In the peaceful valley, Aelys's dragons lay at rest, their massive forms stretched out across the grass. The morning sun glinted off their scales, casting shimmering reflections of rich greens, blues, reds, golds, and silvers across the landscape.
The scene was peaceful, the only sounds being the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional snort or low growl from one of the dragons. It was a rare moment of quiet for these mighty creatures, who had spent much of their lives in the chaos of battles and the tension of the court.
But the tranquility was not to last.
Valyria, ever watchful despite her apparent relaxation, suddenly lifted her head. Her molten gold eyes narrowed, and she sniffed the air, her massive nostrils flaring. Something was wrong. The ancient dragon could sense a shift in the atmosphere, a disturbance that set her on edge.
A low, warning growl rumbled from her throat, causing the other dragons to stir. Morghul and Syraxia were the first to react, their keen senses picking up on Valyria's unease. They too began to sniff the air, their powerful senses detecting the faintest hint of danger.
In the distance, the faint sound of armor clinking and the rhythmic pounding of boots on the ground reached their ears. A squadron of men, heavily armed and carrying long spears and crossbows, was making its way through the forest, their intent clear in their hardened expressions. They had been sent to do the unthinkable—to slay the dragons.
Valyria's growl deepened, and she rose to her full height, her wings unfurling slightly in a display of dominance. The other dragons followed suit, their eyes now fixed on the approaching threat. Aurus and Nyria huddled close to their mothers, sensing the shift in mood and instinctively knowing that something was wrong.
As the men drew nearer, the dragons began to hiss, their throats glowing as they prepared to unleash their fiery breath. The first few men broke through the treeline, their weapons raised. But they were met with an overwhelming sight—eight dragons, of various sizes and colors, standing ready to defend themselves.
"Attack!" one of the men shouted, and the squadron charged forward, their spears and crossbows aimed at the dragons.
But they had underestimated the sheer power and ferocity of Aelys's dragons.
With a deafening roar, Morghul was the first to strike. He unleashed a torrent of black and blue flames, the heat so intense that it melted the armor of the men before they even had a chance to scream. Syraxia followed suit, her flames a brilliant mix of sapphire and silver, cutting through the ranks of soldiers like a scythe through wheat.
Valyria, with a mighty beat of her wings, took to the air, her powerful tail sweeping across the ground and sending men flying. Verdant and Cerulea, though younger and smaller, were no less fierce. They swooped down on the attackers, their claws raking through armor and flesh with terrifying precision.
Inferna and Solaris added their own flames to the chaos, their red and gold fire engulfing the remaining soldiers. Lunara, her silver scales gleaming, let out a bone-chilling screech before diving into the fray, her jaws snapping shut around a man who had dared to aim a crossbow at her.
In a matter of moments, the squadron was decimated. The few men who managed to survive the initial onslaught turned and fled, their terror evident as they scrambled back into the forest.
The dragons, their victory swift and absolute, gathered together in the clearing, their eyes still glowing with the remnants of their battle fury. But as the last of the soldiers disappeared from view, a new sense of urgency took hold of them.
They could sense it—Aelys was in danger.
Valyria let out a powerful, resonant call, and the dragons responded as one. With a single, synchronized beat of their wings, they took to the sky, their massive forms blotting out the sun as they soared towards King's Landing.
A dark, damp dungeon beneath the Dragonpit, where the air is thick with the smell of mildew and decay. The walls are cold, rough stone, and the only light comes from a small, barred window high above. Aelys, once strong and full of life, now lies weakened on the dirty floor, her strength sapped by five days without food or water. Aelys Targaryen could barely keep her eyes open. The hunger gnawed at her, the thirst a constant, burning ache in her throat. Each breath was a struggle, her body weakened by the harsh conditions of the dungeon. The once-proud princess had been reduced to a shadow of her former self, her silver-gold hair matted and her skin pale from lack of nourishment and sunlight.
She had been locked away in the dungeon for five days, each one longer and more grueling than the last. Otto Hightower's words echoed in her mind, taunting her: "Your only protection here has finally passed away." With King Viserys gone, the vultures had descended, seeking to secure their power by eliminating any threats—especially one as formidable as Aelys.
Despite her condition, Aelys refused to give in to despair. She knew her dragons would come for her. They were her soulmates, bonded to her in a way that transcended mere ownership or companionship. But with each passing hour, the fear that they would be too late crept into her mind.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her rumbled. At first, she thought she was imagining it, a trick of her weakened mind. But the tremors grew stronger, the very walls of the dungeon vibrating with the force of it. Then she heard it—the unmistakable sound of roaring, deep and powerful, reverberating through the stone walls.
Aelys's heart leaped in her chest. She knew those roars. She struggled to sit up, using the last of her strength to pull herself toward the door of her cell. The sound of crashing stone and splintering wood filled the air, followed by the heavy, thunderous steps of her dragons.
The door to her cell burst open, the iron hinges torn from the stone by a powerful force. Verdant, her emerald-green dragon, squeezed through the doorway, his massive head lowering to look at her with eyes full of concern. Behind him, the others—Morghul, Syraxia, Valyria, Cerulea, Inferna, Solaris, and Lunara—crowded the narrow corridor, their bodies barely fitting within the confines of the dungeon.
Aelys reached for one of the dead bodies of the guards and grabbed her sword and clutched it with her remaining strength.
Verdant lowered his wing, the soft, leathery surface extending toward her like a lifeline. With trembling hands, Aelys reached out and grasped it, her fingers barely able to hold on. Verdant, sensing her weakness, gently lifted her onto Morghul's broad back. The massive dragon, his scales gleaming like polished sapphire, held perfectly still, allowing her to settle against him.
Aelys clung to Morghul's scales, her strength nearly spent, but the determination in her eyes was clear. She was not defeated, not yet. As soon as she was secure, the dragons began their escape, moving through the dungeon with terrifying speed and power.
With a few beats of their wings, they shattered the ceiling of the dungeon, sending debris flying as they ascended into the open air. The cool breeze was a welcome relief to Aelys's fevered skin, and she closed her eyes, letting the wind wash over her.
But the reprieve was short-lived. As the dragons emerged from the Dragonpit, they found themselves in the midst of the coronation of Aegon, the new pretender king. The square was packed with people, the nobles of the court, and Otto Hightower himself, all assembled to see Aegon crowned.
The sight of Aelys and her dragons sent a wave of panic through the crowd. Shouts and screams filled the air as people scattered, trying to flee from the fearsome creatures. Aegon, still in the process of being crowned, looked on in horror, the crown slipping from his head as he stumbled backward.
Otto Hightower, however, quickly regained his composure. His eyes narrowed as he saw Aelys, weak and slumped against Morghul's back. This was his chance. "Kill her!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Aelys. "Take her down before she can escape!"
A group of soldiers, armed with spears and crossbows, moved in to follow his orders. But the dragons would not let harm come to their rider. Morghul roared, the sound shaking the very ground beneath them, and with a mighty swing of his tail, he sent the first wave of soldiers flying, their weapons clattering to the ground.
Verdant and Syraxia joined in, their tails whipping through the ranks of soldiers, knocking them aside like ragdolls. The few that managed to get close enough to aim their crossbows found their bolts deflected by the dragons' thick, armored scales.
With a final, powerful roar, the dragons unleashed their fire upon the ceiling of the Dragonpit, the intense heat and flames tearing through the structure. The ceiling began to crumble, stones and beams falling as the dragons blasted their way to freedom.
As the Dragonpit collapsed around them, the dragons took to the sky, carrying Aelys away from the chaos. Below, Otto Hightower watched in helpless fury as his plans were once again thwarted by the sheer power of the dragons and their unbreakable bond with Aelys.
The dragons soared over the city, their wings cutting through the air with effortless grace. Aelys, weak but alive, clung to Morghul, her heart swelling with a mixture of relief and determination. They were flying toward Dragonstone, away from the treachery of King's Landing and the dangerous ambitions of Otto Hightower.
After a long day of flying, the dragons finally approached the familiar sight of Dragonstone. The journey had been exhausting, not only for the dragons but for Aelys as well, who lay weakly on Morghul's back. Meleys, the Red Queen, flew alongside the others, her crimson scales gleaming even in the dim light. Rhaenys Targaryen, perched atop Meleys, cast a worried glance at Aelys, her heart heavy with concern.
As they descended toward the castle, the guards stationed at Dragonstone's entrance looked up in surprise. It wasn't every day that so many dragons arrived at once, and the sight of Meleys, alongside the younger dragons, was particularly striking.
The moment they landed, Rhaenys dismounted swiftly and rushed to Morghul's side. She carefully helped Aelys down, her arms steadying the younger woman as her legs almost gave out beneath her.
"Aelys," Rhaenys murmured, her voice filled with concern, "we're here. You're safe now."
Aelys, her strength nearly depleted, nodded weakly, leaning heavily on Rhaenys for support. The guards, recognizing Rhaenys and the condition Aelys was in, hurried over, their eyes wide with shock and alarm.
"What happened, Princess?" one of the guards asked, his voice filled with worry as he looked at Aelys's weakened state.
Rhaenys, still supporting Aelys, glanced up at the guard. "She was imprisoned in the dungeon beneath the Dragonpit," she explained, her tone urgent. "Otto Hightower had her locked away without food or water for five days. She needs care immediately."
The guards exchanged horrified looks before nodding. "We'll take her inside at once, Princess Rhaenys," one of them said, stepping forward to assist.
"No, wait," Rhaenys interrupted, her tone firm. "She needs to see Rhaenyra and Daemon. This cannot wait. They must know what happened in King's Landing, and they need to know now."
The guards hesitated for a moment, understanding the gravity of the situation. "We'll send word to Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra immediately," the guard replied before gesturing for another to take Aelys.
Two guards moved forward, carefully taking Aelys from Rhaenys, their expressions a mix of respect and concern. "Come, Princess Aelys," one of them said gently, "we'll get you some food, water, and fresh clothing. You'll be well taken care of here."
Aelys, too weak to speak, only managed a faint nod, her eyes fluttering as exhaustion threatened to overtake her. The guards began to lead her inside, their steps hurried yet careful, while Rhaenys stayed behind, her gaze following Aelys with deep worry.
"Send for Maester Gerardys as well," Rhaenys added quickly. "Aelys is in dire need of his care."
"Yes, Princess," one of the guards responded before hurrying off to find the maester.
As the guards carried Aelys inside, Rhaenys turned back to the castle, her expression set with determination. She made her way swiftly through the halls, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls, until she reached the private quarters where she knew Rhaenyra and Daemon would be.
The door to the chamber was guarded, but at the sight of Rhaenys, the guards quickly stepped aside. Rhaenys entered without hesitation, her face betraying the urgency of the situation.
Inside, Rhaenyra was seated by the window, reviewing some documents, while Daemon stood nearby, looking over a map. Both of them looked up in surprise at Rhaenys's sudden entrance.
"Rhaenys," Rhaenyra began, her eyes narrowing in concern, "what's happened? You look troubled."
Rhaenys, still catching her breath from the urgency of the moment, quickly approached them. "It's Aelys," she said, her voice laced with anger and worry. "Otto Hightower had her imprisoned in the Dragonpit for five days without food or water. She's barely clinging to consciousness."
Daemon's expression darkened instantly, his hand tightening into a fist. "That conniving serpent," he growled. "What else?"
"She was weak when I found her, but her dragons managed to break her out," Rhaenys continued, her voice trembling slightly with the intensity of her emotions. "But Otto… he said Viserys had passed, and that he's moved to place Aegon on the throne. Aelys is a threat to them, and they're determined to remove her from the equation."
Rhaenyra's face grew pale, her eyes flashing with fury. "Viserys is dead?" she whispered, the words catching in her throat. "And Otto dares to imprison my daughter and claim the throne for Aegon?"
"They plan to kill her dragons as well," Rhaenys added, her voice barely holding back her anger. "But they won't have the chance. The dragons have already returned to Dragonstone."
Daemon's eyes blazed with a cold fury, and he exchanged a look with Rhaenyra. "We must act," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The Hightowers have overstepped, and they will pay dearly for this."
Rhaenyra nodded, her expression hardening with resolve. "Aelys is to be cared for immediately. We'll see to it that she recovers, and then we'll strike back at the Hightowers. They will not steal what is ours."
"Agreed," Rhaenys said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "I'll oversee her care personally, but we must be ready. War is coming, and the dragons will fly."
With that, Rhaenys turned to leave, her mind focused on ensuring Aelys received the care she needed. Rhaenyra and Daemon, left alone in the chamber, shared a look of grim determination. The time for action had come, and the flames of war were about to be ignited.
Rhaenyra, Daemon, and several guards stood around the Painted Table, discussing their next moves when the heavy door to the chamber creaked open. Rhaenys entered, her face grim, her clothes disheveled, and her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow. She was covered in dust and ash, her garments torn and singed, with dry blood matted in her hair and trailing down her face. The sight of her in such a state immediately captured everyone's attention.
"Rhaenys," Rhaenyra exclaimed in shock and worry, rushing forward to meet her. "What happened?"
"Viserys is dead," she blurted out, causing Rhaenyra and Daemon to freeze in place, their eyes wide with disbelief.
Rhaenyra's face paled, and she instinctively reached out to steady herself against the table, the weight of the news hitting her like a physical blow. Tears welled up in her eyes as she processed the loss of her father. "No…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Not my father…"
Daemon, though equally stunned, clenched his fists, his anger barely contained. "How?" he demanded, his voice sharp, his eyes searching Rhaenys for answers.
Rhaenys took a deep breath, steadying herself as she recounted what had happened. "I'm sorry, Rhaenyra," she said softly, her voice laced with sorrow. "Viserys passed away in his sleep, or so they claim."
Rhaenyra's tears began to fall, her grief palpable as she struggled to comprehend the reality of her father's death. But Rhaenys wasn't finished, and the next words she spoke sent a fresh wave of horror through the room.
"But there's something else you need to know," Rhaenys continued, her tone growing darker. She looked Rhaenyra in the eye, steeling herself for the reaction she knew was coming. "They've crowned Aegon as King."
The shock of this revelation hit Rhaenyra and Daemon like a blow. Rhaenyra let out a pained groan, her voice trembling with disbelief. "They crowned him?" she uttered, her hands gripping the edge of the Painted Table as if to keep herself from collapsing under the weight of the news.
Daemon's expression turned murderous as he processed what this meant. "How did Viserys die?" he asked, his voice cold and dangerous.
Daemon's face hardened, his jaw clenched as he struggled to contain his emotions. "How did he die?" he asked, his voice tense and demanding.
Rhaenys took a moment to steady herself before replying, "They claim he died in his sleep, peacefully. But..." She hesitated, her eyes darkening with the weight of what she was about to say.
"But?" Rhaenyra prompted, fear and suspicion creeping into her tone.
Rhaenys took a deep breath, her voice lowering as she continued, "There's more. Aegon has been crowned King."
Rhaenyra's grief turned to shock and fury. "They crowned him?" she uttered, her voice shaking with a mix of disbelief and anger. "How could they...?"
Daemon stepped forward, his face a mask of barely controlled rage. "When did this happen?" he demanded.
"After the dinner we all had together," Rhaenys replied. "He went to bed that night and never woke up."
Daemon's eyes narrowed, his mind working quickly. "Viserys was slain," he concluded darkly, the implication clear that the Greens had been involved in his death.
But Rhaenys wasn't finished. She looked directly at Rhaenyra, her expression grave. "Otto Hightower is responsible," she said, her voice laced with venom. "He was the one who orchestrated the assassination attempt on Aelys years ago."
Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock. "What? He tried to kill Aelys?"
Rhaenys nodded, her face full of anger. "Yes, and he wants her dead more than anyone because of her bond with her dragons. Her gift makes her a threat to their power, and Otto will stop at nothing to see her gone."
Daemon, standing beside her, his eyes cold and calculating said, "Not if he's gone first."
Aelys lay weakly on the bed, her body aching from days of starvation and mistreatment. Her once-vibrant eyes were dull, and her skin had taken on a pallor from her ordeal. The door creaked open as a group of maids entered, their faces a mixture of concern and determination.
"Princess Aelys," one of the maids said gently, kneeling beside her. "We're here to help you. Please, try to relax."
Another maid dipped a cloth into the basin of water, wringing it out before carefully dabbing it against Aelys' forehead. The coolness of the water was a small relief against the feverish heat that had built up over the past few days.
Aelys opened her eyes slightly, her voice hoarse as she tried to speak. "Thank you..."
"Shh, don't strain yourself," the head maid reassured her. "We'll take care of you."
Two other maids gently helped Aelys sit up, supporting her as they removed the tattered and dirty clothing she had been wearing. They moved with practiced care, mindful of her weakened state. As they dressed her in fresh linens, one of the younger maids handed her a cup of water.
"Drink, my lady," she urged softly. "You need to regain your strength."
Aelys took the cup with trembling hands, the cool water soothing her parched throat. She sipped slowly, each drop helping to revive her a little more.
"We've prepared a warm broth for you as well," another maid said, setting a bowl on the table beside her. "It's light, but it will help you regain your strength."
As they worked, the maids exchanged worried glances. Aelys had always been strong, but the toll of the past few days was evident. They continued their care, one brushing her hair free of tangles, another rubbing salve into the bruises and sores on her wrists and ankles where she had been bound.
"You're safe here, Princess," the head maid said softly, her voice full of empathy. "No one will harm you now."
Aelys managed a weak nod, her mind still reeling from the horrors she had endured. The maids' kindness was a balm to her spirit, and she could feel herself slowly coming back from the brink of despair. As they continued their gentle ministrations, she allowed herself to close her eyes, letting the exhaustion overtake her, knowing she was finally in a place where she could begin to heal.
After Rhaenyra's self-appointed coronation, the lords and allies gathered around the Painted Table, awaiting their Queen. The room was filled with tension as the guards accompanied Rhaenyra into the chamber. All eyes turned to her as Daemon stepped forward.
"Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm," Daemon declared with a commanding voice. All present bowed their heads in respect to their new Queen, except for Rhaenys, who remained standing, her expression thoughtful and unreadable.
"Your Grace," Daemon greeted Rhaenyra formally as she took in the scene.
Wearing her crown, Rhaenyra looked upon her supporters. Her gaze was sharp, her posture regal. As she began to move toward the Painted Table, her guards followed closely. Noticing this, she turned and commanded firmly, "Stay where you are." The guards halted immediately, allowing Rhaenyra to continue her approach alone.
Rhaena stepped forward, offering a cup of wine. "Wine, my Queen," she said, her voice respectful.
Rhaenyra took the cup with a gracious nod. "Thank you, Rhaena." She gestured for Rhaena to join the council. She then turned to Baela, encouraging her to join as well. Baela hesitated, glancing at Rhaenys for a moment before moving to the table with her Queen.
Rhaenyra focused on the Painted Table, where small figures were placed to represent their allies and enemies. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation. The room was silent, everyone waiting for her to speak.
Finally, Rhaenyra broke the silence. "What is our standing?"
Daemon stepped forward, his tone serious. "We have 30 knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms. Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our armies leave much to be desired. I've sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I'll have some support there, but I cannot say the numbers."
Maester Gerardys added, "We already have declarations from Celtigar, Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon." As he spoke, Jacaerys moved the figures on the table to reflect their allies.
Rhaenyra pointed to the Vale on the map. "My lady mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin."
"Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace," Maester Gerardys continued. "With Prince Daemon's acquiescence, I've already sent ravens to Lord Grover."
Rhaenyra's gaze shifted to Daemon, a hint of displeasure in her eyes. "Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war."
Daemon's response was curt. "I'm going to treat him myself."
Lord Steffon Darklyn spoke up, "What of Storm's End and Winterfell?"
"There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath," Lord Bartimos answered confidently. "And with House Stark, the North will follow."
"Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his father's promises," Rhaenyra noted, her voice steady. She then turned to Rhaenys, her expression softening slightly. "What news from Driftmark?"
Rhaenys met Rhaenyra's gaze evenly. "Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone."
Daemon interjected, his tone firm. "To declare for his Queen."
Rhaenys gave him a measured look, her expression giving nothing away. "The Velaryon fleet is in my husband's yoke. He decides where they sail."
Rhaenyra nodded, understanding the underlying tension. "We shall pray for both you and your husband's support, just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake's return to good health."
Rhaenys' gaze sharpened slightly, aware of the diplomatic words Rhaenyra chose. She remained silent, watching the young Queen carefully, assessing her resolve.
Rhaenyra continued, her voice filled with conviction. "There's no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet."
The silence in the room was broken by Lord Bartimos, who stepped forward, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "Pardon my bluntness your majesty, but talk of men and armies is moot. Our cause has a power not seen since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons."
Rhaenyra's gaze sharpened. "The Greens have dragons as well," she countered, her tone measured but aware of the truth in his words.
Daemon stepped closer to the table, his eyes gleaming with intensity. "They have only three adult dragons: Vhagar, Sunfyre, and Dreamfyre. But we possess far more. In addition to Caraxes, Syrax, and Meleys, we have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes with your sons, and Moondancer with Baela." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing. "And then there's Aelys. She commands Morgul, Syraxia, Aurora, Mist, Shadow, Ember, Starlight, Verdant, Cerulea, Inferna, Solaris, Lunara, Valyra, Aurus, and Nyria."
He looked around the room, seeing the growing resolve in the faces of their allies. "We also have several unclaimed dragons in need of riders—Seasmoke, Vermithor, and Silverwing. Not to mention the three feral dragons—Grey Ghost, Sheepstealer, and the Cannibal—living wild on Dragonstone. That makes 27 dragons to their 4."
A murmur of approval ran through the room, but Rhaenyra, though bolstered by the numbers, remained cautious. "Vhagar is the largest dragon in the world," she said, her voice betraying the weight of her concerns. "She has seen many battles and could turn the tide of this war single-handedly."
Daemon's expression darkened with determination. "Then we must take Vhagar out of the equation. Valyra, Morgul, and Syraxia could strike her down before she becomes a threat."
Before anyone could respond, the heavy doors to the room creaked open, and Aelys staggered in, still pale and weak from her ordeal. The room fell silent as she entered, her steps unsteady but her gaze firm.
"No," Aelys said, her voice filled with a quiet but undeniable authority. "We cannot use the dragons against each other."
Daemon turned to her, surprised but not deterred. "Aelys, if we don't act, Vhagar—"
"I know what Vhagar is capable of," Aelys interrupted, her voice rising with uncharacteristic urgency. "But if we pit dragon against dragon, we will only hasten their extinction. It's our duty as Dragonkeepers to protect them, not use them as weapons of war."
Rhaenyra looked at her younger sister, her expression softening. "Aelys, we need every advantage we can get. The Greens won't hesitate to use their dragons against us."
Aelys took a deep breath, her strength clearly waning, but her resolve unbroken. "I know what's at stake, Rhaenyra. But the dragons... they are more than just tools of war. If we lose them, we lose a part of what makes us Targaryens. A war like this could end with us destroying ourselves."
Daemon frowned, frustration evident in his eyes. "So what do you propose? That we simply let the Greens use their dragons unchecked?"
Aelys shook her head, struggling to maintain her composure. "No. But there are other ways to win this war. Ways that don't involve sacrificing the very creatures that are the legacy of our house."
The room was silent as Aelys' words hung in the air. The weight of her plea, born from her deep connection with the dragons, touched something in those present. Rhaenyra looked at Daemon, her mind racing with the possibilities, torn between her duty as a queen and the wisdom in her sister's words.
Finally, Rhaenyra spoke, her voice calm but resolute. "We will consider all our options. We cannot afford to lose the dragons or our kingdom. But we must also be wise in how we use the power we have."
Aelys nodded, relief washing over her tired features. "Thank you, Rhaenyra. We must remember that once dragons are unleashed, they cannot be controlled. We have to be sure that the cost of victory isn't too high."
Daemon, though still clearly conflicted, gave a grudging nod. "Very well. We'll plan carefully. But know this—if the time comes, we will do whatever is necessary to secure our future."
With that, the council resumed, but the tone was more cautious, more deliberate. Aelys' words had made their mark, reminding them all of the fine line they walked between power and destruction. The Painted Table, once a symbol of conquest, now held the fate of not just the realm, but of the very dragons that had built it.
Aelys lay on her bed, her body still weak and aching from her injuries. Her hands trembled slightly as she fiddled with the pendant hanging around her neck—a simple piece of jewelry that had belonged to her mother, but one she suspected held secrets far beyond its appearance. She stared at it intently, her mind racing with thoughts of the war and the looming threat to the dragons she loved so dearly.
She whispered softly to herself, "There must be something... anything to help save them. Save us."
The pendant, warm to the touch, began to hum softly, the vibrations traveling through her fingers and up her arm. Aelys's heart skipped a beat as she watched it suddenly rise from her hand, floating gently in the air before her. Her breath caught in her throat as the pendant began to move, almost as if it had a will of its own, guiding her out of her chambers.
Aelys slowly stood, ignoring the protest of her still-healing wounds. She wrapped a cloak around herself and followed the pendant's trail, her curiosity and desperation overcoming her pain. The pendant floated ahead, leading her through the winding halls of Dragonstone, and out into the cool night air.
The path led her to the base of the Dragonmount, the dormant volcano that loomed over Dragonstone. The air grew warmer as she approached, the ground beneath her feet gradually becoming rougher and more jagged. The pendant glowed brighter, guiding her into a hidden cave that was almost imperceptible from the outside.
Aelys hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The darkness swallowed her, but the pendant's light illuminated the path before her, casting eerie shadows along the cave walls. The cave was ancient, the air thick with the scent of sulfur and old, forgotten magic.
As she ventured deeper, the pendant's glow revealed something nestled against the rocky wall—a scroll, old and worn, but still intact. The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine. Aelys knelt down, gently picking up the scroll with trembling hands. She could feel the weight of its age, the importance of the knowledge it held.
Carefully, she unrolled the scroll, her eyes scanning the ancient Valyrian text inscribed upon it. The words detailed a rare and almost forgotten type of Valyrian steel, one imbued with powerful magic that could be forged into armor for dragons. This armor, the scroll claimed, would make the dragons invulnerable to any harm, even from other dragons.
Her heart raced as she read further. The scroll described a spell—one that could only be cast by someone pure of heart, someone who truly loved and respected the dragons as more than mere weapons of war. The spell, once cast, would summon the metal from the earth, allowing it to be shaped into protective armor for the dragons.
Aelys's eyes widened as she absorbed the knowledge. "This... this could be it," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and disbelief. "This could be the key to saving them."
She rolled up the scroll, clutching it tightly as she made her way back out of the cave, the pendant still hovering nearby, lighting her path. The cool night air greeted her once again as she emerged from the Dragonmount, the weight of the scroll in her hands a stark reminder of the power it contained.
Returning to Dragonstone, Aelys hurried to her private chambers. She spread the scroll out on a large table, surrounded by piles of books, notes, and other scrolls on Valyrian lore that she had painstakingly moved to Dragonstone the previous year. She knew that if anyone could decipher and verify the knowledge within the scroll, it would be her.
For hours, she poured over the text, cross-referencing it with her own notes and the ancient tomes she had collected. Her mind, though weary, was sharp, and as the hours passed, she began to piece together the truth of the scroll's contents.
As dawn approached, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the windows, Aelys leaned back in her chair, exhaustion weighing heavily on her. But there was a fire in her eyes—a spark of hope that had not been there before.
"If this is true," she murmured to herself, staring at the scroll in front of her, "we may have a way to protect the dragons... and perhaps, even a way to turn the tide of this war."
With renewed determination, Aelys knew she had to proceed carefully. She would need to test the spell, to see if she truly could summon the magical Valyrian steel. And if she succeeded, she would have to decide who among them was pure of heart enough to wield such power responsibly.
But for now, she allowed herself a moment of quiet triumph. She had found a potential answer—a way to protect her family and the dragons she loved. It was a small victory, but in these dark times, it was enough to give her the strength to continue.
Rhaenyra, Daemon, and her councilors were deep in conversation about their next steps. They had been planning to send Daemon to the Riverlands to negotiate with the Tullys, hoping to gain their support. Rhaenyra had intended to send Aelys along with him to help with diplomacy.
"Daemon can be forceful at times," Rhaenyra said, her gaze fixed on the maps spread out before them. "I hope that Aelys can help bring some ease to the negotiations with Lord Grover."
Aelys, who had been present in the chamber, nodded in agreement. "I will do my best, Your Grace," she said, though her voice carried a hint of reluctance. "But you and I both know that Daemon's approach can be... blunt. I worry about the effectiveness of our efforts if he isn't careful."
Rhaenyra placed a reassuring hand on Aelys's shoulder. "I have faith in you, Aelys. I believe you can temper Daemon's more aggressive tendencies and help secure the support we need."
Aelys managed a small, grateful smile, though the weight of the task ahead hung heavily on her. As they continued to discuss their plans, Daemon entered the room, his demeanor cold and grave. Aelys and Rhaenyra exchanged concerned glances, sensing that something was wrong. Aelys's heart sank as she remembered the same look she had seen on faces when her father had died.
Daemon walked straight to Rhaenyra, handing her a sealed letter. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air growing even heavier with anticipation. Rhaenyra and Daemon moved to a corner to speak in hushed tones, while Aelys, unable to ignore her growing sense of dread, opened the letter with trembling hands.
As Aelys read the contents, her face grew pale. The letter detailed the tragic news: Lucerys Velaryon had reached Storm's End, only to be intercepted by Aemond Targaryen. Despite their efforts, Vhagar had mercilessly killed Lucerys and his dragon, Arrax. The words seemed to blur together as she processed the grim reality of what had happened.
Her heart ached with the weight of the news. Lucerys, so young and brave, was gone. The devastation hit Aelys like a physical blow, and she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Her eyes met Rhaenyra's, who was slowly turning from her conversation with Daemon, her face a mask of grief, sadness, anger, and raw, unrestrained hate.
The room fell into a heavy silence as everyone awaited Rhaenyra's reaction. The news of Lucerys's death had shattered their fragile hopes for a peaceful resolution. The diplomatic efforts that had once been the focus of their strategy now seemed utterly futile.
Daemon's face was grim as he nodded in agreement. "The war of ravens and envoys has ended. Now, we must prepare for the war of fire and blood."