A/N: Hey guys. Got a new collab story out - Bound Together. Be sure to check it out!
In any case, enjoy the new chapter. I think this is the one everyone was waiting for!
Read and comment!
Chapter 30: Dragonfire
"You know, your Grace, sometimes I envy you."
Looking up from her gaze upon the lush gardens and beautiful fields of flowers that surrounded Hornhill, Rhaena looked again at her companion of the last few weeks. "How so, Lady Margaery?" Sure, being a Valyrian Princess was much to envy, but Margaery Tarly was objectively gorgeous in the same smokey dark look that Tyanna pulled off so gracefully.
Tyanna… Rhaena sighed inwardly. The beautiful friend of hers filled her thoughts. Her and…
Best not think of that. If thinking of Tyanna filled her with sorrow, the pain she felt at her Uncle's reaction to her was worse.
Unknowing of her specific worries, Lady Margaery nodded. "Aye. I've seen you fly off on your dragon alongside Prince Maegor many times. Wielding the sword of Queen Visenya, fighting the enemies of the Realm? Your family lets you do that?"
"I'd do it even if they didn't let me. A dragon is no slave," she smirked. "But I am encouraged to be strong and powerful. Just like my grandmother." Both of them.
"See, that's where I envy you. I'm a Tarly as much as my brother Sam and we are a warlike house, but I mustn't involve myself in anything of that nature." Sighing, the slim, vivacious young woman was quickly becoming yet another of Rhaena's favorites - ironic, the social animal that Rhaena had become built upon someone once so shy that she was oft scared of her own shadow. "Granted, I love feasts and bossing around the household, but do you know how much I simply want to pick up a sword and start swinging?"
Rhaena raised an eyebrow. "I know the feeling, as do my Stark cousins." She raised a brow. "You know how to swing a sword?"
Margaery shrugged. "A little. Tried to train sometimes, but my father was constantly watching me. When he died and Sam became Lord it got easier - he's always been kinda clueless where I'm concerned."
"Brothers, right?" Both of them laughed. "A woman should learn to fight if she wishes. If you would like I could show you a thing or to when I have time."
Her eyes widened. "Truly? I… I couldn't impose, your Grace."
Reaching out with her hand, Rhaena clasped her shoulder warmly. "Consider it payment for services rendered." The two girls smiled at each other, only for Rhaena to see someone walk towards them. "Uncle." Her voice lost all trace of warmth.
Turning, Margaery immediately fell to her knee. "Your Grace."
Maegor raised a brow. "Rise, Lady Margaery. I am not my brother the King… nor would he want you to near prostrate yourself before me." She rose, looking sheepish. Maegor had that effect on people, though apparently not Rhaena any longer. "May I speak with my niece?"
She nodded, curtseying. "Your Grace, I am at your service." Margaery passed by the handsome Prince. Gods, they should just fuck already. Maybe they'd be a little less tense all the time. Unlike what they may have told themselves, most with working eyes could notice it.
Both were ignorant however, so the subject wasn't breached by either. "Yes, uncle?" Rhaena asked, impatient. "You wished to speak with me? What of?"
Eyes narrowing slightly from her tone, Maegor let it go. "You did well in your recent solo patrols," he informed her. "Saved a village from being raided."
"Only doing my duty," Rhaena replied. "I am not weak."
"No, you are not." Seeing her turn to gaze out from the battlements, he did the same next to her. Unable to ignore how beautiful she looked. Feel the kiss from earlier on his lips. Gods, he was an awful person. "We need to talk about it."
"Talk about what?"
He sighed. "I know you know what I speak of. Our kiss…"
She shoved herself off the battlements. "You made it very clear what you felt, uncle. I see no need to discuss it." With that she stormed off, leaving them in the midst of war just as apart as they had been at the start of it.
"It's not polite to stare."
Unable to stop the giggle that escaped her lips, Tyanna smirked unabashedly from her perch on the rather large bed in Rhaena's chambers. Far too big for her alone - a perfect fit for the two of them. "Can you blame me?" Her eyes raked down on her love's body, the most beautiful body she had seen.
Normally the perfectly poised and mighty dragon Princess as her grandmother or aunt were, Rhaena turned away and blushed. "Why do you look at me like that?"
"Isn't it obvious? You're beautiful."
She looked back at Tyanna, wearing a matching if sheepish smile. "I've wished for one person to call me that for the longest time." Rhaena cupped her cheek. "I still do, but I find I like it coming from you."
Tyanna didn't hesitate to bring their lips together, eager to start the day off in the same manner they ended the last…
"Lady Tyanna, welcome." Even as he greeted the lady in waiting for the Dowager Queen, Brandon Snow refused to smile. Tyanna could've sworn she'd never see him wearing anything but a frown, even if it softened around his granddaughter and grandson the Mormont siblings. "What business does Queen Visenya have with me?"
Letting the door to the chamber of the Master of Whisperers close behind her, Tyanna turned and attempted to muster all of her womanly determination in spite of only being ten and seven. "She wishes to know what you've heard from your birds."
Brandon raised a brow. "Oh? If so she can ask me at the next meeting of the Small Council."
Undoubtedly she would, but Tyanna wasn't here for the Dowager Queen. "There are things you tell the council and there are things you keep to yourself until you can verify the information. She wishes to know that."
Snorting, Brandon turned to pour himself a mug of ale. Seeing a slip of paper - a filthy one at that - Tyanna quickly snatched the parchment and stuffed it in the folds of her dress before he turned back. "You are a crafty one, Lady Tyanna. Be one who came up with it herself or applied what the Queen told her I don't truly care, but I shall not divulge my secrets so easily."
Tyanna smiled. "If there is anything you can tell my Queen about plots against the Crown I would appreciate it. Her Grace is very worried."
"As am I, and if I need you then I will send for you. Good day." Tyanna merely walked out. She'd got what she came for.
Knocking quickly, there was a rustle of cloth before a firm "Enter" was heard. Tyanna did so and found her mistress the Queen Dowager seated on the bed, arms folded atop her lap. "Ah, Tyanna. I see from your face that you accomplished some of what we discussed."
Pursing her lips, she nodded - trying not to stare too much at Visenya. There were faint streaks down her cheeks, as if she'd been crying. Completely understandable, even if it had been years since she lost the King, her husband and brother. Mere weeks had passed since she and Rhaena split, since Tyanna lost the woman she loved with all her heart. If such were the pain she felt, the pain felt by Visenya was unimaginable.
"Brandon didn't say anything to me of his dealings," Tyanna instead noted, moving on.
Visenya nodded. "I expected that much. He's not someone easily manipulated, likely why he's so valuable. But… you did achieve something?"
"Aye." She held out the slip of paper. "Looks to be a meeting location for one of his little birds." If Tyanna couldn't serve Rhaena as a lover, then she'd serve her in other ways - perhaps the whispers of court would be her forte, herself the Mistress of Whisperers while Rhaena was Queen. Admirable, to which she needed to learn more from Visenya.
The Queen Dowager had her own agenda, one overlapping Rhaena's. "He's stepped up his spycraft. Lord Reyne focused on Dorne and the Free Cities, while Lord Snow seems more interested in internal enemies."
Tyanna blinked. "A rebellion?"
"Why not? Our reign is young, comparatively." Hands clasped together, Visenya moved to the hearth. "My mind may be aging as my body does, so perhaps you should begin my dear?"
Taking a deep breath, Tyanna cracked her knuckles and placed her palms over the flickering flames. Feeling their warmth. Show me your secrets, great pantheon. Before, the rituals were complex and required much in the way of sweet-smelling dreamwines or magical powders to coax a vision from the flames, but as Tyanna's skills honed… so too did her innate ability to call on the magical and divine.
Perhaps it was her Valyrian blood - perhaps her mother's blood. Perhaps both.
Finally, a flash of something came to be. A man, helmet with a crystal crest adorning it, enjoying himself as a female form attended to his needs. Then a jerking knife as it cut through an unarmed man's stomach… then nothing, the gods forcing Tyanna out. "I… I saw an assassination."
Visenya stared at her. "Of who?"
"I don't know, but someone of the Warrior's Sons was involved. I saw the helm." Tyanna thought for the moment. "I think Lord Snow's source may be a whore. This knight's whore." Only a knight of the Stars and Swords wore a crystal-crested helm.
"Then you will need to meet this person." Sensing Tyanna's worry, Visenya placed a hand on her shoulder. "There can be no one else that I can trust as much as you. That Rhaena can trust."
A blush adorned her cheeks as the Queen's words registered. "You know about that?"
"I know enough, and complain I cannot." She cupped the young girl's cheek. "Now go see to it. We have little time."
Cloak draped over her head, Tyanna snuck out of the Palace just before twilight. Without any distinguishing features that set her apart from any other smallfolk, she blended right in with the crowd of servants and petitioners that hurried out of the dominion of the King and Queen. Watched over by the protective screen of the guardsmen - many of whom were the betrotheds or lovers of the female maids - they headed to their houses in the more decent parts of the burgeoning city with plenty of silver stags jingling in their pockets.
King Aenys was very generous to his servants, just as Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya had to their parents and grandparents before them.
But at the newly paved streets leading to the domains of the artisans and craftsmen - the Street of Steel as it was being called recently - instead of following the crowd and their bodyguards, Tyanna turned northward. Away from the confident foot traffic towards someplace else in the city. One where a rather unpleasant smell began to waft into her nostrils.
Gods help me.
Not always the acknowledged bastard daughter of one of the Pentoshi magistrars, once Tyanna had lived with her mother in poverty. A beauty from what she was told was the most wondrous of lands, the slums of Pentos weren't the safest place to live, hence why she swallowed her pride to effectively sell herself into slavery so Tyanna could grow up in the palace. Her mother had died there, but allowed Tyanna to meet Queen Visenya and escape.
And here she was, trudging through the slums of King's Landing. Not as decrepit and generationally filthy as the more ancient cities of Essos or the Andal settlements such as Oldtown, what the locals derisively called 'Flea Bottom' was better than most. The houses weren't falling apart from age, and the denizens weren't useless poor but the menial laborers and odd-peddlers that made up any growing city. The smell was rancid but not ingrained there yet.
In Tyanna's experience it would be though. Sooner than later. Perhaps when Rhaena became Queen she could use her influence to draw construction work for an aqueduct to serve the slums of the city. Such had helped much in Pentos.
Rhaena would be a wonderful Queen. The image of her dressed much in the same way as Queen Visenya, Dark Sister at her hip and a crown atop her silver curls… Tyanna shook her head. She wouldn't torture herself, merely treasure the memories.
The reek of rancid meat followed by a feminine scream in the distance made Tyanna hide her head deeper beneath her hood.
Eventually, she reached the distinctive storefront, walls covered with creeping vines. Sneaking into the alley by the side, Tyanna waited for her contact to arrive. It was not easy, her nerves trembling as salty looking individuals passed by, eyeing her with… was that lecherous lust. Perhaps this was a bad idea…
"Do I seek the greetin' of the snow wolf?"
Tyanna looked down to see a slight figure looking up at her, one belonging to a starving girl in rags. At once she felt relieved and sorrowful at the same time. "Aye, it is."
The girl was trembling. "Aight…"
Offering a tiny roll of bread from her cloak, Tyanna handed it to the little bird as Brandon was known to do. The girl snatched it, immediately stuffing it into a pouch somewhere. "Do you have whispers for me?"
"Um… yes, mi'Lady…" Suddenly tensing, the girl ran away.
Before Tyanna could react she felt a sharp pain against her side. "Get down, cunt!" someone bellowed. Falling to the ground, Tyanna quickly rolled to her front to see a pair of thuggish-looking men. Neither were armed, but they hefted their fists like clubs. Her cowl had fallen back, revealing Tyanna's beautiful face in the moon and torchlight. Both men were surprised… then quite delighted. "Well… 'da Sev'n bless us t'die."
The terror that Tyanna had heard Rhaena scream sometimes in the night was what she felt in this moment. "Please… let me go…"
"Saw ye' 'ive dat girl bread. Got coin?"
Trembling, Tyanna reached into her cloak and drew out a little bag of silver stags. "Here, take it."
Grabbing the bag in his meaty hands, the lead thug grinned lecherously and went for the ties to his trousers. "Not 'ust dat I's want."
She didn't know where the sudden fire came from, but one moment she was shaking in terror on the ground and the next found the man crumpling to the ground, a foot slamming into his crotch. He curled into a ball, moaning in pain. "You bitch!" yelled the other, reaching out to get her but with a dexterity only before seen in the bedchamber, Tyanna leapt to her feet and she was running as fast as her legs took her. Hearing yelling behind her, Tyanna ignored it all. Following the moon resting high over the dragonpalace until…
"Whoa, slow down." She nearly ran into a guard, his black Targaryen armor visible to her. "Lady Tyanna?"
Someone who recognized her, it seemed. "Get me back to the palace, please." Luck was on her side that night, at least in a certain manner.
By the gods, Tyanna swore that it would never happen again. Her resolve only strengthened as the palace grew larger before her. For Rhaena - I will surpass Brandon Snow. The future Queen deserved it.
Watching the wooden gate swing open, Lord Samwell Tarly ducked his head as to pass underneath the beam. "Easy, easy…" he murmured, pulling back on the reins of his steed. The horse was well-trained and bred, so it stopped easily.
He swung out, plopping on the dark ground in the twilight hours. "Sam, welcome." He turned to see Lord Robert Peake - just as young as he - striding up to him. "Can't say I'm not sorry to see ya', but what're you doing here?"
"You sent a raven that the Vultures are close to here."
"Aye, I did. But why you and not some knight?"
Sam snorted. "And be a cowardly cunt? No chance in the seven hells." The small outpost was wooden, hastily constructed next to the large village after many others were raped and burned by the likely Dornish raiders. Peake's raven had reached Hornhill just as another two were found burned to the ground, and the Targaryens grew angry. Sam wanted to kill off the fuckers as much as anyone, but pissing off the royals was not something he wanted. "Where do you think they are?"
"They'll attack, Sam, don't worry about that. But where they are now? Probably somewhere in the forests and hills, watching us."
"Good, good… maybe my presence here will draw them out."
"Careful what you wish for, Sam. How's about you get some sleep and we'll plan this out in the morning."
Grunting, he nevertheless felt tired. "Fine. Ser Harwyn and I can share quarters if you're hard pressed." He gestured to his knightly companion, Sam's closest friend. "At daybreak then." Peake nodded.
Turned out, when Sam was shaken awake it was still dark outside… not that the frantic noises from outside cared. "Mi'Lord!" Harwyn shook his shoulder. "Get up! We're under attack."
That pushed away any lingering fatigue. "What?!"
"Some sentry saw suspicious persons, and they ended up Dornish. They're trying to scale the walls." Sam wasted no time, donning a cuirass over his sleeping tunic and trousers and rushing into the fight - not after drawing Heartsbane from its sheath, of course.
Men were rushing about, arrows raining from the outside as Paeke's archers and crossbowmen responded in kind. The counterskirmishing was slacking as the men on the battlements were being pressed by the scaling attackers.
Sam charged there, racing up the wooden steps and immediately running Heartsbane through the heart of one of them. The Vulture was dressed in the outfit of a light Dornish raider, though without any house sigil distinguishing him. That didn't save him from being pitched off the lip of the battlements, slamming into another two raiders. With them all falling to the ground Sam shoved the ladder down. Another ladder produced two other raiders, both wielding scimitars that slashed at Sam. He parried, punching one in the nose while the other received a slash across the chest. Ser Hawyn, not on Sam's heels, decapitated the other. "Kill them all! Defend your keep!"
With their Lord fighting alongside them - Heartsbane growing slick with blood - the men holding the keep managed to hold the battlements in the darkness. Twice more came the attackers, and twice more it held although casualties grew heavy.
"We won't hold," Lord Peake told Sam as dawn broke.
"Did you send the raven?" Sam asked.
"Aye… gods let the Targaryens get here soon."
"Mi'Lord! Movement!" Ser Harwyn raised his crossbow.
Swiveling his Myrish spyglass to where the noise came from, Sam raised his fist. "Halt, that's a flag of truce. No one attack." He cupped his hand around his mouth. "Hold fast, men! Flag of truce!"
"I hope you don't go down there, Samwell," Lord Peake remarked. "You know how well the Dornish respect flags of truce."
"You think I'm that much an idiot?" Sam rolled his eyes. "He'll speak before the walls of this stockade under the sights of our crossbows in case those cunts try something." Out of the cover of a dozen thatch houses and many bales of hay stepped a Dornish soldier. He was swaddled in a filthy tunic and trousers, head wrapped in a faded mustard-yellow scarf. A scimitar was sheathed at his hip. "That's far enough!" Samwell yelled. "State your piece!"
He paused, white flag of truce raised high as if it gave him protection - Sam would honor it as long as they did. "Let us not keep this going any longer, Lord Tarly," he announced. The voice was rather educated. This was a highborn. "We can come to an arrangement."
"Go on." The Lord of Hornhill had no intention of doing so but perhaps he could buy them time for the dragons to show up. "You have terms?"
"Aye. Surrender your arms and you will be spared."
"And my men?"
"They will be released after a short stay as our hostages, alongside any smallfolk hiding within the stockade."
Feeling a hand tap his shoulder, Sam turned to see Lord Peake. "They'll rape all the women and sell the rest to the Volantine slaversm" he said gravely.
"Yes, I know that," Sam harshly whispered back. "And if I refuse?"
The Dornish highborn didn't speak for what seemed to be the longest time… when he did, his voice changed from conciliatory to the enraged hiss of a viper primed to strike. "Then we will storm the keep and rip your weapons from your limp hands."
Sam snorted. "Come and get them then. Loose!" The crossbow released it's bolt with a loud thwack. It impacted into the man's shoulder, releasing a spurt of crimson blood and causing him to pitch back. Soon, the screams began.
"They're not going to take this well."
Watching two filthier Dornish fighters draw the wounded, thrashing highborn back, Sam chuckled. "No, I suppose not."
"We'll be dead by nightfall if they keep this up."
"Won't need to get there." Sam heard an all-pervasive, eerie quiet descend upon the little village. "Just need to stay alive till the dragons get here."
Lord Peake didn't have the chance to speak again, the sounds of dozens of archers nocking and loosing their arrows filling the din as the battle started up again.
Once again brushing the hair from her eyes, Rhaena cursed the sudden nature of the Vultures. Woken up from her sleep - alone in her bed without the companionship she so desired from the man she both loved and loathed - the raven from the outpost occupied by Lord Tarly and Lord Peake had been written in the most frantic of words.
Her uncle had been scouting elsewhere, so it was Rhaena on deck. So concerned was she over her armor and Dreamfyre, seemed that she didn't have time to braid her hair beside a sloppy bun.
Welcome to war, Rhaena. Visenya's blood in her veins, she had no qualms about it.
The village, illuminated in the soft light of dawn, looked sleepy in the way most countryside smallfolk settlements did. Picturesque from the air or a distance, if dirty and run down for the most part once one got close. Nothing seemed to be amiss until Rhaena guided her mount to pass overhead at a height of about thirty feet. Arrows streaked up, some bouncing off her scales but others embedding themselves. Dreamfyre, too young to be truly immune to small arms, roared in irritation at the pinpricks.
Feeling her child's anger through their bond, Rhaena's eyes darkened. "Turn, girl!" She held firmly to the spines as Dreamfyre did so, turning tightly with a beat of her mighty wings. The arrows came from one building in particular, the one home with two storeys that was likely some kind of grainery. Knowing that the Reachmen probably removed all food stores to the stockade, Rhaena felt no qualms with giving the command she did. "Dracarys!"
Dreamfyre was not the size of Balerion, or Vhagar, or even Arrax, but her tongue of flame was powerful nonetheless. The wooden walls and thatch roof didn't cave in but the steady stream of dragonfire quickly left the entire structure burning. She could hear the screams of men inside, a stream of Vulture fighters fleeing through the open doors, some merely stained with soot while others were awash in fire.
Crossbow bolts from the battlements fell all of them where they stood.
Flying over the village, no further futile assaults upon her or Dreamfyre emerged from the captured dwellings, ones Rhaena refused to set alight due to the prospect of innocents within. "Land girl, in the courtyard."
'You sure that's wise, muna? Shouldn't we wait for your love?'
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you know?"
'I know everything.'
Rolling her eyes, Rhaena wanted to respond but now wasn't the time. "Just land."
'Kessa, muna.'
Flapping hard and frantically, Dreamfyre practically dropped in the small courtyard with a thud. Arrows sailed over the walls, but the Tarly and Peake bannermen on the battlements were quick with counterattacking. The barrage of bolts and arrows quieted the Dornish again long enough for Rhaena to drop from Dreamfyre's back. "Who's in charge?!" she called out.
"Your Grace." A young man, helm shrouding his hair but the face she could glimpse being quite handsome, trotted to her. His eyes widened momentarily - appreciative - before professionalism overtook him again. "I'm Lord Alyn Peake. Lord Tarly is holding the battlements at the moment."
She nodded. "How's the situation?"
He shrugged. "We're holding, but they've got more. A steady stream from the forested hills." Lord Peake ran a hand down his face, wiping away sweat and grime. "So many of them, but we're giving as good as we got." He seemed proud of that. "But we're getting low on projectiles."
Rhaena grinned faintly. "Then call me a guardian angel." She gestured to Dreamfyre's saddlebag. "Brought a whole half-dozen casks of arrows and javelins. My uncle thought you might need them."
Lord Peake lit up. "Your uncle's fuckin' smart… pardon me, your Grace." He called over a group of men. "Get the arrows down and spread them among the battlements, and be quick about it cunts!" They complied, wary of Dreamfyre but Rhaena gave a silent command for her to be calm.
Her mind thought about what Peake had said. "Their line of supply… where is it?"
Turning back to her, Lord Peake pointed to the hills to the north. "Over there, hidden in the trees. We captured a prisoner on their second attack that told us… took a bit of time to get it out of him."
Ignoring the euphemism for torturing information out of a prisoner, Rhaena made a decisive decision in the moment. "Once Dreamfyre is unloaded, I'm going there."
"You sure, your Grace? Isn't Prince Maegor showing up?"
A part of her worried… that she'd feel safer with him there. Always safer with him there, nevermind their current spat and tortured feelings. But Rhaena shook her head. I am the blood of the great Visenya. I shall not be afraid. "Even Balerion will need them softened up, and you need any sort of relief, it seems."
He nodded. "As you wish, your Grace." Eyeing Dreamfyre, the sleek, fierce dragon radiating power, he was calmed. "The songs will proclaim your strength and bravery."
She smiled at that. "Let's get through this first, Lord Peake."
The Reachmen were professionals. In less than five minutes the barrels and sacks of projectiles were unloaded and Rhaena was back in the air. Sun higher in the sky, she shielded her eyes as she gazed upon the northern hills. They were gentle and rolling, but sheathed in thick groves of trees. Oaks and maple and the odd conifer tree more common in the wet Rainwood of the Stormlands. It seemed almost a shame that she would have to scythe through the land with her dragon, but it wasn't the Targaryens that made this a war zone.
Peering down, she could make out shapes darting through the trees. Not sure if they were fauna or just fleeing smallfolk, when a group of about three men - two carrying arms and one with a sack filled with supplies - booked it for the village, Rhaena knew that those shapes were the vultures. She grinned draconically. "Dracarys, girl!" Soon, the flames began streaking through the forest, starting with the unlucky band of militants that had just noticed her and began to scatter.
Suddenly, Dreamfyre lurched in the air. She shrieked as Rhaena nearly pitched off, carried by the momentum that was suddenly stopped by something gripping to the dragon.
Her eyes shifting around, as the wingbeats tried not to clip the tops of the trees a flurry of ropes tipped with grappling hooks sail upward. Some missing, while others took hold of Dreamfyre's scales. The beast shrieked and roared, but thick ropes and chains tied to the trunks of the largest trees slowly were bringing her down.
Rhaena's heart beat in her chest, reaching for Dark Sister tied to her waist if need be. Uncle… Her thoughts were all of him, just as she had been when Lyonel Lorch tried to rape her, even defenseless she was no longer. Help me...
Acrid black smoke wreathed the hills around the settlement. Teeming with Vultures, Balerion swept above it with his massive wingbeats, causing trees to sway and shake as the Black Dread Reborn banked overhead. Maegor scoffed as arrows sailed above, most missing while others bounced harmlessly off his thick scales. Coiffed silver hair fluttering in the wind, his black armor and red tunic underneath brought a demonic terror among the now fleeing Dornish among the trees.
Not allowing them a chance to escape, the order came quickly from his lips. "Dracarys!"
Opening his maw in a massive roar, Balerion let loose a jet of orange-red dragonfire into the copse of trees wreathing the gently sloping hills, incinerating them in an instant. Maegor could hear dozens of men roasting alive with ear-curdling screams. He didn't enjoy it but it had to be done.
In the distance though, a screech quickly drew their attention. 'Kepa… that's Dreamfyre.'
Hearing Balerion, Maegor's eyes widened as he saw tongues of flame wildly shooting into the air about a mile off. "Rhaena!" Fly! Faster faster faster!
The scene was one that filled the Prince's mind with the greatest terror. Dreamfyre writhed about in frantic abandon, trying to escape what had to be dozens of grappling hooks trying to pull her down. Crossbowmen and archers pelted her, while the figure on her back struggled to keep in cover among the spines.
His eyes went red. "Dracarys!" Balerion didn't hesitate, bathing Dreamfyre's wing and a score of Dornish warriors in dragonfire. It wasn't much of a contest, the smaller dragon finally breaking loose and unleashing her own assault upon her attackers. Soves! Soves! Roaring at the massive patriarch of the dragon creche, Dreamfyre ascended right after Balerion up to safety just as a line of Tarly cavalry began thundering into the woods.
That was a terrifying minute for Maegor, but even as the two dragons landed at the keep. Dreamfyre was small enough to land again in the grounds, while Balerion had to land outside and race inside. 'Go protect our niece, valonqar.'
"Gods, Rhaena!" Maegor bellowed, in the heat of the moment uncaring of who among the Reachmen could hear the royals. "How could you be so stupidly brave?! We were winning the fight but you had to go in recklessly?!"
Feeling her own dragonfire emerge, in spite of her knowledge that he was largely right Rhaena stood her ground. "They knew we would come and planned for this, uncle! This wasn't some chance thing!"
He was exasperated, literally shaking with fear. Just like his niece, it manifested in rage. "Some chance thing it may have been, but you were flying too low on a still youthful dragon! My muna died on a much safer attack run!" The mention of his muna Rhaenys, someone he had never known due to the same people that tried to capture Rhaena, it staggered him as soon as he realized what he said.
Seething, Rhaena opened her mouth… only to realize it a moment behind him. All words of ire died on her tongue. This wasn't some theoretical issue or baseless fear.
The grandmother she would never get to meet had died much the same way.
"I had you, uncle…" she finally breathed out. "I knew you wouldn't let them take me."
Arms reaching out, he held her at the waist. An intimate gesture straddling the line of familial and… something more. "You cannot always be sure of that."
She trembled at the contact, everything a surreal fog as the heat of battle dissipated. "I can. After everything… I still trust you with my life." And just like that the fiery flame of battle was replaced by another heat, one more a gentle simmer but no less hot.
"Your Grace." They were both shaken from their reverie to see Lord Peake approaching. "Is the Princess alright? Should I fetch a Maester?" He seemed, extra attentive, as if interested in Rhaena without saying as much - and having the sense to know when to flirt and when not to, a sense many lacked.
Maegor had to resist wanting to gouge out his eyes even then. "She's fine," he growled. "I'll see her to a bed. She just needs sleep."
Lord Peake had a good survival sense. "Of course, your Grace."
Watching the Lord depart, Rhaena made to speak but was stopped by the outwardly calm expression but dark violet eyes. "Come with me." She merrily nodded, complying only a half step behind him - the two silent yet almost touching as they proceeded towards the obvious sleeping quarters.
Occasionally, their hands would brush. For Maegor, it was something unfamiliar for the longest of times… a feeling he wanted more of than even air.
As soon as the door shut behind them, whatever calm between Maegor and Rhaena evaporated as they launched themselves into each other's arms. Mouths slanted together in a heated, sloppy kiss. Maegor pulled her tight against his armor, a gesture Rhaena completed by melding her body flush against his. Grinding her now needy hips against his leg.
It was simply unavoidable.
There was no stopping them.
A/N: Well... they could only take so much sexual tension ;)
Enjoy and see you next time!