Rhaena POV
Rhaena Targaryen stood on the windswept shores of Driftmark, her silver-blonde hair billowing in the biting wind, mirroring the somber atmosphere that shrouded the island. The gloomy clouds painted the sky in shades of gray, matching the heavy weight in her heart. She had never seen her mother's homeland before. All her life was spent in Pentos, at the palace of the gracious prince of the city. A luxurious if supposedly demeaning experience - at least that's what she deduced her grandfather meant in his missives to her mother.
Rhaena didn't wish to overstep and pillage through her lady mother's letters, but ever since she lost her a fortnight ago, she's scrounging for any last vestige of her to immortalize by her side.
The halls of Driftmark, her alleged birthright, felt alien to her, carrying an overwhelming sense of grief and confusion. The funeral was due in a few hours, and already she felt like her tears had been emptied. Baela certainly had enough of her relentless wailing and left with their uncle Laenor Gods know where.
The man may be their mother's twin brother, her other half like she and Baela were, but Rhaena hardly knew him. She couldn't grieve freely in his presence or act as detached as she desperately wanted.
So she walked through the halls of the castle like a wraith. Rhaena couldn't help but feel the weight of her own expectations bearing down upon her. She was drowning in the halls of the Merling king, with no refuge or sanctuary in sight.
Laena Velaryon, the fiercest and most resilient woman the Gods had fashioned, had always pushed her to embrace her Targaryen heritage and fulfill her destiny, whatever it may be. But with Mother gone, doubts plagued Rhaena's mind, intertwining with her grief. Who was she, beyond the confines of her name and birthright? What was her purpose in a world that had lost its stability?
Suppressed anger simmered within her, directed toward the man she called father - Daemon Targaryen, the infamous Rogue Prince. His impulsiveness and disregard for the consequences of his actions had caused immense pain within their family. Rhaena knew all too well the battles their parents fought, often playing out behind closed doors, their voices carrying a peculiar mix of love and anger.
She longed for his approval for as long as she could remember. Her father's affection was fleeting and intoxicating, vanishing just as quickly as it appeared, and at times spurred on by her mother's slight cajoling when it came to his youngest daughter.
Baela was obviously his more favored child. She shared many of his likes and interests, naturally gravitating towards fighting and horse riding since they turned six. When Moondancer grew big enough to mount a year later, it was a rare enough sight to find her twin sister away from the skies, or her father's side.
Rhaena would learn to swallow her envy and accept her fate. At least she tried. Neither of her parents had been bonded to dragons hatched to them in the cradle - despite her Father's willful blindness and benign neglect - so Rhaena's dreams of claiming a mighty beast weren't completely far-fetched.
But they're all hollow aspirations now.
Her mother's death had not only left a void in her heart but had also thrust her into a state of ambivalence, torn between the love for her family and the burden of her own desires.
She knew for certain Mother pushed and bargained with Father to return to Driftmark for months on end. Yet, he staunchly refused. Too moved by his own wounded pride, a decade after her uncle the King grew wroth that he eloped with Lady Laena without his permission.
Daemon didn't care for her many protests that their newborn child be delivered in her own castle, and she paid the price for his obstinacy with her life.
Rhaena knows she'll never forgive him for that. She can't. She just can't.
The nine year old girl approached the grand hall where her mother lay, the air turned thicker, blending sorrow with incense and tears. It was there, amidst the statues of the Seven and the soft flickering of candles, that she finally gave in to her suppressed emotions.
Grief overwhelmed her, cascading down her cheeks in silent tears. She stood before the ornate coffin, tracing its edges with trembling fingers. Memories of her mother flooded her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. They were moments of a life once lived, a life that now hung in the balance of existence and memory. Rhaena couldn't even open the casket if she wished. And it isn't the fear of staring at cold soulless eyes, having that image seared into her mind, that scared her. Instead, a more primal fear of not allowing her mother to be properly put to rest. She'd stay in this room for weeks or moons, not caring for the undoubtedly bloating stinking corpse.
Vhagar would understand her.
Mother's final wish was to ride her faithful companion one last time. But the bed fever took her before she reached the old dragoness. The mournful ancient roars echoed through the night.
Vhagar. Just then she knew the only way to honor her mother's legacy, to embrace her Targaryen blood and become the dragon her mother had always believed she could be. The one her father dismissed her potential to become.
She wiped her tears, a glimmer of newfound resolve in her violet eyes. The funeral may have marked the end of her mother's earthly journey, but for Rhaena Targaryen, it was the beginning of her own.
****
"While I am disappointed you thought a dragon was something to be inherited like a simple trinket or a piece of jewelry," Daemon addressed them, his voice steady and measured. " I cannot help but commend your actions."
Rhaena, Baela, Jace and Luke exchanged confused glances. They had expected reprimands, lectures on the importance of restraint, and consequences for their involvement. Instead, their behavior was hailed as commendable.
"But Father," Rhaena hesitated, her voice reflecting both surprise and concern, "we were complicit in hurting Aemond. We crossed a line, and it is only fair that we face the consequences."
Daemon's smile was soft but unwavering, carrying a hidden glint, as he interrupted her, "You misunderstand, daughter. What you did was not without cause. The Hightower brat provoked you into aggression. He desecrated your mother's memory by choosing this day of all days to bind himself to her dragon, and by subterfuge no less. The craven's key strategy."
Rhaena's face was pale and filled with regret. She could feel her own dark thoughts of recrimination haunting her mind, but she never expected her father to revel in her violence, his sick pleasure was alarming.
"Father, I…I didn't mean..." Rhaena stammered, her words trailing off as she struggled to find the right explanation. She had acted impulsively, fueled by anger and frustration, by her desire to preserve one part of her mother in any capacity. But now, her actions filled her with a terrible sense of guilt. She struck the first blow, and Aemond lost half his sight because of it.
Princess Rhaenyra nodded in agreement, adding to her father's words. "My half-brother was not blameless, either. I have witnessed his actions towards others, and his cruelty often goes unchecked. The Queen's coddling has made him so. You took it upon yourselves to protect those who could not protect themselves. That speaks volumes about your character."
Baela's eyes widened, mixed emotions swirling within her. On one hand, she was relieved that their predicament was somewhat understood, but on the other hand, she felt a tinge of guilt for her role in the confrontation. "He still lost an eye. The Maester said he might die."
"Mother! I didn't want to kill him."
Rhaenyra's gaze softened as she reached out to hold the hysterical Luke's tiny hand. "I know your intention was not to hurt indiscriminately. It was to put an end to the harm being inflicted on others. You saved your brother sweetling."
"It's true. I was good as gone before you were there." Jace tried to cheeringly smile to ease his brother's nerves, yet managed to only produce an uneasy grimace. Rhaena saw her elder cousin throw sand through Aemond's eye before the blade struck him. He and Luke could've ran away while he laid down.
They chose not to.
Daemon's voice was filled with customary conviction. "In a world filled with cruelty and injustice, sometimes it is necessary to take a stand. It is an unfortunate reality that sometimes protection comes with a price."
Rhaena's brow furrowed, her voice laced with confusion, "But shouldn't we still face consequences for our actions?"
Her mother would want them to feel adequately penitent for their cousin's mutilation.
Father's eyes narrowed in slight annoyance. "Oh, my dear Rhaena, don't you see? All of you have shown the true nature of a Targaryen. The dragon fire within you burns bright, ready to consume any obstacle in its path," he muttered, his tone dark and eerie.
She immensely craved his acknowledgment of her heritage. Yet apparently not enough.
"Father, this is madness," Rhaena pleaded, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. "I want to speak to the Queen about a punishment, to properly apologize when Aemond wakes up."
Rhaenyra swiftly intervened, her words laced with stern reproach. "You will do no such thing. They're unhinged treasonous beasts. The king has spared them execution but they aren't owed anything more."
Rhaena didn't know what came over her. She was the quiet courteous perfect lady growing up. With her predilection to playing the harp and reading the histories, she was the complete opposite of the tomboyish wild Baela. But the courage and abrasiveness that fueled her now was legendary.
"You can't command me. You aren't my mother. In fact, If you disciplined your actual children, none of this would've happened. It was your bastard who pulled that knife at being called Lord Strong."
The ensuing silence was deafening. Rhaena debated if her long tirade was a figment of her hyperactive imagination.
Rhaenyra was fuming in barely controlled rage, with her sons too baffled to utter a word. "It is because I care for you as a mother that I shall not hold that outburst against you Rhaena. But, I strongly urge you to remember what his grace warned. Royal blood or not."
Baela finally gathered enough courage to mouth a desperate cry. "You can't take her tongue. You'll have to tear mine as well."
Daemon's expression turned from shock to disdain, his voice laced with bitterness. "You are a disappointment, Rhaena. A weak-minded child who does not understand her true place in the world. The Hightowers aren't worth your pity. The only family you have left is here. Learn that already," he taunted, his words like venom in the air.
Rhaena watched the princess intertwining her hands with her father in a show of solidarity and compassion. She tasted bile in her mouth and resisted the urge to vomit from disgust.
Her mother's been dead for barely two weeks and he seeks to replace her already. Adding insult to injury, he dares to call Aemond a defiler of her memory, when he himself is the worst sinner.
***
Rhaena embraced her twin sister for the first time in months. Baela's life has been constantly hectic even since she became Queen, her duties keeping her busier than ever. The chance to catch up was a rare and welcomed one, even though it was ultimately obscured by the greater danger to the Realm.
"It's been too long sister. One might think you aren't the dragon rider between us."
Baela snorted in mock offense at her slight teasing, "It takes one day to reach King's Landing by ship. If you had wished for my company so badly, you would've done so already."
"Grandfather tells me you and Aegon have been insufferable lately. Forgive me for wanting to preserve my image of you for a little while longer."
Her jab earned her a push into the beach, mudding her beautiful turquoise dress. Rhaena unleashed a devastating groan. "You impetuous heathen. Why on earth would you do such a thing?"
Her twin produced a nonchalant grin, laughing at her misfortune. "I would consider my actions a tad too lenient. You and the Master of Ships defaming the Queen's prestige reputation is a dangerous offense. Your disrespect is also noted."
Her violet glowed eyes violently. Baela matched her fiery stance, before the two fell into manic laughter.
While they both were sprawled on the sand, gazing at the clouds, their peaceful exchange was shattered by the sight of a dragon on the horizon, unleashing a devastating wave of fire upon the nearby town.
Only a few minutes earlier, high above the thriving city of Spicetown, hidden within the ancient mists, the mighty warrior Aemond astride his magnificent dragon Vhagar soared through the heavens. His armor glinted with an ethereal luminescence, while his face was soured by a terrible darkness.
As the colossal wings of Vhagar beat rhythmically, casting vast shadows upon the ground, the city dwellers trembled in fear and awe beneath the gigantic monstrosity. The air crackled with a foreboding energy, a tangible manifestation of the imminent doom that haunted their land. Lights flickered and danced, casting eerie patterns upon the cobblestone streets, as though the very essence of magic wept for the despair that was to come.
Spice town, once a bustling hub of commerce and vibrant life, was now a beacon of terror. The vibrant market squares, once bountiful with merchants and the aroma of exotic spices, now lay deserted and desolate. The wind whispered tales of sorrow, carrying the echoes of frightened whimpers and desperate pleas for mercy.
The townsfolk, huddled within the crumbling ruins of their homes, clung tightly to their loved ones, their hearts heavy with a dreadful sense of finality. Eyes wide with terror, they watched in helpless awe, as Aemond's dragon unleashed a torrent of destructive flames that devoured the very fabric of their beloved town. The buildings, once symbols of hope and community, now stood as charred remnants, crumbling in the face of the merciless onslaught.
Amidst the chaos, the air quivered with the anguished cries of mothers, fathers, and children, their voices merging in a haunting chorus of woe. Tears flowed freely down faces etched with anguish, as families were torn asunder and dreams were reduced to ashes.
Rhaena's eyes widened in horror as the flames danced high, consuming homes and lives. The weight of the tragedy bore down upon her heart, a familiar surge of anger and resolve coursing through her veins.
"Baela, do you see it? We have to do something!" Rhaena cried out, her voice filled with urgency.
Baela's eyes mirrored her sister's shock and concern. Without hesitation, the elder Targaryen sprinted towards the nearest dragon lair, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. Upon reaching her bonded dragon, climbed atop her faithful mount, Moondancer. Rhaena was forced to watch, consumed with an air of uselessness and self-loathing she hadn't felt since her mother's death.
With a thunderous roar, the Star Maiden took flight, her majestic wings slicing through the air. Even Rhaena could practically taste the power of the dragon above, her strength merging with the rider. It was a bittersweet sensation, knowing that the bond with these creatures could bring both hope and destruction.
Her sister's nimble and fast steed of legend evaded being captured by Vhagar, but unfortunately it couldn't boast of accomplishing much else.
Rhaena didn't understand the reason of this brutal crime. What could drive Aemond to destroy the city? She felt especially mad at the way he went about it. Her mother's dragon, which impressed and captivated her spirit as a child, turned into a relentless weapon of war and calamity.
Her helplessness to stop this sacrilege and protect her sister from near certain doom crippled her.
For once, she wanted to change something. Anything.
Mother, please.
As if answering her pleas, Seasmoke, Swooped down from the sky
Rhaena wasn't particularly brave or fearless. She had dreamt one night of seeing her mother burn by Vhagar's flames, and the vision kept playing in her mind, suffocating her fledgling ambitions to ever become a rider.
But as she reached out with her own hand, her uncle's former bonded didn't punish her for her impudence but actually leaned closer. For the first time in her life, a deep sense of belonging finally came into place. Everything became clearer.
This was right.
Time seemed to blur as she took hold of the reins, shedding quite a bit of effort. With steely determination, she uttered the fateful words; Soves.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the dragon heeded her call and flew into the eye of the storm, through the infernal fires.