It was like nothing she could've imagined.
Sitting on the lap of her grandfather, hearing his heroic tales of battles and conquests long past, Rhaena had noticed his eyes full even as he related some heroic deed or mighty dragon attack to her giggles and cheers. She hadn't understood it at the time.
By the Seven, she understood it now.
Below, the smell of burning wood and flesh reached her even as Dreamfyre kept high in the sky. The Ironborn rebels had struck the first blow… a raid on Fair Isle, Elissa's home. Undoubtedly to draw legitimacy with their people by notching a victory against the Westermen - a traditional foe.
Unfortunately for them, she and her uncle Maegor were at Casterly Rock, and he led her into battle.
"Stay high! Dreamfyre is still small enough to be killed by their siege artillery."
"Uncle…"
"Wait till I loop in the air, then dive, understood?!" She could only nod.
Seeing the loop Balerion made below her, Rhaena remembered her uncle's words of tactics, now it was safe enough to dive, and yet she hesitated. 'Muna… we must attack…' Dreamfyre reminded her.
Gripping the spines of her dragon tightly, Rhaena took a deep breath. Could she live with herself if she simply waited here and let Maegor finish them off? Not a chance in all the seven hells.
I'd be exactly what they thought I was… what he thought I was.
Rhaena gave the silent command, Dreamfyre roaring and with a beat of her wings making the plunge. Something she had endured before and greatly enjoyed but this was different. No longer was this a game. It terrified her.
It shocked her.
It made her feel alive. The fire coursing through her blood hotter than it ever was.
You are a dragon.
You are a dragon.
You are a dragon!
"I am a dragon!" The Ironborn ships, marked by the fiery projectiles of the catapults as they hurled death at Fair Isle - the home of her dearest friend - grew larger and larger against the backdrop of the sea. Fury burned hot inside her, overriding every sense of fear or reluctance. She was a dragon. She was fire and blood. "Dracarys!"
The heat blasted back against her in a superheated cloud of shimmering air and noxious black smoke. While nothing like the massive gouts of flame Balerion enveloped entire triremes with, Dreamfyre showed she was no pushover in the words of her rider's house. The tongue of dragonfire shot out and bathed an Ironborn trireme along half the length. It's sail burst into an inferno, screams heard from even her perch astride the lilac beast. Eyes red with the fury of the dive shallowing out, Rhaena strained as Dreamfyre beat her wings, pulling up to careen over the battlefield.
All over, Balerion's relentless assaults had turned the largest behemoths into incinerated hulks of fire atop the water. Smoke shrouded the coastline, marking the funeral pyres of hundreds of sailors.
Rhaena felt naught but contempt for them. Traitors and rapists all… she'd heard the stories. Rapists… There were still many longships, the smaller vessels gliding through the water and engaging the Farman vessels and shore defenses with arrows, small ballistae, and javelins. "Dracarys, girl. Kill them."
'Kessa, muna. With pleasure.' Her eyes were slight with flame as Dreamfyre resumed her attack. No longer was she a mere maiden.
She was a true dragonrider.
Time blurred. Rhaena knew not how many minutes had passed nor even the number of longships she turned into burning specks of debris upon the blue-green waters of Elissa's home. It wasn't even a fight, arrows batted away by Dreamfyre's thickening skin as if they were pinpricks. She was covered in soot and her hair had blown loose from her braid, but Rhaena was untouched.
Was this what her grandmother felt like at Gulltown? At the Field of Fire? Rhaena knew she should feel numb from taking countless lives beneath and she didn't relish it… but that mattered not to her. She felt nothing but the triumph of her realized destiny.
A roar drew her from her reverie, head swiveling to find Balerion alongside. Her uncle Maegor grinned at her, waving. Motioning towards Fair Isle. She blinked, only to look at the water. No ship remained. All were destroyed.
They had won.
Finding her uncle again, Rhaena matched his grin. Awkward and tired at first, it grew until she was close laughing. Whooping in exhilaration. The dragons joined their riders with roars of their own, banking away as they headed fir the keep of House Farman.
House Targaryen had met its first test of the new reality… and through Prince Maegor and Princess Rhaena it had triumphed.
"High. Side. Forward. Thrust. Thrust… good show, your Grace."
Lips in a tight line, the eight-named at old Prince Jaehaerys whispered something rather untoward under his breath - a word he learned from Aegon when the latter was too deep in his cups with the other boys of court. Not one he'd want his father or mother hearing him use, but neither were here. "Not good enough."
Ser Marden Karstark smiled, what on any less soft-spoken man would've laughed. "You are too hard on yourself, my Prince."
"I am sloppy," Jaehaerys replied. "Nothing like my uncle." Maegor was a beast with a sword. The young Prince watched often as he sparred with Ser Gawen or the Kingsguards and took notes… he wasn't anywhere close to as fluid or furious as the rider of Balerion and it rankled him. "I need to be better."
"You're young. Focus on mastering the proper form." The northman - appointed to his position by Torrhen Stark as part of the increasing influence of the largest kingdom in the realm - kicked at Jaehaerys. The boy quickly leapt out of the way, but his stance was weak and he stumbled against a column. "See, so brash and impetuous. Need to learn the basics, my Prince."
Gritting his teeth, Jaehaerys felt humiliated. "I ought to request a different instructor."
Karstark chuckled softly. "Sure, sure. Be known as the Prince who couldn't handle a barbarian from Karhold." Blinking, Jaehaerys glared and resumed his stance… only realizing later that he had fallen for the master-at-arms' bait.
Several bruises and sore muscles later, Jaehaerys poured over his notes as he sat next to the hearth where his dragon egg blazed - he found it the most calming place in the Red Keep besides the library. "What am I missing?" he whispered to himself, studying the various sketches he made of his uncle in combat. "Why can't I be like this?" He copied the movements, but where his uncle excelled all he got was aching muscles.
The bronze-scaled egg seemed to crackle in the hearth, drawing his attention. Shut up. It was as if his dragon was mocking him.
"Hiya, big brother!" He winced, changing to an irritated scowl as the ever bubbly Alysanne skipped into his chambers, blue dress swishing upon the stone floor. "Hatch the dragon yet?" Anyone else would've made fun of him, but his baby sister was too innocent for that.
He simply rolled his eyes. "No, Ally, I didn't hatch my dragon yet." If I did, I wouldn't be here - I'd be trying to find grandmother. "What do you want?" Ever since his lashing out at her, Jae made sure never to raise his voice at her.
She shrugged, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Just bored. Whatcha doing?"
"Trying to figure out how our uncle is so good at fighting so that I can be like him."
"You're a good fighter. I've seen you spar."
He smiled in spite of himself. "You're sweet, but don't lie. I can't swing my sword like he does… I keep trying, but it tires me out."
Blinking, Alysanne peeked at the sketches and then studied him. Her lilac eyes sparkling. "Maybe it because he has big, thick arms. Uncle Maegor is built like a bull!" she said, giggling.
"Come now, Ally, it's not as simple as…" Pausing, Jae thought about it for a moment. Remembering the thick muscles of his uncle… and the toned muscles of Rhaena and his grandmother on top of it. "Seven hells," he murmured, looking at his scrawny limbs and slender frame. "You might be on to something."
"I do?" At his nod, she grinned. "See, you should listen to me more!"
"Perhaps I should," Jae murmured, his mind whirring. He just needed to build his body and then he'd be able to learn the proper skills to make him like his uncle in battle…
But Alysanne had other plans, tugging at him. "Come, Jae, come. Let's play in the gardens!"
"I'm busy, Ally."
"But no one wants to play with me. Our cousins aren't here, and kepa's not here. And uncle Maegor's not here." She sniffled. "No one wants to play with me…"
Ughhhh… How could he say no to that? "Fine. Half an hour in the gardens." Her entire face lit up like the sun and she kissed his cheek. As Alysanne pulled him out of the chambers, Jaehaerys felt that the minor inconvenience was worth his little sister's happiness.
The loss of their grandfather taught them the value of happiness.
Loyal Kingsguard watching over them - having grown up with them, Jaehaerys wasn't fazed by their presence - the two royals rushed towards the gardens… only to nearly run into someone. Jaehaerys only just managed to skid the both of them to a halt. "Oh… sorry, uncle Daemon."
Daemon Velaryon chuckled and ruffled his nephew's head. "Don't you worry, nephew. Tis alright, you have a pretty girl to impress." He wriggled his brows.
It took a bit for Jaehaerys to understand, and he blushed when he did. Ally and I? "Uncle…"
"What?" Alysanne was confused, especially at the person in discussion with Daemon. "Who are you?"
The man, older than their sister Rhaena and quite solidly built with thick muscles a trimmed black beard, bowed his head. "Forgive me Princess. Rogar Baratheon, first son of Davos Baratheon and future heir of Storm's End."
"Uncle Orys' grandson?" Jaehaerys knew of the merry man with the one hand… Rogar looked like him now that he thought about it, but his blue eyes held an almost… dangerous glint.
He didn't like him.
"The one and only. Was hoping to see your father, only to hear he departed."
"He should be back soon," Jae replied. "It was a pleasure, Ser Rogar," he lied.
"Of course." Rogar bowed as Jae took Alysanne and led her off. I hope father sends him away.
She was a Princess. She was a Targaryen. She was a dragonrider that fought atop her mount as her grandmothers before her. Still shrouded within the foreboding keep belonging to one of her ancestors' greatest foes, everything within Rhaena told her to remain firm. The presence of her stalwart uncle steadied her, as did Dark Sister sheathed at her side.
But when the familiar cream form of Quicksilver circled overhead, the Princess sucked in a breath as her eyes watered. When the dragon landed and the familiar loose curls and fair, silver features of her dear father slid off his back, Rhaena lost her composure and ran to him. "Kepa!" she cried.
"Daughter!" Aenys lifted her in his embrace just as Rhaena launched herself into it. Father and daughter hugging close, latter seeking comfort and former begging reassurance. "Thank the gods you're alright." At his brother's letter, there was no keeping him from heading to Casterly Rock - his daughter was more important than anything.
"Rhaena!" Her muna pushed herself into the hug, encircling her waist from behind and making the Princess feel all the more secure. "Whomever tried this will feel our fury," Alyssa said, half a hiss and half a sob.
She wanted to cry, to pour her heart out, but did Rhaena wish to cause her kepa the same pain her uncle endured in dealing with what happened. Best to bury it. "He already has, muna. Uncle Maegor saw to that by his own hand in a trial by combat."
Breaking the embrace, Aenys made his way to Maegor, hands grasping his shoulders. "Brother… thank you…" He embraced Maegor, clapping his back. "You protected her, saved her life."
"You'd do it for me, I know it." But Maegor pulled back. "However, I merely granted my niece justice. She was saved by another." His eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't have been as merciful."
"Who did save her, then?" asked Alyssa, eying Maegor suspiciously.
Rhaena looked at a young man standing ramrod straight off to the side. "He did, muna. One of our men-at-arms."
"A man-at-arms?"
"Aye, was nearly punished by Lord Lannister before I stepped in."
Aenys was then made aware of the simple man-at-arms standing to the side. One hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword while the other dangled to the side, face uncovered by his helm. He looked… indistinguishable from all other men-at-arms in Targaryen service and Aenys knew that on any other occasion he'd be easily overlooked. The King felt a bit of shame, knowing what this man did if Maegor was to be believed. "You are?"
"Bean, your Grace. Dick Bean," he replied, moving to bend the knee only for the King to stop him.
"You saved my daughter, my brother says…" Aenys' voice caught. "You… protected her innocence. In this you have my everlasting gratitude."
Dick Bean only bowed. "Been servin' 'Ouse Targaryen all mi'life, like mi'father before me. Only mi'duty, yer Grace."
Aenys shook his head, knowing exactly what this man deserved for protecting Rhaena. "Nonsense. You must be rewarded. Brother?" He motioned to Maegor. "May I have Blackfyre."
Maegor caught on and approved. "Of course, brother." Out came the ancestral sword of House Targaryen, forged in Old Valyria and carried through centuries of battles. "Kneel before your King, Bean." The man-at-arms, not close to as simple as most highborns would regard him, stared with wide eyes but complied - falling to his knee and bowing his head.
What was given away as a matter of course to those born in a keep took a greater significance to those born in a hovel or servant quarters. Aenys could sense Bean's near trembling, but this was absolutely earned. "Dick Bean. In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Do you so swear?"
"I so swear, yer Grace."
"Then arise, Dick of House Bean, knight of the Seven Kingdoms." The newly christened knight, still in his armor of a Targaryen man-at-arms, met the eyes of his King as Aenys handed Blackfyre back to Maegor. "Ser Dick, name the post you wish to serve. You shall have my leave for any, unless you wish a white cloak… unfortunately all positions are taken." He laughed merrily.
Bean chuckled politely, though he still felt near numb from the new title bestowed upon him. "If it pleases yer Grace, I'd like to serve the sworn sword to the Princess."
That was slightly surprising, though Rhaena's smile and Maegor's nod… and a lack of disapproval from Alyssa indicated he hadn't made a mistake of form. "Why is that?" Aenys asked.
"Know little bout be-in' a knight. Best stick to what I's good at - protectin' her Grace from the monsters that'd hurt her… if it pleases her Grace that is?"
Blushing, Rhaena beamed. "I could not be more honored to have you by my side, Ser Dick."
No one, not even the lowliest wretch, knew not of the sacred vow of a sworn sword. He bent the knee again. "I offer mi'services, yer Grace. I will shield yer back and keep yer counsel and give mi'life for yers if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."
Rhaena brushed her hand on his helm. "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise."
Kissing Rhaena on the forehead, Aenys noticed the Lannisters assembling closer to the gate and his eyes narrowed. "Excuse me, I must have a word with Lord Lannister about his trial procedures," he said with a particular venom completely uncharacteristic of him. "Come Rhaena, I want you to witness this."
The two of them, flanked by Ser Bean and other guards, headed towards the Lannisters and left Maegor and Alyssa side by side. The Prince sucked in a breath. "Goodsister."
"Goodbrother," Alyssa replied, her face tight… but unexpectedly she reached out and took his arm. "Thank you. For what you did."
He blinked, momentarily stunned at how… gentle she was being, but quickly recovered. "She is my blood. I did so gladly." Her tone, it brought back memories. Not ones overtly unpleasant, only so through context. "I would do anything for my family, no matter how much it hurt me."
Alyssa sighed, biting her lip. "I know, Maegor. Gods, do I know." Was this what it could've been? Her and him? A fierce and powerful man protecting his family? Yes, this was what she'd always wanted and after what Maegor did for her daughter… Alyssa couldn't muster her loathing of him. As such, they walked together, the silence welcome… but strange. "I presume you defeated the Ironborn attacks?"
"Aye, Fair Isle is secure." He smiled in spite of himself. "Rhaena acquitted herself well in her first combat flight."
Her eyes widened. "Rhaena fought on Dreamfyre?" At his nod, she smiled. "I was prepared for this when Queen Visenya called Rhaena her future 'dragonlady' I believe was the word she used."
"Sounds like muna. You shouldn't be worried, she is skilled."
"I'm not." Politics reared their ugly head, though. "Is the threat dealt with?"
"Militarily yes, but the leaders of this rebellion still need to be dealt with. Lord Greyjoy will handle that."
She frowned. "Can we trust him?"
Maegor shrugged. "As much as one can trust an Ironborn."
It was a smell that any Ironborn was accustomed to. Theirs was a hard life, from the most wrinkled sea dog to the richest highborn - they were born with salt, steel, and blood in their nostrils, and there was plenty of that filling the air on that sunny morning on the coastline of Great Wyk.
Goren Greyjoy watched atop the bobbing longship as yet another stupid soul found his neck severed from the blade of one of the kraken-sigiled bannermen of his. It was ironic to him - they had the stones to attack the fuckin' Westermen and the dragons that defended Fair Isle, but they ran like cowards when his own reavers disembarked from their longships into the shores of their islands. Thousands flocked to the calls of the traitors.
Thousands now met the hard steel of the Iron Price.
"How does it feel, you fool?" Lord Goren asked the bound man beside him. The idiot who styled himself a Holy Man… as Lodos the Twice-Drowned. The original Lodos was an idiot too, so it fit. "Barely lasted a day against my men. I suppose that's an improvement though. You didn't last two hours against the dragons."
"You do not scare me, heretic!" bellowed the fanatic imposter, holding himself high as befitting a proper Ironborn… least he wasn't lying about that. "I am Lodos the Twice-Drowned! I am tasked by the Drowned God to bring our people to triumph and riches! Let go of this idolatrous traitor, before it's too late!" he beseeched the reavers surrounding him on the longship.
None replied, the two reavers watching the supposed holy man instead tying iron weights to his ankles with steel chains. Goren, a smirk on his lips, got into the face of 'Lodos.' "You call yourself Lodos? Well, then show it! Show these men that you are worth following!"
The man looked confused. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Goren laughed. "The original Lodos said the Targaryens would be defeated by bringing the Drowned God from the sea to fight them back with an army of krakens. He departed into the sea in order to bring him to save us… so go save us!" Motioning to his men, Goren clapped his hands as they picked up the holy man and hurled him into the sea, rope tied around his shoulders.
Thinking back to that moment, Goren looked at the sack-covered jar with a smirk at the memories. The poor schlub had been as much a holy man of the Drowned God as the original Lodos had been - he didn't begrudge the dumb as rock superstitious smallfolk of his domain for their susceptibility to such frauds, but it was a stain on him.
Things had to change if the Ironborn were to survive, but first he needed to make sure his authority was absolute. Today would hopefully do that.
"Presenting!" announced the herald. "Lord Goren Greyjoy of Pyke, Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands."
Kraken sigil glinting atop his breastplate - a fine piece of armor he insisted on wearing even aboard ship, though not in battle - the Lord of Pyke walked into the great hall of Casterly Rock a mighty conqueror… or at least acting like one. Other Ironborn would've dreamed of doing this with the Kings of the Rock bending the knee before them, but he was content to bend the knee himself before the Targaryen King currently holding court here. "Your Grace, I pledge my everlasting fealty to you."
King Aenys I Targaryen bid him to rise. Seated beside him was Queen Alyssa, with Prince Maegor on his right and Princess Rhaena to her left. A powerful family, one that Goren was wise to be wary of. His father Vickon had been right on that regard. "Welcome, Lord Goren. I was told you have a gift for me."
Nodding, Goren rose and motioned to his men, who brought forward the covered jar. "Aye, your Grace." He removed the sack, revealing a head pickled in brine. "I give you Lodos the Thrice-Drowned."
"Thrice-Drowned?"
"Aye… apparently he drowned again trying to seek help from the krakens of the sea… they didn't come I don't think." He noticed Maegor snorting a laugh, while Princess Rhaena smiled in spite of her better instincts. "The rebellion is crushed, your Grace. The Iron Islands are yours to command."
Clapping his hands, Aenys smiled widely. "Excellent, Lord Greyjoy. Simply excellent. One vicious sore cauterized before it began by yourself and my uncle and daughter." He beamed at the both of them, ever so proud. "That was my daughter's first dragonride, Lord Goren. She acquitted herself amazingly."
"She undoubtedly has the dragon's blood, your Grace," Goren replied tightly - the Ironborn hadn't had the best relationship with dragons, though the lesson to be learned was to be their allies, not their enemies. "The major lords of my domain are here to swear fealty to you. I can bring them now."
But Aenys shook his head. "Later, later. You have done well, Lord Goren, and I am a generous sovereign to those that serve me well." Of this he knew… everyone knew. "You've earned favor from me, and with our pasts quite… unpleasant, name your request and I shall grant it to ensure peace and comity between House Targaryen and the people of the Iron Islands."
Goren had been planning on how to broach this in private, but he couldn't believe his luck. Damn him to the Seven Hells if he wasn't going to exploit it. "Aye, your Grace, there is one thing. Your father mandated my own father admit septons and begging brothers of the Faith into the Iron Islands to convert my people… this was one of the reasons many flocked to Lodos the Twice-Drowned, feeling that their culture was being taken away from them. Allow me to expel them and restore the religious right of the Iron Islands to worship the Drowned God in peace."
At the conclusion of his request, the usual suspects began to uproar. "Your Grace, if I may," said Ser Joffrey Doggett, his handlebar moustache drooping down his sides. "This is a horrid request… seeking your favor in order to harass and likely brutalize innocent men and women of the Faith? Repulsive, but what can one expect from an Ironborn."
He heard his men grumble and hiss, but Goren restrained himself. "We only ask that you reward our proactive actions by granting us the same privileges that the Faith awarded to the Kings of Winter after the defeat of Argos Sevenstar at the Battle of Weeping Water by King Theon Stark - a privilege renewed by your illustrious father King Aegon."
Aenys stroked his beard. "He did assume such a treaty for the Crown." The North was free of activity by the Faith of the Seven outside White Harbor itself, and in there only limited to one sept and a skeleton staff. It was… fair. "Alright, your wish is granted - but harm one hair on a begging brother's head and there will be consequences."
Thriving on the glares of the pious Westermen, Goren bowed and smiled. "You have my oath that I shall see them unharmed, your Grace."
"Good, now let us feast and be merry tonight, for tomorrow we return to King's Landing."
Hand being shook by his bannermen for his victory, Goren was soon approached by Prince Maegor. "You're a bold motherfucker, I'll give you that," proclaimed the Prince.
"A compliment, I'll take it as. One cunt to another."
Maegor grinned. "Aye, one cunt to another." There was a slight silence. "But your request was far beyond what my brother was duty bound to give you. He might be generous, but the both of us know it."
Goren cocked his head. "Are you making demands of me, my Prince?"
"Not yet," was the reply. "But I'll certainly remember one day that you owe a debt, and I'll expect it to be paid when the time is right."
"I am not Black Harren, I pay my debts."
"With stolen loot perhaps… just make sure it's stolen from our mutual enemies."
"Those are terms we can live with." No love lost between them couldn't mean that House Targaryen and House Greyjoy couldn't be allies, after all. "To peace."
"To peace."