Chapter Text
Crownlands, King’s Landing – 113 AC
The streets of King’s Landing were always loud, always bustling, but I’d never heard them quite like this before. The sounds of haggling merchants and crying children mixed with the clang of smith’s hammers and the braying of mules, but there was something else woven in—something softer. Laughter. Gratitude. Hope. It felt… strange. Good, but strange.
I finally understood why Rhaenyra came back from these streets looking both exhausted and alive all at once. I’d always thought she was hiding—escaping, even—when she left the Red Keep at sunrise and returned after dark, her cheeks flushed and her boots dusty. I’d imagined her slipping away to some private corner of the city where she could pretend she wasn’t a princess, where no one bowed or whispered her name. But now, walking in her footsteps, I saw the truth.
This wasn’t an escape. It was a fight. A battle of a different kind—no swords, no dragons, just words and promises and the kind of grit that dug under your nails and refused to wash away.
And I was right in the middle of it.
I stepped out of the soup kitchen we’d just left, wiping my hands on a rag as the smell of onions and herbs clung stubbornly to my skin. Daemon was waiting outside, leaning against a post like he hadn’t just spent the last two hours ordering the cooks around and tasting the broth like a bloody connoisseur. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me, his lips twitching.
“You look tired,” he said.
I rolled my eyes and tossed the rag at him. He caught it effortlessly and grinned.
“You’re not wrong,” I admitted, stretching my arms until my shoulders popped. “How in the name of the Fourteen had Rhaenyra managed to do this every day? I swear my feet have blisters on their blisters.”
Daemon smirked. “She’s stubborn. Like her mother.”
I shot him a sharp look, but he only shrugged. I knew what he meant. Rhaenyra had inherited Aemma’s kindness, yes, but she’d sharpened it into something stronger—something that didn’t bend when people tried to push her aside. And now, after a day spent walking in her path, I could see it so clearly.
Mother appeared then, her expression as composed as ever, but I didn’t miss the smudge of flour on her sleeve or the slight tilt of her head that told me she’d overheard every word.
“You’re learning,” she said, her tone equal parts approval and amusement. “Good.”
We started walking again, weaving through the streets as the Golden Cloaks trailed us like shadows. I tried not to think about how their presence had kept most of the trouble at bay today. If they hadn’t been there, would the crowd have been as welcoming? Or would we have had to fight our way out?
I pushed the thought aside as we passed another group of smallfolk. A woman with a babe in her arms called out to us, her voice cracking with gratitude. “Thank you, Princess! Thank you for not forgetting us!”
I didn’t know if she meant me or Rhaenyra, but I smiled and waved anyway, my heart squeezing tight. How many others had felt forgotten before today?
Mother slowed her pace beside me, her voice dropping low. “You’re doing well, Laena. But this is only the start.”
I knew that already. There were more kitchens to visit, more orphanages, more houses in need of repair. The list went on and on. It felt endless, overwhelming, but also… thrilling.
For the first time, I felt like I was doing something that mattered—not just wearing silk and smiling at lords who didn’t care what I said as long as I looked pretty saying it. No, this was real. Hard. Messy. But real.
And Gods, it was fulfilling.
We turned a corner, and I spotted a group of children ahead, laughing and playing with a set of toys I recall from my childhood. Toys that Rhaenyra had turned the Red Keep upside down to get for the orphans of her city. It hit me then, all at once, just how much she’d taken on.
She wasn’t just the princess anymore. She was their princess.
Daemon saw it too, though he’d never admit it outright. He crossed his arms and muttered, “If she keeps this up, she’s going to be crowned Queen of Flea Bottom.”
I smirked. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She might never come back South of the Neck.”
He didn’t deny it.
By the time we finally circled back toward the main square, my legs ached, and my stomach grumbled, but I felt lighter somehow—like I’d shed something heavy.
Mother caught my eye as we climbed the steps toward the wheelhouse waiting to take us to our last stop. “Well?” she asked, grinning despite the tired lines around her eyes.
I grinned back. “I think I finally get it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Get what?”
I gestured back toward the streets we’d just left. “Why Rhaenyra never stayed still. Why she is always running out the gates before dawn and coming back after dark. Why she asked us to keep up with her work after her marriage. It’s not just work for her. It’s more than that.”
Her smile softened, and for the first time all day, I saw a flicker of vulnerability there. “It has to be,” she said quietly. “Because if it’s not, then what’s the point?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. But as I settled into my seat in the wheelhouse and let my head rest against the cushion, I knew one thing for certain—Rhaenyra wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t be able to stay still after this.
Flea Bottom was alive in a way no castle or feast hall could ever be. It wasn’t pretty—Gods, no—but it was loud and brimming with life. The streets reeked of tanner’s piss and rotting fish, and the mud stuck to my boots like tar, but the air hummed with the chatter of desperate hope. That was something I hadn’t expected to find here—hope. And yet, as I looked around at the crowd gathered in the crooked alleyways and sagging doorframes, their eyes wide and their faces eager, I felt it like a living thing.
Mother stood beside me, her face the picture of calm nobility despite the grime and filth underfoot. She didn’t flinch when a child darted past, barefoot and filthy, and she didn’t pull back when an old woman with no teeth reached out to touch the hem of her cloak as if it might bring her luck. Rhaenys held her head high, her posture screaming dragonlord even here in the gutters. And the smallfolk responded to it. They looked at her like she was the Mother herself, come to offer them salvation.
Daemon, on the other hand, looked like he belonged here. He lounged against the wall of a crumbling shop, one hand on the hilt of Dark Sister, the other resting on his belt. His eyes were sharp as ever, scanning the crowd for trouble, but there was a smirk tugging at his lips—like he was half-amused, half-proud of the chaos surrounding him. He thrived on it, I knew. He looked at Flea Bottom and saw an opportunity. I looked at it and saw fire waiting for a spark.
The Golden Cloaks flanked us in gleaming armor that did little to mask their unease. They were used to intimidating the smallfolk, not standing amongst them, and their hands never strayed far from their swords. One wrong move, one shout too loud, and this could turn into a riot. But the people didn’t look angry. They looked… relieved. Grateful, even.
Mother finally spoke, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “We are not here to make empty promises,” she said, and the crowd quieted as if she’d pulled them on strings. “Nor are we here to judge what has passed. What matters is the future—and your place in it.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered faces, low and uncertain, but they leaned in closer.
Daemon pushed off the wall, his smirk widening. “You’ve been forgotten,” he said, his voice rougher but no less commanding. “Left to rot in the streets while the lords and ladies feast above you. But we haven’t forgotten.” He gestured up at the Red Keep, barely visible through the haze of smoke and rooftops. “Rhaenyra hasn’t forgotten.”
That name. Gods, the way it rippled through the crowd. Rhaenyra. Their princess. Their Delight of the Realm. The smallfolk had adored her, and they still did, judging by the tears in a few eyes and the hushed prayers muttered under breath. She had been theirs once, and the idea that she still cared, even after her marriage and flight north, was enough to break them.
Mother lifted her chin, her voice steady. “Princess Rhaenyra offers you a chance to leave this behind. To start again in the North—in Wintertown, where there is work, shelter, and safety.”
Murmurs broke out again, louder this time. People turned to one another, eyes wide, voices rising with disbelief. The North? The frozen wasteland? But Mother didn’t let the noise swell too high.
“Make no mistake,” she said sharply, and just like that, silence fell again. “This is no charity. Winterfell is a land of wolves, and wolves expect loyalty. You will be expected to work, to obey the laws of the Starks, and—most importantly—you will be expected to honor the Old Gods.”
That was the moment I braced myself. The Faith of the Seven ruled King’s Landing. The idea of abandoning it—even for survival—wasn’t going to sit well with everyone. But before doubt could take root, a man in the front, lean and ragged but standing tall, spoke up.
“The Seven never did us any favors,” he said, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Not when we starved. Not when we begged. Why should we keep kneeling to Gods that don’t answer?”
Another voice chimed in. “I’ll take the Old Gods over no Gods.”
And then another. “The wolves keep their own safe. Princess Rhaenys would not marry into a house that does not.”
It spread like wildfire, one voice turning into ten, then a hundred. People crying out their agreement, clutching their children, their belongings—whatever they had left. I felt my pulse quicken as the noise grew louder, and I glanced at mother. She met my gaze, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles. She’d known this would happen. Of course she had.
Daemon stepped forward again, raising a hand to quiet them. “Winterfell cannot take you all at once,” he said. “But this is only the beginning. The North has other lands—new settlements that need builders, farmers, workers. More will follow.”
The promise rang out like a bell, and the people clung to it. I saw a woman clutch her baby tighter, tears running down her face. I saw an old man drop to his knees, whispering prayers to Gods he didn’t yet know. Hope. It burned in their eyes, fragile but bright, and for the first time, I understood why Rhaenyra had sent us here.
“You leave in a fortnight,” mother said, her voice cutting clean through the noise again. “Gather what you can carry. Say your goodbyes. And make your choice.”
Daemon smirked as the crowd erupted once more, this time with cheers and shouts of gratitude. He leaned closer to me, his voice low. “You think the North’s ready for this lot?”
I grinned, my own blood humming at the excitement crackling through the air, as we started climbing our wheelhouse. “Rhaenyra will prepare them.”
The wheelhouse rocked gently as it trundled through the streets, the faint clatter of hooves and wheels muffled by the thick velvet curtains. I leaned back against the plush cushions, my legs tucked beneath me, fingers idly tracing the embroidery on the hem of my gown. Across from me, my mother sat with the poise of a queen, though her sharp eyes betrayed the constant calculations running behind them. Daemon, lounging beside me with all the casual arrogance of a man who thought the world belonged to him, twirled a dagger between his fingers like it was a toy rather than a weapon.
“And what exactly did he think was going to happen?” Rhaenys snapped, her sharp tone cutting through the confined space as if it could slice through Daemon’s smirk. “Laenor rides in on his dragon, burns down half the bloody mountain, and expects no one to notice?”
Daemon leaned back, resting his head against the window frame. “I noticed,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Noticed and applauded. The Stone Ravens needed to be dealt with. Laenor just sped up the process. Honestly, you should be proud. It was very Targaryen of him.”
Rhaenys gave him a withering look. “Proud? My son risked his life, and Gods know how many others without consulting anyone!” She turned to me for backup. “And you—don’t encourage him.”
I, who had been trying to suppress a grin, shrugged. “I didn’t say a word,” I said innocently, though my eyes sparkled. “Besides, it was a wedding gift. Romantic, in a very ‘fire and blood’ kind of way.”
Daemon barked a laugh at that, flipping the dagger once before catching it smoothly. “Exactly. Nothing says love like burning your enemies to ash. I should know.”
“Don’t remind me,” mother muttered, but I caught the faint twitch of her lips. My mother might complain, but deep down, she knew the truth—Laenor’s act had cemented Jeyne’s rule in the Vale. And no one could argue with the results.
Still, Rhaenys wasn’t about to let Daemon off the hook so easily. Her gaze shifted, pinning him like a hawk eyeing a particularly cocky sparrow. “Speaking of reckless actions,” she said, her voice dangerously smooth, “should I assume you know nothing about Arnold and Eldric Arryn meeting untimely ends? Or should I go ahead and call you out for the snake you are?”
Daemon grinned, all teeth and mischief. “Untimely? That’s such a dramatic word. I’d prefer ‘deserved.’ Or ‘overdue.’ Traitors tend to have accidents. It is the least I could do for my dear future good brother and good sister.”
“Accidents,” mother repeated flatly. “And what? They both tripped over their own daggers?”
“Something like that.”
I couldn’t help herself—she snorted. “Gods, Daemon, you’re doomed to have Arryn good sisters.”
He pointed his dagger at me, though his eyes gleamed with amusement. “And what a joy that’s been so far.”
“Don’t pretend you’re suffering,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “You’re thriving in chaos, as always. Admit it.”
Daemon shrugged, clearly unbothered. “It’s not my fault they make it so easy.”
Mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here I am.”
The conversation shifted then, as I turned to my mother, my tone lighter now. “But let’s be honest—Jeyne needed this win. After everything those lords put her through, she deserved to have her enemies burned out of the mountains and traitors cleared from her court. I can’t blame Laenor for wanting to protect her.”
Mother sighed, though this time the exasperation had softened. “I know,” she admitted, adjusting the folds of her cloak. “But it’s not just the Vale I’m worried about. The lords of Westeros don’t like being reminded of how small they are compared to dragons. And the more we burn and conquer, the more enemies we’ll make.”
“Then let them burn too,” Daemon said, completely unbothered.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling up. “Careful, or people might start thinking you’re actually enjoying yourself.”
Daemon gave me a mock bow from his seat. “Guilty as charged.”
We fell into an easier rhythm after that, the sharp edges of the conversation dulled by shared laughter and the familiarity of family. I found myself watching mother as she spoke—her calm, measured tone a stark contrast to Daemon’s wild energy. The wheelhouse jolted slightly, and I pressed my hand to the side to steady myself. Outside, the faint hum of the castle rose up—the murmur of voices, the clatter of hooves, the occasional shout from the Gold Cloaks clearing a path.
“We’re nearly there,” Daemon said, glancing out the window.
I craned my neck, catching a glimpse of the Red Keep’s towers rising above the rooftops. I exhaled slowly. “Back to the viper’s pit,” I murmured, mostly to myself.
Mother caught it and gave me a knowing look. “You’ll be fine. Better than fine, if I know you.”
I grinned. “Of course I’ll be fine. I’m a Velaryon.” I lifted my chin. “And soon enough, I’ll be a Targaryen too.”
Daemon smirked. “And Gods help anyone who tries to stop you.”
The wheelhouse rolled to a halt, and outside, the shouts of the guards rang out, announcing their arrival. I smoothed down my skirts, my pulse quickening. The Red Keep was as loud as ever—voices rising and falling like waves crashing against Driftmark’s rocky shores. The corridors buzzed with whispers, the kind of talk that slithered through the halls like smoke, impossible to catch but always there. I hadn’t even made it halfway to my chambers before I caught the tail end of one such conversation.
“—should have been Lady Laena,” a woman said, her voice sharp but hushed, the words clearly not meant for anyone important to overhear.
I paused mid-step, slowing just enough to let the voices carry.
“She’s younger, more beautiful. And a future dragonrider. Imagine her on the throne—true Valyrian blood, not some Hightower whelp with a bastard babe.”
“Her father is the richest man in Westeros and has the largest navy,” another voice added. “What does Alicent have? A golden gown and a smug smile?”
“More like a golden cage,” the first woman snorted. “That’s what happens when you whore your way to the throne.”
Daemon, walking beside me, let out a sharp laugh that turned heads all the way down the corridor. I didn’t even try to shush him.
He tilted his head toward me, his smirk practically splitting his face. “You hear that, fiancé?” he said loud enough for the gossips to scramble out of sight like rats. “You’re the queen they wish they had.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at my lips. “I’d sooner set the throne on fire than sit on it.”
“Now that’s a queen I’d follow.”
I smacked his arm lightly, but Daemon being Daemon, only laughed harder. His hand dropped to rest on the hilt of Dark Sister, his fingers tapping against the pommel like he was daring someone to challenge his words.
“Let Viserys keep his meek Andal whore,” he said, voice dripping with disdain. “I’ve got a Valyrian bride.”
I turned to face him fully, crossing my arms. “Is that all I am? A Valyrian bride?”
Daemon grinned, leaning in closer, his voice dropping. “A dragon. And dragons don’t bow.”
I laughed despite myself and shook my head, stepping past him as if I wasn’t secretly pleased by his words. The man was impossible, but Gods, he knew how to make a woman feel like she could burn the world down if she wanted to.
The servants scattered as we strode through the hall, and I caught glimpses of their expressions—respectful, wary, maybe even a little fearful. Good. Let them whisper. Let them wonder. I had the blood of Old Valyria in my veins and the largest dragon in the world at my call. The Hightowers could keep their bells and prayers.
By the time we reached my chambers, Daemon turned to me with a mischievous smirk. “Laena,” he said, folding his arms in that commanding way he always did when he had news he couldn’t wait to drop. “How would you like to claim a dragon?”
I had frozen—mid-step, mid-breath, mid-everything. “What?”
“You heard me,” His smile grew. “My brother, the king has given his permission.”
Without a second thought I grabbed his arm like I could shake more answers out of him. “When? Which one? Tell me everything—you can’t just say something like that and then—”
He laughed, patting my hand before prying it off his sleeve. “Not until your fourteenth nameday, next moon. It’ll be a proper affair—everything you deserve.”
I’d barely heard the second half of his sentence because my mind was already soaring. A dragon. My dragon. I’d dreamed of it for as long as I could remember, of feeling the wind in my hair and the heat beneath my legs. Of looking down from the sky and knowing the world couldn’t touch me.
And now—now it was real.
The weeks that followed were an absolute torment. I couldn’t sit still to save my life. Every conversation I had somehow turned back to dragons, and I’d devoured every scrap of history I could find about their bonds with their riders. I’d badgered mother with questions until she started sending me to the maesters just to get a moment’s peace, and Daemon—oh, Daemon had been the worst.
“Patience,” he’d said, smirking as I practically bounced in place beside him. “You’ll need it if you want to ride. Dragons can sense when you’re too eager. They’ll throw you right off their backs.”
“Caraxes didn’t throw you,” I shot back.
“Caraxes knows I have charm.”
I’d rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck, but he wasn’t wrong. Daemon had a way with dragons—the kind of confidence that made even fire-breathing beasts pay attention. I’d made him promise to come with me when the time came, and he’d agreed with one of his usual cocky grins, like there was ever a chance he wouldn’t.
The night before my nameday, I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw wings and scales and felt the rush of wind against my face. Morning couldn’t come quickly enough.
By the time we reached Dragonstone, my palms were slick with sweat. I told myself it was the heat, but I wasn’t fooling anyone. Daemon, riding Caraxes overhead, kept circling back to check on me, his red beast gliding through the sky like blood on silk. I hated how calm he looked up there, like this was all just another morning to him.
Meanwhile, I was pacing at the edge of the cliffs, my heart hammering so hard I thought the dragon might hear it before she even saw me.
Then I saw her.
Vhagar.
She was massive—larger than I’d even dared to imagine, her green-bronze scales gleaming like armor in the sun. Her wings stretched wide, casting shadows that swallowed the rocks below. And her eyes—Gods, her eyes—fixed on me the moment I stepped closer.
I felt small. I felt terrified. And I felt alive.
“Go on,” Daemon called down from Caraxes, his voice carrying over the wind. “She’s waiting.”
I wanted to tell him to shut up, to stop staring, to stop smiling like this was easy—but instead, I swallowed hard and stepped forward.
The ground rumbled as she shifted, her massive head lowering until it was level with mine. Her breath was hot and smelled of smoke, and I could feel it stirring the loose curls that framed my face.
“Hello,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “I’m Laena.”
Her nostrils flared, and for a moment, I thought she might turn away—or worse. But then she huffed, something sharp and approving in the sound, and I reached out.
My hand met warm scales, rough and solid and alive. She didn’t move.
I don’t know how long we stood there like that, staring at each other, testing each other. But when I finally climbed onto her back—shaking so hard I thought my legs might give out—she didn’t throw me off.
She rose.
And Gods, I’ll never forget that first flight—the way the wind roared in my ears and the world fell away beneath me. I screamed, not out of fear but out of joy, out of freedom, out of a feeling so fierce and wild I thought it might break me apart.
Daemon had been right. Dragons didn’t bow. They soared.
And now, so did I.