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The candlelight flickered across the steel of Aenar's armor as he adjusted the straps. Each piece bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, though subtly modified with wolf motifs – a reminder of his Stark heritage. The chamber was quiet save for the soft clink of metal and leather.
The door creaked open without warning, but he didn't need to turn to know who it was as she closed the door as if she was trying to sneak inside the chamber without being noticed.
"Your father won't be pleased," Aenar said without preamble, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen too many battles. "Neither will Corlys."
"I won't stay in Dragonstone like some servant while others fight our battles," Rhaenyra said, color rising in her cheeks. "I'm tired of everyone treating me like I'm made of glass!"
"Your father won't be pleased—"
"My father married that whore a month after my mother gave her life to bring a corpse into this world," Rhaenyra said with a cold look.
Aenar knew Rhaenyra held no love for Alicent and neither for her father. First her mother died, then her brother died shortly after, and then he wanted to marry Aenar to Alicent, and a month later, he married Alicent himself.
Aenar could understand the anger in her heart towards her father.
"I've seen how they look at you when you ride Cannibal. The fear in their eyes when his green eyes lock onto them, when that wildfire breath of his makes even Caraxes keep his distance. They respect you."
"They fear me," Aenar corrected. "There's a difference. And fear isn't what makes a good ruler."
"No?" Rhaenyra challenged. "Then why does everyone whisper about how even Vhagar keeps her distance from Cannibal? Why does your dragon's reputation help keep the peace?"
"Because Cannibal earned that reputation through violence and blood," Aenar said firmly. "He's not called Cannibal for nothing. The only reason he tolerates Caraxes at all is because they both understand the need for distance." He stepped closer to Rhaenyra. "Is that really the kind of respect you want?"
Rhaenyra's shoulders slumped slightly. "I was so sure my plan with wine would succeed. My father made me heir to the Throne. Corlys Bannermans. They all look at me. They want to see who will sit on that Throne. Who will rule Westeros when my father cannot anymore, and all they see is a little girl that has nothing to prove. Even Syrax..." She trailed off.
"Is young, like you," Aenar finished gently. "But youth doesn't mean weakness. It means potential." He saw the familiar fire rekindling in her eyes and added quickly, "Syrax is the smallest of our dragons. This isn't some training exercise over Blackwater Bay."
A knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth. "You haven't been paying attention, cousin. Laena and I have been flying together for the past month. Every day, from dawn until the stars come out."
"That's not the same as battle."
"Nothing is the same as battle," she countered. "But I won't learn by hiding."
Aenar studied her face in the candlelight, seeing past the confident exterior to something deeper, more vulnerable. "Why are you really doing this, Rhaenyra?"
She pulled away, pacing to the window that overlooked the darkness of the Narrow Sea. When she spoke, her voice was quieter but no less determined. "How can I be worthy of being Queen of the Seven Kingdoms if I spend my days sitting safe behind stone walls while others bleed for our cause? Laenor is dead, and there was nothing I could do. I want to bring Fire and Blood to the people who took him away."
"Not everyone is made for fighting," Aenar said softly, memories of his past life flickering through his mind – of Sam Tarly's wisdom, of Tyrion's cunning, of all those who had changed the world without wielding a sword. "Being a dragonrider doesn't mean you have to be a warrior. You have other gifts, Rhaenyra. Different strengths."
"Do I?" She turned back to face him, and for a moment, he saw not the confident princess but a young woman struggling under the weight of expectations. "Sometimes I wonder if father named me heir just to spite you, not because he thought I was the best choice for the Throne."
Aenar crossed the room to her, his armor creaking softly. "Your father named you heir because he sees in you what I see – what everyone sees. Intelligence, determination, the ability to learn from your mistakes rather than let them defeat you." He placed his hands on her shoulders, the metal of their armor clicking together. "But that's precisely why I need you to promise me something."
Her violet eyes met his, questioning.
"Don't do anything stupid up there," he said, his voice taking on a commanding edge that echoed his days as Lord Commander. "This isn't about proving yourself. It's about winning. Remember the plan – burn the sails, nothing more. No heroics, no trying to outdo anyone. The sea is dangerous enough without adding unnecessary risks."
"I'm not a child, Aenar," she said dryly.
"No, you're not. You're the future queen. And a queen knows when to fight and when to be strategic." He squeezed her shoulders gently. "Promise me."
Rhaenyra held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. "I promise. Only the sails." A hint of her earlier smile returned. "Though I can't guarantee Syrax won't want to show herself a little. She's developed quite the competitive streak during our practices with Vhagar."
"As long as showing off doesn't involve diving into the middle of the enemy fleet," Aenar said dryly, releasing her shoulders to return to his armor preparations.
"That would be more your style, wouldn't it?" she teased, moving to help him with the remaining straps. "The brooding warrior, charging headlong into danger?"
"I don't brood," he protested automatically, then caught her raised eyebrow. "Much."
"Of course not," she agreed, clearly humoring him. "You simply maintain a consistently serious demeanor while staring pensively into the distance."
Despite the situation they were in, Aenar found himself chuckling. "You've been spending too much time with Laena. She's rubbing off on you."
"Good," Rhaenyra said firmly. "We all need a little of Laena's spirit. Especially now." Her expression sobered as she finished with the last strap. "You've been troubled lately. I've seen you standing on the battlements at night, staring toward Dorne."
Aenar's jaw tightened, but he kept his silence about Lykard's taunting face in his dreams. "Just thinking about what comes after we deal with these pirates."
"House Martell?" Rhaenyra asked carefully. "Everyone knows they're behind Laenor's death. We will show them why House Targaryen rules Westeros."
"House Martell was able to push back Aegon Targaryen and his sisters even before...this Lykard decided to use Wildfire on ships as a bomb." Aenar replied, checking his sword belt one final time. "For now, we focus on the pirates."
Rhaenyra studied his face for a moment. "Sometimes it feels like I'm looking at someone much older than you. You have always carried burdens, cousin."
"We all have our burdens," he deflected, uncomfortable with how perceptive she could be. His thoughts briefly flickered to his private conversation with Alysanne about the Maesters and their possible role in Aemma's death, but he pushed it aside. "Today's burden is making sure you don't do anything reckless up there."
"Always so serious," she said, but there was concern beneath her teasing tone. "One day you'll have to trust someone enough to share whatever weighs so heavily on you."
"Today is not that day," he said firmly. "We have pirates to deal with."
"Aenar?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For not trying to stop me from coming."
He gave her a knowing look. "Would it have worked if I had?"
"No," she admitted with a slight smile. "But most would have tried anyway."
"I've learned there are some battles not worth fighting," he said. "Especially with stubborn Targaryen princesses who've already made up their minds."
"Wise of you," she said, reaching for the door handle. "Though I notice you still couldn't resist giving me a lecture about being careful."
"That's not a lecture, that's strategy," he corrected. "And speaking of strategy – remember what we discussed about formation. Stay high, stay back, and—"
"Only burn the sails," she finished. "I remember, cousin. Try not to worry so much – it makes you look older than you are."
With that parting shot, she slipped out the door, leaving Aenar shaking his head in a mixture of exasperation and affection. He turned back to the window, watching as the sun was beginning its descent in the horizon. Somewhere out there, pirates were preparing for what they thought would be another routine day. They had no idea what was coming for them.
He thought of Laenor's final words, of the guilt and regret in his cousin's voice as he died. Today wouldn't bring him back, wouldn't erase the pain of loss or the brewing storm with House Martell. But it would be a start – a reminder to all of Westeros that the dragons ruled the skies and land and that those who brought harm to House Targaryen and its allies would face fire and blood.
Aenar could hear the distant sound of dragons stirring, of wings unfurling and voices calling out commands. It was time. He offered a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening – the Old Gods of his Stark blood, the Seven who held sway in the south, even the Lord of Light who seemed to be gaining influence through the Red Priestess Maria and her growing following.
Not that gods had ever seemed to pay much attention to his prayers, in this life or his last. No, better to trust in dragon fire, sharp steel, and the strength of those who fought beside you. He thought of Rhaenyra's determined face, of Laena's fierce desire for vengeance, of Corlys's quiet grief transformed into iron resolve.
Rhaenyra
The night air was crisp on Dragonstone, stars scattered across the dark canvas above like dragon scales. Rhaenyra pulled her cloak tighter as she walked through the castle grounds, searching for Laena. The usual sounds of the fortress were muted, replaced by the occasional screech of dragons and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.
She found herself drawn to the Dragon Fields, where most of the tamed dragons rested before battle. In the distance, she could make out Cannibal's massive dark form, deliberately separated from the others. Even in the darkness, his green eyes gleamed like wildfire, watching everything around him.
Voices carried on the wind, and Rhaenyra finally spotted Laena near Vhagar's enormous bulk. Princess Rhaenys stood with her daughter, her silver-streaked dark hair catching the starlight. As Rhaenyra approached, their words became clearer.
"Don't let grief make you reckless."
"Grief?" Laena's laugh was cold enough to rival the night air. "This isn't grief, Mother. This is justice. House Martell will learn what it means to kill a dragon's kin. I'll bring them fire hot enough to turn their precious sands to glass."
"Laena—"
"The pirates first," Laena continued, her voice taking on an edge that made even Vhagar shift uneasily. "Then Lykard Martell. I want him to see Vhagar's shadow before he burns. I want him to know exactly why he's dying, then I will burn Sunspear to the ground."
Rhaenys noticed Rhaenyra's approach first, her expression cooling notably. "Princess," she said, offering a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Come to check on your... friend?"
The emphasis on 'friend' wasn't subtle. Rhaenyra lifted her chin, meeting the older woman's gaze. "I came to speak with Laena about tonight's formation." She deliberately kept her voice even, though her pride bristled at Rhaenys's tone.
"Ah yes, tongiht." Rhaenys's smile turned slightly mocking. "Your first real battle. How... exciting for you."
"Mother," Laena warned, but Rhaenys continued.
"I do hope Syrax is up to the task. She's such a... small thing compared to the others."
Rhaenyra felt her temper flare, but Aenar's words echoed in her mind. Stay calm. Don't let them provoke you. "Size isn't everything, Princess Rhaenys. As I'm sure you know, given how often Meleys follows Vhagar's lead in battle."
Rhaenys's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful, girl. You may be heir, but you're still green as summer grass."
"Green or not, I am the heir," Rhaenyra replied, unable to completely keep the edge from her voice. "And tonight I'll prove why."
"Prove?" Rhaenys stepped closer. "That's the problem with you, isn't it? Always trying to prove something. Always pushing, demanding, expecting everyone to bow to the future queen while you've done nothing to earn their respect."
"I don't need to earn—"
"Yes, you do," Rhaenys cut her off. "Every ruler does. Every dragon rider does. You think because your father named you heir that respect comes automatically? That's why you'll never be ready—"
"Enough!" Laena stepped between them. "Both of you. Save your fire for the enemy."
Rhaenyra realized her hands were shaking with suppressed rage. She forced them to still. "I came to talk strategy, not trade barbs with someone who's bitter about losing her own claim to the throne."
The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she'd gone too far. Rhaenys's face went deadly still.
"Bitter?" Her voice was soft, dangerous. "You think this is about bitterness? You stupid child. This is about watching someone who could be a great queen someday destroy herself because she's too proud to learn from those who came before her."
That brought Rhaenyra up short. "What?"
"You think I don't see it? The potential in you?" Rhaenys shook her head. "But you're so busy trying to prove yourself that you never stop to actually learn. You rush in, head high, demanding respect instead of earning it. Just like tomorrow – you're not joining this battle because it's strategically sound. You're doing it to prove a point."
"That's not—" Rhaenyra started, but Laena touched her arm gently.
"She's not entirely wrong, Rhae," Laena said softly. "And you know it."
Rhaenyra looked between them, feeling wrong-footed. "I thought you supported me fighting."
"I support you learning to be a warrior," Laena corrected. "But Mother's right – you need to be honest about your motivations. Are you fighting because it's the right thing to do, or because you're angry about people questioning your abilities?"
In the distance, Cannibal let out a low growl that seemed to make the very air vibrate. Rhaenyra found herself envying the great black dragon's simplicity of purpose.
"Both," she finally admitted. "I want to help, to do my part. But yes, I'm tired of being seen as weak. Of being questioned."
Rhaenys's expression softened slightly. "Then learn from tomorrow. Don't just fight – observe. Watch how the older dragons move, how their riders coordinate. Being a leader isn't about proving you're the strongest. It's about knowing when to strike and when to wait."
"Like you're so good at waiting," Laena muttered, drawing a sharp look from her mother.
"I waited twenty years to claim Meleys," Rhaenys reminded her. "Because I knew I wasn't ready before then." She turned back to Rhaenyra. "If you're determined to fight tomorrow, fine. But fight smart. Watch. Learn. Stop trying to prove yourself to everyone else and start proving to yourself that you can be patient when needed."
Rhaenyra wanted to argue, to defend herself, but something in Rhaenys's words rang true. "I..." she started, then squared her shoulders. "I will observe. And learn. But I will also fight."
"Good," Rhaenys said, surprising her. "That's the first sensible thing you've said tonight." She looked to the stars. "We should all rest."
As Rhaenys turned to leave, she paused. "And Rhaenyra? If you ever bring up my lost claim again, I'll show you exactly why they called me the Queen Who Never Was. Understood?"
Rhaenyra nodded, recognizing both the threat and the strange sort of respect it carried.
Once Rhaenys was gone, Laena moved closer. "She's harsh, but she means well."
"Does she? Sometimes I think she sees me as everything she lost."
"No," Laena said thoughtfully. "She sees you as everything she could have been – both the good and the bad. That's why she's so hard on you."
Rhaenyra looked up at Vhagar's massive form. "Will you really turn their sands to glass?"
"Soon enough," Laena whispered, "the Seven Hells will ring with laughter as damned souls point at the charred bodies of House Martell and say 'Look - there are the fools who thought they could stand against dragons.' That's all they'll be remembered as. Not princes, not warriors - just ash and mockery."
Aenar Targaryen
The moonless night cloaked their approach, three ships gliding through the dark waters like shadows. Aenar stood at the bow of the lead vessel, his eyes fixed on the looming rocks of the Stepstones. Above, unseen in the darkness but present all the same, dragons circled. He could feel Cannibal's presence in his mind.
Keep them distracted, he thought toward his dragon.
The gentle lapping of waves against the hull reminded him of Corlys's lessons. "The sea gives you silence when you need it most," the Sea Snake had told him, "but only if you know how to read her moods." Tonight, the waters were cooperative, helping mask their approach to the pirates' sanctuary.
The cave mouth came into view, a darker shadow against the rocky shoreline. Two guards stood at its entrance, torches casting flickering light that ruined their night vision. Aenar raised his hand, and the oarsmen stilled their movements, letting the ships drift on their remaining momentum.
A massive shadow passed overhead – Cannibal, moving with surprising speed for such a huge beast. The guards' attention snapped upward, following the dragon's movement. Even without seeing their faces, Aenar could imagine their fear. Few things commanded attention like a dragon's silhouette against the stars.
Aenar's hand moved in practiced signals. Archers ready.
Twenty men nocked arrows, the sound barely a whisper in the night air. The guards were still distracted, pointing at something in the sky – probably Cannibal making another pass.
Release.
The arrows made no sound until they found their marks. Both guards crumpled without crying out, their torches falling to sputter in the sand.
Aenar signaled again, and his men began moving the barrels. Each one had to be handled with extreme care – wildfire was unforgiving of mistakes. He'd argued with the pyromancers about the mixture, insisting on a specific consistency. It needed to flow like water when released, reaching deep into the cave system before igniting.
His men worked with practiced efficiency, positioning the barrels near the cave entrance. Each step had been rehearsed dozens of times on Dragonstone, until they could do it blindfolded. They knew the price of failure – not just their own lives, but the entire mission.
The night air carried sounds from deep within the cave: distant laughter, drunken singing, the clatter of dice against wood. The pirates had no idea what was coming. Part of him – the part that remembered being Jon Snow – felt a twinge of conscience about such a devastating attack. But he remembered Laenor's final words, the guilt and pain in his cousin's voice as he died. The pirates had made their choice when they allied with Lykard Martell.
Once the barrels were in position, Aenar gave the signal to retreat. His men moved back to the ships with the same careful silence they'd shown in approaching. He remained behind, bow in hand, three special arrows at the ready. Their tips were wrapped in oil-soaked cloth, designed to burn hot.
The first arrow caught flame. Aenar drew, sighting along the shaft at the nearest barrel. All those hours of archery practice, first as Jon Snow and then as Aenar Targaryen, steadied his hand.
For Rhaella, he thought, and released.
The arrow flew true, piercing the first barrel. Almost immediately, green flame began to seep out, running like water toward the cave entrance. Aenar didn't wait to watch – his second arrow was already burning, finding its mark in another barrel.
The third arrow completed the pattern. As Aenar turned to run back to the ships, he could hear the wildfire beginning its deadly work, a sound like hungry snakes slithering through the sand.
He leapt aboard just as green light began to illuminate the shoreline. "Row," he commanded, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying absolute authority. "Steady pace. No splashing."
The ships began to pull away from the shore. Above, Cannibal's silhouette wheeled against the stars, and Aenar felt the dragon's savage satisfaction mirror his own. They'd made it perhaps fifty yards when the first screams began.
High above, Rhaenyra sat astride Syrax, watching the darkness below. She'd been waiting for some sign of Aenar's success, trying to quiet her doubts about his plan. Then the night exploded with green light and human screams.
Pirates began pouring from the cave entrance like ants from a burning nest, their shadows dancing in the sickly green glow of wildfire. Some were already burning, their bodies wreathed in emerald flame that couldn't be extinguished. Others simply ran, blind with panic, straight into the waiting dragons' field of fire.
Aenar watched from the ship as chaos erupted on the shore. The wildfire spread exactly as he'd planned, flowing through the cave system's natural channels, finding every hidden chamber and storage room. The pirates' sanctuary was becoming their tomb.
"Steady at the oars," he reminded his men, who might have been tempted to row faster at the sounds of destruction behind them. "We maintain formation."
The green glow reflected off the water, making it look like they were rowing through liquid flame. Above, dragons began their deadly work, ensuring no pirates escaped into the surrounding hills. He heard Cannibal's roar – distinct from the other dragons, deeper and more primal – and felt the dragon's bloodlust surge through their bond.
One of his men, a veteran of many sea battles, whispered, "Seven save us... I've never seen anything like this."
"The Seven aren't watching tonight," Aenar replied softly. "This is older magic. Fire and blood."
Laena Velayron
The night erupted in emerald fury as wildfire consumed the pirates' sanctuary. Laena watched from atop Vhagar, her hands tight on the dragon's spikes as green light painted the clouds from below. The caves began to collapse, rock and stone giving way as wildfire ate through their foundations. Pirates poured out like insects from a disturbed nest, their screams carrying clearly through the night air.
Laenor...
The thought of her brother came to her, sharp as a knife to the heart. Had he screamed like this when the wildfire took him? Had he felt this same heat, seen these same sickly green flames in his final moments?
Strategy. Formation. Patience. All the careful plans seemed meaningless now, burned away by grief and rage.
"They will know his pain," she whispered, and Vhagar responded instantly to the shift in her posture. The massive dragon tucked her wings and dove, dropping through the night air like a falling star. Wind whipped at Laena's silver-gold hair as they plummeted toward the chaos below.
She could hear her mother shouting something from above – probably ordering her to maintain position – but the words were lost in the rush of air and the thunder of her own heartbeat. All she could see were the pirates running, trying to escape their fate.
*No escape. Not for any of you.*
"DRACARYS!"
The High Valyrian command rolled off her tongue like a curse, and Vhagar responded with devastating force. Dragon flame erupted in a massive stream, turning night into day. The first group of pirates didn't even have time to scream before they were reduced to ash.
Vhagar banked hard, maintaining her low altitude as she strafed the shoreline. More pirates tried to flee inland, their shadows dancing in the mixed light of wildfire and dragon flame. Laena urged Vhagar on, drawing a line of fire across the island that cut off their retreat.
"Burn!" she screamed, her voice raw with emotion. "Burn like he did!"
The pirates' screams changed pitch as they realized they were trapped between wildfire and dragon flame. Some tried to run into the sea, only to find that Vhagar's flames followed them into the shallows, turning the water itself into steam.
Something struck her hard in the side – an impact that would have knocked her breath away if not for her armor. An arrow clattered off her breastplate. The sight of it only fueled her rage.
"You want to fight?" she snarled, yanking Vhagar around in a tight turn that would have dismounted a lesser rider. "Then fight a dragon!"
Vhagar roared, the sound shaking the very air. More arrows came up from below, but they fell short or bounced harmlessly off the dragon's scales. Laena spotted the archers – a group of pirates who'd managed to organize enough to mount a defense.
"Dracarys!"
This time Vhagar's flame was even hotter, so intense that nearby rocks cracked from the heat. The archers disappeared in a inferno that melted sand into glass. Nothing remained but scorched earth and twisted, blackened forms.
Through her bond with Vhagar, Laena felt the dragon's bloodlust mixing with her own. Every beat of those massive wings, every burst of flame, felt like justice. Like vengeance. She urged the dragon lower still, wanting to see their faces as they burned.
"Laena!" A voice cut through her rage – Aenar, somewhere above on Cannibal. "The caves are collapsing!"
She looked up just in time to see massive sections of the cliffside giving way. Wildfire had weakened the natural supports, and now tons of rock were falling toward the beach. Vhagar reacted instantly to her touch, banking away from the collapse, but Laena kept her low enough to continue her assault.
"Let them fall," she whispered. "Let them all burn."
The night became chaos. Wildfire flames reached higher as new chambers collapsed, releasing their stored fuel. Dragon flame criss-crossed the shore as Aenar joined her attack, though he didn't flew as low or as aggressively as she did. The pirates' screams began to fade, replaced by the roar of flames and the thunder of falling rock.
Through the smoke and fire, Laena caught glimpses of the other dragons – Syrax staying high as ordered, Meleys moving with precision, and Cannibal's massive dark form casting shadows through the green-lit night. But Vhagar was the largest after Cannibal, the most battle-tested, and Laena used every advantage that gave her.
Another pass, another stream of flame. She'd lost count of how many she'd killed. It didn't matter. It would never be enough to fill the void Laenor's death had left.
"Laena!" This time it was her mother's voice. "The wildfire is spreading inland!"
She looked back and saw she'd cut off her own retreat with walls of flame. The wildfire was flowing across the island like a living thing, following channels in the rock that nobody had known existed. For a moment, she felt a flicker of fear – not for herself, but for Vhagar. Even a dragon could be killed by wildfire if exposed to enough of it.
Breathing hard, she finally pulled up, letting Vhagar climb away from the inferno below. As they rose, she got her first clear view of what they'd wrought. The entire promontory was transformed into something from a fever dream – green fire flowing like water, normal flames dancing in oranges and reds, great clouds of steam where seawater met fire. The cave complex was completely destroyed, the cliffs above it broken and burning.
Nothing could have survived down there. Nothing would grow there for years to come.
I did it, brother, she thought, watching the destruction below. I know is not enough, but worry not, you can rest peacefully soon enough. After I burn the people that took you away.
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