not once had she contemplated what she would do if, and by the gods when, she encountered her quarry.
Before that day she only heard tell of Sheepstealer, the riderless wild dragon with a very particular palate. It was said he hatched on Dragonstone around the time of the Faith militant uprising against Aenys after he announced his son, the Prince of Dragonstone, would marry his daughter, Rhaena’s namesake.
By that calculation Sheepstealer had as many years as Daemon’s dragon, maybe more.
Above the tinkling of water nearby, a languid purr emanated in the darkness as a warm puff of air rattled low tree branches.
“Are you wearied, old fyre?” she asked, smiling when she felt his contentment-- a full and warm sensation in her bosom, amplified through their bond.
It was the third night, and as quiet as the previous ones she'd spent taking respite from days on the road. Rhaena’s eyelids grew heavy with sleep when a crackle of twigs outside her field of vision caused her to sit up, alerted to a possible threat.
She touched the dagger at her waist keenly aware it may be to little effect, and thought quickly what other defense she could employ.
She would not ask for her dragon’s fire and risk setting the forest ablaze, and surely no animal would come within a mile of his scent though a small unwitting one if she could snag it, would make a welcome change from fish.
The continuing approach signaled something larger, a boar? she thought, though the gait sounded uneven.
Not a beast but a man emerged into the clearing and staggered toward the fire. Rhaena pulled the hood of her cloak fully forward, rising instinctively when she saw blood running down his face. She hesitated, still keeping her distance.
“Plea…” The muttered speech trailed.
She crossed the space hastily, catching him awkwardly just as his legs buckled.
“Thank…y” He whispered.
“Shh, save your strength, such as you have left,” she said. She struggled to bear his weight by hooking his arm around her neck so her words were strained.
The man, a knight of the Reach, was weak and his breathing ragged. He could barely remain upright as she guided them stumbling onto her sleeping pad. She wondered how far he could have travelled in such condition.
By his pallid complexion, Rhaena knew time was of the essence. She hastily dumped a log on the fire and set about removing his broken ringmail, unbuckling the remaining leather straps on his tattered jerkin.
She used her dagger to cut away the tunic underneath. It was sticky and stiff where the blood had dried to an orangey brown. Reaching for the clean white chemise her sister had packed for her, she rolled it in a wad and pressed it gently but firmly where a sword bypassed his armor and had driven into his belly.
Eventually the bleeding subsided and Rhaena feared it was because he had run out. She placed an ear over his mouth, nearly touching it. Feeling the faint trails of warmth on her cheek, she was reassured and continued her work.
She closed the wound at his temple with a hooked garment needle purified in the fire and strong silk thread, then cleaned the rest of his injuries using water mixed with a little wine from the flask she kept in her saddle bag, and covered them with moistened nettle leaves.
Having done all she could for him, Rhaena was ready to rest.
By the time she lay down beside the stranger, sharing her only sleeping mat, their surrounding was draped in milky mist and the full-throated serenade of a Riverlands nightingale heralded dawn as it broke across the sky.
How odd, she thought, not two weeks ago to have felt the heat of her very first battle with the Lysene galleys in the Gullet, where Jacaerys flew up ahead on Vermax, herself and the three seeds, Addam her newfound kin, Ulf White and Hugh Hammer following closely behind.
With blood pumping intensity, she navigated the battlefield, evading the enemy's quarrels. Her commands of “ Paktot!”, “Geptot!”, “Embrot!” and “Dracarys”, almost unnecessary, as she and her dragon worked in effortless harmony.
The sight of the warships trying to flee filled her with an overwhelming yet fleeting sense of victory, when not long after, they watched from the sky in horror as Vermax, attempting to maneuver beneath a boom, flew too low and crashed into the sea. Jacaerys tried to pitch himself to safety but was hit with three bolts to the chest.
How strange to have seen unthinkable carnage descend upon SpiceTown as the cries of men, women and children rose up to the skies mixed with the smoke and ash. To smell and witness the devastation first hand. How strange that she would be here not one week after, fighting to save the life of an unknown man, on the side of the enemy no less.
Such was the madness of war. There would be plenty of time to ponder, if she survived.
She turned from looking at the sky and rolled onto her side, taking the opportunity to study him while he slept. He was still deathly pale but his breath seemed to come easier.
Despite the mud and blood stains, Rhaena could see his hair was a rich golden hue. Its near shoulder length did not seem to fit the refinement of his vetements, suggesting he’d been on the road for some time. A few months perhaps.
He had high smooth cheekbones and a fine jawline. She was unabashed that she found him nice to look at.
She yawned, her eyes prickling with exhaustion, and from across the cold hearth a low rumble sounded. Her dragon had opened his eyes.
He raised his head slowly and languidly sniffed the air, then lay back down with a muted huff.
Rhaena chuckled.
“Kirimvose, Zāeres !” she said, addressing him by the name she’d chosen for him.
Chapter Text
"Don’t be afraid. He will not harm you… unless you give him cause"
Rhaena knew this to be true. Outside of the recent battle, the dragon was not aggressive towards humans except if provoked. But this Hightower wouldn't know it.
Gwayne tried to make sense of her calmly issued instruction, wincing as he raised himself with difficulty off the bed mat.
“How do you mea–”
He was interrupted by the quivering of foliage and rattling of tree branches. He looked up toward the sound of beating wings which grew louder until he sighted the creature circling above, before its smooth descent behind the treeline.
Gwayne opened his mouth but no words came out. The thudding tattoo of its steps approached then halted as the dragon’s enormous head and neck emerged through the canopy. Its skeletal structure unlike anything he'd seen before.
“He’s not much used to the ways of men but he means no harm.”
All pain momentarily forgotten, Gwayne looked on in horrified fascination as the creature, which resembled a giant lizard cast from iron, opened its jaws to reveal a ball of molten fire ready for his rider's command.
He watched as the maiden approached with her hand outstretched and it dropped down to crouch upon the damp earth, quenching the enormous ember from its throat. She lost her cloak along the way and he saw for the first time, the crown of curls that framed her face were the same fiery red colour.
Stroking the gnarled wing now furled at its side, she touched her forehead to its massive jaw, humming softly. From deep within the dragon’s spiny frame a gurgling sound emerged, like many shards of grinding glass. He’d never heard anything quite like it.
“He grows restless, and can be vicious,” she said,
“But... his ill-temper might always be assuaged with mutton.”
“Is that really so?” Gwayne couldn’t help but chuckle, somewhat relieved.
“Indeed, my Lord. While he has devoured the occasional sheep dog, I have it on good authority he never harmed a shepherd.”
He thought she looked greatly amused as she went to retrieve two leather pouches used to fetch water.
“These three days since you saved my life, you might have thought to warn me, my Lady …!” he called out, as she retreated in the direction of the stream.
“Are you pouting?” she called back, with a glance over her shoulder,
“...I reckon it suits you,” she added, before disappearing into the brush, her cape billowing behind. The hood was once again pulled firmly over her hair.
Gwayne was left feeling something rare and not unpleasant, a familiarity emerging from their short span together. He was happy she seemed to be at ease around him. Though, having seen him naked as the day he was born might have something to do with it.
Still, he liked that he needn’t see her face to know she jested.
Rhaena had similar thoughts as she filled the vessels with clear water that rushed from the rocky shelf several feet high and flowed into the brook below. She'd smiled more in the past days than the last year, feeling a renewed sense of purpose despite the grim circumstance. She wished to better know the man whose unexpected appearance might be the reason.
He intrigued her; this son of her father’s sworn enemy, with whom she felt a type of kinship. She suspected that despite an aloof exterior, much like herself deep down he may have longed for his father’s approval if not his affection.
She recalled his name mentioned over the years in whispers through the halls, or servants' gossip, and gleaned by his absence at court that Queen Alicent's beloved brother was little if anything like their father.
He did not share Otto Hightower's ambitions for the iron throne. It was said the two hadn't seen eye to eye regarding the succession of Aegon and Ser Gwayne declined to accompany the retinue that went with Grandmaester Orwyle to Dragonstone to negotiate with Rhaenyra.
Rhaena admired his principled bravery, how he held honor and decency in high regard. His nephews might have benefitted from such tutilege at King’s Landing.
During the first day when he teetered at the edge of consciousness, she'd tried to keep him talking to maintain his lucidity. She asked his name, his mother's name, his favorite foods-- simple questions to help orient him to the present time while she tended to the worst of his injuries. When he hadn't uttered the name of a wife or lover, Rhaena felt secretly relieved.
Back at the camp, Gwayne settled back to rest, eyeing the beast warily. An unknown dragon rider not on the side of his nephew’s claim must surely be for Rhaenyra. The only neutral ground in the war were the Tyrells, and powerful as they were, to his knowledge they had never yet claimed a dragon.
While she was gone, Gwayne tested how far he could rise unaided. He was still in alot of pain but felt his strength gradually returning. He took a sip from the tin cup next to the bed. His mysterious benefactor had squeezed the juice from blackberries which grew plentifully around, mixed in with willow bark tea. He felt immediately energized from the delicate sweetness of the elixir.
It was the first day in which he'd woken with immediate awareness of his surroundings. Before that were many waking dreams, each one wild and feverish. In one he saw the Stranger come ready to lead him to the other world. In another his mother appeared, her eyes tender as she watched over him, cradling his head in her lap.
A pressing bladder finally roused him. As the fog cleared from his vision, he recognized the face of the woman, real and alive, who tended him that first night. She was speaking but it sounded under water. Through his muddled thoughts and garbled speech she finally understood he needed to relieve himself.
She struggled to wrestle him up, and he wretched on the first attempt to walk, collapsing against her. He was unsure which was worse, the bitter taste of bile, blinding headache or the searing pain in his gut. He had ached all over.
Finally managing to stand, he noticed even in his fugue, that she stood a head shorter and had a slight build although she was far from frail.
He supported himself against a tree at the edge of the camp. Once emptied, he was too spent to be embarrassed when she took charge and pulled up his breeches before shuffling him back to lay down.
Gwayne was grateful to no longer be such a burden to his rescuer. It was a most undignified circumstance yet she'd been nothing but kind.
Chapter Text
Rhaena returned and set about lighting a fire. Once a good blaze was going, she began to prepare their evening meal. She’d stretched the honey cakes as thinly as possible and they shared the last of them that morning.
Tonight she would prepare the remaining dried venison and carrots that sustained her the week prior while she travelled the small roads near Brindlewood. With the fresh leeks she foraged from around the stream they would have a good broth.
Tomorrow she would continue the journey west to find her father, as she was before Gwayne Hightower stumbled upon her camp.
That first night he’d muttered about an ambush at the Elms and the slaughter of many men. Rhaena had no way to know if the attackers were on Rhaenyra’s side or about their own quest for some stronghold. One never knew with the Rivermen so she need be cautious.
Alone on foot she might hide and evade the advancing armies. She could use what coin she had left to secure a bed or bread at an inn along with gossip of how the war progressed, no matter how unreliable the source. The two of them however, would stick out like a sore thumb, she thought. She could also not chance the rest of the journey on dragon back for fear of drawing out Vaghar and her rider.
They finished their meal and the last of the wine Rhaena had been rationing. She was sitting on a boulder idly poking the fire with a stick, her thoughts with her family and what may remain of them. She mouthed the names of Baela and their half-brothers, her father, grandfather and Rhaenyra, praying that the Old Gods might show mercy.
Gradually, her contemplations returned to the present as she reflected on the unexpected respite. Being in this place was awakening parts of her never before explored, like the tenderness of their quiet conversations beside the fire, and the thrilling energy when their hands accidentally touched or they exchanged a glance that lingered.
Her attention turned to Gwayne as he rose from the mat and struggled to stand. Rhaena was relieved to see his strength returning with each passing day.
She watched him slowly and cautiously hobble toward the edge of the clearing.
“Perhaps, it is not my dragon alone who grows restless,” she said.
He paused in his path but did not turn back.
“We have to leave tomorrow, I think,” she called out.
“There’s plenty of fish to be caught around here but we’ve run out of everything else, and you need proper medicine…” her voice trailed.
He grunted what could have been a response but kept moving, each step taken less gingerly than the last, as one trying to rid themself of sea legs.
She returned her attention to the fire.
There'd been plenty of time to think the first day after Gwayne Hightower happened upon her in the forest.
Sheepstealer went away to hunt; she did not know for how long but trusted he would return when the time was right.
In bonding with him she was learning his moods, and their emotions often mirrored one another. The dragon known to favor Driftmark only ever travelling as far as Wendwater near the Kingswood, had gone ahead far afield to meet her in the Vale. Perhaps that predetermined appointment was the kind of magic her late mother spoke of in the stories of her childhood.
Left alone while her patient mostly slept she’d washed his clothes and cleansed his skin to prevent the cuts from being infected. She’d seen the nude male form in books in her father’s vast library on Pentos, but never so close and in the flesh. She thought him more beautiful than any etching or tapestry could convey. Magnificent even.
“Star for your thoughts?”
Rhaena had been lost in the flames and did not notice his approach.
“Hmm…a stag perhaps, or a moon,” she said, patting the spot at her side and shifting to make room,
“...I already have a dragon”
“That you do,” he replied with a chuckle.
As he sat, his mirth turned into a groan but he waved away her look of concern.
“I’m alright. Thank you,” he said, swiveling his body to face her
“'...And Thank you," he continued, "is woefully insufficient to convey my gratitude for all you’ve done for me…”
The words were spoken with a depth of emotion that reverberated from his chest and broke on the last word. Rhaena felt a flush in her cheeks as the moment turned suddenly intimate. She felt she would throw her arms around him or run away and hide. She did neither, only stared mutely, uncharacteristic for her.
“Will you tell me your name?”
He'd offered her his, and much of his background she already knew. The revelation of his identity initially stunned Rhaena. The irony was poetic. She'd allowed only faint recognition to cross her face then, and carried on as they were, appearing unperturbed.
Rhaena chose to maintain her secret not because she felt in danger from him. On the contrary, there in their oasis where the encroaching world outside could nearly be forgotten, she felt secure. A part of her wanted to hold on to the fantasy as long as possible.
“Why, so you can see about paying me that star you owe?” she asked, nudging his shoulder playfully.
“Well, as a matter of accounting you would owe me!” he said, "you never did tell me what you were thinking.”
“Touché”
“Or who you are and how it is you have a dragon...” he said, counting off the fingers on one hand,
Rhaena laughed aloud. “You don't give up, do you?”
“Never!”
“Alright!” She threw her hands up. “Alright, ask me anything you haven’t asked already.”
“Where were you before you came here?” He raised his arm in a sweeping gesture.
“Fighting one hundred Triarchy warships in the Stepstones.”
She couldn’t tell from his expression if he believed her.
“Hm. And before that?”
Rhaena thought for a moment.
Before that, she’d flown south to the Narrow Sea in the hope of finding the Gay Abandon, the cog bound for Essos with her half-brothers on board. She intended to escort them safely to their destination as she was charged to, but came upon the vessel and its escorts just as they were being seized by the Triarchy fleet.
In the fray, one brave servant after releasing the hatchling Stormcloud from its pen, managed to escape on a small boat with young Prince Aegon. Rhaena found them stranded on a nearby island. From there she carried the boy to Dragonstone while Stormcloud, who was badly wounded, flew alongside.
She couldn’t tell Gwayne how in secret, she delivered the two to her sister. Baela had been shocked by her changed appearance. She told her Jace and the seeds, Addam, Ulf and Hugh, prepared to leave once more for the Stepstones as the fighting there intensified.
Rhaena had relayed to Baela how Aegon’s brother, young Viserys, was not so fortunate. She feared he was captured or worse. Although she would have been defenseless without a dragon, Rhaena knew the boys’ mother and her Queen, would never forgive her for leaving them in the first place.
Baela had packed her a satchel with things she might need like undergarments, a dagger, sewing kit, good boots and food. Before they parted, Rhaena made her swear to tell noone she was alive. No, she could not tell Gwayne that she might be something worse than a traitor.
“Maidenpool”
“Maidenpool! What did you there?”
She could tell him that after living in a cave on the mountainside for a week, when her strength was built up thanks to the scraps of mutton Sheepstealer kept leaving for her each day, she made her way down to the Wickenden, careful to cover her head with cloth torn from her underskirt.
At the busy port markets, she kept the silver well hidden and used copper coins to buy supplies, fishing net to fashion a saddle like her mother had for Vhagar, and plain clothes. A little omission was harmless, all things considered.
“This and that. I bought myself new clothes and hair dye. Alright, you get just one more,” she said, springing to her feet.
He regarded her seriously.
“The colour suits you,” he said, sincerely
“...and speaking of. Clothes I mean. Despite your choice in them, you carry yourself as a lady”
“How observant you are, my Lord. Though, I don't think that was a question, or was it?”
She appeared to be enjoying their banter.
“ My- Lord,” he repeated her words with emphasis,“Huh’” he said, cocking an eyebrow in mild curiosity but saying no more.
“Now my turn,” she said, turning towards him.
“Where were you before you found me?”
“Well..!?” she urged, impatient for his response.
He'd grown suddenly quiet.
When he looked up, the weariness in his eyes took her by surprise.
“Would it be terribly unfair if I rather we didn’t..?” he asked,
“It’s not you..,” he continued, in a gentle tone. “In fact, I think you’re quite wonderful.” His cheeks coloured and the slight smile that accompanied his words revealed perfect teeth.
Rhaena felt the flush of colour rise from her neck to her face.
He returned his gaze to the embers. Many had lost their intensity, turning from a fiery red to an ashen hue. Gwayne thought how he'd once projected an air of arrogance and cutting wit, and how greatly this war changed him, softening the sharp edges in its short span.
“What’s the matter?” She enquired, all joking set aside.
“I've done a terrible thing, I think." His words were punctuated with something she recognized even if she could not name it.
“I fear I was not there when my sister needed me most, and now it is too late," he said.
They sat in silence for some time, each with their thoughts as the dancing shadows around the camp slowly receded and pockets of darkness enveloped them until the fire finally died out.
Rhaena reached out and he took her hand.
Gwayne rose slowly to meet her, suppressing a wince as he steadied himself. She spontaneously wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him lightly at first.
When he leaned in, at ease with the close contact, their eyes met. Both felt the undeniable desire that smoldered between them all day begin to mount as they embraced.
“Look,” She whispered, pointing upward with a smile, “Hour of the bat".
The sky was inky and cloudless, the moon as full as if it would spill over and bathe them in stardust.
"Hour of the bat," he confirmed.
“Let’s go for a swim!”
Chapter Text
They undressed together, stripping bare to the coolness of the air which was still tempered by the season. Winter was only just beginning.
She'd brought medicine, healing salts from Maidenpool’s famed sweetwater bathhouse. The fine crystals glinted pink and purple in the moonlight, colored over time by the stone bottle containing them.
Rhaena felt at one with nature and her companion in the seclusion of their hideaway. Her body tingled with arousal and the newness of those sensations yet she was unabashed, emboldened by a sense of wonder and unfolding mystery.
She poured the salt in her palm, smoothing it into a paste with water from the pool. They stood on the mossy bank facing each other and she gently applied the salve all over, working across his chest, back and buttocks, then down his legs.
Her touch was electrifying, her form ethereal in the soft and milky light. Gwayne stood transfixed and at once transported to another place in time, when gods walked among men and communed with them in secret gardens. The scent of moonflowers and jasmine mingled with sea minerals in a delicate and heady balance.
All discomfort was forgotten when he began his dutiful ministration to her body, an experience akin to worship. His hands glided down her slender neck to massage her shoulders. She moaned softly when he traced his palms along the contours of her breasts and over her hips. He could not help but wonder at her beauty. It took his breath away.
The pool was not as shallow as it appeared so she clung to his shoulders and he held her at the waist to keep them both steady.
His sinewy arms, his touch, unlocked something delicious and forbidden inside. Rhaena was enthralled.
She gasped when their bodies pressed together and she felt his engorged member against her belly, but her eyes continued to hold his as they tread water.
“Do you know there’s a war on?" she asked, her voice breathy and ragged. “I am a woman, now eight and ten. I do not wish to die a virgin.”
Moments went by as the water lapped against them. They bobbed together in a fluid dance.
“Will you say something, anything …” she said, feeling slightly flustered. She wondered if she'd perhaps mistaken the synchronicity and sexual attraction she so strongly felt to be mutual.
A beat passed while he seemed to choose his words
“Surely, so precious a gift should be reserved for a husband, my Lady,” he said quietly,
“Someone youthful, who hasn't seen twice as many moons–?”
Rhaena raised a hand to gently touch his face, interrupting the argument.
With the other, she took his hand and placed it over her beating heart.
“Do you feel that?” she whispered. Gwayne nodded slowly, letting his palm rest over the gentle swell of her breasts.
There was no more need for words. Rhaena pressed her lips to his hungrily and he groaned, his supressed desire unleashed. He pulled her closer, blood pumping hotly through his veins. Their kiss deepened as they partook in its promised delights.
Somehow they returned to the camp and tumbled onto the makeshift bed, their bodies entangled.
He was patient and gentle, restraining his passion while her hands discovered the shape of him. Her touch was tentative at first but the heat and raw pleasure in his ragged whispers of encouragement inginited her senses and emboldened her sojourn. She stroked the hard shaft of his sex, intoxicated by his pulsating response when she brushed her fingers over the slick head.
Overtaken with desire he cupped her breasts, drinking in her scent as he nuzzled the delicate flesh of the areola before taking each one into his mouth. They were erect and full, and when he sucked gently she bucked, arching her back for more. Trailing kisses down her belly, he grasped her buttocks gently and continued to drink from the sweet flower between her thighs until molten heat consumed them both.
He traversed her body once more with his lips, raising himself up so that their eyes were level. Her nod signaled she was ready to receive him. He kissed her mouth as he pressed into her tender flesh with one smooth stroke. Her soft cry turning into moans of pleasure as he deepened the kiss and their bodies moved together.
Not far off, a low almost triumphant rumble emerged from the belly of her sleeping dragon.
When the rhythm of their lovemaking quickened, Gwayne slid his arm under her hip, raising her leg against his thigh for purchase and kissing her breathless. Rhaena returned the kiss with matched intensity, clutching his back and buttocks, urging him deeper.
They bodies were sleek with fine beads of sweat. She trembled beneath him as pleasure pulsed through her until the fountain of their union spilled over in shared release and they clung to each other, swept up in a shimmering tide; flooded with the warmth of a million stars.
~●~○~●~
“Come with me." His whisper cut through the dark and silence of the hour.
She did not respond at first. Her head and palm rested on his chest, her breathing was shallow and steady,
"Mm...," she mumbled contentedly
He playfully ruffled her already errant curls and continued to stroke her bare arm, pondering the events of the past days.
A part of him felt some chagrin for having taken so eagerly even if she had wanted him, he thought. She was not some wood-nymph or bedslave to be ravished and cast aside.
He did not care to which noble house she belonged, whether a princess or handmaid from some distant port. In mere days together she'd sparked in him expectant hope, flooded his senses with vim and vigor, captured his affections and his heart. A missing piece of him was found and he could not imagine a future apart.
She deserved the finest his name and house could offer and much more; this brave and wise young woman with the blood of dragons, who accepted him, and gave him her body and soul but would not give him her name.
The Hightowers were among the oldest, proudest and richest of the noble houses. Like his forebears, Gwayne preferred a life of trade and commerce over war and acquired substantial wealth of his own in the years between partaking in tourneys and going to King’s Landing at the request of his sister, in service to his nephew’s cause. It was a life to which he would gladly return if he survived the war.
“Come with me.” This time he had not meant to speak out the words on his heart, and not so loudly,
He thought she must be asleep, deliciously spent from their night of passion as he, so was surprised when she raised herself on one elbow.
“I cannot,’ her whisper matched his in urgency,
“...much as I want to,” she said,
“But my place is here. I must go West.”
“To Harrenhal?! But why…? It’s much too danger–” She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing the protest.
“I must.” Her eyes were wide, the two words spoken as gently as they were firm.
She kissed him, before turning to nestle her back into his bosom.
Gwayne enveloped her with his body and they burrowed deeper into the rough wool blanket for warmth.
Seconds drummed to the beating of their hearts and eyelids grew heavy. He leaned in to press his lips to her shoulder one last time
“I love you,” he said.
“What.. here…?” she rambled sleepily, “in this little camp in the woods, and on our very last night together…”
“Not just here and not only now,” Gwayne replied. “I love you forever and always. Is that quite mad?”
He'd half sat up as the weight and realization of his own words settled somewhere deep within.
Rhaena sighed contentedly, tugging him back down to wrap his body around hers.
“Nyke aōhon se ao issi ñuhon,”
The words in the tongue of Old Valyria were like music in his ears. Although he did not know their meaning, he heard the smile in her voice.
“...It isn't mad," she said
"You have my heart, and I love you."
Chapter Text
↝↠↜↠↝↠↜
My darling sister,
It has been too long since your last letter.
The telling of how you came upon your dragon in the Vale and calmed him by singing, caused me to shiver. How brave you are, and after near death on Dragonstone attempting to claim Vermithor.
For months, since Jacaerys was lost to sea and Lord Corlys' legacy razed in SpiceTown, I wondered if you returned and met with our father in the Vale. Our stepmother was so filled with rage and pain, she set out for King’s Landing right away, while father still searched for Vhagar from Maidenpool. All the while Aemond terrorized and burned Lord's Mill, Blackbuckle, Claypool, Sweetwillow and so much more of the Riverlands.
When Ser Alfred betrayed us making the way for Larys Strong and our cousin to take Dragonstone, with Sunfyre, I was lucky to escape with my life. As you know, Moondancer was not.
Sister, I wish I would have told Rhaenyra before she died that you did your duty, even if you did not wish me to. She should have thanked you rather than ordering Lord Manfryd to seek you out for punishment. Now she is dead, Viserys is returned and soon Aegon will be crowned, and you saved his life, sister! You did!
I never saw her at the end, sadly, nor Joffrey.
So much has been lost but I am happy to be back at home where I spent many good years with our grandmother. Sometimes I think I hear her voice out over the water, where our mother lies.
Indeed! I am happy to be here with Alyn. My husband is proud and headstrong but he loves me and I him. When will you end your self imposed exile, sister, and come to be with us? It's been nearly three years and much too long. I miss you dreadfully.
Are you truly happy on Pentos? I have many fond memories of our birthplace. Of mother and father, and days spent feasting and frolicking. Those were joyous times. To be guests of a Pentoshi magister, and feted by the Prince were some of the most magical things any child could imagine. Do you feel closer to our mother there? Now I have a little one of my own, I miss her even more. I can’t wait for you to meet your niece. She is like her father, salt and sea. She has your nose.
Do say you will return soon. Perhaps we could attend Aegon’s coronation together. That is if you are not attending with your new husband. I’m joking. I hope you’re not vexed with me for sending along Ser Corwyn’s letter. It’s been over a month, please say you will give him an answer. He is smitten with you, and has been since you met in the Eyrie.
Write soon.
All my Love, Baela
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Dearest Baela,
I miss you too. Very much.
My niece must be a jewel and a delight if she is anything like her mother. I cannot wait to pick her up in my arms and kiss her face.
To speak of my dragon is to speak of my life, for without him I would be but dust and dry bones blowing in the wind, lost to time. He quite literally saved me, kept me warm that dusky day we came face to face and I collapsed before him, with nothing to offer but the old lullaby that mother and father had sung to their dragons, and taught to us.
He is battle weary now and prefers to spend his days languidly in the hills to the east of the city.
Have you heard news of our father?
After SpiceTown, I traveled toward Harrenhal in the hopes of meeting him there to fight by his side. The journey was arduous as I made much of it on foot through deep forest, for fear of crossing paths with the Greens or Vhagar. It was no secret Aemond ravaged the riverlands from Harrenhal, hoping that Rhaenyra would send a dragon after him.
I travelled for many days and was close when I heard from an innkeeper that Aemond had arrived to meet Daemon. He was with his bedmaid, Alys Rivers, a seer said to have foretold their end above the Gods Eye. I never much subscribed to superstition but after everything I’ve seen I think anything is possible. I searched for our father myself. His body was never found. He may yet live.
I fear I bore you with morose tales of battle and bloodshed, you already know well. I did return briefly to the Vale to collect one of the dragon eggs left in Lady Jeyne’s keep, and was on my way back to King’s Landing when I learned Rhaenyra had ordered Addam and I be arrested. And arrested Lord Corlys!
I tried to look for you but in all the chaos, with the coup and counter-coup, I realized I could trust no one. Soon afterward, I left Westeros to seek safety in Essos. Sister, you suffered grave ordeals, imprisonment and threats to your life. I feel ashamed for abandoning you. I should have done more. I am deeply sorry.
I do think of our mother often. I feel her love here, and her light. She was a brave and gentle soul, and I can only hope to one day be half as good a mother as she.
I’m pleased you find peace and happiness on Driftmark. I must thank my brother-in-law for his part in it. Does our grandsire fare well?
I am not vexed dear sister, I know you only desire what is best for me. I am fond of Ser Corwyn and the Corbrays are a good house. I received his proposal and assure you I am thinking on it.
Take care, dear sister.
All my Love, Rhaena
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~//~//~
Gwayne grew restless and irritable with each passing day he pondered his decision. After searching for Rhaena for so long and fearing the worst, to learn that not only might she be alive but on the heels of that news, that she might be in receipt of a proposal of marriage to another man, was too much to bear. He had to be sure.
The past two years and two hundred nights have been wretched, but when he closes his eyes he still sees her face. He can remember the sound of her voice, melodious and rich, and the feeling of her heart beating in rhythm with his. When he closes his eyes they are together again, fingers entwined as they gaze into each other's eyes.
How could he have failed so?
The party that came upon him, crazed and frantically searching for her after he woke, were convinced he suffered from fevered delusions. Once he returned to Oldtown, the maester who removed the sutures at his temple marveled at their neatness and his luck in that the blade to his abdomen had not struck a vital organ.
He also remarked that Gwayne’s recovery was greatly helped by the care and cleaning of his wounds, a life-saving benefit few were ever fortunate to receive on the battlefield.
He'd been most fortunate, yes, and then carelessly let her go! Though they were never before acquainted, how did he not deduce despite her dyed hair, that the maiden traveling with a dragon through Blackwater Rush was none other than the younger of Daemon Targaryen’s daughters? he thought.
The war itself had taken many turns with victory one day and defeat the next, on either side. Daeron's death had hit the hardest.
His cousin Ormund Hightower, who once commanded the greens' army from the Reach was killed at Tumbleton. His uncle Hobert sacrificed himself in poisoining Ser Ulf White the turncoat, and Lord Unwin Peake led the remnants of the Hightower host in retreat.
When he learned Aemond and Daemon clashed above the God’s Eye and were killed, he also learned Rhaenyra was angry with her step-daughter and sought to seize her. So he made only discreet enquiries about Rhaena’s possible whereabouts and only through trusted channels.
Amid the fall of King’s Landing, Otto Hightower was killed and Alicent at one point was taken captive then released. In reflecting on his relationship with his father and the latter's end, Gwayne perhaps understood why Otto hadn’t encouraged him to visit throughout the years, but instead charged him with responsibilities at home.
Gwayne had been happy to receive and mentor his nephew in Oldtown, but grew increasingly disturbed as he heard how his father’s ambitions poisoned his sister and caused her to lose perspective. And there was Cole, on his vengeful quest.
A small mercy Helaena and her daughter, the only true innocents on the greens' side of it all, were saved from the carnage that descended on the Red Keep. For this, Gwayne had offered Larys Strong his gratitude and any support they would need.
While the war was still hot, he continued to seek word regarding Rhaena. After Rhaenyra lost the throne, Larys Strong who still had Aegon’s ear, struck something of an agreement with Corlys Velaryon. Aegon died suddenly under questionable circumstances, as tragically as he lived. Only then did Gwayne feel it was safe to use all the resources at his disposal and look for Rhaena more openly.
While he faithfully fulfilled his duty as Lord of Oldtown, his heart was far off. He’d heard wild stories, of a maiden who lived in a cave, a skinny, brown-skinned girl with a ferocious mud brown dragon. Others spoke about a fire witch that lived in a hidden valley within the mountains.
He searched all of Westeros to no avail. Finally, one of the ears in his employ brought word through a servant sympathetic to the 'benevolent request from a good Ser in Oldtown' and a small bribe, that the Lady of Driftmark had been sending letters in secret to Essos.
Gwayne contemplated writing to her. Perhaps if he confessed his devotion to her sister, expressed his desperate desire to see Rhaena once more and do whatever it would take, perhaps if he did this Baela might understand.
But he'd held back. Reminded by his own scars of the loss and trauma so many lived with from day to day after the fighting ended, he did not wish to visit any more pain on his beloved's family.
If she was alive, a belief he desperately held to, they might well know her whereabouts yet maintained what may be her desire to keep the information discreet. Being uncertain, it would not profit anyone if he raised a question to which they did not have the answer or could not tell it. His approach would need to be delicate and direct. He had to find her, even if she would reject him.
It was in the midst of preparing to travel that he received the report of Corwyn Corbray's letter to Baela Velaryon, to be forwarded on his behalf. Corbray was recently widowed and it didn’t take much for Gwayne to guess his intentions.
Oldtown, the richest city in Westeros was home to the realm's second most important port and trading ships from around the world called upon it. On a clear winter’s morning, two months before the coronation of Aegon III Targaryen, Gwayne Hightower, following his heart, set out from Whispering Sound on the Amaranthine Star, on a course due south around the lowest point of Westeros then up passed Sunspear to Tyrosh and through the Narrow Sea onto Pentos. A journey of about four weeks.
~//~//~
Rhaena’s gaze was drawn across the study to where her daughter played happily with a toy, seated on one of the soft, patterned Myrish carpets that adorned their chambers. The infant’s dragon looked on curiously. Just a hatchling, Morning's scales were pale pink, and she had a black crest and horn.
The child’s copper curls shone in the late afternoon light.
Just like her father’s.
That thought came to Rhaena's mind often. It was uncanny just how much the little one already favoured Gwayne. Down to the shape of her smile and colour of her eyes.
Rhaena’s own hair had returned to its natural state. She no longer styled it in the elaborate coifs Velaryon women were known for, but instead held the silver curls back with a simple barret or a single braid over one shoulder.
Having affixed a seal, she set the letter in the burnished bronze receptacle from where it would be retrieved to be delivered at the next departing by boat to Driftmark.
“Come, Alyrie”
Not two years old and smart as a whip, the child sprung up with arms outstretched toward her mother. Rhaena rubbed their noses together which elicited a squeal of delight.
“Would you like to take a walk in the garden?” she asked.
Alyrie nodded vigorously, and babbled back “Da-dden?”, which made Rhaena chuckle,
“Yes, gar-den.”
Their hosts, who had been friends with her parents, were most generous and provided more than enough accommodation for Rhaena, her daughter and the handful of helpers she required. The manse had high brick walls with guarded gates which offered a sense of safety. Her chambers were more comfortable than anything she’d been used to in Westeros.
A marble pool graced the main courtyard which was surrounded by orange trees, with paved paths to a sprawling garden of blooming poppies, lavender and lilac, with the soft pastels of fragrant roses and bellflowers, and vibrant golden cup and sunflowers reaching toward the sky.
Before long, Alyrie’s head nodded on her shoulder but she kept going, shifting the child's weight on her hip. Rhaena enjoyed these walks. She’d filled out a little from motherhood and her more sedentary lifestyle, so she took every opportunity for exercise. It was also the perfect place to think.
She remembers the last time she saw Gwayne as if it was yesterday. She’d awakened to the sound of hunting dogs off in the distance, surely a search party. Sheepstealer was already agitating as if to urge her on. She was tempted to wake him but he slept so peacefully she decided against it. It would be easier not to have to say good-bye.
The vigor of their activity the night before had upset the laceration on his abdomen and blood seeped from the wound. Hastily, she pulled on her clothes and dressed the cut with the only clean garment remaining in her satchel, a white linen kerchief with her initials embroidered on one corner.
As the barking grew closer, he’d stirred but remained asleep. She lit a small fire and covered it with damp leaves to send up smoke. Then, moving quickly away from the canopy and into the clearing she began to run. Sheepstealer was up ahead. His spiny mass ambled along, covering the distance across the field and gaining momentum. He flapped his bat-like wings and turned to look at her before ascending to the sky.
“Naejot, Zāeres!,”
She’d whispered the command, and although he was already disappearing in the distance he let out a loud bellow. She ran faster and further away from the approaching men, heading West, to Harrenhal.
The war had ended and Rhaena had no idea if Gwayne was alive or dead. If he was alive she had no way to know if he meant the things he said to her. Had he perhaps been caught up in the moment? Facing death will do that to any man.
Perhaps he was alive, learned her identity after the fact and was repulsed that he slept with the enemy, a betrayal of his family's loyalty. Deep down she did not believe this to be true but had to contend with the likelihood.
If he was dead, a thought her heart thoroughly rejected, but if he was, so also would be the possibility of his daughter taking the name Flowers, for who of the Hightower house would believe her claim? Either way, there was no discreet means for her to enquire without raising intrusive questions.
Rhaena passed the lamp lighters as she made her way back to their quarters. Once inside, she lay Alyrie on a daybed, careful not to disturb her nap. She placed a soft kiss on her forehead, smoothing it with her thumb. She would rouse her for supper which was served late.
She must think of the child’s future, which is why she would write to Ser Corwyn accepting his proposal. If he loved her as he declared, then he may accept her daughter, and be willing to legitimize her. Otherwise, Rhaena was determined she would bear the Targaryen name and any claim that came with it. She might yet compel her half-brother, the King, to take her part should it be challenged.
Rhaena’s lady companion approached, and gave a small curtsy, hesitating at the door.
“Tyana, is everything alright?”
“Em, you have r’ visitor, M’ Lady.” Her brogue thickened when she was nervous.
“A visitor …at this hour?”
“A nobl'man, M'am, ez boat jes arrived at port this night, sez it’s urgent, M’am,"
"...Em…e sez to tell ya …It’s like e sed– Forever and always..?”
Rhaena’s eyes widened and Tyana’s cheeks flushed. She may not know the meaning of the missive but could sense Rhaena’s nervous energy on hearing it.
“Please…,” Rhaena said. The words stuck in her throat and she struggled to recover them,
“Show him in.”
Gwayne stood at the door and took in the sight before him. He gazed at the face of the woman across the room. She looked at home and in command of her environment. Her hair was silver and hung in a loose braid over one shoulder, contrasting the deep blue of her silk dress.
Her slender features had filled out a little which made her even more impossibly beautiful. Many nights he'd lain awake reliving their moments together, recommitting every part of her to memory. Gods how he missed her.
“Rhaena” He spoke her name, but was unsure if a sound came out.
It didn’t matter because they both crossed the space between them in a flash. He showered her with his tears and kisses and she cried from joy, slow to believe he was really there.
Their reunion was interrupted as Alyrie stirred. The child sat up and whimpered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one chubby pink fist.
It was Gwayne’s turn to be stunned again. He dropped to his knees in wide-eyed wonder at the little miracle he beheld. He held his hands to his mouth, unable to contain his emotion.
Smiling broadly through her own tears, Rhaena picked up their daughter and carried her into her father’s tender embrace which encircled them both.
Epilogue
Lady Rhaena Targaryen and Lord Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown would be blessed six times over- their devotion to each other and to their daughters recorded as a testament in the annals. A poem of abiding love.