Book 3: Dragonfire

Chapter 21 - Dragonstone

Lyon named him Jaeherys after her ancestor. Like his egg, Jaeherys was a deep black that shimmered green in a certain light. He was small, as small as the others had been when they hatched, according to Daenerys. Lyon quite enjoyed his small size, which made him prone to seeking the warmth she emanated like a child cozying up to his mother. While Lyon's wounds mended, Jaeherys was a constant presence. And a most comforting presence along their journey to Westeros.

The morning the ships reached Dragonstone Lyon was the first to sink her toes in the western sands of her homeland. Well, not quite, but it was still Westeros. The crisp, salty air of the coast playfully batted at her hair and rushed into her lungs. Winter was always quick at Lyon's heals. Jahaerys was perpetually stuck to Lyon's shoulders, or napping lazily in the thick furs of Winter's pelt. The newborn dragon, not yet able to fly, scrambled out of the row boat and splashed in the shallow tide. Daenerys was not long after. When she stepped foot on the sands of her ancestral home, Daenerys' expression was like a slab of stone. She did not react. Likely couldn't. Not until she had assessed Dragonstone in its entirety. Lyon understood the queen's stony expression more than she could say.

Daenerys led the exhaustive walk to the castle. As they climbed to higher altitudes, Lyon began so see the layout of the island. They had docked at an isolated beach of which one side opened to the sea and the opposite side was a wall of stone. In the middle of that wall, spanning from the beach and twisting upwards until it reached the castle, was a stone staircase.

As they climbed, dragons circled the keep from the skies. 

Jahaerys perched on Lyon's shoulder, having been scooped out of the water by his mother. His wide glossy eyes watched the magnificent creatures above. He cried out at them, and it came out as more of a squawk. Lyon nudged the dragon affectionately, but he continued to look skyward.

Inside the castle, Daenerys ripped down tapestries bearing the Baratheon sigil, leaving them to the floor.

Daenerys finally stopped in the throne room, but only paid the throne a moment of her attention before she swept past and an entered another chamber. Lyon and the council were left to follow. They entered a room that opened into a terrace that overlooked the cliffs; a straight plummet into the choppy waters below. A massive oblong table stretched a several meters long, located on the terrace. An elaborate painting stretched out along the surface in the exact likeness of Westeros's entirety.

Daenerys swept a hand along the surface as she strode the length of the table to the end farthest from the room's entrance. There she stood and contemplatively eyed the map.

"Shall we begin?" Their queen asked.

- - -

It wasn't long after their arrival that word reached Lyon. It was Varys who told her, of all people. In a well-practiced expression of pity he told her that Maergery and Loras Tyrell had perished in a devastating wildfire. Cersei had done it. Dozens of barrels of wildfire had been ignited below the Sept, obliterating everyone inside as well as anyone who had the misfortune of being in the explosion's radius. Little Tommen Baratheon had soon after taken his own life.

Varys had had the kindness to tell her after she had gotten settled in her own chamber, where he could leave to let her mourn. After he had offered his condolences, he left Lyon to her solitude.

The blood in Lyon's body had turned to ice and a rock had sunk deep into her gut. She let it weigh her down to the floor, where she sat with her hands stuck in her hair. Her eyes were glued to the view outside, to the skies that swam with darker clouds by the second. Lyon watched Drogon and his brothers slice through the clouds. Tears came when the rain did, each sob blotted out by rolling thunder, becoming louder each time. The storm drowned out any noise Lyon made.