Stepstones, Bloodstone – 132 AC
A fortnight has passed since my first flight in nearly a year, and I feel like myself again, truly. I stretch out on the warm sand of the beach, my wings resting at my sides, the sea air cool against my scales. The ache that used to gnaw at my wing, the constant reminder of what I had lost, is nothing but a faint memory now. I flex it occasionally, just to remind myself that it's healed. There's something about the way the wind catches under my wings, the way the air flows over me, that feels like freedom in its purest form. And after so long grounded, it feels like a rebirth.
Lucerys is nearby, her small hands carefully picking up shells along the shore. She's humming something—a song she must have heard in the halls, no doubt—and every so often, she glances over her shoulder at me, making sure I'm still there, as if I would go anywhere without her. The bond between us is stronger than it has ever been, more alive. It's not just something I feel; it's something I live through every beat of my heart.
I watch her, my red eyes following her as she moves, and I find relief. The light has returned to her. The dark days, when her grief weighed on both of us like stones tied around our necks, seem distant now. The descent into madness she endured—that we endured together—was the worst part of it all. Worse than the pain in my wings, worse than being chained to the earth. Her sorrow crept into our bond like a sickness, making everything heavier, darker. When Lucerys wept, I felt her tears in my very bones. Her despair was mine, and it kept me grounded, unable to rise.
The bond between rider and dragon is a double-edged sword, sharper than any steel. It strengthens us both, but when one falters, we both suffer. Her grief poisoned us both, and I was trapped in it, unable to fly, unable to heal. And she… she was drowning.
But something changed the day she pulled herself back. I remember it like the first breath of air after almost suffocating. She stood in front of me, her eyes filled with fire, the same fire I had always seen in her before the darkness took her. And the moment I felt that spark return in her, I felt it in myself, too. It was as if the weight lifted, the chains around my wings loosened, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I knew I would fly again.
That first flight—the wind in my wings, the rush of the world falling away beneath me—it was more than just a relief. It was joy. It was life. I was meant to soar, not to rot away on the ground like some common creature. And Lucerys was meant to ride with me, her heart full of that fierce, untamable spirit that had returned to her. Together, we were unstoppable.
As I rest, I think back to the dragonkeeper, the one who finally knew how to tend to my wounds properly. It was about time someone had sent for him. Maesters may have their uses with humans, but they know nothing of what it means to heal a dragon. The dragonkeeper knew what to do—his hands steady and sure, his knowledge deep, passed down through generations of understanding our kind. His treatments soothed the fire in my wing, the pain that had gnawed at me, and allowed me to begin the healing I needed. But more than that, it was Lucerys' recovery that truly restored me.
I feel her excitement spike through the bond. She's found something—a particularly beautiful shell, no doubt, one that glistens in the sun like the scales of a dragon. She holds it up, showing it to me, her smile wide, and I huff out a breath of warm air, amused. She acts like she doesn't know I can feel every flicker of her joy as if it were my own.
We've come so far from the days of grief. The bond that once dragged us both down is now lifting us higher than we've ever been before. I can feel it in every beat of my heart, in every rush of wind beneath my wings. We are connected, rider and dragon, and that bond will carry us through whatever comes next.
For now, though, I will let her pick her shells and hum her songs. We've earned this peace, this quiet moment before the storm. The world can wait, just for a little while longer. Because when we take flight again, there will be no stopping us.
I turn my head slightly, watching her with a laziness that comes from knowing there's no need for vigilance, no imminent threat. Not here, not today. The only enemies now are the thoughts of what might come, the battles we'll soon face. But that can wait. For now, it's just Lucerys, the shells, and me, basking in the sun and the sea breeze.
It's funny how, after everything, she still manages to make the darkest situations seem brighter. I can feel her excitement ripple through our bond, her eagerness for the skies, and I share in it. There's no need for words between us; the bond speaks more clearly than anything she could ever say out loud. Her heartbeat is like a drum in my chest, steady now, strong. We rise and fall together, and after everything, we are rising again.
I stretch out my wings, feeling the satisfaction of their full reach, and let out a low rumble, not out of discomfort but out of contentment. I have been grounded before, but I will not be grounded again. The sky is mine, and no dragon should ever remain on the ground.
I'm a creature of the sky, after all. And with Lucerys at my side, the world below can burn for all I care.
After all, no dragon stays on the ground for long.
Not me. Not her.
The wind shifts, bringing with it the familiar scent of another dragon, and my attention is pulled away from Lucerys as she combs the shoreline for her precious shells. I recognize the sound of wings slicing through the air long before I see the pearl-white scales glinting in the sunlight—Arrax. He lands with a graceful thud, sand spraying up beneath his claws as he folds his wings against his body. Perched on his back is Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed prince, whose presence is hard to miss even from a distance. His single good eye scans the beach, locking on Lucerys as she looks up, her face lighting up with that stubborn mixture of guilt and affection she always wears around him these days.
Lucerys immediately drops the shells she's been gathering and rushes over to Aemond, moving with that unspoken urgency that's been present since the day she saw him with only one eye. I huff a small plume of smoke, watching her as she helps him dismount Arrax. She's always fussing over him now, something that used to be beneath her, or at least something she never thought about. But losing an eye changes things, doesn't it? I can feel the guilt radiating off her whenever she looks at Aemond, as if she thinks she could've done something to prevent it, as if the events of battle were hers to control.
Humans are foolish like that, burdening themselves with guilt over things beyond their power. Still, I can't help but feel a quiet satisfaction in the way Lucerys has grown closer to Aemond. Before all this, she took him for granted, only half-aware of what he meant to her. Now, though, she shows him her love openly, in the little things—the way her hand lingers on his arm as he steadies himself on the sand, the softness in her gaze as she checks his bandage, even though he's more than capable of handling himself.
She's stubborn, my princess. Stubborn and oblivious at times, but she's learning.
Arrax ambles closer to me, his golden eyes flicking over the humans, then to me. He settles down in the sand beside me, letting out a low rumble that feels more like a sigh. "Flying already?" I ask him, a teasing edge to my tone. "It's only been a moon since your rider lost an eye. I expected you two to be grounded a bit longer."
Arrax shifts, a lazy glance at Aemond before responding. "He's restless. Can't stand being still, not while the adults are fighting at Tyrosh."
I snort. "Restless. Of course. Humans can never stay in one place for long, can they? Always thinking they need to be in the thick of things."
Arrax huffs in agreement. "He's eager to prove he's still the same, despite the eye. Or maybe because of it. He's not one to let anything slow him down."
I glance over at Aemond, who's walking down the beach now, Lucerys beside him, her hand on his arm as they walk. He's quieter these days, though his fire hasn't dimmed. If anything, he seems sharper, more focused. But I can sense the tension in him, the anger that simmers just beneath the surface. A loss like that—an eye—it changes a person. It leaves scars deeper than the ones you can see.
"I'm surprised they're both still standing, after everything," Arrax continues, his voice softer now. "We nearly lost them, Ghost. We came too close."
I rumble low in my throat, the weight of his words sinking in. "Too close," I agree. "Too close to losing them both."
There's a pause between us, the unspoken bond of shared experience hanging in the air. Both of us know what it feels like—the fear, the helplessness—when your rider is in danger. The bond we share with our humans is more than just loyalty, more than just a connection. It's life itself. When Lucerys' fire flickered, when she was drowning in her grief, I felt like I was drowning too. And Arrax… well, Arrax has been carrying Aemond's pain since the moment that arrow struck.
"It's strange, isn't it?" Arrax says, his tone thoughtful. "We're meant to be their strength, but in moments like those…"
"We feel as weak as they do," I finish for him.
He nods slightly, his tail flicking in the sand. "I felt it, you know, when he lost his eye. The shock of it. The pain. Like it was mine. I would've done anything to shield him from it, but there was nothing I could do."
"The bond is a double-edged sword," I muse, my gaze following Lucerys as she picks up a shell and shows it to Aemond, her face bright with something like childish delight. "We give them our strength, but we feel their pain just as sharply. There's no way to shield them from it, not when we're so tied together."
Arrax grunts softly. "And the guilt. We carry that too."
I turn my head toward him, my red eyes meeting his golden ones. "Aye. The guilt."
It's a strange thing, feeling guilt as a dragon. We aren't like humans, bound by the same rules of conscience or morality, but the bond changes that. When they suffer, we suffer. When they fall, we feel it. And when they nearly die, we carry that weight with us, wondering if we could've done more. If we could've spared them the hurt.
For Lucerys, the bond was what saved her in the end, but it was also what nearly destroyed her. Her grief was like a poison, and it seeped into me, making it impossible to fly, to heal. I watched her spiral into madness, and there was nothing I could do. The guilt of that, the helplessness, still lingers. But I know she's come back stronger. I can feel it in her now—the fire that had dimmed is blazing bright once more.
"Do you think they know?" Arrax asks, his voice low, almost hesitant. "How much we feel, how deeply the bond runs?"
I glance back at the two humans, now walking side by side down the beach, their conversation lost in the sound of the waves. Aemond leans slightly into Lucerys, though he pretends he doesn't need her support. And Lucerys… well, she watches him with that careful gaze of hers, trying not to let him see how much she worries.
"I think they know, on some level," I reply. "But not fully. They feel the bond, but they can never understand it the way we do. It's different for them."
"They're fragile," Arrax murmurs. "In ways they don't even realize."
"More fragile than they'd ever admit," I agree, huffing softly.
There's a comfortable silence between us then, the kind that comes from shared understanding. We watch our humans as they walk along the shore, the closeness between them undeniable. Lucerys bends to pick up another shell, holding it up for Aemond to see, and he smiles, a small, private smile that tells me more than any words could.
"They'll be all right," Arrax says after a moment, his tone firm with quiet confidence.
I nod. "Aye. They'll be all right."
The sky stretches out above us, wide and open, and I feel the familiar itch in my wings, the call of the wind and the sky. I glance at Arrax, and he must sense it too, because he stretches his wings in response, readying himself.
"Shall we fly?" I ask, my tail flicking with anticipation.
"Let's," he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Before the humans call us back to earth again."
With a powerful beat of my wings, I rise into the sky, Arrax beside me. As we soar high above the beach, the world shrinking beneath us, I let my senses stretch out. The wind carries with it more than just the scent of the sea—it carries voices. Dragon hearing is sharper than anything human, and though Lucerys and Aemond are now just specks below us, their words drift up, clear as if they were standing right beside me. I shouldn't care about their conversation—it's human nonsense, after all—but the bond between rider and dragon makes me curious about Lucerys in ways I wouldn't otherwise be.
So, I listen.
Aemond's voice is the first to cut through the wind. It's quieter than I'd expect, laced with something unfamiliar for him—vulnerability.
"I hate it, Lucy," he says, his tone bitter but resigned. "Losing the eye. Every time I look at myself in a mirror, or when I try to read and the letters blur, or even just walking—it's harder now. It's frustrating beyond words. I'm not who I was, and I can't help but feel the anger rise every time I'm reminded of it."
His frustration is clear, and I understand it on a primal level. Dragons don't lose their sight like humans do, but the thought of being grounded again, being crippled in any way, is unthinkable. I can feel Aemond's anger even through the thin air between us. It's the same anger that fuels a dragon before battle, the kind that can burn entire cities if left unchecked. Dangerous, indeed.
"I try not to let that fire consume me," Aemond continues, his voice shaking slightly. "But it's there, Lucerys. Always simmering under the surface. It makes me feel powerful sometimes, but mostly, it just makes me feel... small. Powerless. That's why I went after the Dornish and the Triarchy. I thought that if I could burn them, I'd feel in control again. I'd feel like I wasn't just... a one-eyed man trying to stay upright."
The raw honesty in his words surprises me. Aemond, ever the proud prince, admitting his own weakness so openly? It's as if losing his eye cut deeper than just his flesh. It wounded his pride, his sense of self. I feel a flicker of sympathy. Losing one's power—whether it's an eye or the ability to fly—does something to the soul. It warps it, makes it crave something more, something darker.
"I let my pride get the better of me," he says, his voice lower now. "That pride made me reckless, and it almost cost me Arrax. It did cost me my eye. I know that. There's no one to blame but me. I was too eager, too foolish. And now I live with that."
There's a pause, and I glance down, catching a glimpse of Lucerys as she walks beside him, quiet but listening intently. She's always been the type to hold her thoughts until she's ready to speak them, unlike most humans. But when she does speak, her voice is softer than usual, filled with sadness.
"I know what you mean," she says, her words slow and deliberate. "When Ghost was hurt, when I thought, I was going to lose him, it was like a part of me was dying too. It's hard to explain, but the fear—" She hesitates, taking a breath. "The fear was overwhelming. It was more than just losing him. It was like losing myself."
Aemond turns to her, and even from this height, I can sense the intensity in his gaze. He's always been fiercely protective of her, but now there's a deeper understanding between them, one forged through pain and shared fear.
"I get it now," Aemond says quietly. "When Arrax was almost taken from me, even for a moment, I felt that madness creeping in. It's the bond, Lucy. It's more than just being a dragonrider—it's like having your soul tethered to another being. Losing them would be like losing a piece of yourself. I'm sorry I didn't see that before."
Lucerys looks up at him, and there's a sadness in her smile, but also something warmer, something softer. "Don't apologize," she murmurs. "I haven't exactly made things easy, either. I've been... dismissive of you. Of how much you care. I guess I thought we had time, that I could take things for granted. But I won't anymore."
I huff in amusement, feeling her emotions flicker through our bond. Lucerys has always been headstrong, always pushing forward without looking back. It's been her greatest strength and, at times, her greatest flaw. But now, she's learning.
She steps closer to Aemond, her hand resting gently on his arm. "I'm sorry too," she whispers. "For not seeing you. For not understanding how much you mean to me. I'll do better. I'll be better."
There's a beat of silence before Aemond speaks again, his voice filled with more warmth than I've ever heard from him. "I love you, Lucerys. I always have. You're the fire that keeps me steady, the one thing that makes sense in all of this madness."
"I love you too, Aems," Lucerys' smile deepens, and she leans up, pressing her lips to his. The kiss is tender, soft, a promise between them. I roll my eyes, feeling a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
Humans. Always so wrapped up in their little emotions. As if the world revolves around their love, their struggles. Silly creatures. They're always quick to complicate things that are really quite simple.
I glance at Arrax, who's watching the scene below with mild interest.
"They do like to make everything dramatic, don't they?" I comment, my voice tinged with the snark that comes naturally to me when it comes to human behavior.
Arrax rumbles in agreement. "Always. But I suppose it's part of their charm. Without their endless dramatics, what would we have to watch?"
I let out another huff of breath. "True enough. Though I could do without the kissing. I swear, if I see them lock lips one more time, I'll be tempted to fly back to Dragonstone and let them sort out their 'feelings' without me."
Arrax chuckles, a low sound that ripples through the air. I watch the two of them walk further down the beach, Aemond's arm now wrapped securely around Lucerys' waist, I feel a strange sense of contentment. They've come through the fire, both of them, and though they carry their scars, they're stronger for it.
With a final flick of my tail, I soar higher into the sky, Arrax following close behind. Let the humans walk the earth for now. We dragons belong in the clouds, where the air is thin, and the world below feels like nothing more than a distant dream.
Up here, there are no fears. No pain. No losses.
Just the wind. And freedom.
As it should be.
As Arrax and I glide through the skies, our senses sharp, something shifts in the air. I catch the distant sound of hurried footsteps below, the heavy breath of Ser Qarl as he rushes towards the beach where Aemond and Lucerys walk. The wind shifts with the scent of salt and sweat, and even from above, I can tell that something big has happened.
Tyrosh has fallen.
Ser Qarl's voice carries up with a surprising clarity, and I feel the sudden weightlift from the air, like a storm breaking after days of tension. Tyrosh is ours. The war is finally over
The humans, of course, burst into celebration. I can hear their whoops of joy, the relief in their voices, even from this height. And I suppose they have reason to celebrate. War, for them, is always personal. It's family, blood, and vengeance all mixed together into a chaotic mess. For us dragons, war is simpler—an instinct, a natural state of things. We burn, we destroy, we conquer. But I know how much this victory means to Lucerys, how much she's needed this closure. So, I indulge in a small rumble of satisfaction. We've won.
I circle back down toward the beach as Arrax peels away, flying toward the Crimson Halls. I can see Aemond already moving, leaning on Ser Qarl as they make their way up the winding paths, Aemond still walking with that careful precision he's had since the loss of his eye. Even in victory, there's no escaping the price of war. It lingers, a shadow that never quite leaves.
But Lucerys... Lucerys stands tall, her face bright with relief as I descend, landing in a soft rush of wind and sand. The moment I touch the ground, she's already moving toward me, her steps quick, her joy palpable. The bond between us thrums with something light, something that feels like hope. It's been a long time since I've felt her this way—so unburdened, so free.
Her forehead presses against mine, a gesture she's done a thousand times before, but today it feels different. There's no urgency, no sorrow weighing down the moment. Just relief. I let out a low huff, feeling her laughter ripple through me, the sound bubbling up between us like water breaking through cracks in stone.
No more war, I think, though she cannot hear my thoughts as I do hers. We've seen more than enough of it, Lucerys and I. More than most. Two lifetimes of war, death, and bloodshed. And yet, here we are, still standing, still flying.
Her laughter continues, mingling with the sounds of celebration echoing from the distant halls, but then something changes. The air around us thickens, and I feel the shift in the wind just before I see the shadow of another dragon. Caraxes lands beside us with all the grace of a beast born of fire and fury, his crimson wings folding against his side. Daemon dismounts with a speed that betrays his usual calm demeanor, striding toward us with purpose in every step.
I lower my head slightly, watching him approach, feeling the tension in the air between him and Lucerys. She turns to face him, her smile wide, her hands still lightly resting on my scales.
"Congratulations, kepus," she says brightly, her voice carrying that note of mischief that never quite leaves her. "Tyrosh is ours. You must be—"
But Daemon cuts her off, his eyes sharp and focused. "I have not come to talk about Tyrosh, Lucerys," he says, his tone flat, though there's an edge beneath it. He's angry, though he's trying to hold it back. "I know I swore not to ask, but I have to know. The magic you used, the command over the whales... was it blood magic?"
For a moment, Lucerys just stares at him, blinking in surprise. I can feel the confusion ripple through her. And then, of all things, she laughs. It's a full, genuine laugh that echoes across the beach, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Daemon, however, is not amused. His eyes narrow, and his jaw tightens. "This isn't a joke, Lucerys. Blood magic is dangerous. You could have—"
"Blood magic?" she interrupts, still smiling, though there's a note of exasperation in her voice now. "Kepus, do you really think I'd be foolish enough to meddle with something as cursed as blood magic? The Doom of Valyria happened because of it. The Gods of Valyria punish those who dabble in it—anyone who knows our history knows that."
I can feel Daemon's frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. He doesn't like being laughed at, not when it comes to matters of magic and power. But he waits, his arms crossed, as Lucerys continues.
"I didn't use blood magic, kepus," she says, her voice softening, though the laughter hasn't completely left her. "The whales... that was something different. It's a gift from the Old Gods, not the Valyrian ones. It's the same way Helaena has her dragon dreams—gifts from the gods. But this gift came from the trees, not the fire."
Daemon's face shifts, and for once, I see genuine shock in his eyes. He's stunned. "You're a... a warg?" he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
Lucerys shrugs lightly, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "Apparently. I command beasts through the bond I share with them. Just like I do with Ghost, though not quite the same. It is not a permanent bond, and it will never be as strong."
"But you're Valyrian," Daemon says, still reeling. "You don't have a drop of the First Men's blood. How—"
Lucerys grins cheekily, her eyes gleaming. "Didn't you promise not to ask questions, kepus?"
Daemon groans, running a hand over his face. His frustration is almost palpable now, but there's relief, too. He realizes she isn't cursed, that she hasn't meddled in dark powers. Whatever gift she holds, it isn't the kind that brings destruction.
Finally, he exhales, shaking his head. "Fine," he mutters. "But you're lucky. Blood magic would have consequences you couldn't begin to imagine. I'm just relieved you're not as reckless as I thought."
Lucerys steps forward, placing a hand on his arm, her expression soft. "I'm not reckless, kepus. Not anymore..."
Daemon's lips twitch, a small, reluctant smile forming on his face. He pulls her into a quick, rough embrace, as if it's more for his sake than hers. "Good," he mutters against her hair. "Because we've lost too much already."
I let out a small huff, feeling the tension drain from the air around us. Humans, with all their fears and secrets and tangled emotions. But it seems, for once, they've managed to put it all behind them.
As Daemon steps back, Lucerys turns back to me, her hand resting on my side once more. I feel the warmth of her relief, the joy of victory, and something deeper—something closer to peace.
The war is over. Tyrosh has fallen. And for now, at least, we can rest.
I stretch my wings, letting the wind flow through them, and for a moment, I consider taking off again. There's nothing quite like the feeling of flying after victory, of soaring over a world that, for once, isn't burning.
But for now, I'll stay grounded. There's something comforting in the earth beneath me, in the warmth of Lucerys at my side. And besides, I've flown enough for today.
For now, it's enough to simply be.
