Baela is accustomed to waking in Rhaenyra's bed, especially after a storm. Since moving to High Tide, Rhaenyra's bedchamber had been the most familiar to her in the castle. Every time she smelled a storm brewing, she would fly back to Dragonstone. Sometimes, she would even fly home after the storm started.
While night terrors came not as often, and not as intense, they did sometimes still come. At least she now usually woke up angry rather than fearful. At her. Always her. And before her, Aemond, stealing her mother's dragon at her funeral. Aemond, about to kill her cousin and newfound friend with a rock. Aemond, whom she'd been so powerless against. Aemond, breaking every code of understanding, and his family defending him simply because there had been no rule. Hightowers do love rules.
"Entitled to claim a dragon by his Targaryen birthright," her father had scoffed. "What does he think we would have done if some other random thief had claimed Vhagar? There are no rules or laws, but we do have understandings. It is one thing to break those with a stranger, but among family? He is no family of ours."
"He was so bitter about not having a dragon," Luke had said.
"I offered him an egg through his Mother," Rhaenyra had said. "She spurned me."
"He wanted no egg," Luke had said.
"I was already into adolescence when I claimed Caraxes. As was Rhaenys. As was Laena. You do not allow a child to claim a war dragon. He could have waited. He should have waited."
"Trust me," said Rhaenyra. "There was no one to tell him so."
Her father gave a meaningful look to poor miserable Rhaena. "It will not end well, of that I am certain."
"What do you mean?" Baela had asked.
"Come the day he discovers that mounting a dragon does not make one a dragon, he will turn his eye elsewhere." He looked to Luke. "Good job with that one."
She is still unsure of how sarcastic he was.
It is Luke who wakes her. "I thought I might find you here," he says.
Of course. She is in her usual spot on Father's side, next to Luke — the late-sleeper side. The scary story side. The side that laid awake long after the others had fallen into sleep, saving the scariest and most violent passages until they could not be heard by fearful Rhaena and young Joffrey on Rhaenyra's side, or Jace who would occupy the middle, eventually joined by Viserys and Aegon.
"I leave no room for oranges here," he would declare.
Luke perches at the window side of the bed. She groans and rubs her eyes as she rolls over to face him, but startles awake when she finds the sun already high in the sky. "Why did no one wake me?" she demands.
"They tried, you were not in your room. No one knew where you were, aside from me. Besides…" His face and voice turn sombre. "There is nothing you could have done. Nothing any of us could do, aside from wait. Maybe pray."
"For Meleys?"
He looks away, looks for anything else to look at, it seems. "Is that what you were scouring the back shelves for?" He nods to the Valyrian book she'd fallen asleep with. The one Father had read to them all those years ago, and only in snippets when Rhaenyra was asleep.
Most Legendary Ways to Die Rare but possible — infection from… eating after blood exchange wedding ceremony. — 27 verified accounts / gender-balanced odds"Eating what?" Luke had asked. Father had trailed off when they reached a certain phrase.
"Oranges, Little Prince. Never eat oranges on a Valyrian wedding night. It is known."
"Still," Baela said, more educated than Luke. "Not a bad way to go. You could even have an epigraph — died as they lived: for the pleasure of the ladies… or gentlemen. That must be the most legendary way."
"No no," Father corrected. "There is a far more legendary way."
He flipped further into the booklet. "Dragon Vault."
"What's that?" Luke had asked.
"That's when you jump from your dragon to the enemy's dragon mid-flight and then kill them."
"Woah…" they'd both wondered.
But then Baela had wondered. "Wait, why is that a death, not a kill?"
"It's a suicide jump, Baela — a one-in-a-million shot. Once you kill the rider, their dragon will be determined to kill you. If you manage to kill the dragon, you go down with it. Too much speed, too many variables for any ropes or repelling or rescue from other riders. No one has ever succeeded and survived. It is only for the most dire situations."
"We land our dragons on Caraxes to transfer over," Luke reminded him. "We technically dragon vault all the time."
"Not onto hostile dragons in battle," Father emphasized. "Not to kill a rider. Everything is different in battle. Dragons are different in battle. It will do you well to remember that. You may treat them like pets when you play ball, but come high stakes they are weapons; make no mistake."
"With minds of their own," Baela added.
"That would be safer, to be honest. The danger is that they don't entirely have minds of their own. The connection runs so deep that they will pick up on your deepest emotions. And in battle…." He trailed off and looks to both of them to make his point, but Luke had just fallen into sleep.
He turned to Baela. "That's why pitting dragons against dragons never ends well, for anyone. I care not what nonsense the Greens pull. If they try to start something in the air, do not engage. Dragons are for killing from above, at a distance. You want an up close and personal fight? Run them through with a sword."
"It that how…" Baela trailed off, then inclined her head towards a sleeping Rhaena.
"Of course," he whispered as low as he could — he knew gentle Rhaena wouldn't like his plan. "It will never work should we kill her rider atop her. It need be done out of sight."
Oh… Baela nodded. "How much longer?"
"I do not know for certain. Once he gives me a reason. Hopefully near her sixteenth name day. That seems appropriate."
"Can we put a bow on her?"
She'd suggested it on a lark but Father actually considered. "I don't know… that's a lot of cloth for one use."
"How can you know that he will?"
"He's a Hightower," is he said. Then he sighed. "It's a shame really, both my brother's sons."
"What about Daeron?
"Oh, right."
"Aegon?"
"Should he remain in the City after Rhaenyra ascends, you know what I'll have to do. Zero tolerance. That's the rule I established in the City Watch, the rule I established in the Stepstones. If I do not follow through it will appear weak."
"I do not think you can castrate him without repercussions," she warned.
"No, probably not. Hopefully, he leaves for Oldtown, or the Pretender will give me reason first."
"Daemon," Rhaenyra hissed. "Stop normalizing murder to the children."
And then they'd pretended to be asleep.
"Baela!" Luke calls. She had been drifting off again.
She blinks back awake. "Sorry, right," she mumbles and sits up for good measure. "Meleys?"
"Baela…"
She assesses him through her still bleary eyes, and can now see that his own eyes well, though no tears do escape. "What is it?" she asks.
"Daemon… he doesn't trust Rhaenys. Neither do I, if I'm being honest."
Makes sense, considering her role in the mummy debacle. Grandsire would not have pulled that shit, had he been there.
"He wanted to be certain his plans would go forward. With or without her approval or interference. He didn't think she'd hatch a plan that conflicted so much with his. He didn't expect Rhaena…"
"Oh." She knew what was coming. She should have known. She knew her father after all. But then she pictures her father, with Jace, at the pyre.
She thought she'd known her father, that is.
Luke's next words are written on his face. "It gets worse."
The Chamber is silent when they enter. Everyone wears either a solemn or tired expression; most people wear both. Most are now clustered to Grandmother and Grandsire's side — the only remaining head. Jace and Rhaena had already taken their seats to one side of their grandparents, and Luke and Baela claim the seats across from them.
Once they're seated Baela gets her first good look at her sister. Rhaena weeps in silence and stares at an item on the table. A frozen Jace also stares. Everyone stares at the item on the table.
Rhaenyra's wedding ring.
Baela looks around for a hint of its significance but soon gives up. "I'm confused. Why are we staring at Rhaenyra's ring? She left it with Father, did she not?"
"She did," Luke confirms. "And then Daemon had me send it to her with the note, to prove that it came from us. It… just returned via raven."
Gerardys speaks from the far side of the table. "An answer to your ultimatum, no doubt."
Baela picks up the ring and joins the room in silence. They remain that way for some time.
It's Grandmother who eventually breaks. "Why didn't he say something?" she demands.
"He did not want to be stopped," Luke says. "He never expected that we would both—" Baela elbows him. "Fall ill." Gerardys eyes them suspiciously but says nothing.
No one asks the obvious, unpleasant question: what does this mean for Rhaenyra? They let it linger in the air.
"No message at all?" Baela asks.
"None," says Grandmother. "I know not what this means for Meleys."
"They would not dare," Grandsire assures her. "Post-Doom, it would be almost unspeakable without proper provocation. And not only would they risk your wrath, they would risk freeing you…" Grandmother glares at him for his word choice. He recoils before continuing. "...to claim another dragon."
Baela remained bitter about Grandmother's decision to prioritize Meleys over Rhaenyra, regardless of the disparity in risk. But thinking of both at once does spark an almost reassuring thought. "I do not think they would slay Meleys, not yet. Two pieces of collateral are better than one, in regard to Rhaenyra." Everyone either stiffens or flinches at the name. "Having two frees them to kill one to set an example, should she act out but not fully escape."
Her mouth, her father's words.
No one else is assured by the thought because no one else is so much like her father. Baela sighs and turns her attention back to the silver filigree ring, studying the tiny rubies and intricate runes. She had helped design it, chosen one of the verses even. And as she looks for that verse, she finds something else embedded in the forest of dense text.
There is a tiny, tiny piece of paper wedged into the filigree, folded several times into a triangle. Once flattened it is barely bigger than her thumbnail. This is no official message…
Apparently, claiming the ring had not redirected the attention from it. Everyone watches her. "What does it say?" Jace asks desperately.
She squints, then she wishes she didn't. She knew enough of the confrontation from that day to know who the message was from — and who it was meant for.
She does not read it aloud.
Luke, having always possessed more skill at ignoring her father's attempts to provoke him, shows no desire to read it. He knows when to knock, when to not ask questions, and when to leave the room.
Oh, does Baela envy his instincts right now.
Against his best interests, Jace takes the paper. He looks as if he's about to swoon, then decides he's too tired to do so. "Well," he says. "I don't know what I was expecting…" He lets his arm drop back to the table with the note.
"What is it?" Grandsire asks.
Jace answers in a detached voice. "Just… Daemon's words coming back to bite us all. The usual." He squints some more. "Oh, gold. That makes it better."
"He's trying to get under your skin," Baela warns him. "Or rather, Father's skin. Either way, do not give him what he wants." Thankfully, no one mentions who is actually to blame.
Rhaena recovers enough for her curiosity to take over. She reads it with a dark, serious expression. "I think… we should never show this to Father." They all nod in agreement. No one else asks to read it and Baela sighs in relief.
They turn their attention back to the Council — no one speaks, no one moves. Baela had seen more energy the morning after a fair. "So…" Luke says. "This is bad. Worse, this is embarrassing." Someone had to say it. But no one says anything else.
If we can glasslight out of the mummy debacle, we can glasslight out of this. Baela sits upright to address the room. "Father has fallen ill; mayhaps poisoned by a spy. Would you agree, Maester Gerardys?"
"I would."
"A spy we have apprehended and interrogated," Baela decides. "Would you also agree that Father will likely make a full recovery?"
"I would say so."
She nods. "But our enemies need not know that."
"What are you suggesting?" Jace asks.
"We had a perfectly workable, complex plan beyond the Green's understanding. It was only foiled by Father's unexpected… assassination attempt."
Rhaena joins in a little too quickly and confidently. "It is interesting, is it not," she says. "That our enemies would seek to assassinate Father after granting him exile. After such an… unambiguous legal victory. Almost as if they were afraid for others to interrogate that position."
Seven Hells, Rhaena. Someone has been spending time with Rhaenyra.
Jace nods, ever the team player. "We keep word of his health and recovery shrouded in mystery. One less factor for them to predict."
Grandmother and Grandsire seem a little displeased with how naturally their grandchildren weave webs.
Fortunately, honest little Luke steps up. "This changes nothing. We knew a rescue could fail. Now we must turn our eyes to the realm. More importantly, the realm will turn its eyes to us. It is known we are close. It is known they are not. We are a clan of half-siblings, step-siblings, and cousins. And still we are closer to each other than the Hightowers are! More importantly, everyone who has ever met both our families knows this to be true. If we push, they will never convince the realm that Mother would choose them over us.
Baela is too cynical of the High Lord's motivations to believe they will truly act in the interest of Rhaenyra's choice, but it is a nice speech.
Jace apparently thinks so too. "They say they have every symbol of legitimacy?" he starts. "They have trinkets. We sit the ancestral seat of our family — of a time before the Doom. We hold the support of every Targaryen not of Hightower blood. We hold the support of all three remaining Valyrian families." Lord Bartimos almost jumps out of his seat at this rare recognition of his House's Valyrian heritage. Jace takes no notice as he continues. "We are not just the blood of the dragon; we are the legacy of Old Valyria. And we will not let that legacy die."
Rhaena takes a deep breath and projects her voice. "Our branch is stronger. Our branch is thicker. The realm will be made to see that." She looks to Grandmother. "I think it is time."
Grandmother nods. "Indeed it is. Maester Gerardys, Lord Bartimos and I will draft our message. Let all the ravens be made ready."
"I think Rhaena should join you," Jace suggests. "She's called the smart one for a reason."
Childhood returns to Luke's face. "We have sibling monikers?"
"Of course," Jace answers. He gestures to himself and says, "Team leader, of course."
Baela, Luke and Rhaena roll their eyes. "Of course," they say together.
Jace ignores them and points to Rhaena. "Smart one," then to Baela, "Father's girl." Then he points to Luke and cracks a sly smile, "And…"
"Mother's boy," Baela, Jace and Rhaena say together. Even Luke laughs at that truth.
"I imagine the Greens cannot say the same," Jace says.
"I don't know," Ser Erryk says. "I believe they do have a 'mother's boy.'"
"Oh?" Baela asks. "Who am I killing first?"
Ser Erryk looks uncomfortable. She nods, guessing the answer.
Apparently, their speech had an effect, and Grandmother addresses them with in good humour. "I am sorry to say that charming speech will not fit upon the scrolls. But we will try to capture the spirit in our messages."
"We should bear those messages," Jace suggests. "Dragons fly faster than ravens, and they're more convincing." He looks to Luke, and then Baela. "Send us."
"Do you think it best," Lord Beesbury counters. "With the allegations of your heritage so at the centre of this?"
"Our uncle calls us Strongs, but when the lords see us on dragonback they will know that for a lie," Jace declares. "Only Targaryens ride dragons."
Grandsire grumbles, insisting that the boys are Velaryons, yet he smiles as he says it, with pride in his voice.
"Very well," Grandmother says, her tone is actually friendly. "Prince Jacaerys will fly to the Vale, to appeal to his kin, Lady Arryn. Then continue North to treat with Lord Stark."
"Prince Lucerys," Grandsire says. Luke sits upright when he hears his name. "The enemy owns the skies — we must ensure we provide no easy targets. As the heir to my seat, you will see that the fleet scatters everywhere between here and Tarth, then stop at Evenfall to appeal to the Evenstar."
"After," Grandmother adds. "You may continue on to Storm's End to treat with Lord Baratheon."
Baela waits a moment for the address that does not come, then she fills the silence herself. "And me?"
Grandmother and Grandsire exchange looks. The Council remains silent until Lord Bartimos takes it upon himself. "My Lady, in a situation such as this… we cannot have you flying alone and vulnerable."
"I will be on top of a dragon. How can you call that vulnerable?"
"Not the whole time," he rebuts. "If they managed to apprehend you—"
"But it would be no better if they apprehend one of the boys," Baela argues. "At the least, we would know my life is safe."
"My Lady," says some lord of no consequence says. "They see you as the key to Driftmark and the Velaryon fleet. We cannot risk them acquiring yet another—"
"Another what, Lord-of-some-rock?"
And another noble. "Should the Hightowers take both his wife and daughter, Princ— King Daemon will certainly burn down the realm,"
"Then they will not take me."
"Baela can handle herself," Jace interjects. "Besides, she will not be vulnerable. They will not be able to wed her." He looks around to his family. "We have an ultimatum to fulfill, I believe."
"That did not stop them the first time," Lord Beesbury reminds them.
"Yes," he acknowledges. "But don't you see? That was the first time. They cannot do it again without turning it into a pattern."
"Prince Jacaerys is correct," Grandsire says. "And it is important to show we are true to our word." He takes a moment to consider. "But the girls are too young to safely bear children, that much our family has finally learned. And with so few riders, we cannot risk sidelining Baela. We will have a legal ceremony now, and another when they come of age for… matters of a certain age. It is still legally binding, in a marriage of youths."
Baela nods and pretends to agree, then looks to Jace. She points to the Painted Table and mouths: You? Me?
He gasps and looks as if he wants to vomit. Baela's jaw drops in offence. His eyes widen even more when he sees her reaction, and he then waves his hands, mouthing no, no, no.
What the fuck?
Jace looks to Luke, points to the table, then points to Baela. Luke leans to whisper into her ear. "He's still traumatized by walking into this room when Mother and Daemon were…"
"Oh…" She wonders if the word come is also off-limits.
They then nod and pretend to listen to the details of their last minute wedding. Unfortunately, they had all been distracted when the Council decided on a Faith of the Seven ceremony. Baela pouts. "I wanted ominous Valyrian blood sharing," she whispers.
"We only have three robes," Luke reminds her.
"I suppose. Plus, there would be no eating oranges," she winks at Jace.
"I do not think we are supposed to even have oranges, Baela. That's what Grandsire just said."
"Pay no mind to Grandsire. He's gone so long without oranges, scurvy is a natural state for him."
"I would certainly hope so," Luke says. "Or Meleys will be getting a very specific meal once she's freed."
"Luke, Baela," Grandmother says. "Something you wish to share?"
Because she is her father's daughter, she does consider sharing. But another matter begs for attention. She returns her eyes to the room and projects her voice. "Yes. I think I should be an emissary. Luke has enough of a journey, he need not go to Storm's End. I have met Lord Borros, Grandmother. I know him, and I know he is difficult. But so am I. Baratheon blood runs through my veins, and so does Baratheon stubbornness. Send me."
"Lord Borros is a proud man," Jace says. "I am certain he would be honoured to host the Princess of Dragonstone, and her dragon."
"Are we issuing titles then?" Lord Baritmos asks.
"I suppose we are," Grandsire says.
They are given only enough time to change and pack. And in Baela's case — retrieve something useful from Father's room to where he'd been moved.
Ser Steffon intercepts her, eyeing the familiar hilt. But she is prepared. "If you woke up into a war after a day spent unconscious, would you want to hear your daughter went off alone unarmed, or with a Valyrian steel sword?"
He argues no further. He'd seen her train. Father had made sure of it since the day she'd run to him after being turned away by the master-of-arms. After the nightmares started and she could bear the memories of that helplessness, that skillessness, no more.
He had marched her straight back to the training yard and demanded they let her in. But he was not satisfied with her progress, either. "I do not want her running around thinking she can fight when she cannot," he'd said to Rhaenyra. "It is more dangerous than no training at all."
So he decided to supervise, which only made the men even more reticent to fight her. He'd started argument after argument about her inadequate training. Strangely, despite his reputation, on this issue most would not budge. "No one will risk knocking the Rogue Prince's daughter into the dirt," Rhaenyra had warned. "Even if you force them to 'train' her, he will do so in no good faith."
They'd overheard the men say as much. "He's not going to run you through for not being tough enough on a little girl," one of the knights had said to another.
The poor man had no idea the Rogue Prince and his daughter approached from behind. "No," her father had said, with Baela standing behind him with her arms crossed. "I'm going to train her myself, and then she's going to run you through." That knight begged Rhaenyra for a transfer the next day. And her favourite place in the world became standing behind her father with her arms crossed.
He never did knock her into the dirt though.
They wed on the cliffside while the sun is still high. True to his word, Grandsire schedules no time for them to be alone before they leave. As soon as their vows are spoken, Jace takes out an orange and offers half to Baela. They eat piece by piece whilst trying not to laugh.
Rhaena and Luke make no such attempts and laugh at them freely. Everyone else is either confused or uncomfortable.
Father would laugh, Baela knows.
Or would he strangle your husband?
She had heard stories; she had seen some take place. But those hands were always turned away from her and those she cared for — until last night. People said her father was terrifying, that even his face could be terrifying. She never saw his most terrifying faces, because when he made them she was always standing behind him.
With her arms crossed.
She puts the thought away. She looks away, and finds two other people actually do laugh: Ser Steffon and Ser Lorent. Then Ser Steffon freezes and looks down. He started it, Baela remembers. And then she remembers how guilty he felt later, for encouraging father to antagonize Ser Criston.
Oh, and he was there for the leash comment too.
She resolves to make sure he does not learn of the note either. He would think it was his fault.
But it's mine, she acknowledges. He spoke those words for me. They all antagonized Ser Crispin and Alicent for me. Because I just could not hold it together for one royal visit.
Rhaena does not give her last hug to her new husband. She saves it for Baela. "I've heard reports of a storm in that direction. Sleep easy."
"Like I ever do. Far too much fun to be had."
Rhaena rolls her eyes. "Our father's daughter indeed."
She flies into the storm.
It does not concern her, Baela had flown through many. Near all the storms in recent memory, if she was unable to arrive beforehand. Every time went relatively the same. Every time, she would perch Moondancer on the balcony and climb down to the patio. Every time, she would find the security filigree unlocked. Every time, she would knock on the filigree twenty times — because she was not Jace — before entering with her eyes closed. Every time, she would find all her siblings, later on even Joffrey and Aegon and Viserys, had beat her there. Every time, her father would say, "this is becoming absurd, this is the last time."
Every time, they would pretend to believe him.
The sun has yet to set when she flies over Shipbreaker Bay. She circles wide overland and approaches from downwind.
Moondancer senses her first, of course. It starts with her scent, which hopefully means Moondancer has yet to be detected. She knows who it is before she even sees. The Hightowers have but one competent player who can ride a dragon and is not currently across the continent.
The castle moves. Because what she was looking at was not only the castle. She's even larger than I remember.
She circles wider.
Mother had told her she takes after Father for as long as she could remember. But it was no superficial behavioural comparison. When moments built in danger, in emotion, in any type of intensity, Baela and her father were always first to act.
Unless someone was crying, of course. Then her father was first to leave.
But when others were paralyzed, overwhelmed by panic or confusion or even chaos, Baela can stay the course. Because in those moments, there is no fear, or anger, or pain, or anguish, or sadness, or any single emotion to overwhelm her.
There is only fire.
The problems come after, once everyone else had let that moment wash away. But she is filled with fire, and so the embers would linger. And once the fire was burned away those embers would turn on her. Growing and growing and burning her until she either smoothed them, or let them go. "That is the difference between you and your father," her mother had said.
"What is?"
"You open up. You let them go. More importantly, you let others help you let them go."
"And what does Father do?"
"He smothers them. Or he runs. And when he cannot…"
She never apologized to Jace. But there will be time for that later. Because right now, she still does need her father. Her father is going to see her through this. Because when she sees Vhagar, she does not panic. Mayhaps later on she will. But not now. Not whilst her fire is alight. And she digs through her memories and knows what her father would do.
It had been just the two of them that day, when they had made their way to a suspected clutch, only to find the Cannibal lying in wait. Her father had taken her hand and spoken those words that have stayed with her ever since. And now, faced with the only dragon that could rival The Cannibal for size and danger, those words return to her. Not just as his words, but as her own.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Nope. Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
"Absolutely fucking not. Alright Baela, let us go ride Caraxes upside down instead."
And then they did.
The moon gives her good light dispersed through the storm clouds. She makes camp on a cliff downwind from Vhagar, relatively confident she is not visible. Once she's gathered branches to suspend the canvas and elevate the hide for her seat, she settles in for the night.
Moondancer gets dinner, then settles in for a much-deserved nap beside her. "Oh, mutton." She cuts a chunk of the thigh that Moondancer had saved for her, the middle flesh that had not been charred.
Knowing she was to fly into this weather, she had not dared bring any books. She passes the time trying to scout her sightline with the Myrish glass she'd thought to bring. When she loses interest, she realizes just how much she has to do later and takes out her wax tablet.
[Valyrian] To Do: (triage later)Rhaena (Honey? Addam? Secret Laenor? Jace?)
Allocate more of solarium for the burn plant
Apologize to Jace for victim blaming
More index cards
Ask Father - what the fuck?
Kill Aemond? (what happens to Rhaenyra? Find out first)
Bow for Vhagar (old sails maybe?)
Jace wedding present
Second (better) wedding? Valyrian? - talk to Rhaena first
Is Jace a virgin? - probably - find out - talk to Rhaena first
"Second consummation?" (or first and second? Separate?)
Have maids patch hole in red overskirt
Research tongue exercises
Learn how to castrate
Have in-progress Valyrian volumes transferred from Driftmark
Map of caves for emergency shelter from dragons - smallfolk
New riding outfit (waterproof)
Take Aemond's other eye
^Make sure crazy queen won't take Rhaenyra's eye first though
Laenor's lube
Get Baratheon support
Aegon - real saddle
Haircut? Decide later (ask Rhaena)
When she can busy her mind no longer, she turns back to the note she so wanted to forget. She'd taken it from the table, kept it with her, almost like punishment.
She is in good hands — found a protector and a leash. Worry not, the links are gold. No need for J to faint.Chains of gold restrain all the same, her father had said. But also… "If you're going to be gross, at least be clever about it," she says to Moondancer. "Whatever oranges the Hightowers know, I imagine it's only the low-hanging fruit."
The night grows late, and the castle windows fall dark one by one. Yet Vhagar does not leave. Despite the storm, she actually considers trying to sleep.
Until Moondancer shoots upright.
Baela summons her focus, expecting a change from Vhagar, but it is not Vhagar who has Moondancer's attention. Moondancer sniffs, then turns the eastern sky. "What?" she asks. The visibility is so poor.
Moondancer attempts a dragon call; Baela shushes her just in time.
And then she hears Arrax.
Fuck.
Luke…
She prays he'll see Vhagar first, but she turns to see Vhagar picking up the very same scent. Arrax is upwind from them both.
"Circle the area first, Luke," she mumbles But Luke has no reason to suspect an ambush. And Arrax is likely tired. They make directly for the main gait.
Fuck.
Baela gathers what she can in that little time she might have, and jumps onto Moondancer. She doesn't intercept him until he's landed at the front entrance. "What are you doing here?" she demands.
"Grandsire said I was to check on you tonight."
She stays mounted. "Pray tell, what protection would a boy of four-and-ten provide that a dragon and Dark Sister could not?"
"You… just don't understand Baela."
"No, you do not understand, Luke." She is about to incline her head, but Vhagar's call comes first. Her rumble puts the thunder to shame. Moondancer would be to Vhagar what the sheep had been to Moondancer.
Luke recoils. Arrax whimpers. And the garrison arrive to greet them. "I see you're busy," Baela calls to them. "We'll come back later." She gestures for Luke to take off before she does, but he doesn't.
He dismounts, face resolute.
"Luke," Baela pleads, dismounting to follow him. She looks to the officials, then addresses him in High Valyrian. "We need to leave, now."
"We are emissaries; he may do us no harm."
"That means little in times of war, Luke. You know this. He has already done harm." Lighting flashes, Vhagar growls before the thunder hits. She seems to not care for the weather either.
"Baela," he shouts over the wind. "They've already greeted us. They know we are here. If we leave, everyone will know why."
"Good! They'll know our cause is not made up of fools!" she yells in turn. The winds blow ever stronger and she can barely keep her eyes open against the rain that pelts her face.
Luke remains resolute. "Imagine me going home to Daemon, the day I married his daughter, and telling him 'sorry, I got scared and ran away like a little g—'" The thunder cuts him off before Baela's fist can.
"Tell him one of Lord Baratheon's daughters started crying. He'll understand."
"But everyone else won't, Baela. You don't understand. It's different."
"How is it different?"
"It just is!"
Vhagar moans. And Baela swears she makes eye contact. But Baela focuses on her wings. In a storm like this, Baela worries, mayhaps she could outpace us. Speed is one of their greatest advantages against Vhagar. And they are without it.
Another clap of thunder rips through the air. Luke jumps, then makes his decision. "I'm going in, Baela. You may follow, or you may leave, but know that I go in."
And then he does.
Baela stands there for a time, letting the rain and wind and she swears even the thunder hit her. She looks to Vhagar one more time: she could be a mountain. She looks to Moondancer. Then she remembers her last midnight ride, and who she'd left behind. She is finished leaving people behind. She was finished being left behind.
She grips the hilt of her father's sword. "Give me a reason, Pretender."