Rhaegal flew Rhaena to the island of Dragonstone as if he had known it was their fate to return to the place of her birth since the very beginning. Not once did Rhaena need to guide him, he merely took to the skies and carried her swift and true. It had been a lifetime since a wetnurse had stolen Rhaena away the night she had been born, attempting to flee so that the heirs of the Targaryen House would stand a better chance of surviving. It had ended with blood, but now that Rhaena was returning to the ancestral seat of her bloodline, she could not help but feel apprehensive. Uncertain emotions welled up within her as she watched the land rush below them in a furious tirade of colours, flying as high as they could as to avoid being sighted until they reached the coast and made towards the Shivering Sea and south. When the island finally came into view, Rhaena felt her breath catch in her throat. The castle was not of the style of Westeros, but Essos, built in such a way which made it seem otherworldly to those of the Seven Kingdoms. It was aged and looked weary in the sea spattered stone from overreaching waves which had seemingly washed away all the colour of the island. Yet still it looked sturdy, defensible, strong. As if the keep itself was watching the waters in each direction and daring any to attempt to approach with ill intentions. Rhaena felt the eyes of every window and opening staring at her as she and Rhaegal flew closer, Drogon and Viserion rising to meet them with tumultuous cries which caused the air to shudder. Even in the presence of dragons, the keep of Dragonstone did not flinch.

Guiding Rhaegal in where to land, Rhaena slid from his back and ran her fingers over his scaled neck and face as she looked up at the imposing presence of the keep which had witnessed her birth and flight. It watched her in turn. Rhaena could sense it. There was a deepness to this place, a history of her ancestors seeped into the stone from blood and fire. Stone effigies of dragons adorned every wall and alcove, observing Rhaena with their time-worn eyes. Some were so crumbled and eroded that their shapes were hardly distinguishable, and yet Rhaena felt at ease as she took her first step towards the grand doors which towered above her. Rhaegal breathed deeply, blowing hot air against her back before taking flight to join his brothers, leaving Rhaena to enter Dragonstone alone as the way was opened for her by Unsullied guards. She walked the hallways as if she had known them her entire life, gazing around her slowly to take everything into her memory. Her life had finally come full circle. This was where she had been born. Now this would be the place where she would begin the war to reclaim the life which was stolen from both herself and her sister. Daenerys. Thinking of her, Rhaena set out to find her sister. She went straight towards where the throne room would be, reasoning it would be a good place to begin and sure enough, she entered a long chamber where a throne was cut from an impressive formation of rock. In Rhaena's mind, it looked far more appealing than the hideous Iron Throne. Upon it sat her sister, Daenerys, pale and lovely in the opaque morning light as it streamed through from the outside. "Sister," the greeting made Rhaena smile as she strode forwards, not seeing the unsmiling face of Daenerys until she was closer.

"Sister, I am returned, and I see that you are too. I am glad that you have finally come home." Despite the happiness in her heart to see her sister again, Rhaena slowed to a halt upon realising that Daenerys was not being warm and affectionate as was her usual manner. No, in fact Daenerys seemed as cold and unfeeling as the stone throne she sat upon. "Sister? Is there something wrong? Is Tyrion…?" Fearing something had befallen Tyrion, Rhaena looked quickly until her eyes fell upon him quietly entering the throne room. She released a quiet breath, centring herself once more before then giving him a gentle smile of greeting. He did not return the smile, but rather glanced nervously towards Daenerys and attempted to communicate to Rhaena the source of her sister's distaste.

"Tell me, dear sister," the word dripped with venom and Rhaena begun to understand that something was not right. "When I faced capture and humiliation at the hands of the Dothraki hoards, how is it that my own blood saw fit to steal one of my dragons and fly to Westeros instead of holding the city that I had fought so hard to free from tyranny and slavery?" Blinking at her, Rhaena tilted her head as the seamlessness of her features gradually furrowed into a frown. "If it were not for Ser Jorah and Daario Naharis, I might have been forced to become a crone of Vaes Dothrak, or perhaps I would have been shared amongst all the Khals and their Kos, their blood-riders until they were finished mounting me where I would have then been sold as a slave or simply killed. Where was my sister in my hour of need?" Daenerys's eyes burned coldly. Not the burn of fire, but the burn of ice against bare skin. "Stealing. Stealing one of my children."

"Sister, I cannot steal that which is not owned. Rhaegal chose to go with me, all I needed was to ask," Rhaena defended but took a care not to speak harshly, maintaining a soft and innocent tone for she had no reason to grow angry. She was guilty of no crime and saw no reason to appear as a criminal. "And you will thank me when you hear of my exploits. The North is now secure and returned to the hands of the Starks, the rightful Wardens of the North. Together with Sansa, we destroyed the army of the bastard of Bolton, Ramsey Snow, saved the youngest Stark boy from death, took back Winterfell, united the North once more and also found allies in the Vale of Arryn." Rhaena eyed her sister levelly, never once wavering. "In a single battle, I have secured the North for you and increased our number of allies. With a little diplomacy the North will declare for you, as will the Knights of the Vale, who are significant in number, creating a stronghold for us across the water. Had I not gone, then Robb Stark would have been butchered, his men alongside him, and the Lannisters would have their own man governing the North with more men to rise to their call when we bring war to their door. Now they will have no means of escape. They cannot go North, nor will they be able to go south. Once you land your armies upon the shore, all they can do is flee further west until they have nowhere else to run." Drawing herself up to her full height, Rhaena jutted her chin proudly. "I knew Meereen to be in safe hands, and that you would find no danger with two men such as Ser Jorah and Daario searching for you. If I had felt even the slightest hint of concern for your wellbeing or that of your city, I would never have left." Allowing her final words to ring in the air, Rhaena continued to watch her sister's expression.

At first it did not shift, remaining unyielding to the last, until finally Daenerys seemed to exhale with relief and nod her head acceptingly. She even offered a hint of a smile, rising to her feet in order to greet her sister properly. "Then you have done me a great service, my sister. Tell me of this Robb Stark and his brother, Jon Snow. We have sent for them. Will they come?"

"They mean to answer, dear sister. Do not fear, we shall receive Jon Snow here with his companion. Robb Stark is unable to leave Winterfell as of yet. He is making preparations for the winter as well as for the threat that comes for us from beyond the Wall." Looking now to Tyrion, Rhaena sent him such a look which chilled the blood in his veins. "We may have to refrain from our conquest in order to face a far more pressing issue." Despite their questions, Rhaena insisted that she would say no more until Jon Snow was on Dragonstone, for it would be better coming from his lips with his own words than hers for he had lived the experience that she had not. Daenerys allowed the matter to slide, but Rhaena spoke in confidence with Tyrion, who she noted had been made her sister's Hand. Once they were alone, they had embraced and kissed one another upon the cheek before speaking in rushed, hushed tones so that Tyrion could learn the nature of the North's situation and all else Rhaena had discovered. The mention of the White Walkers was enough to lose Tyrion his appetite for wine, setting aside his goblet in order to think. He of course would not so readily believe such nonsense, however since Rhaena gave her word that she believed in Jon Snow's words, and Tyrion in turn trusted Rhaena implicitly, he could find no reason to dismiss her news. Something was stirring beyond the Wall, and it was coming for them all.

There was little Tyrion could do about it now, so instead he led Rhaena to her rooms, the grandest chambers other than the Queen's, where Rhaena could stand upon the balcony and gaze across the cliffs and ocean. "This was where I was born." Rhaena found herself saying as she stood with her hands resting against the weathered stone, roughened from age. "Years ago, when a storm ravaged the island and decimated all that remained of the Targaryen fleet. I was pulled from my mother's womb after my sister and stolen away into the night, in the arms of a woman who nursed me at her breast to keep me quiet until we were discovered and taken." Rhaena imagined what it might have been like, her cries drowned by the roaring storm as rain lashed against her tender face as she shivered from the cold, yearning for the warmth and safety of her mother's womb. "This is where my story began."

"Not the happiest of beginnings, not even the happiest of middles," Tyrion noted as he poured wine for both of them, then walked over to the balcony, ignoring his aching feet from the endless climb of stairs in order to pass one to Rhaena, who took it but did not drink. "But at the very least, we can hope for a happy ending." Lifting his cup, Rhaena finally smiled and did the same, tapping the rim against Tyrion's before taking a small sip.

"It is the same for you," she noted distantly, still gazing wistfully across the sprawling scenery before her. "Perhaps the gods thought it would be amusing to put two such pathetic creatures together to watch their misery," a twist angled her lips in a partial smile and frown. "But they did not expect us to overturn our fortunes so radically. I rather like the thought that we have essentially spat in the faces of the gods."

"Agreed. Here's to spitting in the eyes of the gods for their dour sense of humour." Now Tyrion drained his cup, sighing deeply in satisfaction as the liquid ran down his throat. He wanted to have more, but he had promised himself to drink less and was adamant to be strict with himself.

"You should know, Tyrion. Robb will have no intention of bending the knee to a stranger."

"I thought as much."

"And I am not entirely certain why Jon was summoned also. Did my sister intend to take him hostage in order to force Robb to submit to her?"

"No, my dear. That was entirely the Red Woman's ploy." Blinking, Rhaena tore her eyes away from her view in order to look at Tyrion who was turning the empty cup in his grasp whilst wearing the expression he always wore whenever he thought deeply of something. "She told us that she was searching for a prophesised 'Prince that was Promised' and suggested that Jon Snow be brought here as she had foreseen that both he and our queen had a role to play. What that role might be, however, is anyone's guess."

"And who is this Red Woman?" Informing her that she was Melisandre, the Red Priestess who had once advised Stannis Baratheon, Rhaena clicked her tongue dismissively. "From what I hear, she is nothing more than an overzealous harlot who burns sacrifices alive for the sake of her god, including Stannis's own child, Shireen." Rhaena recalled the devastation Ser Davos had carried upon learning the truth, clutching a burnt wooden stag he had carved for the little princess before leaving in order to seek aid for his king. "Anyone who burns children should be made to taste their own treatments." Thinking these thoughts, Rhaena felt her own internal fire stir as if it was answering her anger but remained calm and cool, calming her gradually. Tyrion was horrified by the idea that Shireen, an innocent girl with an unfortunate affliction, had been burned alive at the suggestion of the Red Priestess, but more so because her father had allowed it. Madness. It was a frightening thing. For a man of logic and reason, to face one without a shred of sense or sanity was truly a terrifying concept. One could not reason with madmen. Or women, for that matter. "Everything will begin soon. I expect if we do not survive the Long Night which now comes for us we will all die. What will it matter then who sits on the Iron Throne?" Hearing the worry in her voice, Tyrion placed his hand to rest it firmly against Rhaena's arm.

"I will not let anything hurt you, Rhaena." Her expression softened, hinting both sadness and fondness.

"I do not doubt it, little friend." Leaning herself down, Tyrion closed his eyes as he felt her kiss press against his brow even as she lingered, sighing heavily before drawing herself up and forcing her shoulders back despite the weight which seemed to rest upon them. To take their minds away from cold winters and walking dead, Rhaena instead asked after Myrcella and Trystane. As she discovered, Trystane had returned to Dorne to face his father's murderer and take up the position as head of the family. Ellaria Sand had become an ally of Daenerys and thus was made to accept Trystane as the new Prince of Dorne. Rhaena admired the boy's restraint as she listened to Tyrion recount the council meeting of their newest allies, where Trystane had vowed to help Daenerys fight against the Lannisters to take revenge for the death of his uncle, aunt and cousins, but promised that once the war was done, that Ellaria Sand would face justice for the treason of murdering his father. According to Tyrion, Ellaria had simply nodded her head and accepted her fate, telling Trystane that he was nothing like his father and perhaps, would prove to be far stronger than his predecessor. Myrcella, however, had remained with the queen and come to Dragonstone, separated from Trystane for the time being. She had not wished to stay, but Tyrion had felt it would be safer for her to be in a highly defendable fortress rather than in Dorne where there could very well be further attempts upon her life. Ellaria was nothing if not a treacherous viper, after all. Rhaena was glad to hear that Trystane had come into his own and had even taken Syrio Forel with him, who had seemed to decide that the boy was worthy of his service. She hoped to see them again.

The winds shifted suddenly, causing Rhaena to lift her head in order to feel the wind change its path and fly from west to east, as if fleeing from the prospect of war and death. She did not blame it. A great many things were about to change and there was no guarantee it would all be for the better. Chances were none of them would survive the Long Night and the land would become encased in ice and snow, where nothing but the dead would walk. If things began to look dire, Rhaena had already decided that she would gather those she loved dearly and have them flee upon Rhaegal, Viserion and Drogon. With three dragons, if they could not destroy the White Walkers and the armies of the undead, then at the very least they could flee to the furthest reaches of the world. Perhaps they would be able to live an entire lifetime before their wintery enemies reached them. They could die peacefully, then. A shiver ran through Rhaena, but not because she was cold. She never felt cold anymore. The fire within her always kept her warm, growing stronger with each passing day. Magic had awoken with the birth of her sister's dragons, but with them came many nightmarish and deadly things that perhaps would have best been left undisturbed. It was too late to change anything now; all they could do was prepare. Prepare and pray, though prayer would do them little good against a dead army which brought nothing but death with them.