A/N: How're you doing? Hope things are all ok.
Sit, relax, and enjoy.
Chapter 16: Balerion
The sun set in front of them, illuminating the incomplete visage of the Dragonpalace where but three days before was wreathed in celebration. In the most complete joy to proclaim thirty-five years of prosperity and peace within the Seven Kingdoms under the Targaryen banner. Where a great King and Queen heralded the hope of a further century of peace and glory. But as the great red orb slowly passed underneath the horizon, so too would the joy of that night.
For the great King was dead, the magic that so imbued him with the powers of the Valyrian gods slowly ebbing away from his corpse now resting upon the funeral pyre. Aegon I Targaryen was no more, banished to the afterlife in his sleep to return to his late wife.
As the call of the Night's Watch proclaimed: his watch had ended.
Dressed in a bone white, High Septon Hugor watched as Princes Aenys and Maegor - along with Prince Aegon and the Kingsguards - carried the open casket to the pyre. Setting it down reverently as Aenys pulled up the red cloth to encase his father's body. Aegon Targaryen would be sent to ash in his full armor plate, dressed as the warrior King had been. Blackfyre though was absent, instead clipped to Maegor's waist. He also wore full plate, while Aenys instead chose for a black-red mourning doublet and trousers.
All were silent, desperate to hold themselves together.
Hugor hid the relief and excitement in his heart that the passed King left to him. With over a hundred thousand people staring out at him from the massive square on Rhaenys' Hill, any indication of joy would result in his being torn apart. King's Landing loved their King, just how much Hugor bore witness too.
A problem that needed correction.
"Citizens of the Seven Kingdoms!" he began, voice firm and powerful. "We gather on this sorrowful night to lay to rest the King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men. Aegon Targaryen, a man larger than life and strong in spirit. May the Stranger release him to the afterlife with haste and little sorrow, so blessed was he." It left a bad taste in his mouth, but Hugor was used to it. "Her Grace, Queen Visenya, would like to say a few words."
Visenya was dressed similar to her daughter, gooddaughters, and granddaughters - a black mourning dress, color of the night sky without the twinkling stars of hope to mar the pristine darkness. Her hair was pulled up in a severe bun, dark circles under her eyes and face pale. Nevertheless, she stood up regally, powerfully. Truly the last survivor of the three dragons that created this Kingdom with fire and blood.
She had to be. These were her people and she was their Queen. Never could she let her people or her enemies see just how broken she was inside.
Never see how the morning just two days previously felt like a knife digging into her heart - a pain continuing to this very moment.
Visenya woke up just as she usually did, snuggled against Aegon's side. Murmuring happily in her sleep and grogginess, seeking out the warmth of her lover and little brother. It was a little different than usual. Her adored lover wasn't as warm - his firm chest tenser and not as comfortable. She put it aside. Perhaps it was merely a bad dream.
Stretching languidly in their massive bed, Visenya had enjoyed a rather lurid dream. One of her, Aegon, and their beloved Rhaenys enjoying a night together, bodies entwined and engaging in all sorts of carnal acts that made Visenya shudder in pleasure. Looking up at Egg, he was still asleep with a blissful look about his face. She grinned, knowing that he would appreciate being woken up sensually.
"Egg," she whispered in his ear, kissing it. "It's morning, my love. Time to please your big sister." Mentioning their relation never ceased to get him going. She half-expected him to simply pin her down and enter her right then and there.
But nothing came. He just laid there, serene.
Visenya frowned. "Egg, wake up." She nudged him - nothing but cold. Now she was worried. "Egg… Aegon?" She nudged him harder, and then punched his chest. Still nothing, which led her to check his pulse…
The resulting scream of terror brought Sers Addison Hill and Olyvar Bracken storming into the royal bedchamber, swords drawn. What they saw wasn't an attacker, but their nude queen screaming and crying over the bed, holding frantically to the still body of their King. "Get the maester!" Ser Addison screamed at a gaggle of servants, him and Ser Olyvar sheathing their swords and rushing to Aegon's side.
"My King! Don't do this…" Visenya couldn't control her tears of agony and fear, clutching him desperately. "Don't leave me. I love you. Please…" She didn't notice Gawen scurrying into the bedchamber. She didn't notice her cousin Corlys drape a cloak around her bare form and lead her away from her husband. Nothing but an ever approaching numbness.
A feeling solidified the moment Grand Maester Gawen proclaimed the King dead. Passed away of a massive stroke in the middle of the night - no pain, no sound. Just a blissful passage into the afterlife.
Closing her eyes, the Queen's mind was bombarded with the images. Her sons and daughter watched with dismay as their muna trembled, ready to break protocol and hug her if she couldn't take it… but Visenya was strong, and kept her composure. She cleared her throat. "Subjects… my husband King Aegon Targaryen has passed into the afterlife."
Not one person in the crowd spoke, though many were in tears. They wished to scream and wail and pound their chests in grief, but all eyes were riveted on the Queen. Willing to grant her the respect of words.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Overhead, the dragons flew, granting her some comfort. "He was a man who lived a full life, who accomplished great things. Through the flames of Balerion the Black Dread and the steel of Blackfyre, out of six divided warring kingdoms he forged a new realm through fire and blood. A united realm, devoted to peace and bettering its citizens. No more useless wars, no more squabbling petty Kings fighting for gold and land.
"But we all knew Aegon the King. None but I and my blood knew Aegon the man. He who smiled whenever I walked in the room. He who would never deny his children or grandchildren his time no matter how pressed he was. There was no worse enemy than Aegon, yet no greater friend and no more loving father and husband."
Turning, Visenya walked to the pyre. There laid Aegon, still serene in what looked like a blissful sleep. Leaning down, she kissed his cheek. "I love you, valonqar," she murmured in High Valyrian. "Find Rhaenys and wait somewhere beautiful for me."
Her form straight and graceful even in grief, Queen Visenya stepped off the platform where the pyre rested. Black gown brushing the stone of Rhaenys' Square beneath her, she approached the great form of Vhagar. The dragon trilled softly once her hand rested upon the scales of her snout. 'I'm sorry, muna.'
Please… don't speak of it. Visenya was barely holding it together, and if Vhagar spoke any further on it she would break. Thank you for doing this, my daughter.
'It was the least I could do for kepa.' Balerion, having lost the fourth dragonrider of his long life, was inconsolable at the moment - shuttered away from the world on the cliffs of the Dragonpalace. It would be Vhagar that lit the pyre, an action that Visenya knew her beloved husband would've wanted. They weren't a bonded pair, but were father and daughter nonetheless. 'Whenever you're ready, muna. I'm here.'
The last of her childhood. The last of her youth - all else were gone. Egg, Rhae, muna, kepa, Meraxes… All that remained were Vhagar, Balerion, and Orys. Everything else was lost to time and death. Thank you. Visenya's lips pressed into a determined line, her face shining fiercely in the light of the torches. She would not break, not when sending her great husband into the afterlife as befitting a mighty Valyrian conqueror. I love you, Egg, now and forever.
Gathered to the side, the royals heard their mother and grandmother speak the infamous word. One used to forge the Kingdom in a glorious inferno, now committing the second of the founders into the afterlife of the dragonlords.
"Dracarys."
Rearing her head back, Vhagar shot forward and unleashed a long stream of dragonfire onto the funeral pyre of her kepa. Doused in pitch and tar after being dried for days, the wood quickly ignited and soon the gout of flame enveloped all. Sheathing the corpse of Aegon Targaryen in the red-orange cloud. Aenys gripped Alyssa's hand, blinking back tears. Maegor leaned his head against Ceryse's shoulder, seeking out comfort that in spite of their pain, she willingly gave. Rhaenys hugged her sons close as they whimpered, even the stolid Alaric driven to grief for the loss of his grandfather. Rhaena did the same for her youngest siblings, Jaehaerys doing his best to keep it together while Alysanne was openly sobbing.
A man so mighty as to create a new future for Valyria from where none existed. He and his sister-wives, the creators of the new era. How could such a man perish so quietly in his sleep?
How could their beloved husband, father, or grandfather ever die? The greatest of all grief.
Suddenly, a scream was heard from the crowd. Silently watching and quietly grieving, the sight of their king immolated in fire drove the citizens of King's Landing to a collective madness. One man surged forward, leaping behind the throng of guardsmen towards the pyre. Tears cascading down his eyes, the poor laborer tossed a sliver of firewood into the dragonflame. "For you, my King!" he screeched.
More followed, at first a trickle, then a flood… until the cordon simply vanished and the entire crowd surged towards the pyre. Men, women, children… all those that willingly came to the city founded by the three dragons seeking a better life. Prospering under the aegis of House Targaryen. Never were they able to truly mourn Queen Rhaenys, body broken and lost to the sands of Dorne, but the great King Aegon burned before them and none could leave a ruler so beloved to burn in a way not fitting the greatness in which he lived.
Merchant, artisan, laborer, a begging wretch from the streets, the crowd was bound not by any lines of class or wealth. They carried whatever they could - a pile of driftwood, a chair, a table, a bale of hay. Whatever could be burned was hurled into the pyre, stoking the flames higher to the anguished cries from the crowds. Making sure Aegon burned brighter than any pyre in the history of Westeros or Old Valyria before it.
Trembling, Alysanne looked up at her sister. "What are they doing, why do they hate grandfather so?"
Rhaena kissed the crown of her sister's head. "No, Ally. They love grandfather. A dragon's strength is fire, and the bigger the fire the stronger the dragon." Truly, a great man.
Tens of thousands still stampeded over each other to pay tribute to Aegon I Targaryen, so the royal family bid their exit. It was too painful for them to witness, and their fragile composures were best left expressed in private. The Starks entered one wheelhouse, each Targaryen family into their own, and lastly Queen Visenya. Both Rhaena and Rhaenys wanted to go with her, but the silent Queen waved them off.
Stepping into her wheelhouse, completely alone, Visenya broke. She fell upon the cushions, burying her face in them as the tears spewed forth. Egg… my Egg… how can I live without you? The Queen Dowager cried alone, wishing above all else that the gods let her follow her husband into the afterlife.
Gripping the sweaty back of her husband, Alyssa threw her head back - moaning at the pressure deep in her core. "Fuck me, harder," she begged, enjoying the pleasurable burn Aenys' length blazed inside her.
But her pleas were only… half-heard. "My love, my wife," the Crown Prince groaned, continuing his slow, languid pace inside of her. "I love you," he whispered, silver hair matted to his forehead. Aenys stared at her with frantic eyes. It seemed as if he thought he'd lose her if he let go, if he stopped gliding inside her with their skin flush against each other… but never enough to smother. He was the perfect lover, attentive and kind.
Alyssa loved it… thought she loved it… wanted to love it. It brought her so much pleasure, but never to the point she needed to shatter. To come undone underneath him the way she craved. Clutching him desperately, urging him forward with knees locked around his hips and fingers digging into his back, Alyssa begged Aenys to finish her. Mind drifting to the most unwanted thoughts when it was clear that as usual, he wouldn't the way she wanted.
"Oh gods…" Alyssa's face was buried in the furs, a firm hand holding her down. "Yes… take me." The hard thrust rocked her, trying to fuck her into the bed.
"Scream for me," bellowed the command, smacking her ass. "Cum like the slut you are!"
The dignified princess moaned filthily, feeling a flood of wetness fill her cunt at his crude words. "Aye, I'm your slut. Fuck your slut!" He was bruising her hips with how hard he gripped them as he fucked her, and she was seeing stars…
She hated it. She hated that the images flashed in her mind as Aenys was inside of her. Hated just how much she was aroused by the memories flooding her…
"Yes, my dragon! Yes…!"
Alyssa shattered, feeling Aenys spill inside her. He quickly turned them on their sides, hugging her close. "Mmmmm…" he murmured, kissing her cheek. "I love you, dearest wife."
She reciprocated, resting her head on his chest. "I love you too, husband." But it hadn't been him that drove her to such a satisfying climax. Not him that filled her mind. It was impossible to pretend Aenys was the man that haunted her to this day - he was sweet and loving. Always sweet and loving, never one to cover Alyssa with his powerful build, to dominate her and fuck her hard like she begged to be treated.
It was sweet and loving, and Alyssa knew she needed to come to terms with it. He was devoted and kind and charming, not the piece of shit who… No. Not again. He'd marred her mind too much that morning.
Her thoughts were interrupted as hot tears fell on her shoulder. "My love?" Alyssa asked, feeling Aenys sob against her. She sighed, stroking his back. "Let it out, husband. Let it out."
"I can't believe he's gone, Lyssa." The loss of his father had taken its toll on Aenys… on the entire family. "Mother is numb, and the children shattered."
"He was a great man, my love. It will be hard to fill his boots, but you shall. You're a great man too - raised from birth to be a King."
He nodded in her shoulder, their bare forms pressed tightly together. "I will finish what he started, build a peaceful realm of marble and gold… Old Valyria come again." Alyssa smiled against his skin. Yes husband… strong, decisive… take the initiative.
Soon, Aenys had fallen asleep, expression finally at ease after days. Alyssa couldn't disturb him even as the sun rose in the sky, kissing his forehead and allowing him extra slumber. Deciding for a walk in the gardens to clear her mind, Alyssa watched the waves of Blackwater Bay as they crashed against the cliffs. It was a familiar sight for her, one she was born in and raised in hailing from the Driftmark. The waves never ceased to calm her, to focus her thoughts on what was necessary.
The King was dead. Much as the tragedy would need to truly work its way through the family as it grieved and mourned Aegon, Alyssa looked instead to the future. Aenys was now to be King - the Realm operated on inertia and the decisions of the Small Council but soon he would be crowned and life moving on… and it scared Alyssa. Her husband was a clever man and an able administrator, but this was the first time in the history of the Kingdom that it would not be ruled by those that forged it with fire and blood. The old ways hadn't died, and fear of Aegon's wrath was gone now.
Many would seek a return to the old ways, and Alyssa feared Aenys wasn't ruthless or cunning enough to stop it. I will need to be ruthless and cunning enough for both of us. It was what Alyssa had been training for ever since her betrothal to the Crown Prince was announced between the King and her Lord father.
First was the Small Council. It worked for Aegon and Visenya, but Aenys would need his own loyalists. Persons that could work well with him. I cannot rid myself of Torrhen Stark. While Alyssa would've preferred her brother or Ronnel Arryn in the position, a sense of stability was needed. Old Osmund Strong needed to be retired, as did Corlen Blackwood to make way for Aenys' companions… the able ones at least. Butterwell and Reyne. Alyssa was determined to have her son hold a seat on the council, if only as an advisor for now. Visenya could never be dealt away with nor did Alyssa want to…
But that left Maegor. Fists tightening at the thought of him, Alyssa willed herself not to lose her composure… she always had control, except when he was involved and it irked her greater than he did. Still, he drives me mad. Aenys was a sentimental fool sometimes and would want his brother close. She would need to find a position for him that would keep him away from the capitol. Out of sight, out of mind.
My husband will forge the beginnings of the ten thousand-year Targaryen Dynasty and I shan't let that debased thug ruin it.
Grunts from the gazebo ahead drew Alyssa's attention. Softly she approached, peeking across the leafy vines to look within. There was Rhaena, alone and dressed in her training tunic and trousers. Never the way a lady should dress, let alone a Princess, but her daughter wasn't either of those at the moment. No, she was a Targaryen Warrior Queen in being, the ruby-pommeled Dark Sister slicing through the air as Rhaena practiced her forms. It was… almost a sensual dance how fluidly she sliced at the air and thrust forward.
Spinning, performing a slashing cut that didn't break a sweat, Rhaena stumbled at the sight of her mother. The surprise nearly made her fall. Alyssa darted forward on maternal instinct. "My sweet girl… are you alright?"
She nodded. "Aye, mother, you just gave me a fright."
Alyssa chuckled, guiding them to one of the benches. "I didn't know I was so frightening."
"Oh no, just startling at the moment." Rhaena chuckled softly… only for a frown to return. "Alysanne cried herself to sleep last night."
Swallowing, the future Queen nodded. "I heard, and Jaehaerys hasn't said a word since the funeral." Even after an entire day and two nights, the pyre still smoldered from where Aegon Targaryen was put to rest. "They'll heal soon, I feel."
"I agree, they loved grandfather but are still so young. They didn't truly grasp what he represented to the Realm. Grandmother Visenya is still here, but too many think less of a woman, unfortunately."
Patting Rhaena's back, Alyssa knew that all too well. "Nothing that can be avoided, but through strength we can overcome it. The women of our family are strong." Both Targaryen and Velaryon.
Rhaena looked up with a smile. "Kepa will be King soon, and with grandmother, uncle Maegor, and yourself behind him I have no doubt he'll make grandfather proud."
Alyssa's smile disappeared, the future Queen biting her lip and averting her gaze. "About that…" The sorrowful events that draped over Westeros like a funeral shroud hadn't blinded Alyssa to what she had seen of her daughter. How… close she was to her uncle. Not just the scandalous dance. Professional gossip spreaders of court focused on that, but Alyssa saw the little things. The spars, the showing off dragonriding skills, the talks the two shared. "Keep your distance from your uncle."
Furrowing her brows, Rhaena was confused. "Why, muna? I enjoy his company."
"Aye, many women do, apart from his wife, of course." Didn't take long for him to cast her aside like a used washcloth too. "I don't wish to speak ill of family, but you shouldn't make a habit of consorting with a person like that."
"A person like what, muna?" Rhaena sat straight, eyes narrowed. "He's a great man. Fought the wildlings, fought the pirates… he gave me my dragon and allowed me to become what I was destined to be. He cares about me." I love him…
She shook her head. "You don't know him like I do, Rhaena." I hope you never do. "He fought, aye, campaigns of the greatest brutality in which he distinguished himself. There is a dark side to him, and I don't want you suffering it when he uses it on you."
"He won't! He's my uncle."
Stomping her foot, Rhaena stood. "I'm not done speaking with you, young lady!" Alyssa called out at her.
"Well I am!" Rhaena shot back. In seeing her walk away, most would say she was exactly like her grandmother… Alyssa saw differently. That was herself, leading the poor girl down the same path. Seven above, don't let her make my mistakes. Even now, she was still paying for them.
"Sleep, my beautiful pup," Princess Rhaenys cooed, rocking the babe in her arms. "Muna's here, and she loves you. Kepa loves you, and your grandparents love you." Her father definitely did, from both the mortal realm and the afterlife. A tear fell from her eye. "We all love you and your siblings."
Saera, looking up, could sense her mother's discomfort. "No cry, muna." She, unlike her brothers, was too young to understand the grief that shrouded the royal family - too young to realize what the massive bonfire she witnessed was about. "Gamp'a story."
Closing her eyes, Rhaenys fought another burst of sobs. Whenever she was sad of being away from home, kepa's stories would calm her. In the youngest direwolf's childlike mind, such would be the best way to ease Rhaenys' grief. Gods, she loved her baby girl.
But exhaustion won out and the two-nameday old child yawned, stretching her arms within her mother's hold. Rhaenys set her in the bed, kissed her forehead, and pulled the furs over her. "Nighty… muna," the girl murmured as she drifted to sleep.
"Goodnight, little pup," Rhaenys replied. Walking to the other bed, she leaned down to kiss the sleeping Aegon. Both of them were her Valyrian darlings, perfectly colored as her even though she could sense the wolfsblood in them. Her Alaric was all Stark, on the other hand, and when she leaned down to kiss his forehead she was greeted with his eyes - the only feature of her on him. "My son… you're still awake."
Alaric, not one of many words even as he grew up, shook his head. "Can't sleep, muna." He sighed, grabbing his dragon egg and squeezing it to him. Each of her babes had one, placed in their crib by her upon their birth. They treasured them, especially Alaric. "Worried."
Rhaenys sat on the bed, stroking his hair. "Why are you worried, pup?"
"Grandfather dying." He was always the smart one of her babes, further matured emotionally than the other boys his age. "Who's gonna die next?"
"Why would you think such a thing?"
There was a silence, Alaric's lip quivering. "I heard aunt Ceryse talk with someone… she said deaths happen in threes. I don't want grandmother to die, or grandfather Torrhen." He squeezed the egg harder, face pressed against the scales, trying to keep his grief back.
Sighing, Rhaenys kissed his brow. "Listen to me, my son. All will be well, I promise."
"How do you know?"
Gods, how did he become so jaded at such a young age? Was it the icy winter in his blood? "Because your kepa and I will fight for what grandfather built, as will your uncles. You are the blood of the Kings of Winter and the dragonlords of Valyria. We answer to neither men nor gods."
His violet eyes found her. "Alright, muna. I trust you." He didn't, not truly, but Rhaenys could tell that he trusted her willpower, and for now that was enough.
Shutting the door to the nursery behind her, Rhaenys turned only to run into her husband. Brandon eyed her with a sad smile on his rugged, handsome face. Her direwolf… It released the gate of emotion. "Bran…"
"Com'ere, Rhae. Let it out."
Rhaenys collapsed into his arms, crying softly against his cloak. Many times she had sought his comfort in the last few days, and each and every time he had been there for her. Thank the gods I have him. The best husband I could have. She loved him from the night of their wedding, and that love grew by the day - just like her muna and kepa.
She managed to recover her composure quicker than the other times, wiping her eyes and finding his greys. "Are you alright, Rhae?"
"Aye," she nodded. "I'm fine… just the children. They still miss their grandfather. Alaric is despondent in his own way while even little Saera can tell something is wrong."
Brandon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know who has it worse, the children with simply losing their hero and beloved grandfather, or us that still have those losses while having to endure the aftermath as well."
Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Father wants to speak with the both of us. A conclave of the direwolves… and white dragon." He referred to the snow-white dresses that she oft wore as per her duties as a Stark. Rhaenys pecked his lips and took his hand, letting her wolf guide her.
Hand of the King Torrhen Stark wasn't the young, dashing warrior Lord he had been when renouncing the Crown of Winter to pledge his loyalty to House Targaryen. In the last few days, however, he looked to have aged at least several years. His back was hunched, knees hobbled as a cane appeared. Lady Jocelyn was ever close, tending to him with loving care, but the surly seriousness that more resembled his bastard brother remained planted on his expression. Only seeing his son and gooddaughter seemed to soften him. "Bran, Rhae. Welcome."
"Father," Brandon stated, hugging him.
"Goodfather." Rhaenys kissed his cheek. They had long grown close enough to act as father and daughter. "You summoned us?"
"Yes, please sit down, dears," Jocelyn stated. Her eyes were worn but she was in better spirits than the aging Torrhen. It didn't hurt that she was much younger than he, though that didn't do anything to dampen their devotion to the other.
Outside, the moon was already shining over the black waters of the bay. It was a mere sliver of crescent, portending a new moon sometime soon - a bad omen in the North, for the larger the moon the less darkness there was in winter. "The King is dead," Torrhen began, hobbling towards the window. Staring out of it. "Within the next moon or so, Aenys will be crowned, and I am scared shitless."
Rhaenys frowned. "You hold disloyalty for my brother?"
"I was loyal to your father, Rhaenys, and I am loyal to your brother as well. Don't you dare question that." The Princess bit her lip, regretful for the statement - sometimes her mother's temper got the better of her. Brandon squeezed her hand in reassurance. "If it was a time of peace and unity within the realm, I would be at ease and already planning my return to Winterfell to live out the rest of my days." He, Visenya, Orys, Argella, Loren Lannister, and Sharra Arryn were all that was left of the old ways. Of the generation that bled and burned through the conquest. Soon, none would be left and it truly made him tremble.
"But the realm is at peace, father," Brandon remarked.
"Aye, it is. For now." Torrhen turned, grunting at the pain in his joints as he walked to his seat - a plushly upholstered chair, one of the few indulgences he allowed himself. "But that is all due to your father, Rhaenys. He, your mother, and I maintained the foundations of this realm through sheer force of will, and doing so brought greatness… but the realm is young and will go through growing pains… perhaps violently if my fears are realized.
Brandon seemed skeptical. "Father, I highly doubt that many would see the warring past as a paragon to return to…"
"No, Bran. Goodfather is correct." Eyes were on Rhaenys, who didn't shy away from voicing her opinion. "There are many who would benefit from the old ways… or a realm free of House Targaryen. I don't trust the Faith."
Jocelyn chuckled. "Spoken like a true northerner. We haven't trusted the Faith since Theon Stark." The Hungry Wolf, so opposed to the Faith that he made peace with the Boltons in order to destroy them.
"But the worries of the crown can be dealt with another time, with your brothers in attendance," Torrhen said. "What I worry of is House Stark's position. We are isolated and thus weaker than the other realms in manners of political influence, but with the world shrinking as it is we cannot rely on that isolation to save us."
"My house's enemies will see House Stark as impeccably loyal… and punish us for it." Rhaenys was under no illusions.
"What do you suggest, father? More marriage alliances between our bannermen and the south?"
"To start with, but that won't be enough." Torrhen winced, rubbing his knee. "In the last years I arranged for wealth to be brought in from the crown to build up the port of White Harbor into something far larger. I will now seek King Aenys for leave to construct roads between our main keeps… to cut down travel time if we need to call the banners."
Rhaenys nodded, but found the idea… lacking. "Goodfather, do you think all Northern houses would support us?"
That caused him to blink. "Explain that."
"I'm only suggesting that the call for a return to isolation may be heeded by many in the North. Something greatly unifying should be made to bind all factions to our House."
"And what are you proposing, Rhae?" Jocelyn asked.
It was something she had been thinking of for a while now, but the political situation forced her hand. "A betrothal, between Aegon and Lord Rogar Bolton's daughter."
Brandon blinked. "Excuse me, Rhae? Marrying our son to one of those flayers?" Anti-Bolton animosity ran deep within House Stark - even the pragmatic Jocelyn looked aghast at the idea.
But Rhaenys stayed firm. "I wouldn't suggest it normally, but Rogar Bolton seems quite different from his predecessors, at least that was what Lord Theomare Manderly told me of him when he fostered at White Harbor. Besides, my house established marital alliances with both House Durrandon and House Stark. Why not solidify our kingdom the same way?"
"I'm not completely comfortable with this, Rhae," Torrhen voiced. "But I am intrigued by your proposal. I don't trust Rogar Bolton, but perhaps if his son and daughter were to foster at Winterfell I might change my mind."
Smiling at her goodfather's acceptance of the idea, Rhaenys turned to Brandon. "Husband, we shan't make Eggsy marry anyone he doesn't wish to marry, especially a flayer… but we need to make tough choices."
He nodded. "I know, Rhae. I trust you, but the Boltons? It's… I wouldn't wish them on anyone, least of all our son."
She squeezed his hand in hers. Gods, Bran, I hope a Bolton gooddaughter is the worst thing we'd have to deal with in the coming years. Shivering, Rhaenys wasn't hopeful.
The sooner she was back in Winterfell, the better.
They were all walking wounded.
Passing by the line of guards surrounding the grassy knoll in the shadow of the Dragonpalace's great hall, Maegor found them about where he expected. The refuge of all true Targaryens - among their dragons. He sighed, knowing their pain for Maegor felt it too.
Whimpering, Syndor nudged her master's side. Urging him to go to them with both a mewl and two pleading eyes. "Stay here," Maegor said, ruffling her black fur. The direwolf complied, but never took her eyes off Maegor. As if making sure he kept his word.
His brother and sister were the first he came across, the two of them cuddled close to their growing dragons. "Brother," Aenys remarked. He was almost unkempt, hair hanging loose and beard untrimmed. "You need to speak to our mother."
"She won't speak to you?"
"We've tried… she's just silent." Rhaenys was always so happy, so bubbly and full of life. Now, it was muted like a flaccid flower and it only added to his heartbreak. "First our other muna and now this…" His sister clutched to him desperately, crying softly. "She's never been so alone… I've never been so alone. Kepa, he was… he was…"
"I know, sister, I know." Kissing her forehead, he nodded to Aenys, who guided Rhaenys back to the murmuring Arrax. Taking a deep breath, Maegor went to Visenya. She was hugging Vhagar's snout while Rhaena rubbed her back. There were no tears… the Queen had long since cried herself out. "Muna?" No response. "Muna?"
Looking over her shoulder, Rhaena gave her uncle a sympathetic smile. "I think she just wants to be alone with Vhagar."
Opening his mouth to speak, Maegor could only nod. "I understand." He moved away, shoulders slumped. There was nothing Rhaena wanted more than to race to him and hug away his pain… but it couldn't happen. There was no way she could mollify that pain.
Somehow the Prince found himself before the one dragon no longer bonded to a living rider. Composure broken, Maegor allowed his tears to trickle down his face for the first time since learning his father died. Letting his head fall upon the scales of Balerion's snout. The dragon growled gently. 'It's alright, valonqar. Let it out.'
"I miss him," Maegor murmured in High Valyrian. He hated to be vulnerable around even those of his blood, but somehow the great dragon brought his heart some sort of relief that no other could have hoped to do. "Brother, you have lost riders before. How… how do you come to terms with it?" He could sense his family trying to listen to him, but his voice was audible only to Balerion.
The dragon cooed, nudging him. 'I have lived since before the fall of my home, everyone that I knew both human and dragon lost. My first rider, my second… my third before our father. Never once do I live without the agony of never feeling the bond I have with them for as long as I further live.' Balerion whimpered, the sound one of a heavy heart. 'Count your blessings, Valonqar. You bond with but one dragon for life. We must endure the pain of losing our riders again and again.'
Maegor looked up in astonishment, his reddened eyes stained with tears. The great Black Dread, burner of Harrenhal and forger of the Iron Throne - never once did he imagine the mighty dragon to be a tortured soul, haunted by the ghosts of the past. The dragon bond… is this how it feels? Knowing truths about the intelligent creatures that no one else would?
"I'm sorry," He finally said. "How could my pain compare to yours?"
An exhale of air, one that brought heat to his face. 'Enough of that, Valonqar. You're embarrassing our family.' The tone was light, unserious. A ray of hope in the sea of darkness. 'I know you miss kepa, I miss him more than anything just as I do the Aegon before him, and Daenys before that, and my first rider Daemon the elder - father of Aenar.' Nearly two centuries since his hatching, the Black Dread had seen it all.
"Yet how can you stand it?" The Prince looked into the amber eyes of the dragon he had known since his first memory. The constant presence in his life, just as his father had been. "Losing someone that was your rock since you could remember?"
'Because we are dragons. We are strong.' Balerion tilted his head to Syndor, who waited patiently at the edge of the grass. 'Those wolves, don't they say "when the lone wolf dies, the pack survives?"'
"Aye." Maegor chuckled in spite of himself. "Where'd you hear that?"
'Your wolf told me.' Yet another layer in the onion that was Balerion the Black Dread. 'They mean it one way, but I see it differently. Our family still lives even after kepa died. That is why we endure, valonqar. That is why it is worth it for me to continue. A dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing.'
Maegor sighed, resting his head back on Balerion's snout. He was right, but it would still be hard.
Suddenly, he could feel the dragon shifting. Moving his head until he nudged Maegor gently. The Prince's brows furrowed until he looked up, jaw dropping and eyes widening. Balerion had lowered his wing, offering himself to Maegor. 'Hop on.'
"Brother… are you?"
'Yes. You know this is what was always meant to be, valonqar. What kepa wanted for the both of us.'
"My gods," breathed Rhaenys, pushing herself off of where she sat against Arrax's chest. "I can't believe it."
Aenys heard her as he stroked Quicksilver. "What?" He gaped in surprise when he saw it. "Is Maegor climbing atop Balerion?" It was! After so long… "Mother, look."
Settling atop the join of neck and torso, Maegor was embarrassed to say he was trembling. It was just as the first day he rode a horse at such a young age, but he had never hugged the side of a horse so gingerly… especially considering his mother had been riding with him on the horse. 'Calm down, little brother.'
Maegor could've sworn Balerion was chuckling at him. "Just wondering if there's a plan for if I lose my grip?" he said, louder than intended.
'I would advise that you don't, since I do not wish to lose another rider so soon.'
A frown. "Kepa never said how much of a cheeky shit you were." Gripping on Balerion's spines, the Prince looked out to see his family watching him in awe. Rhaenys and Aenys practically beaming, Rhaena gazing with… adoration? And for the first time in days, the light in Visenya's eyes had returned. As if hope finally returned to her world. "What am I supposed to do?" Maegor felt he knew, but at the moment he was drawing a blank.
His mother snorted, smiling softly. "Sovegon, my son."
Nodding, Maegor braced himself. "Sovegon… aaahhhhh!" In an instant, Balerion had launched himself with his powerful hind legs off the cliff. Wings unfurled, the intense plunge bottomed out and he curved just over the surface of Blackwater Bay. Wingbeats kicked up massive clouds of foam and sea spray in his wake as he ascended into the sky.
Soon, the ground and the surface of the sea grew smaller and smaller in his eyes. Wind slamming into Maegor's face, freezing wind - yet he wasn't chilled. The heat from Balerion… the heat in his very blood ran scorching through his entire body. It was nothing his mother, his sister… nary anyone could have prepared himself for. No wonder Rhaena changed so greatly after this… He had trained, fought, and bled for years and yet only now could he feel truly the mighty warrior he was destined to be.
'Hold on, valonqar.' Balerion abruptly plunged toward the sea, turning Maegor's vision red as he clung for dear life... only at the very last second looping back up into the sky with a loud bellow.
"Are you toying with me?!" Maegor yelled over the wind.
Balerion heard him. 'Perhaps I am. Kepa was a good sport about it.'
Wanting to roll his eyes, he could only laugh. Gods, it was a heady feeling. The feeling of riding a dragon, how the power of Old Valyria soaked from the dragon beneath him into his own soul as he soared high above the earth - a vision below him that no mortal could ever lay claim to. That no god could cast him down from. This was his destiny, a dragonlord risen from the ashes of Old Valyria just as his father was before him.
Hearing a hoot next to him, Maegor looked to the side to see Vhagar fall into place beside him. Visenya watched with a delighted look that brought warmth to his heart - his mother, happy again if only for the single moment. To her left was his brother, laughing atop Quicksilver.
Maegor then turned as another roar rang out, finding his niece and sister atop Dreamfyre and Arrax respectively. Rhaenys held a look of mischief, while Rhaena expressed… something he found familiar, but couldn't read.
It didn't matter. Maegor felt powerful up among the clouds and the heavens. Nothing made him more powerful than the roar of the wind in his ears. He smiled wide. "WHOOOOOO!" Balerion roared and climbed higher.
Another four throats joined in. "WHOOOOOO!"
This was where he was meant to be, Maegor knew it now. On the back of a dragon, with his family at his side.
The pack survives… it shall endure.
A/N: Balerion didn't have to wait long for a rider.
Until next time - the coronation of Aenys.