RHAENA

Rhaena had always thought her father at home on the island of stone dragons, because he's a dragon that can sleep like the dead. She had given up on him waking whilst the castle was awake (and while she wanted to be awake), but she dared not leave him to wake up alone. Stone dragons are very dangerous when they come to life, after all.

She had dressed for bed, and returned to potentially spend the night. Remembering that her father and Rhaenyra usually only slept here after the words "Daemon, do not ruin my bed," coursed down the corridors, she opted to bring her own bedding to line the sofa.

Her father's room is a scary place, where even the servants tread lightly. Aside from the bed thing, this is where her father slept whenever he was in trouble with Rhaenyra, and the atmosphere reflects that. It's dark and full of all the items Rhaenyra would not let him keep in her rooms. Things she did not want the children to happen upon, like anything related to blood magic, murder, depravity, and…

Mayhaps anything indicating the whereabouts of a certain missing dragonrider?

Sleep is suddenly not her greatest interest. Because if her father has any information that could lead to Laenor, even if it would only make sense to someone who knew, it would be in this room. She steels her nerves for what she might encounter on the way.

She gives up after the first drawer.

It is not the fact that she finds shackles that makes her stop. It is the fact that the shackles were the only thing in the drawer she is willing to allow herself to remember. She decides the small chance of payoff is not worth the near-certain inevitability of being scarred for life — on the night of her wedding, no less.

This is probably a job for Baela. That girl has no boundaries; she's the only one capable of making even their father squeamish. He created a monster not even he was prepared for.

It is now past midnight, and she does consider waking him the same way he did to Jace the other day. But knowing her father, he'd either keep sleeping out of spite or murder her in his sleep. She spends some time pondering whether or not she could outrun him in sleep-murder-mindset.

And then Caraxes screams.

Her father wakes. Slowly, as usual. The sounds itself was likely too faint to wake him and she wonders if it had been Caraxes reacting to him, instead. He pays little mind to Rhaena seated in the chair next to his bed, and, as usual, she does not know if he's aware she's in the room.

Until he sees the dark windows. "Please tell me that does not mean what I think it means," he says without looking at her.

"What do you mean?"

"How long, Rhaena?" He's angry, for certain, and wants to sound like it. But he sounds more tired than anything else.

Someone should have drank the tea.

"Almost a whole day and night."

He shoots upright and actually looks at her. "Tell me they didn't —"

She removes Rhaenyra's ring she'd been wearing for safekeeping. The single glimpse of devastation he lets her see before closing himself off might have had her feeling sorry for him, had he not immediately swapped it for his usual rage. "You foolish child."

"Me? Have you any idea what's happened? Whilst you've been recovering from your episode?"

"You mean what you and your grandparents have concocted whilst I've been poisoned? No."

"You would not have slept for so long had you actually slept when you were supposed to."

He rubs his face trying to wake himself; he looks terrible. "I was afraid you'd pull some stupid shit like this."

She offers him a glass of water, and he eyes it suspiciously. She rolls her eyes and takes a sip before handing it over. "Luke is on your side. Baela was, before…" She cannot right now. "Gerardys is. The Kingsguard are. Had you simply given an order, they would have ensured it. What's a couple of hours?"

For just a moment he lets the sadness resurface. Then he blinks, and it's gone. She looks around and realizes how little time he truly spent here. He was either in trouble with Rhaenyra, or making trouble — with Rhaenyra. Otherwise…

She refuses to give him the out. But she does still need something from him. He's still the King, and I did 'poison' him. She looks back at him, about to speak.

But there's no need. "Worry not," he says. "I know how bad it would look for my own daughter to poison me."

"It was also Jace." She leaves out their other accomplice.

He rolls his eyes. "Of course."

"Of course, why?" she snaps. "Why of course? Is there some reason he would have not to trust you? Some reason neither of us would trust you?"

The stone dragon returns. She can no longer handle it. She can no longer handle how he burns everything he touches, then turns back to stone before anyone can question him. "Why didn't you say something! You could have said something! Better yet, you could have not acted on your own when there is an entire council working towards the same cause!"

"And you trust the council?" No matter how much stone he might wear, he always saves room for petulance.

"I trust that not everyone on the council will lose their minds at the same time! You always do this. You always act or order without explaining and expect everyone to be fine with it! And Jace! All he said was that you need to compromise with Grandmother and you strangle him for it?"

He actually flinches at the word but acknowledges it no further. "That is not all he said. He was being foolish."

"I wonder where he learned it from."

Once again, her father decides he is above explanation. Once again, he takes control. "So where does this leave us? I'm guessing Rhaenys's idiotic plan did not work either. It was a reckless reach for just one extra dragon."

"Because you refused to even consider an alternative dragon! We could have had more riders had you only—" she stops herself.

Her father caught it though. "Riders?"

She rubs her shoulder for effect. "You never even offered me an egg after that."

"I told you to wait. Why is that not enough for you?"

"Would it have been enough for you? You and Rhaenyra are dragons. You think your children would not also be?"

"I had a plan. You just wouldn't like it."

"What?"

As usual, he says nothing.

Rhaena sighs. Then she asks the question she probably should have been asking for years. "So then, can I have an egg?"

"An egg will do you little good right now."

"It would have had you given me one years ago."

"Rhaena!" he snaps. "Why can you not just trust me on this?"

"Because you never explain! And when you do, you lie! You've literally burned Luke with your lies. You want us to be like you, yet you want us to do what you want without question. Certainly, you of all people see the contradiction there?"

Surprisingly, he actually does. He sighs and leans back into the headboard, rubbing his forehead. "Seven Hells Rhaena, have you not already given me enough of a headache?"

"No."

"Very well. You can have Vhagar once I kill the Pretender. Are you content?"

Rhaena cannot process that right now. She simply looks at him, hoping she's approximating Rhaenyra's 'I am so finished with you right now,' look.

She thinks he picks up on it, but she cannot be certain. The fact that he changes the subject is promising, though. "So, why are you the one on Daemon-watch?" he asks.

"Because I'm the only one still here that isn't either afraid of you or wanting to kill you in your sleep — enough to actually risk it, that is."

He knows what that absence means: they are far passed any chance of rescuing Rhaenyra, it is up to the realm now. And her father does hate the realm. She refills his empty water cup because he looks like his headache has a headache.

He actually takes it. "All three of them?"

"Yes. Jace will be gone the longest. Luke is handling the fleet, Baela went to Storm's End."

"So, I take it you're also a married woman now?"

She nods.

Something occurs to him. Never a good sign. "Wait," he says. "You haven't coupled yet, have you?"

She's too tired to even try react to that. "No."

"Oh, thank the gods, there's still time."

"For what?" she stupidly asks like she's Jace.

He actually smiles. "Baela and I have been planning Luke's wedding gift for years now."

"We're at war and you're going to antagonize the one child you have yet to alienate?"

"Someone certainly likes to forget she's one of seven, not one of four. And no. I'll have you know I promised Baela we'd gift it to him together."

He's searching for anything to distract himself, she can tell. And her father's first instinct is always to antagonize someone else.

"Who's coming back first? Baela or Luke?" he asks.

"They should return together. Grandsire sent Luke to check on her for the night. Baela will probably help him with the fleet after, I imagine."

"Why?"

"I believe his words were 'she is a girl of five-and-ten, and the Hightowers have declared open season.'"

"Why didn't they start off together, then?"

"Grandsire didn't feel like arguing with her."

"I cannot imagine she'll be happy with him," he muses. He seems a little too happy with that thought.

"I cannot imagine she'll be happy with any of you when she returns."

The small smile disappears. They sit there for some time in silence, pondering how absolutely fucked they are.

It is Rhaena who breaks it. "You forgot Laenor's rules."

"What?" he says in that way he does when he thinks the question beneath him.

"You didn't alert your crew. Your crew is all you have, and you didn't trust them. You would make for a poor sailor."

"A crew matters little on a sinking ship. You heed my words, that's where your grandparents are leading us down this asinine attempt to appeal to what… the morality of the lords?"

"Father," she warns him. "You cannot explode on the council again. Not after everything…"

"Everything you pulled. You, your grandparents, the whole cowardly half of the council. It's my fault, I suppose," he acknowledges, and for one moment Rhaena is completely shocked. She wonders if her father was perhaps murdered and replaced by a secret non-evil twin.

But as he always does, he continues. He shakes his head. "I should have started killing Hightowers years ago, before the situation became so desperate."

I quit.

And then she does. She stands and looks down at him. "Mayhaps Rhaenyra was so used to raising children and dragons, taking you on felt like the natural next step. But I am not Rhaenyra. I am not ready for children, and apparently not fit for dragons. I tried. I do not have time to manage you. I do not know how. And I do not want to."

"Well, look who decided to hatch after all."

She sighs and makes for the door. "I hate you." She does not look back.

She only realizes after she leaves and reaches into her pocket for her keys, that she had yet to give him the rubies. Oh well, sentiments can wait.

Despite her anger, she still feels responsible for logistics. Her father keeps most of his possessions for daily use in Rhaenyra's rooms, and she heads there to gather what he'll need for the morrow. Not willing to return, she has one of the few servants still awake deliver them. Afterwards, she can find no motivation to move forward, not even to return to her room.

Due to the staffing shortage, the trouble side is still rumpled from Baela's stay. She'd left a book on the bed, and Rhaena sits and reads it for a few moments.

"Eww." She puts it down.

Her side remains smooth, so she lays down on the huge bed that faces the ocean, and thinks of the storms. Rhaena loves the storms. They were scary. And there's no safer feeling than being fully protected from something scary. Why else would the most popular poem of the Doom be about the lovers who took comfort in each other as the world burned?

She cannot help but wonder if she'll ever spend a storm here again. She feels Rhaenyra's absence, and that of her siblings — and husband? That would take some getting used to — even stronger in this bed. She is lonelier here, in this former refuge.

Oh.

Still. I maintain my anger.

She picks up another book from the lower shelf of the bedside table, one that was Rhaenyra-approved. The one they'd started reading the last time. It had been Joffrey's turn to choose, and he'd been so excited that he hadn't even wanted to wait for Baela. "It's so late," he had said, "Baela might not even be coming."

Jace had argued, somewhat. "Baela always com…" he choked.

"Jacaerys," her father had chided. "No one would have cared or thought anything of it had you not made something of it. Once you're there, you keep going. Backing out only makes it worse."

Baela did come through the window after that. Soaking wet, skipping, eyes closed. "Is it safe?" she always asked, and would then change and dry off — if they were lucky.

They were not lucky that time, and their father sounded more serious about putting an end to it. "Besides, we're to announce your betrothals any day now. It won't do."

Jace had laughed. "Imagine what the Hightowers would twist it into."

"Worry not, Jace," Luke had said. "We will do what I've done for the mummy story, in case it ever gets out. I will simply tell it like it's a lesson for boys like you."

"Me? You're the one who —"

"It does not matter how I became a mummy. What matters is… beware. The Hightowers will love it."

"Beware?"

"Beware, little boys. Do not use royal visits as a distraction to go looking for depravity in your stepfather's forbidden books. There are monsters in there!"

Jace buried his face in the blankets. Everyone laughed.

They had never thought they would be married so soon. They had thought it would be years. They thought they had time. More importantly, they had thought they would have more times before the last time. But that had been it. They were married. Adults. Rhaenyra — gone. Her father — gone rogue. And she knows... that was the last time.

BAELA

Baela is accustomed to flying in storms. She no longer finds the rain and clouds blinding, the thunder deafening, or the wind exhausting and disorientating.

But a monster lurks within this storm. So it does matter that Moondancer grows ever more tired, it does matter that she cannot tell Vhagar's roar from the winds or thunder, it does matter that she cannot see Vhagar through the clouds, and most importantly, it certainly does matter that Moondancer cannot smell where Vhagar was.

Oh, Moondancer can smell Vhagar, that much she makes clear. Vhagar is so large, her scent must be overwhelming. With the storm blending the air, it must smell like she's everywhere. And Moondancer can hear Vhagar, but her calls are also carried by the storm. Vhagar is everywhere even to Baela. But to poor Moondancer…

She is swimming in Vhagar soup.

Vhagar is probably not overwhelmed like Moondancer is. Vhagar has very large nose and Moondancer leaves a tiny, tiny trail. Vhagar has large, powerful wings that will not be affected so by the storm.

Vhagar is the storm.

She dares not call for Luke, for fear of calling attention to both of them. She simply continues on her path both away from Storm's End and up above the clouds; she is not willing to risk flying straight up without putting distance between her and her hunter, so it takes some time. But once there, they can escape Vhagar together.

She can only hope she'll see him up there.

But Vhagar's calls grow louder, more aggressive, and she still cannot tell where they come from. She keeps going.

Arrax cries.

Not calls, cries. It's a higher pitch than Vhagar, and therefore easier to track. She cannot help it, she heads towards it. "Luke!" she risks calling, hoping Aemond has little incentive to eat her.

A tiny fireball ignites below her. Vhagar roars in rage. She flies closer. Lightning hits the clouds and lets her see into the distance for but a moment. She's flying horizontal at this point, and she can now see she's approaching two shadows flying directly up. One is much tinier than the other, and one has Luke's voice.

"Arrax! Faster! Fly up!"

The other is Vhagar. Another bolt lights the sky — Vhagar is closing the distance.

Two targets. Vhagar cannot maneuver enough for two targets. She pushes Moondancer as fast as she can go, reaching Vhagar only in time to torch the tip of her tail.

It's enough; Vhagar has a temper. And like her rider, Vhagar has an ego problem. She growls, and readjusts her path to pursue her new target: Baela. But Vhagar needs to make a near-complete turn to chase her, so Baela has a chance. She flies off, both hoping and not hoping she's being chased by an angry cloud monster.

No more lightning comes to tell her, though. All she can do is keep flying and hope she is not consumed by the storm. But she can do this. She can do this, she knows it, she's always known. She can hold it together better than Luke. She can hold it together better than almost anyone. She can let everything else fall away.

For now.

Moondancer might be used to storms. But she is not used to the gruelling physical trials she has been subjected to these past few days. She is tired. She was tired before they even left Dragonstone. But Vhagar was probably not tired. Vhagar had not engaged in secret spy missions and overloaded and overexerted herself, and had probably been well rested before she flew into this storm — this storm that would be little bother to her.

Baela, thankfully, is accustomed to looking behind her when she flies. So she sees when the clouds reshape themselves into the form of Vhagar's jaws.

The storm is trying to eat her.

Her mouth is already alight, threatening her with a firestorm. And Moondancer is not Caraxes. She is neither fast enough to escape, nor larger enough to shield her

Vhagar closes the distance.

She wants to break above the clouds where she might hope to outmaneuver her. But she has no idea how close that might be. There is no sun at this time to give her an idea.

The flames grow, ready to escape. Vhagar might not turn fast, but she can turn her head to aim her fire fast enough.

If I fly to either side, the flames will take me. If I fly forward, the flames take me. If I descend, Vhagar's jaws will take me. Moondancer could survive the flames, but she could not. When caught in a firestorm, many riders in history had jumped and survived. But she is nowhere near the ground, there is nowhere to go.

Well, there is one place to go.

She hadn't even considered going up, around, and down. The way Moondancer had copied from Caraxes's loops. It would cost her too much speed and certainly bathe her in fire.

Bathe Moondancer in fire, that is.

If she tries to turn, she'll lose speed. She cannot turn or fly fast enough to escape the flames or the jaws.

But she can fall. If she kicks off strong enough, she can fall before Vhagar's flames reach her. She can fall…

Vhagar is underneath her. But not directly, there is a bit of an inclination. Enough that if she kicks off hard enough, she won't land in her mouth. But she will land somewhere.

Possibly.

Hopefully.

"Mother, why do you cover Vhagar in a net?"

"Easier to move around her. She is large, as you know."

"But what about the pests, like the gulls?"

"The gulls clean her scales; she likes them there. I do not believe any creature would be foolish enough to cling to that net, should Vhagar not want them to."

Vhagar is even closer now. Her mouth no longer glows, it burns. However it happens, it's about to happen, Baela accepts. She is about to die at the Pretender's hand.

But she can sure as Seven Hells take him with her.

Wait, did he mean a one-in-a-million chance of survival, or one-in-a-million simply for the kill? That's important. Not for her, but for something else. She wastes half a moment considering leaving Dark Sister with Moondancer. But when the half-moment ends, it is too late to do so.

Fuck it.

She takes the leap.

Falling happens fast. Which benefits her whilst she surfs along Vhagar's flames, but not as she falls down Vhagar, that thing she is supposed to land on. It is more like falling down a cliff trying to catch oneself on the rocks.

Fortunately, her father never did stop letting them climb the dragonmont. She keeps Dark Sister sheathed and removes the entire belt, and manages to touch Vhagar and start friction half way down her back. Dark Sister's hilt catches one of the very last rungs on the net.

She dangles.

Unfortunately, that earlier friction was partially her boots, but also partially her body rolling, sliding, and scraping against Vhagar, and it still does not slow her enough. Using the hilt does save her fingers, but the shock of the impact courses through her arms, her shoulders, her whole body. She knows she's done damage.

But Aemond killed her already. She's a dead woman, a ghost; and ghosts make trouble despite all manner of wounds. She summons her strength, pulls herself up, and finds purchase for her feet. She need not for long, however. Without a target to pursue, Vhagar evens herself out into a horizontal coast.

Even once she's evened out, the wind makes crawling feel like climbing. She wisely sticks to the net and is proven wise when several air pockets throw her from Vhagar, and only her gloveless fingers clawing the net keep her from flying away.

Some of those fingers are probably broken.

Rain pelts her like arrows. The wind from the storm and Vhagar's movements ripple the net, throwing her from and then against Vhagar. Frequently. Harshly. But Vhagar is so immense and so preoccupied, that she pays her no more notice than she would the gulls.

For now, she warns herself.

Finally, she rounds Vhagar's hump, and the would-be-mother-fucker comes into sight.

After I kill him, before I die, I need to prove it was me.

Dark Sister would work nicely, but she has no idea how to draw her sword whilst keeping her grip. But a memory from the training yard comes to her, and she keeps climbing.

Aemond does not turn around once. Because Aemond is a dragon-stealing, rock-throwing cunt who was therefore never invited to Father's triple-loop fun-time flying lessons, and consequently never had to keep watch for angry Rhaenyra or angry Grandmother.

How embarrassing, he's about to die because my father was the fun brother. Thank you, Viserys.

She grabs him and starts the maneuver she'd seen Father show his men so many times. But Aemond is a man grown, she is a girl of five-and-ten, and snapping necks is much more difficult than Father makes it look.

Aemond finally notices her. About time. "Seven Hells!" He struggles against her trying to push her off.

Once she realizes no neck-snapping is happening, she opts for a more successful choke hold. "Foul words for a pious boy," she tries to say. But she is too out of breath for the words to come through. It wasn't a particularly good line, anyway.

He thrashes against her, and he's strong. She has his neck. But he still has limbs.

Limbs. I forgot about limbs.

A limb hits her in the face. And then again. And then again. His reach is longer than hers, and both her arms are occupied. But she does not let go. Dead women do not let go.

He reaches for Blackfyre, little good it would do him which gives her an opening. Her hold cannot actually "choke" him from this angle, but it is enough to keep her secured to the now frenzied Vhagar.

She has a free leg, he has an injured hand.

He screams.

Now he has a broken hand.

She has her breath back. "You want to be Orys Baratheon so bad, here you go!" She digs her heel in further. A better first line, at least. Too bad there will be no one to report it.

He keeps screaming. "Why are all the women in this family so fucking crazy!"

"The better question is, who might be driving us crazy!"

Vhagar has lost any sense of destination, and she flails to match Aemond. Baela struggles to hold on. She takes advantage of a downward turn to elbow his skull as hard as she can, then uses the shock to readjust herself to a more stable position.

They grapple for some time. Gods be damned he's stronger than he looks. He's also more experienced than she is and didn't just fall down and climb back up a flying mountain. He keeps trying to use Vhagar to throw her off, and she keeps finding her grip. At some point, his eyepatch comes off around her wrist, and she manages to use it to grip the saddle for one of Vhagar's lurches.

She might be dead, but she lives for his shock and horror each time he thinks he's thrown her off, only to discover she's still there. "You think you can make me fall with a couple of tricks? My father takes me dragon egg hunting in volcanoes like you once gathered fertility day eggs. You know, except for the father part. Because your father never loved you."

Vhagar roars, so does Aemond. So does Baela, because why not, it looks fun. She takes advantage of one of Vhagar's movements to propel herself into a head-butt, something Father said to never do unless you're desperate (and he never even mentioned using a dragon for help).

They both groan. Even Vhagar groans, and they all take a moment to recover.

"Ah, let us both agree no more of those," she says. Vhagar mumbles an agreement.

They go back to strikes and grapples. He's stronger, but she has the advantageous position — and two semi-working hands. She can crawl and roll up and around him and he remains secured. But her greatest advantage is one simple fact — he's fighting to live, she's fighting to kill.

Mayhaps he is a dragon after all. But I'm a fucking volcano. A volcano at the end of its life.

The Doom consumed it all alike.

Vhagar twists, hard and fast, and she's thrown from Aemond yet again. But she'd managed to twist a loose part of the net around her ankle, and she lands on Vhagar's scales, just out of reach of the saddle. They see it at the same time — they both finally have freedom of reach. They're both somewhat secured.

And they both have Valyrian steel swords.

His dominant hand is broken, never mind that he's harnessed and seated. Blackfyre is large and unwieldy for those untrained, and Dark Sister is slender and maneuverable. She rights herself, draws her father's blade, and lunges. Vhagar stops thrashing, likely knowing it would do more harm than good. She knows this blade well, after all.

She holds it to his throat. Vhagar wisely does not struggle.

"Wait, wait, wait," Aemond pleads. The scared boy she'd never known. Even the sapphire looks scared. "If I die you die."

"I died when you toasted me. Call me a ghost."

"It was an accident! I only meant to—"

"Meant to what! Fuck with us? On the largest, oldest dragon in the world? The fuck is wrong with you Hightowers?"

He puts both his hands up. "I meant to show you who had the power. To help you make the right decision."

"Well, you certainly did." She grazes her father's sword across his neck, and Vhagar flinches. She nearly takes his head but manages to compensate, leaving only a shallow slice across his shoulder. Wielding swords on dragonback is difficult. That single-page summary in the 400-year-old mass-produced booklet really let her down.

"Bad war dragon," she says aloud. "Almost losing your rider's head. I hope you treat my sister better, however Father manages to find you."

Fuck. I never got the bow. No way Father does that part without me. He needs girls to use as an excuse to do nice things.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" the Pretender asks.

"Everything! I'm dead. You killed me. I have no fucks to give. That is what the fuck." Why am I stalling?

"No no no. You don't need to be dead. I don't need to be dead. Neither of us needs to be dead. Just put the sword away and we can talk."

"I'm not putting this sword away, you're stronger than me. And we're on your dragon."

"Baela, any air pocket and my head is gone. And we're in a storm."

She does know how precarious this is. Rhaenyra had warned her about playing with a different kind of sword on dragonback. Regardless, she is not getting off this dragon alive. She's just… giving him his last words.

And she does. "So speak swiftly, and hope I have a deft hand."

"I won't hurt you. I have no reason to hurt you. We need you. Let us just land."

"Great. Mayhaps I can room with Rhaenyra! I certainly hope our cycles do not synchronize, wouldn't want to run out of the nice chains."

"How do you even—"

She slices him a little bit on purpose this time.

The longer this goes on the more likely he breaks free, she knows. But something makes her hesitate. Something else from her list…

She need not think on it, for Aemond knows too. "If you kill me, you kill Rhaenyra."

"Please, they just affirmed her claim."

"They won't risk it again. Especially without Vhagar. They need whatever alliance Daeron's marriage would bring, and it would be too much for the realm to believe. We've already spread lies about her health. She's a Targaryen who's had six labours; it's believable. They'll crown Aegon. They don't want to, no one wants to, but they will. They'll lock her away for awhile and then kill her. You know they will."

He speaks like a scared child making excuses. But his words ring true.

At least, probably true. She cannot be certain. She can only be certain that she is dead. She is dead, and she has one chance to avenge herself. One chance to give her family the advantage they need.

But what if it kills Rhaenyra? And not just Rhaenyra. Losing both his wife and daughter would kill Father. Their cause would be lost. Also, he might burn the realm to the ground… is that a good or a bad thing?

Call me Viserys: I'm both dead and indecisive.

Aemond sees her indecision and grows more confident. "Put the sword down and we can work something out. You need not die, Baela."

"I am not some key to a fleet."

A new, smaller gust of wind hits her from the side. Finally, one of Vhagar's stray movements will make the decision for her. She waits for it, hopes for it, but it does not come. Because the wind did not come from Vhagar.

It came from Arrax, who's now perched on Vhagar's back.

As far as passenger safety goes, I think Rhaena can do better. She readjusts the blade just as Vhagar notices, just as Vhagar starts to squirm.

Moondancer, she decides. Rhaena should claim Moondancer. She open her mouth to tell Luke.

Luke.

What the fuck is Luke doing on Vhagar's back?

He calls to her before she can tell him. "Baela, walk to me."

It is only then that Aemond notices the dragon behind him. The dragon behind him. So complacent. He truly must have thought himself invincible up here. Aemond is now realizing he is very much not invincible up here. That, should an enemy descend on you, being a top a dragon as large as Vhagar is no better than being atop a mountain.

And there is a dragon looming over him on this mountain.

He's going to lose it. "Luke, go! I'll take care of this! Bring Moondancer to Rhaena, tell h—"

"Absolutely not!" Luke tries to use Father's not-up-for-discussion voice. But he's trembling. Arrax is trembling. Vhagar is trembling. Aemond is now trembling. The only one not trembling is Baela, because fire does not tremble when it burns hot.

"You cannot be here right now!"

Vhagar moans in agreement. This mountain is no more stable than the chasms they pretend not to frequent.

Arrax cowers at the sounds below, but he still grips some of Vhagar's horns with his little claws, spreads his wings to compensate more, and admirably maintains balance. But this isn't Caraxes, this isn't Syrax. This isn't some friendly, practiced passenger transfer.

This is a hostile dragon in battle.

The connection runs so deep, they will pick up on your deepest emotions. And in battle… Do not engage.

Too late for that.

Luke tries to throw a rope to her, but the wind is too powerful, even with the weight. It blows right back to him. "Walk to me," he tries to say with authority.

"Go," Aemond shouts. Aemond. "I'll… I'll let you go, just go! You don't need the sword, there's a dragon behind you."

He's correct. She sheathes it. "How do I know you won't eat us?"

"Just… fly to her back. She cannot turn around that fast."

No… she needs collateral. Insurance. Mayhaps he'd be reticent to lose Dark Sister to the skies, but they still have a spare —

"Blackfyre. Give me Blackfyre." Might as well check one thing off the list. Happy wedding day, Jace.

"What!"

"You won't risk taking us down with both ancestral swords. There will be no retrieving them from Vhagar's bowels. I'll throw myself into the sky, again. You know I will! So… hand it over."

He hesitates.

"Aemond, I need insurance! If you're so convinced of your position, you'll get it back!"

He stares.

She slaps him. "Now!" she says, not even needing to try to use Father's scary voice.

Vhagar flinches. Because Aemond flinches. And then he looks back at the dragon that looms over him. And Baela can tell, Aemond is the only one that does not see how terrified the baby dragon is. Or maybe he can, and knows just how much more danger that means for them. He fumbles with his remaining good hand and gives her the sword and sheath. Carefully, as if afraid to startle her.

Unnecessary. Baela is the only dragon in control.

For now.

She graps a loose rope and backs away in a crouch. Quickly.

Aemond is not about to try anything. Not on purpose. He's not even comfortable maneuvering up here. He remains bound to the saddle. He had no infants to comfort, no Rhaenyra to check for before doing something reckless. No transferring to a big dragon when the small dragon grows fatigued, no dragondragon riding when the dragons were super fatigued. No touch tag ball, no dragon tag or dragon ball between Dragonstone and Driftmark. Most importantly, he is no volcanic rock climber.

Lack of fun. The Hightower weakness is truly, lack of fun.

Then again, Arrax does not seem to be having fun either. He whimpers to make her point. She is only halfway and tries to move faster, but she's still atop a moving dragon in a storm, and can only go so fast.

"Baela," Luke yells. "Hurry!"

She does. She tries. She cannot see much of Luke but she can see Arrax. And she knows he's about to panic and lose control.

About to. But not yet.

She can recognize Arrax in fear, but mayhaps not everyone could. Because when dragons get scared, they posture. They posture at an opponent they can handle: attack a smaller animal, strangle their stepson, and all that. Arrax is scared of Vhagar, but he also knows who controls her. Arrax glares at the person who controls her.

Don't you dare, the dragon tries to say. But it does not help. She looks back to Aemond. Aemond is looking at Arrax. Aemond is shaking. Vhagar is shaking.

Luke is not the most afraid person on this dragon. The most afraid person on this dragon is the boy who once felt powerless, lost an eye to take Vhagar thinking her the ultimate symbol of power, only to find himself powerless once more.

Vhagar writhes. And then Vhagar bucks.

Baela is thrown yet again, only her tenuous grip on the rope stops her from flying free. The rope stretches taut, her arm stretches taut, then she is thrown back into Vhagar. Hard. If she lives, she'll be little more than a skin sack of bones.

Arrax however, did not have anything adequate to grab. Nor did he want to.

"Arrax, stay! Focus Arrax!" Luke begs. But for naught. Arrax has had enough of Vhagar, and he flies off in the direction he faces — over Vhagar's head.

"Arrax, serve me!"

Vhagar has had enough of Arrax. She follows.

"Vhagar! No, serve me Vhagar!" Aemond begs. Not orders. Begs.

She can barely make out Luke's instructions turn from obey into fly faster. Arrax wisely changes his angle to get above the clouds.

So does Vhagar.

She climbs faster than Father on the rockface the time Rhaena almost fell, which she had not thought possible.

She reaches Aemond once more. "Make her stop!"

"I can't!"

She swivels around so they are face to face, and her back is finally to the wind. She grabs him. "Yes you can! Pull yourself together! Control your dragon. Make. Her. Stop!"

She shakes him. He doesn't fight her. "Aemond!" She looks him in the eye, begging for the fire in his blood to reignite, to take control and end this. She tries to lend him her own, but he will. Not. Take. It.

Why won't he take it?

Take it! She begs him. In many different ways, with many different words she forgets as soon as she speaks them. She grasps him tighter and demands that he stop, or demands that he burns. But he still does not burn.

She does not understand. Fire is supposed to awaken fire.

In dragons. But she is not holding a dragon. She is holding a boy.

And she's holding him around his neck.

She searches and searches, but there is no fire to be found. And the more she tries to share with him, the brighter and hotter she burns, the more he chokes. The more he chokes, the more scared he becomes. And soon those last embers die and all that's left is a boy. A scared boy, standing next to his sister's pyre, trapped in the clutches of a dragon gone mad.

She lets go.

The clouds disappear. The stars come out. It's almost darker up here, without the storm to diffuse the moonlight.

And then the boy is no longer scared; he is horrified. And he is no longer looking at her. "Vhagar no!"

She does not turn around in time to see. But the sound alone will haunt her nightmares. That squeal that is so quickly cut off, yet rings unrelenting within her ears. She turns only in time to see Arrax's wings flutter back into the clouds.

Separately.

Her fire does not go out like his did. It turns inward. It burns her insides. The lining of her gut, her blood, her heart, it all burns, and she knows it will never stop smoking. The remains will outlast the ruins of Valyria.

They'd talked of the Doom the last time she'd come home in a storm. "It was not the dragons," Father had said. "It was tampering with fire beyond the flesh, beyond our reach, that doomed them. Volcanoes. They tried to control the volcanoes. Instead, they destroyed themselves, and took the dragons right along with them."

She believes him.

Aemond is too shocked to move; he only trembles in place. His dragon trembles in place. But Baela is ready to move.

I am no dragon either; I'm a fucking volcano. Not even dragons are safe from me.

Us, she corrects. No one is safe from us.

She almost does it. Aemond sees she's about to do it. He doesn't even beg this time; he just closes his tear-soaked eye.

She draws her father's sword.

Had Moondancer's mourning calls not come from the clouds, had Moondancer herself not followed, she would have done it. She knows it. Aemond knows it.

But Moondancer does emerge from the clouds below, and she now wonders if that is how she, and Grandmother, and Moondancer had looked the other night. Fighting to live, desperate to live. And she remembers how she had felt, how she had so willed to break above the fog, to see the sky, to see her family, to —

My family.

Luke is gone, and so is Arrax. If Baela dies, that leaves them with only two riders. Two riders that despise each other.

Luke is gone; Rhaena is a widow. If Baela dies… she will be the heir in the Hightower's eyes. And she has no dragon to escape on. She could marry Jace, mayhaps, but with so many dead that left their line too vulnerable, too concentrated. Her Grandsire would not allow it. He would sell her like a broodmare to win the war, and Father wouldn't stop it, because this is going to kill him. Losing his stepson, his daughter, not knowing if his wife —

Rhaenyra is with Crazy Queen. If Aemond dies… She does not know if she believes him. But Crazy Queen is Crazy Queen, which means she cannot even chop off Aemond's hand for fun — she knows not what Crazy Queen would do.

But those are the stories she tells herself, the reasons she lists to come to the conclusion she already wanted. She had already made her decision; reasons come after decisions.

Mayhaps I should stay aboard, let him deliver me to his cousin. As the stars stand witness, with all my motivated reasoning, I would make an excellent Hightower.

But she need not, for the same reason she need not slay the shaking child before her. Because Moondancer is no longer crying; she's calling. She's calling Baela. She's circling beneath Vhagar. Moondancer does not think Baela is a ghost. Moondancer wants Baela to live.

Baela wants to live.

She wants to live as much as she did that other night. The storm is gone, the sky is clear, the stars stand witness, and rescue is in sight. And as much as she wants to kill him — she wants to live even more. Vhagar is stunned because Aemond is stunned. She can make a run down Vhagar's back and be gone before she turns. But she will never make it to Moondancer if she killed Vhagar's rider. At least, she does not want to find out. Baela is finished with finding out.

She sheathes her father's sword, but not before cutting Aemond's saddle to make it too risky for him to follow — she is her father's daughter, after all. She spares the child not one more glance, and she runs. Moondancer tries to match her pace as she falls, but she still lands hard. Again.

If there was ever any doubt about my maidenhood before…

At least the storm had cooled the saddle. How tragic it would be to succumb to Vhagar's flames after escaping her. She looks back and sees that Vhagar does not pursue her. She stays above the storm, and uses the stars to guide her. Part of her keeps waiting for the clouds to yet again turn into a dragon. But they do not.

During the last storm, she had not bothered to fly above the clouds. The distance between Driftmark and Dragonstone was not enough to make it worth it. She hadn't even bothered with a riding suit, simply tossed a coat over her nightclothes, which had not been adequate.

She'd jumped into the bed soaking wet, everyone had yelled, and Father had warned her once again, "This is the last time."

This time, she believes him.