Chapter Text
The sky stretched wide and endless before them, painted in hues of deep blue and wisps of white. The wind roared past, whipping silver and dark hair alike, but Aerys barely noticed. He was too enthralled, his bright eyes fixed ahead as Ashfyr, no longer a hatchling but not yet fully grown, soared alongside them. The little red dragon flapped his wings furiously to keep up with the larger beasts, letting out joyful calls as he looped around Caraxes, dipping and weaving through the air with the reckless energy of youth.
Aerys beamed, his cheeks flushed from the wind and exhilaration. “He’s so fast now!” he called over his shoulder, his voice filled with awe.
Daemon chuckled, his grip steady on the reins as Caraxes rumbled beneath them, his massive wings cutting through the air with powerful, deliberate strokes. “Aye, but let’s see how he does on the descent,” Daemon said, his sharp eyes flicking to the young dragon. “Flying is easy. Landing is where skill is tested.”
Behind them, Lyra tightened her arms around Daemon’s waist, her golden eyes watching their son’s dragon with a mixture of pride and amusement. “He’ll manage,” she murmured, her voice lost to the wind. “Like his father, he has no fear of falling.”
Valenya let out a delighted squeal, strapped snugly to Daemon’s chest, her tiny hands grasping at the air as if trying to catch the sky itself. She was too young to understand, but even she seemed to revel in the sensation of flight, giggling whenever Caraxes banked sharply.
Not far from them, Syrax gleamed like molten gold against the sky, her vast wings carrying Rhaenyra and Harwin as she twisted and played in the air. She let out a playful roar, dipping low before rising again, as if teasing Ashfyr to follow. The young dragon chirped in response, flaring his wings and giving chase, though he quickly tired and drifted back toward Caraxes, finding brief respite on the older dragon’s back.
Aerys laughed, watching Ashfyr cling to Caraxes with his claws, the larger dragon wholly unbothered by the extra weight. “He likes Caraxes!”
Daemon smirked. “Good. He’ll need a mentor.”
Before long, the sky gave way to the sight of Harrenhal, its colossal towers and charred, ruined walls casting jagged shadows over the land below. The cursed castle loomed ahead, an imposing sight against the riverlands’ green fields. As they neared, Daemon gave a sharp tug on Caraxes’ reins, and the Blood Wyrm let out a deep, throaty growl before beginning his descent. Syrax followed close behind, her golden wings folding slightly as she glided toward the open clearing near the castle.
Aerys gripped the saddle tightly, exhilarated as the ground rushed up to meet them. Ashfyr peeled away, doing a small loop before landing awkwardly beside the older dragons, shaking his wings as if to shake off the strain of the long flight.
The moment their feet touched the ground, knights approached, leading a line of well-groomed horses. The knights in armor bearing the sigil of House Strong stepped forward, their polished breastplates gleaming under the fading sunlight. With deep bows, they greeted the royal party, their eyes flickering between their lord’s son and the princess who stood beside him.
“Welcome to Harrenhal, Your Grace,” the lead knight intoned, his voice steady with reverence as he addressed Rhaenyra. “And welcome home, my lord.”
Harwin dismounted smoothly, landing with a solid thud before turning to the knight with a wide grin. “Home,” he echoed, glancing up at the towering fortress that loomed over them all. “It’s been some time.”
Rhaenyra slid from Syrax’s back with practiced ease, her hand brushing over the golden scales in silent gratitude before turning her attention to the stronghold. The weight of Harrenhal’s history pressed upon her, but she met it with quiet confidence. “It is grand,” she admitted, though there was something ancient and heavy in the air, as if the stone itself whispered of all it had witnessed.
Before she could say more, Aerys rushed up to her, his silver hair windswept, his cheeks flushed with excitement. He tugged at her sleeve, practically bouncing on his feet. “Did you see Ashfyr?” he asked eagerly. “He kept up the whole way! And he landed all on his own!”
Rhaenyra smiled warmly, crouching slightly to meet his bright, mismatched gaze. “I did,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “He was fearless. Just like his rider.”
Harwin chuckled, reaching over to ruffle the boy’s hair. “And just like his sire,” he teased, nodding toward Daemon, who was handing Valenya off to Lyra. “You’ll be leading flights over Harrenhal before long.”
Aerys grinned, glancing back at Ashfyr, who was stretching his wings with a pleased rumble. “Maybe tomorrow?”
Rhaenyra laughed. “Let’s settle in first, little dragon.”
The knights moved to bring forth the waiting horses, their polished bridles glinting in the light. The banners of House Strong rippled in the wind as they prepared to make their way toward the looming gates.
Harwin exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on the towering stronghold before turning to Rhaenyra with a grin. “Come,” he said, his voice lighter than before but carrying a note of something deeper. “Let’s see what home has in store for us.”
***
As they rode through the rolling fields surrounding Harrenhal, the knights escorting them shared what had transpired in their absence.
“The king and his retinue arrived two days past,” one of them informed Rhaenyra and Harwin. “Lord Lionel Strong welcomed His Grace personally, as well as Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena, Prince Aemond, and Prince Vaegon.”
Rhaenyra nodded, unsurprised. Her father had left the capital nearly a moon ago, entrusting the realm’s governance to her and Princess Rhaenys as Hand of the King. While the royal procession moved at a measured pace by the sea, she and her family had only taken flight from the capital that morning, pausing briefly in a clearing deep in the woods to rest and take their midday meal.
Aerys, still brimming with energy despite the long flight, twisted in his saddle to look up at her and Harwin. “I can’t wait to see Aegon and Helaena again!” he said eagerly. “Do you think they missed me?”
Harwin chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his son’s silver hair. “I think Aegon’s been counting the days until he can knock you off your feet again.”
Aerys grinned, unbothered by the prospect of another wrestling match with his younger cousin. “I’ll win this time!”
The group pressed on, the towering silhouette of Harrenhal growing closer with every stride. Soon, they passed beneath the shadow of the blackened walls, the sheer size of the fortress swallowing them whole. Rhaenyra had seen many great castles—King’s Landing, Dragonstone, Driftmark—but even she felt the weight of Harrenhal’s enormity pressing upon her. Its history clung to the stone like an unseen specter, whispering of all that had been lost within these halls.
Yet, for all its darkness, the sight of their waiting family at the castle’s entrance brought warmth to the moment. The courtyard buzzed with anticipation.
At the forefront stood King Viserys, his golden crown gleaming in the waning light. Despite the weariness of travel still lingering upon him, his face lit up with unrestrained joy at the sight of his daughter and her husband.
Rhaenyra dismounted with practiced ease, stepping forward just as her father opened his arms. She crossed the distance between them, allowing herself to be wrapped in his embrace.
“My sweet girl,” Viserys murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “It is good to see you.”
“And you, Father,” Rhaenyra replied, her voice soft with affection. She pulled back slightly, taking in the flush of color on his cheeks and the brightness in his eyes. “You seem well.”
Viserys smiled. “I’ve been enjoying the sea, if you can believe it, and the riverland. The air here is different—cleaner, crisper.” He chuckled. “And your brother Aegon has been a menace to every knight who dared to spar with him.”
At the mention of his name, Aegon came bounding forward, his silver hair disheveled and his tunic slightly wrinkled, evidence of some prior mischief. He barely stopped before throwing his arms around Aerys, nearly knocking the older boy over.
“You took too long!” Aegon declared, grinning.
Aerys laughed. “We came on dragons! You took too long.”
Nearby, Helaena watched with a gentle smile before approaching more softly. “I knew you’d come today,” she told Aerys, clasping his hand in hers. “The dragonflies told me.”
Aerys blinked at her, then turned to Rhaenyra, his expression half-confused, half-impressed. “Dragonflies talk?”
Rhaenyra only smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “With Helaena, it seems they do.”
As the royal family greeted one another, Lord Lionel Strong stepped forward, his face a mix of pride and solemnity. He greeted his son first, clasping Harwin’s forearm in a firm grip before turning to Rhaenyra.
“Princess,” he said warmly. “It is an honor to welcome you to Harrenhal at last.”
“The honor is mine, my lord,” Rhaenyra replied graciously.
Larys Strong emerged from the group next, his usual mild expression in place as he regarded the newcomers. His gaze flickered briefly to Lyra, and for a moment, the faintest trace of amusement danced in his eyes.
“We have made the necessary arrangements for your dragons,” he informed them, his voice smooth and even. “A stock of livestock has been prepared along the rocky shore of the God’s Eye, where they may feed freely. The dragonkeepers deemed it a suitable location.”
Daemon nodded approvingly, adjusting the strap securing Valenya against his chest. “Good. Caraxes will want to stretch his wings again before nightfall.”
Larys inclined his head. “And for yourselves, refreshments await inside. I imagine the journey has left you in need of wine and something warm to eat.”
Harwin slung an arm around Rhaenyra’s waist, pulling her closer with a smirk. “That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
With that, the gates of Harrenhal were opened, and the royal family was welcomed inside.
***
The family hall of Harrenhal was a far cry from the grand feasting chambers of the Red Keep, but what it lacked in scale, it more than made up for in warmth. The long wooden table was laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, and flagons of wine, the flickering candlelight casting golden hues over the gathered faces of the Targaryens and the Strongs. Tonight was not a formal affair, not a political gathering, but a simple family dinner—one filled with laughter, stories, and the comfort of loved ones reunited.
Viserys was particularly animated, his eyes bright as he recounted their journey across the Crownlands and the Vale, gesturing enthusiastically with his goblet.
“A moon on the road, but I must say, it was well worth it. My children have seen more of their legacy than most Targaryens ever do.” He beamed at Aegon and Helaena, seated beside him, before turning to Rhaenyra and Daemon. “We stopped at Dragonstone first, of course. I wanted them to see our ancestral seat.”
Aerys, seated between Lyra and his uncle Harwin, perked up. “Dragonstone?” His golden eye shone with curiosity. “Did you see the dragons?”
Aegon, only five but full of princely pride, lifted his chin. “We did. Big ones and little ones. Sunfyr was very brave,” he said, referring to his own young dragon. “And I was too.”
Daemon smirked over his wine. “Were you now?”
Aegon nodded vigorously. “I fought with the knights.”
Rhaenyra, seated across from him, arched a brow. “Fought?”
“With wooden swords,” Viserys corrected, chuckling. “Ser Westerling humored the boy, and I dare say Aegon gave him a fine match.”
Daemon snorted into his cup, while Harwin murmured, “That must have been quite the sight.”
Vaegon, ever composed, regarded his great-nephew with mild amusement. “If only your skill with words matched your swordplay, we would have another Jaehaerys the Conciliator in our midst.”
Aegon wrinkled his nose at the comparison, while Helaena quietly twirled a strand of her silver hair, lost in thought.
“After Dragonstone, we sailed to Claw Isle,” Viserys continued, eyes gleaming. “The Celtigars were honored to host dragons in their halls, even small ones like Sunfyr and Maeryth. I must say, it’s been long since Claw Isle saw such a sight.”
Vaegon, the eldest in the room but still as sharp as ever, took a measured sip of wine before adding, “Dragonstone was as I remembered it, though I confess it has changed much since my youth. “But Maidenpool—” He exhaled, his eyes distant, as if he were looking back across the years. “It was strange to walk the halls where my mother nearly died all those years. I recall the tales, but to see the place with my own eyes…”
The hall quieted, the weight of history settling over them. The story of Queen Alysanne’s harrowing moment in Maidenpool was well known, but for Vaegon, it was not just history—it was memory.
“I was not born yet when it happened,” he continued, fingers absently tracing the rim of his goblet. “Mother had traveled with her ladies to the pools, hoping the waters would soothe her during the final moons of her pregnancy. None expected treachery there, yet it found her all the same.”
Aerys, wide-eyed with curiosity, leaned in closer. “What happened?”
Vaegon’s gaze flicked to him, then to Rhaenyra, who was listening just as intently. He sighed. “A group of zealot septas turned on her, claiming she had no right to rule, that dragons were an affront to the Seven. Probably monsters that work for the same who sought to destroy us through the years. ” His expression darkened. “She was heavy with child and vulnerable, but her ladies-in-waiting, young and brave, fought to protect her, naked. If not for these women’s courage, I might have lost my mother that day and none of us would be here today.”
Rhaenyra’s brows furrowed, her hands tightening in her lap. “And the guards?”
Vaegon let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. “The men were not allowed inside the pool, to protect the virtue of the women presented. But that day, she learned a valuable lesson—one that changed her guard forever.” He leaned back in his chair, looking at Aegon and Aerys now. “After that attack, my mother swore she would never again rely solely on men for protection. She sought out the finest warrior she could find, one who had no place among lords and knights but who had the skill to best them all.”
Daemon, who had heard the story before, smirked knowingly. “Jonquil Dark.”
Vaegon inclined his head. “Jonquil Dark.” He allowed himself the faintest of smiles. “A woman with a blade as swift as any knight’s. My mother gave her a place in her household, not just as a sworn sword but as a statement: a woman could defend a queen just as well—perhaps better—than any man.” He let out a quiet breath. “I remember her well. She was no ordinary guard. To me, as a child, she was something out of legend. A woman in armor, moving like a shadow, sharp-eyed and unyielding. Even after I was sent to the Citadel, I still heard stories of her feats.”
Lyra, intrigued, tilted her head. “Did you see her fight?”
Vaegon nodded. “Once. When I was a boy, she sparred against three of the Kingsguard at once. She danced around them like a phantom, slipping through their defenses as though she had been born with a blade in hand. Not one of them could touch her.”
Aegon, always eager for tales of combat, grinned. “I wish I could’ve seen that!”
Viserys chuckled, shaking his head. “She was a remarkable woman, and my grandmother’s faith in her was well-placed. It was unusual for the Queen to rely on a woman for her protection, to consider a woman among the ranks of the guard.”
Rhaenyra, thoughtful, glanced at Harwin, then back at Vaegon. “Perhaps it is time such traditions extended further. There are many women capable of wielding steel, and I could use all the protection for when I am queen.”
Vaegon regarded her for a long moment before offering a rare nod of approval. “Perhaps.”
The hall quieted for a moment, the weight of history settling over them.
Lyra, ever attuned to such shifts, offered gently, “And from there, you took the carriage to Harrenhal?”
“Yes,” Viserys said, regaining his warmth. “The final stretch of our journey. And now, here we are.” He raised his cup. “At last, reunited with my daughter and my son-by-law, and surrounded by family.”
Harwin, ever steady, lifted his own goblet. “To family.”
The sentiment echoed around the table, cups raised, voices warm.
***
The warmth of the fire flickered across the family hall, casting a golden glow over the gathered Targaryens and Strongs. The air was rich with the scent of roasted meats and honeyed wine, the crackling hearth adding to the evening’s comfort. Laughter and conversation flowed like a river, and at the heart of it sat Aerys, bright-eyed and eager, recounting his journey to Harrenhal.
“Uncle, you should’ve seen Ashfyr!” Aerys exclaimed, his hands animated as he spoke. “He was so excited, he wouldn’t stop flying in circles around Caraxes.” His golden and violet eyes sparkled with delight as he turned to Viserys, who leaned forward with amused indulgence.
“Oh? And did my brave nephew command his dragon well?” the king asked, grinning.
Aerys puffed out his chest. “Of course! Father let me ride in front, and Mother was behind him, holding on so we wouldn’t fall. But Ashfyr didn’t want to fly too far from Caraxes. He kept chirping at me, like he wanted me to join him.”
Lionel chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like your dragon’s as loyal as he is playful.”
Aegon, who had been listening intently, clapped his hands together. “And then? Did you land anywhere?”
Aerys nodded eagerly. “Yes! We stopped in the middle of the mountains for lunch. There was a big clearing with soft grass, and Caraxes landed first. Ashfyr followed, but he almost tumbled when he tried to land too fast.” He giggled at the memory. “But he got back up quickly—he’s strong, just like me.”
Lyra, seated beside Daemon, smiled at her son’s enthusiasm. “And what did you do while we rested?” she prompted, already knowing he would tell the tale with all the excitement of a young boy on his first great adventure.
Aerys’ expression turned even more animated. “Ser Harwin started a fire, but then Ashfyr wanted to help, so he puffed out a little flame! It wasn’t big, but it made the wood catch.” He glanced at Viserys, who was watching him with pride. “Uncle, he’s only a little bigger than a pony, but he can already breathe fire!”
Viserys laughed, placing a gentle hand on Aerys’ silver hair. “That is a great feat indeed. Soon enough, he’ll be as fierce as Caraxes himself.”
Aegon gasped dramatically. “No way! Caraxes is enormous.”
Aerys grinned. “But Ashfyr is fast! And he’s smart, too.” His excitement softened slightly, and a different warmth crept into his voice. “And then, after we ate, Mother put Valenya on a blanket to rest, and I played with her.”
Vaegon’s brows lifted in amusement. “Did you now?”
Aerys nodded. “She likes my fingers,” he said, holding up his small hands. “She kept grabbing them, and she tried to chew on them, but she has no teeth!” He giggled, and the sound was contagious.
Lyra laughed softly. “She does seem rather fond of you, my love.”
“She makes little noises, like a hatchling,” Aerys added, looking at Daemon. “Father, do you think she’ll like dragons?”
Daemon smirked, sipping his wine. “She has no choice, does she? With you as her brother, she’ll grow up surrounded by them.”
Aerys beamed. “Good! Because Ashfyr likes her too. He curled up near her while she napped.”
Vaegon, who had been quiet, watching the boy’s eager storytelling with mild amusement, finally spoke. “It seems you already understand the bond between dragon and rider. You observe, you listen—you are growing into a fine Targaryen, young prince.”
Aerys flushed at the praise, his small hands tightening into fists with pride. “Thank you, Uncle Vaegon.”
Viserys, who had been watching the exchange, sighed contentedly and raised his cup. “To our future—to our dragons, our family, and the bonds that tie us together.”
A chorus of agreement followed, goblets raised in a toast. As the feast carried on, the warmth of kinship and the legacy of dragons surrounded them, promising many more tales yet to come.
***
The halls of Harrenhal were quiet, the grand fortress settled into the hush of night. Most of the household had retired, the echoes of laughter and conversation from dinner fading into silence. Daemon moved with a light step, making his way from the shared chamber where Aerys and Aegon slept soundly, their small forms tangled in a mess of blankets and silver hair. He had read to them until their eyelids grew heavy, his voice lulling them into slumber. Now, with the scent of the fire’s embers clinging to his tunic, he made his way to his own chambers.
Inside, the air was warm, touched with the faint scent of lavender and the softer notes of his wife’s skin. Lyra stood by the cradle, adjusting the delicate blanket around Valenya’s tiny form. The infant sighed in her sleep, her little hands curling near her face.
Daemon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his wife with quiet admiration. “You have a magic touch,” he murmured, his voice low and fond.
Lyra glanced over her shoulder, her gold eyes glinting in the candlelight. “She was restless after feeding, but she’s settled now.” She traced a finger gently across their daughter’s downy hair before turning fully to face him. “And Aerys?”
Daemon smirked. “Out like a snuffed candle. He fought it, of course. Kept asking for one more story.”
Lyra chuckled. “He always does.”
Daemon stepped closer, his hands finding her waist with a familiar ease, thumbs brushing against the fabric of her nightgown. “I should’ve told him about the time I made Caraxes do a dive so steep the entire Velaryon fleet thought we’d crashed into the sea.”
Lyra scoffed, tilting her head up at him. “And have him attempt the same with Ashfyr? I’d rather you not give our son reckless ideas before bed.”
Daemon grinned. “That’s your job, is it?”
“Someone has to keep his feet on the ground,” she teased, leaning into him.
His hands slid lower, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed together, warmth and familiarity settling between them. “Speaking of the ground… I hear you have grand plans to explore this grand ruin of a castle tomorrow.”
Lyra hummed, eyes glinting with anticipation. “Larys is going to take me through it. I want to see how much of its past still lingers.”
Daemon snorted. “A ruin it may still be, but I’ll admit the clubfoot has done a half-decent job keeping it from crumbling into the lake.”
Lyra smirked. “High praise, coming from you.”
He kissed the curve of her jaw, his lips brushing against her skin with teasing slowness. “Don’t tell him. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Lyra laughed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Daemon nipped at her throat before lifting her effortlessly off her feet. She gasped in surprise, then melted into him, laughter turning to a sigh as he carried her to bed. The mattress dipped beneath them as he set her down, his body following, pressing her gently into the soft linen sheets.
He braced himself above her, their faces close, his silver hair falling in loose waves around them like a curtain. His fingers traced the shape of her jaw, down the column of her throat, to the delicate strap of her nightgown. He took his time, as he always did when the world outside their chambers was silent—when they were free to be only husband and wife, not prince and lady, not dragonrider and noblewoman.
Lyra exhaled as his lips found her collarbone, the heat of his breath sending shivers down her spine. She threaded her fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, drawing a satisfied hum from him. His touch was reverent, knowing, as if memorizing her all over again.
“You smell like fire,” she whispered against his temple.
“And you smell like lavender.” His lips curved into a smirk against her skin. “Soft. Sweet.”
She arched slightly as his hands skimmed down her sides, slow and deliberate. “Daemon…”
He lifted his head, his violet eyes darkened with something deeper than mere desire. “Yes, my love?”
Lyra ran her fingers along the back of his neck, holding him close. “I love you.”
His expression softened, the ever-present mischief giving way to something raw. He cupped her face, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips before murmuring against them, “And I, you.”
What followed was unhurried—a dance between fire and moonlight, the night stretching long and sweet, the warmth of their love wrapping around them like dragonfire—fierce, unyielding, and eternal.