Jon

Jon stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily on him. They were far from the site of the fire now, but his mind remained fixed on what had happened. Cannibal was eating his eggs. Jon was sure of it. The dragon's teeth had been smeared with them. He had always known Cannibal devoured other dragons, but to think he would feast on his own offspring—it was more disturbing than Jon had ever imagined.

What if he missed one? Jon thought, his mind racing with terrifying possibilities. What if there were still eggs out there? A dozen, or more? The prospect of Cannibal having laid more eggs than anyone knew, and the potential danger of them hatching, terrified Jon even more. The possibility of an entire clutch of dragons, hidden somewhere, could change everything. He clenched his jaw in frustration. The eggs could have hatched in the chaos of blood and fire. And that would be one way to bring forth a dragon.

I'll have to find them, Jon thought. Hunt them down and eliminate them before they grow. He had brought Tyrion along to study the eggs, but now he had no idea where the dwarf had gone.

Robb was pacing, pulling at his hair in agitation. "Who would dare try to kill us? I am the heir to Winterfell, with my sister and brother. Who would be bold enough to strike?" Grey Wind matched his master's mood, pacing alongside him and licking his lips hungrily.

"Whoever it is, Nymeria will rip their throats out," Arya boasted, rubbing her wolf's fur. Nymeria stood beside her, watchful and protective, her eyes scanning the surrounding woods.

"I have an idea of who it was," Jon said, his voice low. No, I know exactly who it was. "We don't know how many mercenaries are still lurking in the area. You two should stay here for now. I need to make sure the area is clear before we can safely return to the others."

Arya gave him a skeptical look. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"I've done it too many times," Jon said quietly, his mind drifting to the years of solitude and bloodshed. He kept his feelings to himself, not wanting to worry his siblings. "This is about survival, Arya. It's not a battlefield; it's a hunt. One wrong move and we could be targeted next. Stay here, where it's safer."

He looked out into the distance, his mind focused on the task at hand. "And as for the dragon..." He trailed off, uncertainty creeping into his voice. The memory of Cannibal was still fresh in his mind, and Tyrion's unexpected discovery only added to the chaos.

"How do you have a dragon, Jon?" Arya pressed, her curiosity piqued.

Jon offered her a sad smile. "I'll explain when we're safe."

Without waiting for a reply, Jon set off, Ghost silently trotting ahead, moving faster than any horse, a blur of white in the shadowed forest. Jon barely heard the faint clink of armor before a voice shouted, "I see the bastard!"

Jon's suspicions were confirmed. How much gold had been promised to these fools, he wondered. It didn't matter now. It never did.

Two men appeared ahead—one on horseback, the other on foot. Before either could draw a weapon, Ghost was upon them. The direwolf leaped with the force of a thunderclap, knocking the mounted man to the ground and pinning him there.

"Gods!" the other man cried, raising his weapon to defend himself. But Jon was faster, his Valyrian steel sword flashing in the sunlight. The man barely had time to react before Jon's blade swept through the air, cutting him down with a single strike. His body collapsed in two, spilling blood across the earth.

Without a moment's hesitation, Jon turned to see Ghost finish off the second man, tearing out his throat with savage precision. The direwolf dropped the bloody remnants with a satisfied growl.

Jon wiped the blood from his blade and turned to move on. "Leave one alive," he instructed Ghost, his voice cold.

They continued through the woods until Jon felt another presence nearby. He knew this wasn't over. A few minutes later, they found another group of men, and the scene played out again—swift, brutal, silent. The Valyrian sword cut through the air, carving through flesh with surgical precision. Ghost tore apart the attackers one by one.

The last man was left alive, trembling and begging for mercy, his face soaked with sweat and terror. "I'm sorry, my lord!" he stammered, his voice high-pitched with panic. "We were paid! We were paid handsomely! Please understand! Who wouldn't do it for gold?"

Jon loomed over him, his gaze unreadable. "Who paid you?"

The man blinked rapidly, his eyes wide. "It was the Targaryen prince... Joffrey Targaryen! And the man with the silver and black hair! The one you thrashed in the great hall!"

Jon's face remained impassive, his mind already working through the implications. "Thank you." He didn't flinch as Ghost lunged, finishing the man off with a single snap of his jaws.

Jon felt the weight of the revelation settle over him like a cloak. He knew Darkstar was behind the attack, but Joffrey Targaryen—what had he done to earn the wrath of the Targaryen prince? It didn't matter. Both had to be dealt with.

As Jon moved forward, his thoughts briefly turned to Tyrion. He found the dwarf standing alone, his back to Jon, absorbed in something small in his hands. Tyrion didn't notice him approach.

"You can get up now, Lannister. Jon Snow is here to rescue you," Jon said dryly.

Tyrion flinched, spinning around, his eyes wide with surprise. Jon froze.

In Tyrion's hands was a small dragon, its scales shimmering gold and red. The creature let out a shrill screech as it met Jon's gaze, its wings flaring out in warning before it settled on Tyrion's shoulders.

Jon's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight. "Tyrion," he said slowly, his voice carrying the weight of concern and disbelief.

Tyrion didn't seem to hear him. He grinned with childlike wonder, tapping the dragon's snout. "Isn't it a miracle?" he murmured. He looked up at Jon, his mismatched eyes bright with excitement. "A new age, Jon. A dwarf with a dragon." He chuckled, the joy in his voice genuine and untainted.

Jon couldn't help but feel a pang of unease. "A dragon is a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands."

Tyrion waved a hand dismissively. "I'm an expert on dragons, Jon. I've studied them all my life."

Jon's expression hardened. "Then you know better. A dragon should only bond with those who have the blood of Valyria."

Tyrion's smile faltered slightly, but he shrugged. "Perhaps this is something... new. Something extraordinary. We know Cannibal is different - and his hatchlings would be too. A dwarf with a dragon. Who would have thought?"

Jon didn't trust it. "Without a drop of Valyrian blood? Euron Greyjoy died because he wasn't bonded to a dragon. And you, Tyrion? You're Lannister through and through."

Tyrion's grin returned, though it was less certain now. "Does it really matter?"

"It matters when I'm thinking about snapping that little beast's neck before it gets out of hand," Jon said grimly.

Tyrion shifted on his feet. "I've been with you since the beginning, Jon. Since we were in Essos. I've saved your life more times than I can count. Don't take this from me. Let me have this."

Jon's resolve wavered, but only for a moment. "Alright. But if that dragon turns on you, Tyrion, I'll kill it without a second thought."

The two of them shared a brief laugh, but Jon couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his gut as he glanced at the golden creature resting on Tyrion's shoulder.

Jon couldn't help but study his friend—his small, dwarf frame, the striking contrast of his black and green eyes, the pale hair that gleamed like moonlight. And for a brief moment, Jon thought he saw something else in Tyrion's eyes—a flash of purple. But when Tyrion blinked, it was gone.

Jon knew something was off. He just didn't know how dangerous it would become.

Tyrion

For once in his life, Tyrion didn't mind the cramp in his legs. The sensation of being important—truly important—coursed through him like wildfire. Wobbling through the Western camp, he overheard the endless chatter about the sighting of Cannibal. People were fascinated by the dragon's green flame, so similar to wildfire. But Tyrion couldn't care less. His mind was elsewhere, savoring the feeling of power that had eluded him for so long.

They arrived just as nightfall descended. Robb and Arya Stark had gaped at the dragon perched on his shoulders, wide-eyed and skeptical. "A Lannister?" they had said. "A Lannister can't possess a dragon."

A crooked grin split Tyrion's face as he thought, I am the best Lannister of them all. His father, with all his fear and pride, had nothing compared to him. His sister had her golden cunt, and Jaime had his sword, but Tyrion had something far more valuable—a dragon. He traveled to Old Valyria and escaped and now had a dragon. Casterly Rock would undoubtly be his...perhapes more.

The fools who looked down on me will soon look up, as I shit on them. More specifically, his father. Tyrion could hardly wait to see Tywin's face when he saw what his son had become.

Unfortunately, the dragon wasn't with him. Jon had insisted it stay behind. "It stays with me until you leave," Jon had said, locking it in a cage with Ghost as its guardian. "The fewer eyes that see your dragon, the better."

Tyrion seethed but didn't argue. He could see the wisdom in Jon's words. He's still baffled that I can claim a dragon. Hell, so am I. Tyrion racked his memory, trying to recall a single instance where the Lannisters were ever linked to Valyrian blood. It was a mystery that troubled both him and Jon. Maybe my mother had an affair with some whore from the Free Cities? A smile tugged at Tyrion's lips at the thought. A whore from Volantis, perhaps. A man with Valyrian blood, who fathered me. And Tywin's punishment for her transgression? A dwarf to shame her. A fitting tale. He snorted sarcastically at the thought.

Tyrion was so deep in his musings that he almost didn't notice Bronn and Sandor standing outside his pavilion.

"What is it, Hound? Your face looks darker than usual," Tyrion asked. Bronn chuckled, but Sandor's grim expression remained unchanged.

The Hound spoke, his voice low and threatening. "Your nephew was stabbed to death by the Baratheon boy."

Tyrion froze. "Which nephew?"

"The older one," Bronn answered with a shrug.

Tyrion exhaled in relief. "Thank the gods," he muttered. "Perhaps there is some mercy in this world. The boy did have it coming." He imagined Cersei's reaction to the news, and a twisted smile crept across his face. But that relief was fleeting. War is coming again. Damn it.

"The kingslayer killed the Baratheon boy in his cell," Bronn added. "Strangled him, they say. He's locked in the same cell now."

Tyrion's heart pounded in his chest. He didn't need to hear the details. His mind was already racing. He pushed past Bronn and Sandor, intent on finding out what had happened. His legs were cramping from the rush, but he kept going, despite the mocking laughter of the bystanders. I'll give them something to laugh about soon enough.

Just as they reached the gates, a column of mounted men rode past—bannered with the crowned stag of House Baratheon, flanked by the banners of the Stormlands. Squires and fools rode at the end of the procession, muttering among themselves.

"It will be Robert's Rebellion all over again!" one voice said.

"No, actually it will be called Renly's rebellion!" another disagreed, tone light.

Tyrion's gut twisted with unease. Why didn't Aegon stop them from leaving? His heart sank as he stepped through the gates and into the sprawling halls of Harrenhal. He pushed his way through the sea of lords and lesser houses, their whispers hanging heavy in the air. He spotted Lewyn Martell standing guard outside Lady Whent's solar.

Behind the door, the sound of heated argument echoed. Tyrion caught snippets of the debate as he approached.

"Why did you let the Baratheons leave?" someone shouted. "They betrayed the crown once. What makes you think they won't do it again?"

Tyrion cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the tension. "I wish to speak to Prince Aegon."

Lewyn Martell gave him a pointed look, his lip curling in silent disdain. He opened the door just a crack, allowing Tyrion to slip inside. He left Bronn and Sandor behind, thankful for the privacy. The room was spacious, but only Aegon and Rhaenys were present. The tension between them was palpable, but they sat, regal and proud, as if nothing had changed.

"Tyrion," Aegon greeted, his tone polite but guarded. "What brings you here?"

Rhaenys interjected before Tyrion could speak. "The Lannister wants to plead for his brother's head," she said sharply. "He wants to bribe us, or use his father's influence to gain leverage. Your uncle Kevin already tried that."

Tyrion chuckled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, my princess, you're quite sharp. You've hit the nail on the dragon's snout." Aegon smiled at his jab, but Rhaenys didn't seem amused.

Tyrion continued, "And forgive my uncle. He couldn't bear to lose Tywin's favor after failing to save his golden boy."

He cleared his throat before continuing. "Jaime shouldn't lose his life."

Rhaenys didn't hesitate to respond. "Why? Not only did he break his vows, but he also killed the heir of a great House." She crossed her legs, her eyes sparkling. "Please, explain."

Tyrion leaned in, his voice steady. "First, the boy wasn't of great status. He was a bastard, legitimized or not. Bastards get killed all the time. They're seen as a threat, a reminder of the bloodline that wasn't meant to be. You've heard the stories, I'm sure."

Rhaenys rolled her eyes, but Aegon smiled, clearly entertained. "Yes, Lannister. We heard those stories as children. It used to frighten us."

Tyrion chuckled darkly. "It still scares me now."

Aegon leaned back in his chair, roaring with laughter, while Rhaenys cracked a smile. Tyrion felt a pang of guilt, remembering Jon's difficult upbringing as a bastard. But he pushed the feeling away. I need to keep them entertained. Targaryens like to think they adhere to law and honor, but they just like the idea of being worshipped.

"Second," Tyrion continued, "the boy needed to be brought to justice. Now, humor me—why was Edric brought to trial so quickly?"

Aegon shrugged. "We didn't want House Targaryen to appear weak."

Tyrion grinned. "It wasn't because you loved your family? Not because you mourned poor Joffrey Targaryen?"

Rhaenys rolled her eyes. "He was a twat."

Aegon nodded. "Cersei loved him. She was the only one."

"Then you can understand why Jaime is struggling. He cared for the boy, watched over him like his own son."

Aegon waved him off. "Alright, enough. It will be death or the Night's Watch."

Tyrion deflated, but he understood. His brother's life hung in the balance. At least he gets a choice.

Later, when Tyrion saw Jaime in the cells, even in rags, he was struck by how beautiful his brother still looked—golden hair, the fierce eyes of a lion.

"Brother," Tyrion breathed.

Jaime turned away, his voice flat. "What are you doing here?"

Tyrion's brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought you'd be glad to see your brother. I've got good news for you." Jaime's gaze stayed fixed on the floor. "You have a chance to die or join the Night's Watch."

Jaime didn't respond, and Tyrion's frustration boiled over. "What is wrong with you?" he asked, exasperated.

Jaime's voice was quiet. "I'm not a good man, Tyrion."

Tyrion's heart lurched. I know you're not a good man, but you're my brother. He swallowed hard. "I forgive you. You're my big brother. I have to forgive you."

Jaime chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "I've wronged you, Tyrion. You shouldn't love this monster."

"What do you mean?" Tyrion asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

Jaime raised his head slowly, tears in his eyes. "It all started with lies, brother. Lies will be the death of us."

Tyrion's heart stopped. "What lies?"

Jaime's voice cracked. "Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen...they're my children, Tyrion."

Tyrion's heart thundered in his chest. He'd known this for years, but hearing it from Jaime's lips was different. The truth was a knife to the gut.

"I don't blame you," Tyrion whispered. "I never have."

Jaime looked away, trying to hide the pain. "I wish I could make things right."

Tyrion's eyes blurred with tears, but he forced them away. "It's too late. But you can still make something of yourself, Jaime. Don't waste this chance."

Jaime nodded, but his eyes were dead.

Jaime slowly raised his head, his green eyes locking with Tyrion's. Tyrion froze, shocked to see tears shimmering in those familiar depths.

"It's about the girl... Tysha," Jaime's voice trembled. "It was all a lie."

Tyrion's heart twisted. "I know. You bought her. Had her pretend she loved me." His voice was thick with a grief he could barely suppress.

Jaime's gaze faltered, but he shook his head. "No, I didn't. I didn't buy her. It wasn't a setup, Tyrion. Our father—he made me lie. She loved you, truly. She always did." His words came out in a near whisper, and he looked down in shame.

Tyrion's mind spun, the old memories clawing their way to the surface. He remembered her smile, the warmth she'd shown him, before everything was shattered. The bitter sting of realization gnawed at him, but it was the weight of the truth that made his chest constrict.

Jaime's confession hung in the air, and in the silence that followed, Tyrion could hear a coin dropping—loud as any hooves pounding across the stone floor. His heart ached, as though he were reliving the moment again: the coins falling from her fingers, each one a brutal reminder of the price his family had put on his soul. One by one, each man had taken his turn with her, while Tyrion was forced to watch. When his own turn came, the golden stag was offered—his due as a Lannister, a reminder of his family's cruelty.

The rage within Tyrion burned hot and fierce. His fists slammed against the bars of the cell, and his voice came out a raw scream. "You deserve to die!" he spat, fury twisting his face. "You fucking kingslayer! Sister-fucker!" His feet kicked against the bars, pain radiating through his leg, but it only fueled the fire in his chest. "I'm not even Tywin's son, am I?"

The question tore out of him, unbidden, but it had been festering for days—since he'd claimed the dragon, since he'd begun to see the world for what it truly was. "The fucker always said I wasn't worthy of Casterly Rock—because I wasn't his son! There has to be some truth to that!"

Jaime's head snapped up at the words, his face pale, eyes wide with fear. "Why would you say that?"

Tyrion's voice cracked as he pushed forward, his eyes burning with rage. "If you knew what I know... if you knew that I was forced to fuck my wife, for no reason but to prove a point... you would know this too!" His breath was ragged. "There's something... something in me. I'm something else, aren't I?"

Jaime flinched, unable to meet his eyes. "No... you're not. But I know why you think that." He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "There's something I never told you. Something I overheard when I was a child. Our mother was pregnant with you. Father and she were arguing... Our father said something that stuck with me for years." Jaime paused, his voice thick with unspeakable weight. "He said... 'Aerys can't get away with this.' Those were his words. I didn't understand at the time, but I heard them, Tyrion. And then Mother cried. She was begging him not to do anything that might endanger you. He promised her, promised not to harm you. Said you were still her son."

Tyrion's blood ran cold as the pieces began to fall into place. The whispers, the looks from his father, the bitterness that had tainted his life since birth. "So... you think I'm the Mad King's bastard?" The words barely left his lips before the truth hit him like a wall of ice.

Jaime nodded slowly, his voice barely a whisper. "I think... I think you were conceived during that time. In King's Landing, the same year father resigned as Hand. And it lines up... with how much he hated you, how different you are." His eyes were filled with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. "I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to make it worse, Tyrion. But I couldn't keep it from you any longer. You're still my brother. I love you, always."

Tyrion stood frozen, his mind a storm of chaos. Everything he had ever known about himself—the ties that bound him to his family, the hope that had once kept him going—was shattered. The twisted legacy of his bloodline felt like a noose tightening around his neck. He was the Mad King's bastard. A product of a cruel lie.

For a long moment, there was silence between them. Tyrion's chest heaved, and the bitter taste of anger, sorrow, and betrayal threatened to suffocate him. And yet, in the pit of his soul, something darker began to stir.

The truth had made him something else.

Tyrion glared at Jaime, his eyes burning with a fire that could not be contained. "I hate you," he spat, his voice a low growl. "You are no brother to me. You're nothing but a shadow of the man I thought I knew." His lips curled in disgust. "I will tell the world about you and Cersei, about your bastard children. All your heads will be on spikes. We both know Aegon and Rhaenys have no love for us."

Jaime stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. "You won't do that, Tyrion. They're family."

Tyrion's laughter was bitter, hysterical. "Family? You think that matters? I will burn this entire house to the ground. For Tysha. For all the lies." His eyes glinted with the certainty of his vengeance. "I have the means to do so, Jaime. You'll see."

Tyrion stepped back, the weight of everything that had been revealed pressing down on him. He wasn't just a son of the Lannisters. He was something much darker. And in that darkness, his debts would be paid—by fire, blood, and the ruin of all who had wronged him.

Jon

He left?

Jon stood cloaked in black, his hood pulled low to conceal his face. He prowled through the Dorne camp, his eyes darting, but not a single glimpse of the Dayne emerged. I will find him, he vowed to himself, a simmering determination growing within him. If I have to ride Cannibal to Dorne itself, I will. The thought of letting Darkstar slip away was unacceptable. He would pay for this.

His frustration mounting, Jon turned and slipped into the shadowed corridors of Harrenhal, thinking perhaps there was a slim chance the elusive man might be hiding there. But after wandering the desolate halls, it became clear that this was a wild goose chase—until a voice broke the silence.

"What are you doing in the hour of the wolf, snooping about in the cloak of night?" Oberyn's voice rang out, a mocking lilt lacing his words. He leaned casually against a stone pillar, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, the white wolf, sneaking around these halls. I saw you scurrying earlier. What's the matter? Lost your way?"

Jon didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Where is Darkstar?" he demanded, his tone sharp.

Oberyn chuckled darkly, his smile widening. "You want to kill him."

Jon stiffened but didn't respond.

"You want to kill him," Oberyn repeated, unfazed. "Don't lie to me, boy. I can see it in your eyes. But don't worry, I don't care much for the man either. He's a snake. I've wanted to end him for years. I should have done it long ago."

Jon's fists clenched, his patience thinning. "Then tell me where he is."

Oberyn's expression softened into a bored shrug. "He's long gone. You did him a favor, I think. Left him babbling about some new age of dragons, calling himself a dragon lord or some nonsense. We let him go on. The man is mad, always boasting about one thing and complaining about the next."

Jon's stomach turned. Damn him. DAMN HIM!

Oberyn grinned, seeing the frustration flash across Jon's face. "You may never find him unless he decides to crawl out from under some rock. He hasn't been seen in Starfall or high hermitage for years."

Jon's mind was elsewhere, his thoughts consumed by one fact—He has a dragon. The words echoed in his mind like a drumbeat. He spun on his heel, the tension in his muscles coiling tightly. The cool air outside did nothing to calm the storm in his chest.

His mind reached out to Cannibal, the connection between them instantaneous, a mental link forged by blood and rage. We need to hunt him down, Jon instructed, his voice icy and firm in the silence of his mind.

A wave of dark satisfaction rippled through the bond, and Jon could feel Cannibal's response, the dragon's energy surging like fire through his veins. With a deep breath, Jon let the sensation of raw power flood him, fueling his every thought, sharpening his focus. The darkness rolled off him in waves, a storm he couldn't quell.

We will find him, Jon thought fiercely, his voice almost a growl, his body vibrating with energy. And when we do, there will be no escaping this time.

Rhaenys

Rhaenys stormed off in a fury, her mind simmering with anger. Why does he have to be so foolish, little brother? She seethed inwardly, her disdain for his weakness, his hesitations, growing with each passing moment. Loras kept watch at the solar, and Lewyn Martell shadowed her every step. At least Lewyn had the sense to leave her be when her temper flared. He'd let the Baratheon slip through his hands in the dead of night, a mistake that could cost them dearly. Renly would make it to Storm's End, and the banners would rise. Father and mother would be furious.

That damned Kingslayer, Rhaenys cursed, the memory of Jaime's treachery still fresh in her mind. At his hand, war would be rekindled, another flame in a kingdom already teetering on the edge. And then there was Tywin Lannister, lurking in the west like a shadow over Casterly Rock. His golden son may have avoided a grisly death, but the old lion would not be pleased to have his son banished to the Wall. That fate was arguably worse than serving in the Kingsguard. The Night's Watch took men for life, and that was something Tywin could not simply sweep under the rug. Rhaenys felt the weight of what was to come—the Stormlands and the West, potentially on a warpath.

She needed space, air to clear her head. Without a word to anyone, Rhaenys slipped through a side gate, stepping into the cool evening breeze. The fresh air didn't ease her mind entirely, but it offered some solace. Her gaze drifted over the lake, where the burnt trees stood like skeletons, their blackened trunks a grim reminder of the fire that had passed. And the smoke... still thick, still lingering. A rider and their dragon were here, but were they hunting game, or something—or someone—more dangerous?

A flicker at the edge of her vision caught her attention, and she turned just in time to see Jon Snow disappearing into the woods, his movements swift and purposeful. Where are you going? she wondered, her curiosity piqued. She moved to follow him, but she didn't want to be seen—not yet.

"I am retiring for the night. You may return to my brother," she told Lewyn, her voice steady, though her mind raced.

Lewyn frowned. "Loras Tyrell is already watching him."

"You can flank him as well." Her voice was firm, but not unkind. She softened slightly, adding, "I will be fine, uncle. Aegon is the one you need to worry about. There are enemies in every corner now. The prince must be protected."

Her uncle didn't argue further, though his frown remained as he watched her disappear into the night.

She didn't care to put him in a difficult position, but the pull to follow Jon was too strong. No Kingsguard would let a princess wander the woods, especially not for a bastard. They didn't understand what she saw. He's different. Not just any bastard. It was more than that. Every time their eyes met, every time his voice cut through the silence, she felt it—a connection, something unexplained. His aura was a mystery that tugged at her, even as he avoided her presence. It hurt, a deep ache she hated to admit. We should be beyond this.

As she kept him within sight, she made sure to stay far enough away, using the trees as cover. Time stretched on. What felt like hours passed as Jon moved further into the woods, yet he showed no sign of stopping.

Then the air shifted. Suddenly, the temperature spiked, growing unnaturally hot. She heard the flap of massive wings. Rhaenys turned to the sky, her heart leaping in her chest. A dragon—huge, dark as onyx—blocked the sun, its massive body casting a shadow over the landscape. The sight of it made her head throb with the sheer enormity of the creature. It landed with a crash that sent rocks, branches, and trees flying in all directions, bending under the weight of its landing. She crouched behind a large rock, waiting for the dust to settle before daring to peek over.

The dragon was like nothing she'd ever seen. Its scales were armored with jagged, razor-sharp spikes, as though every inch of its skin was forged to kill. Horns curled from its skull, and its eyes—those eyes—were a piercing, unnatural green, like the shade of wildfire. The sight of them sent a shiver down her spine.

Her eyes snapped sideways when she realized Jon had disappeared. Where had he gone? She must have lost sight of him when the dragon landed. Her breath caught in her throat when two rough hands seized her from behind, spinning her around and slamming her against the rock.

Jon Snow. His eyes were cold, distant—empty. His presence alone was overwhelming. "What are you doing here?" His voice was harsh, filled with barely concealed anger. He shook her roughly when she didn't respond. "Did you know what kind of danger you're in? Did you know I almost killed you? Why were you following me?"

The words caught in her throat. She hated the way she sounded, so small, so vulnerable. Why did I follow you? she thought bitterly. "You were avoiding me," she whispered, the admission feeling like a betrayal even as it slipped from her lips.

Jon's expression softened, the coldness in his eyes flickering for the first time. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I swear, I didn't know princesses acted like this," he muttered, stepping back to release her. "I wouldn't have come if I had known. Stalking me in the woods." He shook his head.

He pulled her to her feet, his hands lingering on her waist, his touch far gentler than she expected. A part of her liked it.

"I beg to differ," she shot back, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. "I think I bring you joy. You rarely smile. You should do it more."

"That's a command?"

"It's a royal command." Rhaenys' eyes flicked to the dragon, watching them with an intensity that almost felt personal. Is its fire as hot as its gaze?

Jon leaned in close, his breath brushing her ear. "He thinks you'll bring me harm," he whispered, "He's the mother I never had."

Rhaenys gasped, her heart skipping a beat. It's his dragon... "He's yours," she blurted, too shocked to whisper.

Jon nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yes."

Rhaenys looked back to the beast, her mind racing. "You saved us in King's Landing," she said slowly. "It was you."

Jon hesitated before answering. "I did what needed to be done. But I didn't want to reveal myself. It's too dangerous."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "My father wouldn't harm you," she said easily. "Not after you saved his family."

"As you say, princess. But it's not just your father I'm worried about. Others will have more ambition. They'll see me as a threat."

Rhaenys was silent for a moment, weighing his words. She knew the truth in them, but she couldn't shake the idea that having a dragon rider on their side could shift the balance. It would change everything.

A plan began to form, clear as day. Baratheon, Lannister—they would never dare challenge someone with a dragon at their side. She looked at Jon—his guarded eyes, his dark hair, his strength. I could have him to myself, no matter his birth.

She smiled, a slow, confident curve of her lips. "You have a deal, Snow."

Jon's eyes flickered to her lips, then quickly snapped back up. Rhaenys smiled wider. "But I want to ride your dragon. Right now."

"No," Jon said immediately, his tone flat.

"Why not?" She was persistent, the defiance clear in her voice. "I'm not a little girl, Jon. I am the blood of the dragon."

He shook his head. "It's his first time meeting you. You think he'll just let you climb on his back like that? He's an ancient beast, Rhaenys. He's dangerous."

The dragon growled softly, a deep rumble that sent a shiver up her spine—but not from fear. She met the dragon's gaze, unfazed. "I'm not afraid," she said, her voice sharp with pride.

Jon's eyes narrowed. "And I had business to attend to before your little game interrupted me. You're not supposed to be here."

"As condolences," Rhaenys said with a smirk, "I shall accompany you...or I'll scream."

Jon's expression soured, but he didn't push her away. He simply turned and motioned for her to follow.

Victory, Rhaenys thought, her heart swelling. She felt a shift in the air as they approached the dragon. Cannibal lowered its spiked neck, sniffing the air, then hissing softly. Jon's hands were firm around her waist again as he guided her to climb the rope.

Rhaenys grinned, climbing easily. I'm on a dragon, she thought, her chest swelling with triumph. As she settled into the saddle, she looked over the vast, rocky landscape stretching out before her. She could see Harrenhal in the distance. This is how Aegon the Conqueror must have felt.

Jon climbed up swiftly, his movements effortless. Once at the top, he tied a rope around her waist, securing her to the saddle. "Hold on tight," he warned, his face shadowed.

"Are you sure you're not afraid?" she teased.

Jon smiled, a beautiful thing that took Rhaenys's breath. "I'm afraid for you."

The dragon spread its wings, and with a powerful thrust, the air shifted again. They were airborne.

And Rhaenys could not stop smiling.

When she grew accustomed to the weight and the speed of the flight, Rhaenys dared to open her eyes.

The wind rushed past her face, biting and sharp. Her breath caught in her chest as she looked down. The landscape blurred below them—trees, fields, and rivers—all racing by at an unimaginable speed. The ground seemed so far below, and yet, they were closing in on it with terrifying velocity.

Rhaenys turned her gaze to Jon. His face was tight, lips pressed into a firm line, his brow furrowed in concentration. She felt a sudden impulse to reach out, to brush the strands of hair that whipped across his face, but she stopped herself. It seemed like a foolish thought, one that might break the fragile silence between them.

Her eyes shifted to the massive golden chest tied securely to one of Cannibal's long spikes. I've never seen a chest of that size, she thought, curiosity pricking her mind.

"What's in the chest?!" she shouted, her voice barely rising above the howl of the wind.

Jon didn't hear her at first. She yelled again, but the sound was swallowed by the rush of air. She realized too late that at this speed, it was hopeless.

Her stomach lurched as Cannibal suddenly dipped, plunging toward the earth in a sharp dive. Rhaenys instinctively raised her hands to shield her eyes from the wind, but she quickly lowered them when the dragon abruptly halted, hovering a few feet above the ground.

The clearing they hovered over was no stranger to destruction. This is where he razed the wood, Rhaenys realized with a jolt. What had seemed so distant from the castle now lay beneath them in an instant. In the blink of an eye, Cannibal roared and dove, his claws smashing into the earth with brutal precision. The sound of crushing came next, followed by another earth-shattering thud.

Rhaenys' heart dropped as she saw what was left behind: two shattered dragon eggs.

"Are those eggs?" she asked. Dragon eggs were precious. They were irreplaceable, a symbol of the Targaryen legacy. To destroy them was... unthinkable.

Jon barely spared her a glance. "Yes," was all he said, his voice heavy with finality.

Rhaenys' pulse quickened. "Why are you crushing them?" she demanded, unable to mask the outrage in her voice.

Jon's expression remained unreadable. "Because they're too dangerous. They cannot hatch."

The truth of his words settled in her mind like a stone. He wants to be the only dragon rider, Rhaenys realized. No one else must have the power of a dragon. Not while he's alive. It was a calculated move, smart even. But Rhaenys' heart ached at the thought. I am a Targaryen. I deserve a dragon of my own. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew better than to speak it aloud. It will never come to be...

Before she could dwell on it further, they were airborne again. This time, the dragon's ascent was not as swift, but the speed remained dizzying. They swooped down over roads, past keeps, circled inns, and even landed on a quiet hill. Cannibal's roar sent a flock of birds scattering into the sky, but no answers came from the landscape.

What are you searching for? Rhaenys wondered, her brow furrowed. No... Who are you searching for?

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, they landed back at the clearing. Jon helped her dismount, his hands steady as always. But Rhaenys, dizzy from the flight, felt a deep sense of exhilaration and lingering unease. It reminds me of the days back in Sunspear, she thought wistfully. Arianne and I used to run through the halls like this.

Jon dropped to the ground, already walking back toward the castle without a word. His silence felt like an unspoken barrier between them, and Rhaenys felt the frustration rise in her chest. Why won't he open up to me? She could feel her mood darken, the weight of his indifference pressing down on her.

"What were you hoping to find?" she demanded, unable to keep the edge from her voice.

Jon's reply was curt. "Don't worry about it, princess."

Princess. Her temper flared, and she wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop calling her that. I told you to call me Rhaenys. But she kept her mouth shut, swallowing the anger that threatened to spill over.

It was a rare moment when they could be alone together, when the world seemed distant, and yet Jon seemed intent on pushing her away. The realization stung deeper than she expected.

He will tell me, Rhaenys vowed silently to herself. He will learn to tell me everything, because he's not going back to the North. Not after this.