Chapter Text
130 AC Dragonstone,
“There you are,” Rhaenyra smiled as she walked into her solar. The painted table wasn’t lit but the hearth was, roaring in the background to cast the large room into a warm light.
Her sweet Luke looked up. His hand hovered over the island of Driftmark, his thumb gracing over the carved lumps and letters. Luke had grown much in the short time on Driftmark, and Rhaenyra missed him something fierce. Her sweet boy was growing into a young man with every day. She could still remember holding him at her breast as if it were yesterday.
“The Sea Snake’s going to die, isn’t he?”
Rhaenyra sighed at the fear in her boy’s tone. She closed the distance to wrap her arms around him, crushing him to her chest. If she could absolve Luke of all this stress, she would. “Luke…”
He let her hold him for only a few moments before pushing back gently. “I can’t be Lord of the Tides,” he swallowed. Big blue eyes stared pleadingly at her, to understand, to take this burden off his thin shoulders. “Grandsire was the greatest sailor who ever lived. I get greensick before the ship even leaves the harbour! I’ll just ruin everything. I don’t want Driftmark.”
Her sweet boy sucked in a breath to calm himself as his voice raised octaves into a scared shriek. His next words came out almost murmured. “It should have passed on to Ser Vaemond.”
Rhaenyra had had enough. She fixed Lucerys with a gentle but firm stare. “We don’t choose our destiny, Luke. It chooses us.”
“Grandsire let you choose whether you’d be his Heir. You told us so,” he argued back.
“And do you want to know the truth of it?” Her son nodded without thinking, eager and relieved. “I was frightened. I was four-and-ten, same as you are now. I wasn’t ready to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But it was my duty. And, in time and with the help of others, I came to understand I had to earn my inheritance.”
Lucerys dropped his head. He bit his lip and looked back up into her eyes. “I’m not like you.”
Rhaenyra smiled amusedly. She carded her hand through his curly hair and pressed her lips to his brow. “In what way, sweet boy?”
“I’m not so…perfect.”
“I am anything but.” She wondered when and where he had ever gotten such an impression of her. Perhaps it was a mother’s gift to appear as a deity in her children’s eyes. “My father looked after me and helped to prepare me for my duties. Your mother will do the same for you.”
That, at last, managed to assuage the apprehension in her boy’s shoulders. Rhaenyra kissed his brow thrice more to see him squirm away with a laugh.
“Off with you, Aegon and Elaena will surely want to watch you spar with Jace.”
“Yes mother,” Lucerys inclined his head.
Heavy booted steps entered the room as Ser Lorent came to a halt in front of her. “Good morrow, Princess.”
“Good morrow, Ser Lorent.”
“A raven arrived from King’s Landing.”
Rhaenyra took the scroll with a frown and broke the seal. The lettering inside was almost illegible – clearly rushed and without waiting for the ink to dry. But the message made her stomach sink.
Viserys is dead. Aegon, your half-brother, has been crowned as his successor before the masses. Hurry to gather your allies, Princess.
Lord Wymond Caswell
Her father was dead. Rhaenyra stumbled and caught herself on the edge of the painted table. Her ears were ringing. Her father-
“Princess?”
Ser Lorent’s voice cut through the haze settling over her mind. Rhaenyra opened her eyes unaware she had even closed them at some point. She was Queen now.
“Summon Prince Daemon and my sister at once. And send a raven to Driftmark summoning Princess Rhaenys. Make it the most urgent.”
The knight bowed and hurried to obey her commands even as worry creased his face. Rhaenyra turned away as his footsteps began to trail off.
She gripped the table hard. Her father was gone. Though she had seen how advanced his illness was, Rhaenyra had deluded herself along with everyone else that his show of strength at the petition hearing meant he would recover. He walked to the throne for her not two days prior. Was he already dying then? Had he been dying for years? And did she ignore it because that was easier?
What did they do with the body? He should be burned and his ashes interred on Dragonstone to rest alongside her mother, grandmother and all the previous Targaryens. A sob caught in her throat. It battered up from her chest like a ball of glass, the shards cutting everything they touched. Even in their worst moments and when they barely exchanged letters she thought of him almost every day.
“Sister?”
Rhaenyra wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. She took a breath before she turned towards them. “I received a message from Lord Caswell.”
“What is it?” Daemon asked. He approached and took the scroll before she could offer it. He read it and then read it again. Rhaella snatched the message out of his hands before he could crumble it. Her hands started to shake as she read.
“Nyra…”
“That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole your throne,” Daemon growled. He clenched his hands into fists and began pacing like a caged lion.
“The High Septon crowned Aegon…”
“We don’t know how much support he has in the capital. Lord Caswell isn’t the only loyal friend we have,” Rhaella said. She took Rhaenyra’s hands in hers, pulling her upright. “The Greens usurped your throne but we will get it back.”
“The children,” Rhaenyra breathed. “We have to sent them away, keep them safe.”
“We will, I promise.”
“Nothing will happen to them,” Daemon swore. His eyes were twin pits of grief and rage. Rhaenyra wondered what he saw when he looked at her.
“We have a war to plan.”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Less than three hours later they were all gathered around the painted table. Rhaella looked towards each face greeting her. She had changed into her black riding leathers, as was Daemon and Princess Rhaenys who had arrived minutes earlier. They were all ready for their Queen’s instructions. Rhaella took the lead, “our half-brother has usurped the throne. He is in open rebellion and a traitor to the late King Viserys’ wishes by styling himself Aegon the Second.”
“A raven flew in this morning from Eventfall,” Princess Rhaenys started. “The Sea Snake’s fever has broken and he is sailing for Dragonstone.”
“When will he arrive?” Daemon asked.
“That is unclear.”
“We cannot wait for Lord Velaryon,” Rhaenyra decided with the shake of her head.
“We’ll send ravens to our nearest allies – Darklyn, Massey, Celtigar, Bar Emmon.”
“I’ll fly to the Riverlands myself and affirm Lord Tully’s support,” Daemon declared.
Ser Harwin stepped forward. “With all due respect my Prince, you should take me with you. Harrenhall is the only castle large enough to house a host the size you’re talking of.”
Rhaella saw her sister tense. She sighed and watched as Daemon nodded. “Very well.”
“Ser Harwin will accompany you to the Riverlands. What of the rest?” Rhaenyra asked her council. Many Lords were already present on their island including; Lords Staunton, Wendwater, Redfort, and Rosby. Lord Redfort cleared his throat, “my House stands with you, Your Grace. I will send a raven to my son to begin preparing our forces.”
“Thank you, Lord Robin.”
“Someone is needed to patrol the skies in case Vhagar comes for us.”
Lord Redfort chortled, “Prince Aemond would not be so foolish, surely.”
“Maybe not. Yet we cannot stake our safety on it,” Rhaella replied calmly. Nightbane coiled at her hip and twin daggers strapped to her hip. If any would try and face her she wouldn’t hesitate. “Silverwing and I will patrol the skies.”
Daemon nodded, though he did not look happy. He turned instead towards his left. “The ravens, Lord Rosby.”
“I’ll see to it right away,” the young man bowed first to Rhaenyra, then her and then Daemon. He took Lord Wendwater with him as they marched toward the rookery.
“I want patrols on the island’s perimeter, looking for any small ships that might set ashore. If the Greens attack now, it will by stealth not directly.”
“Uncle, you have the wisdom of war but we don’t have enough men to surround the island,” Rhaenyra pointed out.
“But we can make ourselves appear stronger than we are. Conscript the Dragonkeepers, they’re capable fighters.” Rhaenyra remained quiet for a moment.
“Princess?” Ser Steffon prompted.
Rhaenyra’s eyes fixed on King’s Landing on the table. She looked up with a controlled expression. “Yes, do as the Prince commands.”
Ser Steffon and Ser Lorent bowed. They left to gather their fellow members of the Kingsguard and the Dragonkeepers.
Daemon pressed a kiss to Rhaella’s cheek before he turned to leave as well. She touched the spot as she watched him leave. Princess Rhaenys was the one to speak first when it was only the three of them. “We must secure a safe place for the children.”
“The Vale,” Rhaella suggested. “It’s easily defendable against any army and Lady Jeyne is loyal. Only a dragon could attack it.”
“If we split them up they’ll be safer. Elaena and Aegon, Viserys and Rhaena,” Rhaenys mused.
It would be longest Aegon and Viserys were ever separated from the other. Rhaella saw that knowledge hit her sister and hurt. Wars could last years, maybe even a decade. She would see Rhaenyra sit the Iron Throne, that was her goal for so long it became a personal mantra. Maybe for the first time Rhaella realized how much this would change. She might not see her little girl for years.
“Call for Jace, Luke, Aemma and Baela. I wish to have them present when discussing their future,” Rhaenyra commanded. She spun the golden rings adorning her fingers nervously round and round. “The Stormlands, Riverlands and Reach haven’t declared for anyone, have they?”
“Not that we know, sister. Though I don’t know Lord Borros as well as you do, Princess Rhaenys.”
“My cousin is a fool, I would go treat with him if you let me, Your Grace.”
“No, I need you here Rhaenys. I don’t wish to risk you without knowing how many of these Lords would stay true.”
Princess Rhaenys was not happy with her words but nodded her acquiescence grimly. Rhaella sent her a look of gratitude, they needed someone with a strategy that would avoid war, if it indeed could be avoided.
“Mother?” Lucerys called as he opened the door for himself and the others.
Rhaella’s stomach soured as she looked into the smiling faces of her beloved daughters. Aemma, always more attuned to the mood of others, frowned back.
“Why is grandmother Rhaenys here?”
“I thought we wouldn’t see you till the end of the year,” Baela commented. Rhaella waited until they were in reach to pull both girls into a hug. They returned the embrace willingly but were even more confused then.
“Your grandsire, Viserys, has passed.”
“Viserys?” Luke gasped.
“The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned.”
“What is to be done about it?” Jace demanded. He stiffed his back and raised his chin.
“This is an act of war,” Baela chimed in.
“Yes, whatever claim remains to me. You are now its Heir, Jace. Which is why I called you-”
Rhaenyra was cut off by approaching boots. Her Master-of-Arms Ser Arne escorted one of the Cargyll twins into the room. He held his sword against the Kingsguard’s throat. “Forgive me for the interruption, Your Grace. But Ser Erryk claimed to have fled the castle to swear fealty to you.”
Rhaenyra regarded the man. Ser Erryk’s helmet was gone and his armor showed clear signs of battle. “Thank you, Ser Arne. Release him.”
Ser Erryk fell to his knees the moment he was no longer being held at knifepoint. “I mean no harm, Your Grace. I swore toward the rightful Queen. With all my strength I give my blood for hers.” Ser Erryk opened the leather sack on his hip under everyone’s wary gazes. He bowed his head, continuing his oath. “I shall take no wife. Hold no lands. And father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honour.”
Rhaella held back a gasp when the knight revealed what he’d brought – King Jaehaerys’ golden coronet he had made after defeating his triumph over his usurper uncle Maegor. Their father had worn it and now it would pass to Rhaenyra. She descended the steps of the platform without hesitation and took it from Ser Erryk. The sigils of the seven great Houses glinted as she turned in it her hand. Baratheon, Lannister, Tyrell, Tully, Stark, Arryn and under the largest spike in the front their three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
She lifted it and walked up the steps to present it to Rhaenyra. Her sister took the knee.
“I hereby crown you Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”
Rhaenyra rose slowly to her full height. Her cheeks were pale and she looked more like a ghost, otherworldly and ever-lasting with her silver hair undone spilling down her shoulders. Everyone sank to their knees, heads tilted low.
Rhaenyra touched her sister’s shoulder and drew her up. “None of that,” she said quietly. “You’ve been my equal since the day you were born.” Tears glittered in her eyes as Rhaella nodded. Her father was gone, may the Gods rest his soul, but she still had this. Still had Rhaenyra.
She cleared her throat as best as possible. "We have a war to plan, my Queen." They returned back to the table together.
“What of the North?”
“There has never lived a Stark who has forgotten an oath,” Aemma said. She tacked on, “my Queen.”
Rhaenyra nodded and moved the wolf piece to her side on the painted table. “And with House Stark the North will follow. Have a raven sent to Winterfell.”
Princess Rhaenys moved the seahorse. “The Velaryon Fleet will do as their Lord or Lady command. You have full use of its ships, Your Grace.”
“Good. There is no port in the Narrow Sea that would make an enemy of you,” Rhaella smirked.
“And,” Rhaenyra sighed. “What of our enemies?”
“We have no friends among the Lannisters. Tyland Lannister has served the Hand too long to turn against him now. Without the Lannisters we are not likely to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth.”
Rhaella thought about Penelope then. They had exchanged letters over the years and were still friends. This would severe their bond likely forever.
Lord Staunton spoke up, “forgive me my bluntness Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. You have a power that has not been seen since the Doom of Valyria. Dragons.”
“The Greens have dragons as well.”
“They have three adults,” Rhaella pointed out. She did not like Lord Staunton’s tone and narrowed her eyes at him. “We have Syrax, Caraxes, Meleys, and Silverwing. Aemma and Baela have Nymerion and Brightscale. Your sons have Arrax and Vermax.”
“None of our dragons have seen battle.”
“Then not as warriors,” Jacaerys spoke up. “Sent us. As messagers, dragons fly faster than ravens.”
“And they’re more intimidating,” Baela said.
A denial was at the tip of Rhaella’s tongue. Sending the children would show the Lords that they were ready to fight for their cause. But the mother in her wanted to sent them all far away, beyond the sea where they could be hidden. Jacaerys and Lucerys could pass for nobles if they didn’t draw attention to themselves. Her own girls would be trickier but many in the Free Cities dyed their hair and Valyrian features weren’t terribly unique there.
“No,” Rhaenyra shook her head. “We will discuss your roles later.”
Jacaerys huffed, clearly gearing up to say something else when they all stopped. A roar sounded from the Dragonmount. Rhaella rushed to the window to see what the commotion was.
Syrax circled over the island. She roared and beat her great wings, shooting flame high into the sky. The golden she-dragon must feel the echoes of her rider’s emotions.
“A ship, is trying to dock.”
“Alert the watchtowers, sight the skies. I will meet you with Syrax.”
Rhaella touched her whip and nodded at her sister’s look. The Greens had come with their terms.
Lord Otto Hightower and a dozen guards ascended the bridge’s steps to meet them. Rhaella felt herself grow cold with fury. How dare he show his face there? The scheming cunt didn’t even bother to wait a single night to crown Aegon after their father breathed his last, despite claiming to be his friend for decades.
“I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of His Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“Then you are here in vain,” Rhaella said. The former Hand made a show of looking around, barely acknowledging Rhaella or the small trio of knights behind her. “We do not care for the words of a Usurper’s dog.”
“I’ve been instructed to deliver her message only to Princess Rhaenyra.” He frowned, as if realizing that her sister wasn’t there for the first time. Must be the old age. “Where is the Princess?”
Syrax’ roar answered. Her sister’s dragon landed on the bridge railings behind them, rearing her head back and baring her teeth. Each row was pearly white and each tooth longer than a man’s arm. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms descended from her saddle to stand tall as she walked through the group. Syrax growled loudly and flexed her talons into the stone.
“Princess Rhaenyra,” Lord Otto had the audacity to simper.
“I’m Queen Rhaenyra now. And you are all traitors to the Realm.”
“King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name… in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering terms. Acknowledge Aegon as King and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne.”
“You’ve lost what was left of your mind if you think that is even remotely going to happen,” Rhaella snorted. She itched to bury one of her daggers in his smug face.
“In exchange,” he went on. His gaze was fixed on Rhaenyra only, silver-grey eyes sharp as he ignored her like she a child. “His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your trueborn son Jacaerys, upon your death. Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate Heir to Driftmark and all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon. Finally, the King will pardon any knight or Lord wo conspired against his ascent.”
“I would rather cut my sons’ throats myself than bow to your drunken, usurper cunt of a King.” Queen Rhaenyra replied. Her glare could have molten steel as she raised her chin high.
“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne-”
“Not for long,” Rhaella cut him off.
“He wears the Conqueror’s crown, wields the Conqueror’s sword, has the Conqueror’s name. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him.”
“Not by right of succession, by my father’s law and word as King.”
“The succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret that you and he were the last to see the truth of it,” Lord Otto said with false sympathy dripping from his voice.
Rhaella couldn’t take it anymore. She stalked forward and ripped the pin from his doublet, flinging it off the bridge. “You are no more Hand than Aegon is King. Fucking conniving traitor.”
“Grand Maester,” Lord Otto sighed. He turned his gaze from her and that was his mistake.
Rhaella struck with the swiftness of a viper. She flung her whip out and caught it around his throat. He jerked back, strangled coughs leaving his throat. The knights all drew their blades.
“Release the Hand, Princess!”
Rhaella pushed her knee into his back how Daemon taught her, forcing Otto Hightower to his knees. She gripped the end just before the steel tip, pulled it tight and cutting off the airflow. His hands scrambled uselessly against the leather cord. Rhaella leaned down to whisper in his ear, “you should’ve been grateful, now your line will end with you.”
“Dracarys!”
A burst of golden-yellow flame bathed the dozen of knights and Maester Orwyle in agony. They screamed as their burned. Screeches and curses escaped from their own guards and Ser Erryk pushed Rhaenyra behind himself as the burning men started running towards them.
One pushed through the others, clawing at his face and neck, his armour was already half-molten. Syrax reared forward and snapped him up in her jaws. The crunch of bones echoed over the remaining men’s screams and Rhaella watched with satisfaction as they threw themselves off the bridge’s railing into the waters beneath.
Rhaella grew bored of the spectacle and released Otto just enough for him to suck in deep breaths. He collapsed forward, coughing and gagging. The stench of burnt flesh tickled Rhaella’s nose. She curled her whip around her arm and took a step back, lip curling in disgust.
“Ser Lorent, take Lord Hightower to the dungeons,” Rhaenyra ordered. She turned away from the blackened corpses and made back towards the castle.
“We have more dragons than Aegon.”
“Our father spoke often of the Valyrian histories... I know them well. When dragons flew to war everything burnt. Everything.”
Rhaella folded her hands to stop from clenching them to fists. “You’re not considering the Hightowers’ terms?”
“No. But I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone,” Rhaenyra sighed. She reached over to twine their hands. They entered the castle and Rhaenyra steered them up the stairs. “My duty as Queen is to ensure peace and unity for the Realm.”
“The Green have declared war. You cannot bend to them,” Rhaella hissed.
“And I do not intend to,” her sister said in the same tone. Rhaenyra pulled her hand away to massage her temples.
Rhaella crossed her arms. “Are you not angry?”
Rhaenyra huffed, her lip curled. “I am furious." She dropped her hands to stare directly into Rhaella’s eyes. “But I need to be more than that. I need to know you’re acting on my orders instead of going off on your own to seek vengeance.”
“I won’t,” Rhaella swore. “But when the time comes, we cannot show mercy.”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Two days passed quickly with preparations. Lord Corlys arrived on the first day after the news reached Dragonstone. He inclined his head as he marched into the war council. Rhaenyra nodded back, searching for Rhaenys behind him but her cousin wasn’t there.
“Lord Corlys. It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”
“I’m very sorry about your father, Your Grace. He was a good man,” the Lord of the Tides said gravely. “Where is Prince Daemon?”
“He is preparing his journey to Harrenhall. The Riverlands have called their banners to war.”
Corlys hummed. He looked around the gathered group. “And your sister?”
“Princess Rhaella patrols the skies on Silverwing. We are expecting a response from King’s Landing.”
“A response?” He repeated.
“We took the Hand of the Usurper prisoner,” Jace answered his grandfather. Her boy stood tall, one hand on his sword, the same one Harwin had given him for his last name-day celebration.
Corlys surveyed the painted table. “Your declared allies?”
“Yes.”
“Too few to win a war for the throne,” he hummed.
Rhaenyra took a breath to calm her indignation. She’d been sleeping poorly with the threat of war looming overhead which in turn made her short and ill-tempered. “We also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon and Stark.”
“Hope is a fool’s ally.”
“Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my House. But all of them swore oaths to me.”
“As did House Hightower, if I remember.”
She clenched her jaw but had to admit he was right. Otto Hightower himself had been the one to put her claim forward, its most ardent supporter. Back then she thought he had her interest at heart out of love for her father. It was clear now that he only ever supported her out of hatred for Daemon and to make it easier for Aegon to usurp her rights. “War’s first stroke to fall as not by my command.”
“No but now you have the Dowager Queen’s father in chains. They will retaliate.”
“Then we will meet them in battle,” her boy declared. Lord Corlys spared his grandsons a sidelong look. He especially softened when seeing the matching, if a bit hesitant, expression on Luke’s face.
“Very well. The consequence of my near-demise in the Stepstones is that now we control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The Triarchy have been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours.” He touched the carved lines symbolising the waves of Shipbreaker’s Bay. “If we further seal the Gullet, we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”
“Starve them like rats. Force them to engage us,” Rhaenyra thought out loud. She moved the stone pieces into place, three ships and the Velaryon seahorse.
“When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround King’s Landing, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Greens’ surrender.”
“If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing, we must secure the support of our allies,” Lord Staunton said.
“Winterfell, the Eyrie and Storm’s End.”
“We should bear those messages,” Princess Baela said.
Rhaenyra turned to her niece.
“Drgaons can fly faster than ravens, and they’re more convincing,” Jace added.
She could see his mind was already made up. With Princess Rhaenys splitting her time between Driftmark and Dragonstone, Rhaella patrolling the skies, and Daemon on his way to the Riverlands she had no other Dragonriders. Storm’s End wasn’t too far away. Jacaerys was a gifted diplomat and fighter that ought to impress Lord Stark.
“Send us.”
“The Princess is right, Your Grace.”
“Very well," Rhaenyra said reluctantly. "However, you will go in pairs. Princess Aemma will accompany Lucerys and Princess Baela will go with Jacaerys.”
Her sons nodded and exchanged shy looks with their cousins. Rhaenyra wanted to take her decision back. They were just children, they should not be part of any of this. She knew she could never convince Jace to sit out something so important. He would hate her for it and do it anyway.
“Prince Jacaerys and Princess Baela will fly north. First to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North.”
Baela had the same serious tilt to her mouth as her mother. She raised her head confidently, announcing, “we will not fail you, Your Grace.”
“Prince Lucerys and Princess Aemma will fly south to Storm’s End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these Lords of the oaths they swore,” she said as she looked at every person surrounding her.
They were the ones who would lose the most; each of them was there because they believed in her enough to put their lands and families at risk. “And the cost of breaking them.”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Preparing her girls for their journeys the next morn was harder than Rhaella ever thought it would be. They stood at the highest peak of Dragonstone on the balcony of the main tower. The oily black stone glistened in the early morning light.
She picked her warmest fur cloak for Baela, securing the strings around her shoulders and tucking them into the collar of her leather tunic. “To keep you warm.”
“Thank you,” Princess Baela replied. She could see the strained quality of her mother’s smile and knew if she could, she’d keep them on Dragonstone indefinitely.
Princess Aemma threw her arms around her mother, pressing close. Rhaella returned the embrace. She caressed her older daughter’s hair. It was braided back tightly and clear of any adornments, to let the silver-golden colour speak for itself.
“It’s been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to Gods than to men. And the Iron Throne put us a touch closer, perhaps.” Queen Rhaenyra said, a small quirk to her lips. She let our a breath and brushed her hands over her sons’ shoulders. “But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms…we must uphold their laws. If you take this errand, you go as messengers, not as warriors.”
“You must take no part in any fighting,” Rhaella added after releasing both her daughters. She stood over the four teenagers next to the Queen to impress the importance of this upon them. “Swear it to your Queen now. “
Jacaerys put his hand over his heart, “I swear it.”
“I swear it,” the others followed suit. Some of the tension drained out of Rhaella, whatever may happen her girls were safe.
“Thank you.”
Addressing Baela and Jace, Rhaenyra said, “Cregan Stark is closer to your age than to mine. I would hope, that as future leaders, you can find some common interest. And that you take care of your cousin.”
Jacaerys nodded seriously. Baela nudged her elbow into his and they shared a smile. Rhaenyra’s gaze softened and she pressed her lips to her niece’s forehead. “The North is cold and its people can be too. But I have full faith you’ll charm them and make them warm to you.”
“I will try my best, Your Grace.”
“That’s all I ask for.”
Then she turned her attention towards Lucerys and Aemma. Her sweet boy was hesitant, biting the inside of his cheek. Rhaenyra reached over to cup his chin gently until he released his jaw. “Storm’s End is a short flight from here. You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother, Rhaenys. And…”
Rhaella took over for her. “Lord Borros’ pride has pride. He will honoured to host a Prince of the Realm and his dragon.”
“I expect you will receive a very warm welcome.”
“Yes Mother.” The tip of Lucerys’ cheeks flushed. “Yes, Your Grace,” he corrected himself.
Aemma took his hand in hers and tugged him along.
“Go to it then.”
Five dragons departed over Dragonstone that day. The most the island had seen since the funeral of Aegon the Conqueror a century prior.
Silverwing flew above the four drakes the Princes and Princesses commanded, casting a big shadow over the ocean with her massive body. Fisher folk and common people alike abandoned their work for the opportunity to marvel at the magnificent colours. Prince Lucerys’ mount, Arrax, name so for one of the Valyrian Gods, has pale alost pearlescent scales on his body and red horns, spikes and membrane. Princess Aemma’s young dragon was a perfect companion as it fit its name, Brightscale, and was mainly crème and light yellow. The siblings split up as they flew south and Prince Jacaerys took Princess Baela and her dark blue dragon Nymerion north.
Arrax and Brightscale screeched and rumbled with the emotions of their riders. Lightwing was slender, almost serpentine in built with a long tail and less muscles than Arrax. Both beasts raced one another as their riders gradually relaxed.
Princess Aemma commanded her dragon to descend until Lightwing’s claws skimmed the ocean’s surface. Her delighted laughter was lost to the wind and waves.
They flew over Evenfall and reached Storm’s End within two hours’ time. The legendary castle’s tower, the Storm drum, reached up through the gathering storm as it stood precariously close to the Cliffside only kept safe by the massive outer curtain wall. It kept the cashing waves at bay and protected the courtyard.
Lightwing landed first next to the stables. The dragon shook its head back and forth growling lowly as Princess Aemma climbed from its back. She had to shield her eyes as bright glares of multiple oil lamps approached. “Who goes there?”
Arrax and Lucerys joined them, her betrothed descending more carefully. Aemma pressed her hand to her dragon’s snout, murmuring High Valyrian phrases in hopes of calming her mount down. “Be calm. Obey.”
Thunder rumbled overhead. A bolt of lightning lit up the sky above them and Lucerys saw a large shadow shift behind the castle. His heart leapt into his throat as he realized what he was looking at – Vhagar. Her massive jaws opened to release a growl indistinguishable from the thunder, so loud and bone chilling it was.
“Em,” he said. “Look.”
Princess Aemma secured the straps of her saddle again and turned her gaze to where he was pointing. She stopped in her tracks.
“Who goes there?” Another voice called again.
“I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon with Princess Aemma Targaryen. I have a message to Lord Borros from the Queen!”
The soldiers exchanged looks but then ushered them into the castle rather quickly. Aemma pushed back the hood she’d kept on while flying and looked around. Inside Storm’s End the brewing storm was muffled so much she could barely hear it anymore.
“Princes Lucerys Velaryon,” the same knight called out as they arrived at the main hall. The Round Hall as it was called held Lord’s Borros’ throne. Said man sat on his wooden stool as if he were the King of Westeros, a cup of mead in his hand. “And Princess Aemma Targaryen. The son of Princess Rhaenyra and the daughter of Princess Rhaella.”
“And Prince Daemon,” Aemma added herself. She scrutinized the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Three young women stood to his right; each curtsied respectfully, even if their father did not bow. She brushed her eyes over them before they landed on a hooded figure at the back of the hall.
“Lord Borros,” Lucerys started. “I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.”
Lord Borros huffed a breath of mockery. He sipped from his cup and indicated towards them. “Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it? The House of the dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”
“Do you not wish to take part in this matter, uncle?” Aemma challenged the hooded figure. She felt her temper rise as Aemond let his disguise fall. Another bolt of lightning revealed his face.
“Niece. Nephew,” he drawled.
“Seeing as you are here and not on Dragonstone, I’m assuming you joined your traitorous family in usurping the throne.”
“What’s your mother’s message?” Lord Borros asked, uncaring of the second conversation happening. He held out his hand as Lucerys approached and handed over the scroll.
“Aegon is the old King’s firstborn son,” Aemond replied.
Aemma wanted to roll her eyes. If she wasn’t a messenger on strict instructions to not fight she would claw his remaining eye out. “My aunt was declared Heir before you were born.”
“Where’s the bloody Maester?” Lord Borros snapped.
An elderly man in beige robes hurried forward to read the message and rely it to his master. Lucerys remained where he stood. He squared his shoulders and Aemma wished to shake him for his nerves.
“’Remind’ me of my father’s oath? King Aegon at least came with an offer, my swords and banner for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids…” The hairy man waved at the three girls still standing at parade like horses. “…which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”
“My lord I am not free to marry,” Lucerys said after a moment’s hesitation. “I am already betrothed.”
Aemma used that moment to join him and set her hand on his upper arm.
“So you come with empty hands,” Lord Borros growled. He threw the royal message to the floor. “Go home, pups. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”
“We shall take your exact words to the Queen,” Princess Aemma replied blasé. She gripped Lucerys’ arm as they turned to leave. They would get nowhere with this drunken brute.
“Wait…” Their uncle called after them. “My Lord Strong. Did you really think you could just fly about the Realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”
Lucerys clenched his fists beneath his cloak. He bit down on the words tickling the back of his throat. “I will not fight you. We came as messengers, not warriors.”
“A fight would be little challenge,” Aemond mocked. He looked at Aemma pointedly. She wished nothing more than to melt the look off his face with dragonfire. “No. I want you to put out your eye. As payment for mine. One will serve, I would not blind you.”
Lucerys scrambled back. Aemma went with him, glaring at their maternal uncle. “You’re mad.”
“I plan to make to make a gift of it to my mother.”
“No,” Lucerys said loudly. He tugged Aemma by her hand closer and drew his sword.
“Then you are a craven as well as a traitor.” Aemond made to lunge for them, his remaining eye wide and crazed.
“Not here,” Lord Borros shouted.
“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!”
Aemma drew her own dagger as Aemond threw one to the ground. It clattered loudly in the big hall. Hers was smaller but sharper and she held it just how her father taught her.
“Not in my hall! The boy came as an envoy. I will not have bloodshed beneath my roof!” Lord Borros bellowed as the storm his castle was named after. He rose from his chair in fury and raised his hand. “Take the Prince and Princess to their dragons. Now.”
His guards followed the order, hurrying them through the same series of hallways and down the steps into the courtyard. Rain immediately drenched them both as great sheaths of it fell from the sky. Aemma blinked through the water as she ran towards her dragon.
Arrax and Brightscale reared their heads as their riders approached. Lucerys called out commands in High Valyrian, “Be calm! Listen! Obey me. Arrax, be calm.”
“We need to leave,” his cousin shouted as she tightened the harness of her saddle. Brightscale spread its wings and flapped them, once, twice before starting into a run for take-off.
“Fly, Arrax!”
Both dragons beat their wings quickly as they began to fly to gain altitude. Aemma clutched her reins tightly and flattened herself over her dragon’s body. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she focused on clamping her thighs around Brightscale's body. She could barely see Arrax ahead in the meagre light of the storm. Only the occasional lightning bolt showed her where to go. Dragons had a natural homing instinct, so they would return to Dragonstone without instructions but she had to watch out for treetops until they reached the open sea.
A giant shadow passed overhead. Aemma felt her heart miss a beat. Aemond was chasing Arrax and by extension Luke. She pressed her eyes shut against the relentless spray of water. “Higher!”
Her mount did as commanded. They flew up, up, up and around Vhagar. Vhagar’s tail almost hit them twice as she pushed her to go faster. Cackling laughter was barely discernible over the sounds of the storm as Brightscale passed Vhagar’s shoulder and neck.
“I see you, bastard!”
Vhagar’s jaws snapped the air. Aemma sucked air into her lungs and shouted, “Luke!”
Her demented uncle laughed as Arrax flapped his wings frantically, trying to escape the maws of death. He was going to die.
“Dracarys!”
Vhagar roared in pain and fury as a burst of dragonfire cut across her nose. The old dragon veered to the right to escape the attack. Aemma clammed one of her hands over her ear against the loud sounds. Brightscale sailed over the right side of Vhagar’s head and clawed at the spikes on her neck.
Arrax climbed high through the cloud cover.
“Higher,” Aemma shouted over the rain. She dug her heels in.
Her dragon broke through the storm clouds with a roar. The sun shone high up there and she saw Arrax with Lucerys clutching to his neck. Aemma’s heart beat painfully fast against her ribcage like a bird beating itself to death, her head swivelling from left to right to spot Vhagar’s shadow.
Vhagar burst through the cloud cover, jaws wide. Brightscale surged forward to dig its claws into Vhagar’s eye. Arrax screeched in pain.
Blood sprayed hot and terrible.
A scream caught in Aemma’s throat.
Another burst of fire from both dragons.
Roars and a shriek of pain.
They fell.
Aemma barely had half a moments time to close her eyes before they crashed into the waves below.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and Princess Rhaella learned of their children’s demise through a raven sent from Evenfall Hall. Onlookers had seen two white dragons fall from the sky as one of the worst storms in recent memory raged on.
And with this, the war of ravens and envoys and marriage pacts came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began in earnest.