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Chapter 68 (The Field of Fire), Chapter 69 (The Twins and A Dragon), Chapter 70 (The Golden Company), Chapter 71 (Glass and Sand), Chapter 72 (Wisdom in Wine), Chapter 73 (Forgiving A Brother), Chapter 74 (Wings Over Highgarden), and Chapter 75 (The Fall of Casterly Rock) are already available for Patrons.
Daenerys paused at the entrance, her fingers trembling ever so slightly on the carved wooden doorframe. She took a deep breath before stepping into the room, her bare feet silent against the cool stone floor.
The sound of soft, playful laughter greeted her. She glanced up to find Arianne standing by the balcony, framed by moonlight. The Dornish princess wore a sheer nightdress, its deep red fabric clinging to every curve, leaving little to the imagination. When she turned and saw Daenerys, a slow, sultry smile spread across her lips.
"Well, look who we have here," Arianne purred, her voice smooth as silk. "Couldn't sleep, Daenerys?"
Daenerys felt heat rise to her cheeks. She tried to compose herself, but Arianne's smoldering gaze had a way of making her feel naked.
Before she could respond, her eyes were drawn to Jaehaerys. He was reclining on the bed, propped up against the headboard. His hair fell freely around his face, and his violet eyes—so much like her own—caught the light as he turned his head to look at her. He gave her a slow, languid smile, one that sent shivers down her spine.
"You've come to us in the middle of the night," he said softly, his voice low and inviting. "What brings you here, Daenerys?"
"I... I was..." Daenerys stammered, but then her words faltered as Arianne moved behind her, the lightest touch of her fingertips brushing down Daenerys's bare arms. Her scent—something like spice and sun-warmed earth—overwhelmed Daenerys, making it difficult to think clearly. She could feel Arianne's breath against her ear, warm and teasing.
"What is it that you really want?" Arianne whispered, her voice husky. "Tell us."
Daenerys swallowed hard, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against her chest. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. But the way Jaehaerys's eyes burned into hers, and the heat of Arianne's body so close behind her... it was too much to ignore. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke.
"I... I want..." She hesitated, feeling Arianne's hands slide over her waist. "I want to be with you... both of you."
Jaehaerys's eyes darkened with something close to hunger, and Arianne's lips curved into a smile of triumph and delight.
"That's all we needed to hear," Arianne murmured, and then, before Daenerys could take another breath, Arianne turned her gently and pressed their lips together in a searing kiss.
It was like fire meeting fire. Arianne's mouth was soft and commanding, and Daenerys melted into the kiss, her lips parting to welcome the warmth and taste of the Dornish princess. She could feel Jaehaerys's gaze on them and approval as Arianne's fingers tangled in her silver-gold hair, pulling her even closer.
She opened her eyes, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a shaky, slow exhale. Her gaze locked onto Jae's, scanning them for even the faintest glimmer of a hidden agenda. Nothing. Not a trace.
"Are you sure about this?" he whispered, his voice so soft it was meant only for her. He tilted her chin upwards, his eyes searching hers. He wanted this—oh, he wanted this badly—but he wouldn't take a single step unless she wanted it too.
Daenerys nodded, pressing her hands against his chest, feeling the warmth beneath her fingertips. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a silent victory, as he leaned down, tilting his head just enough to bring their noses close. He nudged hers playfully, almost teasingly, before placing a delicate kiss on her lips. It was so tender, so gentle—not at all what she'd expected from him.
He pulled back just a fraction, his forehead resting against hers. She could hear his warm and steady breathing. The hand under her chin slid down, wrapping around the back of her neck, his fingers pressing into her skin, sending shivers down her spine. And still, he made no other move. He just stood there, waiting patiently.
"Kiss me again," she commanded, her eyes darting to his lips before flicking back up to meet his gaze.
Winterfell
Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, sat at the high table, his face a mask of grim resolve. To his right, his son and heir, Robb, held a tight expression, his jaw clenched. On Ned's left, Catelyn Stark sat with regal composure, her eyes scanning the hall, sensing the storm brewing among the gathered banners.
The hall was crowded with Northern lords, their eyes fixed on their liege lord. Lords Manderly, Karstark, Umber, Lady Mormont, and Glover, among others.
Ned stood. The hall quieted instantly. "Lords of the North," Ned began. "I have received a raven from the King to call the banners and to fight against House Martell and Dorne."
The lords exchanged glances. Ned let the murmurings continue for a moment before raising his hand for silence.
"We march to war," he stated simply, his eyes sweeping over his gathered banners. "Not for Robert Baratheon, nor for the Lannisters. But for Jaehaerys Targaryen, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms that the King wants dead."
A stunned silence fell over the hall, swiftly replaced by a rumble of protest. Lord Karstark stepped forward, his face flushed with anger. "A Targaryen?" he spat. "You would have us die for the grandson of the Mad King? Has the North gone mad as well?"
A chorus of agreement rose. "The North has no love for Targaryens," Greatjon Umber rumbled, his massive frame looming over the smaller lords around him. "We fought against them, bled for our people. And now you ask us to put a Targaryen on the throne? Why should we fight for him when we've already bent the knee to King Robert?"
Lady Dustin, eyes narrowed with suspicion, stepped forward. "This is folly, Lord Stark. We are the North. We guard our own, but we do not meddle in southern squabbles. Why should we risk our men, our sons, for a Targaryen's claim?"
When the outcry began to die down, Ned spoke again, his voice cutting through the noise. "The North does not march for glory, nor for gold. We do not march for politics, nor for power." His gaze bore into the faces of each lord, daring them to meet his eyes. "We march because it is our duty."
"Duty to whom?" demanded Lord Bolton, his cold eyes gleaming. "To a boy hidden in Dorne? What duty do we owe to a Targaryen?"
Ned drew a deep breath. "To my sister, Lyanna Stark."
Ned continued, his voice quieter. "I found her giving birth to her son with Rhaegar Targaryen." Many lords and ladies looked horrified, knowing that Lyanna was kidnapped and raped by the Prince.
"My sister was never kidnapped nor raped. My sister ran away with Prince Rhaegar. My sister married him and became his second wife. After the war, I found her in the Tower of Joy, giving birth to her son. She told me the truth of what happened. Jaehaerys Targaryen is not just a Targaryen. He is my nephew. Lyanna told me that I needed to protect him from Robert Baratheon."
"Protect him from the King? Lord Stark, surely he would have not harmed a newborn."
"Robert was a friend of mine for a very long time, but when the bodies of Elia Martell and her children were presented to him, he laughed and called them Dragon Spawns," he said grimly, and he could see the look of horror in many lords.
"She wanted me to protect him, she wanted me to support him if the time ever came when he would need my support, and I promised her as she drew her last breath that the North will support him if he ever needed it. He is of my blood, a Stark. And a Stark always keeps their word."
"Have you ever met this boy, Lord Stark? Do we even know what he is like. I wouldn't want the North to support someone that one might become the next Mad King." Lord Karstark asked.
"He has been in Winterfell before, he came here a year ago. I know what he is like, and he is someone we can trust. Jaehaerys is a good man, and will be a good King." Ned informed them, and he could see many lords asking one another.
"He was!"
"He was Jon Sand, wasn't he?" everyone turned to see Lady Dacey looking up at Lord Stark, who slowly nodded his head.
"Yes. My nephew has been raisen in Dorne by Prince Oberyn Martell under the name Jon Sand. He stayed in the North for a month. He helped the Night's Watch with supplies, and I know he will be willing to help The North even more in the future. He kept that name until the time was right to reclaim his Throne." Ned reaffirmed and could see Lady Dacey seemed deep in thought after hearing that information.
"I have no wish to spill Northern blood for a southern crown," Ned continued. "But I gave my sister my word, and the word of a Stark is not given lightly. This boy, Jaehaerys, is of our blood. If we forsake him, we forsake the memory of Lyanna."
Lord Glover stepped forward, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully. "And if we go to war? If we march south and are crushed by House Lannister and House Baratheon? What then, Lord Stark? What becomes of the North?"
Ned turned his gaze to Lord Glover, his eyes cold as winter itself. "If we do not fight now, if we abandon our own kin, we are no better than the southern lords who bicker over titles and power. We fight because it is just, because it is what a Stark does."
"But we do not fight alone," Robb spoke for the first time, his voice strong, echoing his father's conviction. "The North stands together, or not at all. We may face defeat, but we will face it as men who did not abandon honor, who did not turn our backs on family."
Greatjon Umber let out a bark of laughter, though his eyes were sharp. "Bold words for a young wolf," he said, nodding at Robb. "You speak of family, but war is not won by honor alone. It is won by swords and spears."
"The North remembers, Lord Stark. We remember what was lost, and we honor your sister's memory. If you say this boy is our blood, then we will heed your call." Lord Mandaerly
One by one, the other lords began to nod, some more reluctantly than others. Greatjon Umber cracked a grin, slapping his chest with a fist. "The North will fight, then! For the boy, for the Starks!"
Lord Karstark stepped forward, his face grim but resolute. "We do not march south lightly, but we will not forsake our oaths, nor the honor of our house. House Karstark stands with you, Lord Stark."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the hall, growing in strength. Ned nodded, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders.
"Then it is decided," he said, his voice clear and strong. "The North will march. We go to war."
"TO WAR!"
"TO WAR!"
"TO WAR!"
Dragonstone - Before
Stannis Baratheon sat at the head of the table. Before him stood Melisandre, the Red Priestess of Asshai, her eyes gleaming in the firelight.
"You must tell him, my lord," she said, her voice a whisper that seemed to fill every corner of the room. "His children are not his; they are the spawn of incest. You, Stannis, must be the one to reveal the truth."
Stannis's fingers drummed against the table. The room was stifling, heated not just by the fire but by the presence of the woman before him. Melisandre's red robes clung to her like molten flame, her ruby pendant pulsing with red light. Her gaze bore into him.
"Robert will not listen," Stannis said, his voice as hard and cold as the stone beneath his feet. "I first must find a way to deal with the Lannisters. King's Landing is crawling with Lannisters, Cersei, the Kingslayers, the Imp, the bastard childrens. The Kingsgaurds. They all serve the Lannisters, and the Iron Throne owns House Lannister a mountain of coins. If I tell Robert the truth, he will be butchered."
"I thought you held no love towards your brother."
"I don't." Stannis reaffirmed, "But he is my brother. Making me his brother is God's cruelest joke they have ever made. It's my duty. If I were to tell him without clear proof. My brother will be butchered like a pig, and the War will start before we are ready."
Suddenly, the door opened, and Maester Cressen entered, his robes rustling as he moved quickly to Stannis's side. His face was drawn. As he crossed the room, he spared a glance at Melisandre, his expression tightening with a mixture of disdain and caution.
He turned to Stannis with a small bow before speaking.
"My lord, forgive the interruption," Cressen said, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. "A raven has arrived bearing a scroll, sealed with the Targaryen sigil."
Stannis stared at the maester. A Targaryen sigil?
Stannis reached out; he gestured for the scroll. Maester Cressen nodded and placed the sealed parchment into Stannis's grasp. The wax bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, a sigil unseen in Westeros for many years. He broke the seal and unfurled the scroll, his eyes reading the words.
"To the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, my name is Jaeharys of House Targaryen and House Stark. I'm the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. The rumors of my father kidnapping and raping Lyanna Stark are not true. She married him under God's Wood and the Faith of the Seven and became his second wife; the Septon Torheit blessed their marriage. I have proof of their marriage as the True Heir of the Iron Throne. I ask Robert Baratheon to surrender now or face the wrath of House Targaryen. Fire and Blood is the saying of my House, and that's what the False King will know if he doesn't surrender. I expect an answer from you within two weeks. Dorne has known me as Jon Sand, the son of Oberyn Martell, for the last seventeen years, but I have never been a Bastard. This will be your last chance, Usurper. Give up, or your entire family will know why the words of my House are Fire and Blood.
To Dragonstone. Stannis Baratheon, you supported your brother against The Mad King. I'm not my grandfather. I'm willing to forgive. Kneel to me, and you will get to rule Storm's End, something your brother took away from you. You will get to rule, and your daughter will grow up to become the future Lady of Storm's End. I can promise you that, but only if you kneel to House Targaryen.
I am announcing to the whole realm that the Royal children are bastards born of incest from Cersei Lannister with her Uncle Tygett Lannister and her Cousin Lancel Lannister. You are welcome not to believe my words but to read the books about the History of House Baratheon, and you will know what I mean.
From Jaehaerys Targaryen, the Rightful Heir of the Iron Throne."
The hall was silent but for the crackling of the fire and the rustle of parchment. Melisandre watched him intently, her lips curving ever so slightly.
"Speak it, my lord," she urged. "What does the dragon say?"
Stannis lowered the scroll, his eyes meeting Melisandre's, then Cressen's. The maester waited silently, his hands clasped in front of him. Stannis's jaw tightened as he began to read aloud.
"It is from one who claims to speak on behalf of a boy... Jaehaerys Targaryen. He declares that he is the son of Prince Rhaegar, and Lady Lyanna Stark. They call upon the lords of Westeros to rise up and support his claim to the Iron Throne."
Cressen's eyes widened, his usual calm demeanor momentarily slipping. Melisandre turned to look at the flames, her eyes searching for something in them.
Stannis crushed the scroll in his hand, his expression thunderous. "The Targaryens are as good as dead," he growled. "A boy with only one Kingdom on his back. He is no king."
"Perhaps," Melisandre conceded, inclining her head. "But his arrival changes everything, does it not? Your brother's bastards will face a challenge they did not foresee. The lords of Westeros will not ignore a Targaryen claim."
"Yes." Stannis drawled, knowing he could use this to his advantage, before turning to face the Maester. "Call the Banners."
Now
The grand hall of Dragonstone was packed with the lords of the Crownlands, all eyes fixed on the front where Lord Stannis of House Baratheon stood. His expression was as cold as the stone walls around them. Beside him, Melisandre loomed like a shadow.
In Stannis's hand was a scroll, which he raised high for all to see. The room grew eerily silent.
"I believe you all know why I've summoned you here," Stannis began, his voice cutting through the quiet like a sword. "Three weeks ago, I received this." He waved the scroll for emphasis. "A message from someone claiming to be Jaehaerys Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."
Some of the lords exchanged wide-eyed glances while others remained stoic. Only one man stepped forward, breaking the tension.
Lord Velaryon cleared his throat. "My lord, what is to be our response? If his claim is true, he would be the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."
Before Stannis could respond, another voice cut in. "House Targaryen lost their right to the throne the moment King Robert took it by conquest!" Lord Thorne shouted.
Stannis turned his gaze on the man. "Lord Thorne," he began, his tone deceptively calm, "do I look like a mute to you?" His words made the color drained from Thorne's face.
"...No, my lord. Forgive me, my lord," Thorne stammered, his bravado evaporating under Stannis's withering stare.
"Good." Stannis's voice was a low growl as he turned his attention back to Lord Velaryon. "As for this so-called 'true heir' of the Iron Throne," he continued, his voice rising slightly, filling the hall, "I would have knelt to this boy if he truly were who he claims to be. My brother took the throne by right of our grandmother, who was a Targaryen. If this Jaehaerys were indeed legitimate, he would have a rightful claim. But he is not. This is nothing more than a ploy, a scheme by House Martell."
The room fell into a tense silence. Lords glanced at one another. Yet, something didn't sit right with Stannis. The eyes of his most powerful vassals, Lord Velaryon and Lord Celtigar, glinted with unusual brightness. They seemed... almost too pleased.
These were men whose families had once been loyal to House Targaryen, men who had lost much with its fall.
Stannis remained silent for a moment, his expression like stone, before turning to Davos, who stood nearby. The smuggler cleared his throat before speaking. "Three days after receiving the scroll from the Targaryen, we received another from the King. He has called on all the kingdoms to rally against House Martell and Dorne."
"What will be our response, then?" Lord Celtigar demanded in his gruff voice, stepping forward impatiently.
Stannis's gaze hardened. "We will sail to Ghost Hill as soon as possible. The entire Dornish army will be positioned at the Narrow Snake passage to defend themselves against my brother. While they're occupied, we will strike them from behind."
"Why Ghost Hill first and not Sunspear?" another lord asked.
"Because Ghost Hill is a lesser castle," Stannis replied coldly. "It will attract less attention when we take it. Once secured, we ride to Sunspear and seize it. With both strongholds in our grasp, we can use them as traps, luring their forces into reclaiming the castles. This so-called 'heir' won't be able to fight a war on two fronts. He will have no choice but to surrender, and the war will be over before it truly begins."
Stannis's explanation was cut short by the sudden crash of the chamber doors flying open. Soldiers stormed in, too many to count, their armor gleaming as they brandished steel. Chaos erupted in the hall.
"What is the meaning of this?" Stannis roared, reaching for his sword as his loyal guards clashed with the intruders. He braced himself for a fight, but his gaze quickly fell upon a troubling sight. Some of his own lords were not defending him—they were unsheathing their swords and axes and marching towards him.
"What are you doing?" the Maester cried out, panic etched across his features. Stannis backed away, his teeth clenched as he watched his loyal soldiers fall, one by one, until only he, Davos, the Maester, and Melisandre remained standing.
"Surrender, my lord. We have your wife and daughter, Stannis Baratheon," Lord Velaryon announced with a sickening smile.
Stannis's grip on his sword tightened. "If you harm them, I will cut off your hands," he threatened, stepping forward, fury burning in his eyes.
"Oh, don't worry," Velaryon replied airily, waving a hand as if swatting away an insect. "I wouldn't lay a finger on someone like your daughter." His tone was dismissive, but Stannis remained rooted to the spot, realizing he wouldn't fix anything by attacking. One misstep and could cost him everything.
"We've been planning this for a year, Stannis," Velaryon continued, his voice filled with smug triumph. "You thought we came here with a small convoy, but we brought enough soldiers to form a small army and take this castle. Did you truly believe we would fight for you, knowing Rhaegar's legitimate son is out there?"
Stannis glared at him, unblinking. "You have broken the law, violated your oaths. You are nothing but traitors. How do you expect this so-called king to trust you? You betrayed me because it suited you; you will do the same to him."
Velaryon approached, a mock-friendly smile on his lips. "We were never loyal to you, Stannis. That's something you never understood. We never liked you, but we had no other choice—until now."
"Count yourself fortunate," Velaryon added, leaning in closer. "The King wants you and your family alive... for now. Once he takes the throne, he will have you all executed. Your family will be nothing but ashes, paying the price for what happened to Queen Elia and her children."
Stannis growled, but before he could react, the soldiers swarmed him. He fought back, but they quickly overpowered him, dragging him and the others away.
As the doors slammed shut behind them, Lord Velaryon turned to face the remaining lords, his expression stern. "We sail to Storm's End."
Sunspear - One Week Later
"Are you ready?" Nymeria asked, for what felt like the fifth time that morning. Jae chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he let the squire continue fastening the last pieces of his armor.
"Jae, are you ready?" Obara's voice echoed through the chamber, louder and more impatient than Nymeria's. Nymeria shot her an annoyed look, but Obara just folded her arms, waiting for a response.
"They're right, you know," Elia chimed in with a stern tone that sounded suspiciously maternal. "Just because you're flying a dragon doesn't make you invincible." She crossed her arms and gave him the kind of look that made him think, Well, she's really got this 'mothering' thing down.
Jae still didn't answer, keeping his focus on the squire's work. Once the last strap was secured and the squire had scurried out, leaving him alone with his family, he finally stood. He was clad in armor that mimicked the scales of a dragon, each piece shimmering with a dark, metallic sheen. The chest plate was adorned with a pattern of scales, and the leather straps held everything together in a tight, almost organic fit. The helmet completed the look, crafted to resemble a dragon's head, with bat-like wings extending outward, its visor revealing only his eyes, fierce and focused.
He took a breath before finally speaking. "I'll be careful, I promise," he said, his tone serious. But then his gaze softened as he looked at them. "I'm more worried about you lot. Are you sure you want to be part of this war?"
Nymeria stepped forward with a soft smile, her eyes filled with warmth and admiration. "Wherever you go, I go, little brother. I'll be down there, but I won't be afraid, because I know you'll be up there, watching over us." She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. One by one, the others followed—Obara, Tyene, Elia, and Oberyn's other daughters—each offering their own quiet gesture of support.
Obara smirked as she stepped back, crossing her arms. "Unfortunately for you, Jae, you're stuck with us. You can't get rid of us that easily."
Jae let out a light laugh, his heart swelling with warmth. He looked around at the circle of faces he had come to love as his family. "I never said thank you," he murmured, his voice just loud enough for them to hear.
They all blinked, a bit taken aback. "For what?" Elia asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she moved closer to him.
Jae took a deep breath, his eyes brightening as he gazed at them with a love that shone brighter than the armor he wore. "For loving me," he said, his voice growing thick with emotion. "For accepting me into your family when you had no reason to. I love you all. You are my family."
For a moment, the room was filled with a charged silence. And then, in a flurry of movement, Nymeria threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. Obara was next, followed by the others, all piling onto him in a group embrace that nearly knocked him off his feet.
"You silly fool," Nymeria whispered with a bright smile, her eyes misty. "You've always been our brother, and we're going to make sure you sit on that ugly throne if it's the last thing we do."
"Well, ugly people tend to sit on ugly thrones. It is known," Tyene chimed in, her voice filled with mock seriousness.
Jae pulled back just enough to give her a deadpan stare. "Oh, thank you," he said dryly, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't thank me; thank your ancestors who thought it was a brilliant idea to make a throne out of swords," Tyene shot back, grinning.
The room erupted in laughter, the tension breaking like a wave on the shore. Jae chuckled, feeling lighter despite the looming battle.
Later
Jae stepped into the bustling courtyard, the air thick with the sounds of preparation—armor clinking, horses snorting, commands being barked. People rushed around him, caught up in the frenzy of gearing up for war, but Jae ignored them all. His focus was on one figure alone: his father, who was adjusting the saddle on his horse.
"Father," Jae called out as he crossed the courtyard. Oberyn turned, a hint of a smile forming on his face as he saw his son approaching. "Are you ready for this?"
"Yes," Oberyn replied in his deep, resonant voice. He reached out, wrapping an arm around Jae's neck and pulling him close. Their foreheads pressed together.
"For Elia, for Aegon, and for Rhaenys," Oberyn murmured, his eyes closed.
"For Elia, for Aegon, and for Rhaenys," Jae echoed, matching his father's tone before pulling apart. When they opened their eyes, they burned with a shared fire—the desire for revenge.
Jae took a deep breath, his voice firm as he warned, "Be careful out there. If you fall, I swear, I will come to Hell and drag you out of it."
Oberyn grinned at his son's words, the concern in Jae's voice not lost on him. With a twinkle in his eye, he replied, "Hell, you say? Oh, my boy, that sounds like a party I'd rather not miss. But if you're planning on coming after me, you better bring wine, women, and a proper excuse for interrupting my fun." He laughed, clapping Jae on the shoulder. "Now, stop worrying about me. I'm not done dancing with death just yet."
Jae chuckled at his father's response, shaking his head with a smirk. "A party in hell, is it? Of course, you'd be the life of it, wouldn't you?" He crossed his arms, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "But I'll let you keep your party plans for now. Besides, I'd rather not have to haul your stubborn self back from the underworld; you're heavy enough as it is."
Jae's grin faded slightly, a hint of seriousness creeping in as he continued, "But seriously, keep an eye on Nymeria and Obara during the fight. You know how those two are—they'd charge into a nest of vipers just to prove they're the fiercest in the room." He raised an eyebrow, his tone light but meaningful. "And it's not exactly easy dragging them out of trouble once they're in it."
Oberyn nodded, his eyes taking on a thoughtful look. "Aye, I know," he admitted quietly. After a beat, he turned back to Jae, his face softening. "I'm not sure if I've said this, Jae," he began, his voice catching slightly before he reached out and pulled his son into a tight embrace. "I'm proud to be your father, Jaehaerys Targaryen. I love you."
Jae hugged him back. "I love you too, Father," he replied, his voice thick with emotion.
Later
"...This is it... I never thought this day would come," Daenerys murmured, her eyes sweeping across the clearing as she dismounted her horse. Beside her, Jae and Arianne did the same, while their Kingsguards remained a respectful distance behind.
Ahead of them, two dragons loomed—Bloodfyre and Rhaenix. Despite Bloodfyre being nearly three times the size of Rhaenix, the dragons seemed to be getting along.
Dragons never stopped growing after all, and Cannibal has been alive for at least two centuries, while Rhaenix has been in this world only for nine years.
Daenerys's pale silver hair was intricately braided and gathered at the back of her head, leaving delicate tendrils to frame her face. She was dressed in a long, fitted coat of charcoal black, the fabric textured and subtly patterned to resemble dragon scales. The coat's high, structured shoulders added to her regal bearing, while a metallic, dragon-like chain draped across her chest, fastened securely at one shoulder.
Beneath the coat, armor plates layered over one another. Her sleeves extended down to her gloved hands, where thick braids of fabric mirrored the intricate patterns of her hair. The gloves, dark and sturdy, fit snugly. Draped over one shoulder and flowing behind her was a deep crimson cloak.
"Me neither," Jae muttered, his voice barely a whisper as he took in the sight before them. "I've dreamed of this day for so long, yet it still feels like a dream."
At the sound of his voice, Rhaenix stirred, her eyes fluttering open. With a low, rumbling purr, she moved her head closer to Jae, nudging him affectionately. Nearby, Bloodfyre glanced briefly at Arianne, his gaze sharp and assessing. Satisfied that she posed no threat to his rider, he turned his attention back to Daenerys, lowering his massive snout to allow her to stroke the rough, warm scales of his nose.
Jae turned his focus to Rhaenix, running his hand along the dragon's snout. A deep, contented purr vibrated from the dragon's throat. Smiling, he turned toward Arianne, his expression softening. In one smooth motion, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into a passionate kiss.
When they finally parted, they remained close, foreheads nearly touching, their breaths mingling.
"I can't wait for this war to end," Arianne whispered, her voice tinged with worry as she gently cupped Jae's face, holding him close. "Return to me, Jae," she added with a tender smile, taking his hand and pressing it against her belly.
Jae's eyes widened slightly as Arianne pressed his hand against her belly, his heartbeat quickening at the realization of what she was implying. For a moment, he was speechless, his mind reeling with a mix of emotions—shock, joy, fear.
"Arianne..." he breathed, his gaze shifting from her face to where his hand rested against her. A slow, tender smile spread across his lips as he looked back up at her, his eyes softening with a fierce determination.
"I'll return to you," he vowed, his voice steady but laced with emotion. His free hand rose to gently cover hers on his cheek, and he felt the warmth of her touch. "No war, no enemy, will keep me from coming back to you." He paused, his eyes shining with a hint of tears that he quickly blinked away.
"But you," he added with a playful glint returning to his eyes, "you just make sure our little one doesn't take after your rebellious streak." He grinned, squeezing her hand softly, trying to lighten the mood while masking the fear he felt inside. "One of you is enough to keep me on my toes."
Arianne let out a soft laugh, her eyes shining with love. "I love you, Jae," she said, pulling him into a long, searing kiss. As their lips met, the nearby dragons, Rhaenix and Bloodfyre, let out joyful cries as if celebrating the life that Arianne now carried within her.
When they finally pulled away, Jae hesitated, not wanting to leave her side but knowing he had to. He turned, heading towards Rhaenix, who dipped her head low, making it easier for him to climb onto her back.
"We will return, Arianne," Daenerys reassured her. She approached Arianne, and the two women shared a knowing smile before leaning into a deep, passionate kiss.
Jae watched as Arianne rejoined Arthur and the other Kingsguards who would follow Oberyn. Only Ser Gerold remained by her side, his duty clear—to protect Arianne until this war ended.
"Good luck, Daenerys," Jae called out with a wink, unable to resist a grin. "I'll see you at Harrenhal." Daenerys laughed at his remark, her eyes bright with determination. With a commanding shout, she urged Bloodfyre into the sky, the dragon's massive wings beating against the air as they lifted off.
Jae turned to Rhaenix, patting her side affectionately. "Sōvegon," he commanded in Valyrian. The dragon let out a fierce roar, her wings stretching wide as she surged forward with a few powerful strides. Then, she leaped into the air, carrying Jae toward the skies.
The War Has Started.
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