Laena Velaryon (103 A.C. Sixth Moon)
King's Landing – Laena's Chambers
Laena had risen bright and early. Normally, she would join Rhaenyra, help her pick out her clothing, and spend the day with her. Yet today, she was going flying with Aemon, something she had wanted to do ever since his arrival at the coronation, even after they had danced together during the celebratory feast.
The early rising was no trouble, for she enjoyed watching the sun climb over the horizon. On Dragonstone and Driftmark, the rising sun was magnificent, glittering upon the waters of her home. She often wondered how her new home would look when she would watch the sun set over the Sunset Sea.
Soon enough, she asked her maids to clothe her in her best riding leathers, trimmed with fox fur at the top. Autumn was arriving, and she had seen the trees turning orange. It was one of the few signs that winter was coming, and soon the Citadel would send out its white ravens to announce it. She prayed it would be a short one.
As she stepped out of her door, she was escorted by her guard to the stables, where Aemon was waiting for her. Behind him stood three horses, one already mounted by his sworn sword, Ser Harrold Westerling.
"Lady Laena, good morning," Aemon called out with a wide grin, his tone laced with the kind of sarcasm only friends could share without offense. His dark eyes glimmered with amusement as he watched her approach.
"Prince Aemon, good morning to you, too," Laena replied with mock formality, lifting her chin as though she were some great lady of court, though the corners of her lips betrayed her playfulness.
"Laena, I'm sorry we couldn't do this earlier. I missed you, just as much as the rest," Aemon said. She wanted to dispute it, to let him know she understood, but he pressed on. "But I hope I can give you something to make up for the lost time."
"Oh, is that so, Aemon?" she said with a grin. "What will this something be?" she asked playfully.
"That is something you'll have to wait for until we arrive at the Dragonpit," Aemon noted with a mischievous smile. "May I help you mount your horse, my lady?"
"You may, my prince." She placed her hand in his. His grip was firm and rough, just as it had been when they danced. She remembered the feel of that same hand at her waist, steadying her as they had moved across the hall, and heat rose to her cheeks. She flushed as he placed a hand on her hip and helped her into the saddle.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met, grey on violet, and she wondered if he felt the same spark she did, or if it was only her foolish fancy.
Aemon did the same, and together with their guards, they rode off into the city.
On the way, Laena asked countless questions, many of which she had already written in her letters, and Aemon had written replies, but hearing them from his own tongue was different. The tale of how he came to the dragon he had carried on his shoulder during the coronation brought both fascination and sorrow, for Aemon had been the one to carry out the execution.
He was her age, yet had already killed men. It was a thought she could not shake. Yet again, it was the way of the North: the man who passed the sentence should swing the sword. Aemon had bound them and given the command to burn them.
Soon enough, they arrived at the pit. The familiar scents of dragons greeted her, sulfur, burnt meat, and stone, along with the less fortunate stench of rotting flesh and dung.
The head dragonkeeper, in ceremonial armor, greeted them with a respectful bow, deeper to Aemon and smaller to her. Aemon was an awe-inspiring figure to them, the youngest rider in history, commanding his dragon as no one before, or so the texts said.
"At ease, Master Beric," Aemon said, dismounting. He walked over and helped Laena down. Yet when she tried to stand, she misstepped and stumbled into Aemon's arms. She flushed again as she looked into his grey eyes.
"Don't hurt yourself, my lady. We don't want to halt the fun here," Aemon said with a grin as he helped her up.
"No, we don't," she replied softly.
"Beric, is the present for Lady Laena ready?" he asked.
"Indeed, my prince," the man replied with a nod.
"Good. Laena, wait here."
She watched, intrigued, as Aemon walked toward a small cage near the back gate of the pit. When he opened it, her heart quickened. A dragon emerged, its scales a deep blood-red, laced with vibrant purple striping, its eyes gleaming violet.
The small creature hopped onto Aemon's arm like a falcon on a huntsman's wrist. Aemon approached with a hopeful smile.
"I know you wanted to take a chance at claiming Vhagar, you told me once. Yet it seems a new Visenya was what the she-dragon wanted. Vhagar laid three eggs, and one turned to stone, which I was able to hatch with fire and blood," he said, stroking the dragon's chin. "I couldn't think of anyone better to care for Jaefyre than you. If you want it, of course. Dreamfyre is still unclaimed, as are the dragons of our grandparents."
She barely heard him after she connected with the violet eyes of the little dragon.
Jaefyre tilted its head and gave a small cry before flapping its wings and hopping down to the ground. Aemon chuckled. "Hmm, it seems Jaefyre has chosen. Have you?"
Laena crouched down and let the dragon sniff her hand. Before she knew it, the little beast pressed against her palm, purring softly. In her heart, she felt it, a bond, strong and undeniable, unlike any she had ever known.
"I have," she finally replied, pulling the dragon into her arms as it purred against her neck. She had a dragon. Its coloring reminded her of her mother's dragon, Meleys.
"Will you rename Jaefyre?" Aemon asked with a wide smile.
"No. It's the dragon you birthed, more or less, and you gave it a good name, for our grandfather. Even if I do not agree with all he did, he was loved, and he was a good king," she said, smiling as she stepped forward and hugged Aemon.
Jaefyre let out a cry at being slightly crushed, and they both laughed.
"Well, let's take to the skies, then. It's been far too long."
At that moment, a roar trembled through the Dragonpit.
Laena looked at Aemon, puzzled. How had he done that? He hadn't even summoned a dragonkeeper to rouse Balerion.
"A bond between dragon and rider can be quite special," Aemon replied with a smile, as the ground shook and Balerion appeared. The Great Black Dragon cast a shadow over them all.
Jaefyre cried toward him, and Balerion rumbled, the sound echoing through the dragonpit. His massive head lowered, filling the air with the stench of sulfur and scorched rock as he sniffed at them.
"He remembers you. Dragons have long memories," Aemon said as he patted Balerion's chin a comical sight, for some of the dragon's teeth were as long as Aemon himself.
The beast purred and lowered himself, spreading his vast wings.
Laena smiled. Balerion was the only dragon that allowed this. At Driftmark, Dragonstone, and King's Landing, every other dragon required ropes, or a raised platform to mount onces dragon, but not Balerion. His saddle sat nearly ten meters high, so they mounted him by climbing the great beast's right wing, which was fitted with iron rings and ropes for grip for one's footing. At last seated upon the great dragon's back, Aemon in front, Laena behind.
"Soves, my friend," Aemon commanded in their mother tongue.
The ground shook as Balerion launched forward. With a few great beats of his wings, he leapt from the cliff's edge. His wings clapped against the sky like thunder, and soon they were aloft. Then, like a bird of prey, the Black Dread began to glide, carrying them higher and higher into the sky.
Jaefyre chirped happily, and Laena giggled in reply. She pressed herself against Aemon's back, warmth blooming in her chest at the joy of being reunited with him and sharing this moment.
Laena drank in the sky, a sight she had shared with her mother, and even with Aemon before. Yet now, knowing what it meant to be betrothed to him, it felt different. It made her feel warm and safe, and she imagined the future, one where she would take to the skies on her own dragon, flying beside her friends and, perhaps by then, her husband.
Her heart fluttered at the thought, filling her with anticipation for what was yet to come.
Their flight carried them all the way to Dragonstone, where Balerion let out an echoing cry that shook the isle as they soared above the towers of the ancient fortress. The Dumm Tower, shaped in the form of a dragon, was a sight to behold, its black shadow passing over the walls.
Then, with a mighty turn, Balerion banked back toward King's Landing. Aemon twisted in his saddle, so he was staring back at her. She gasped at the sudden movement, which made him chuckle.
"I should be fine, unless Balerion decides on a crazy maneuver," he teased.
"Did you see how the stone of Dragonstone fuses together?" he asked after a moment. She nodded in reply.
"Well, that's how Seadragon Point now looks. It's truly magnificent, an art that was thought lost. I'm excited for you to see it."
"Me too," she said softly, sighing. "It will be our future home." She reached for his hand.
Aemon leaned in closer, and before she could think, his lips brushed against hers.
Her heart fluttered wildly with excitement, and a blush crept up her cheeks, though she could blame it on the wind. Jaefyre gave an excited cry, as if sharing her joy.
"I hope you liked that," Aemon murmured as he drew back.
My first kiss, she thought, giddy with delight.
"I did," she whispered back, and, with a shy boldness, leaned forward to kiss him again. They both blushed and laughed softly, the sound carried away by the rushing wind.
Soon, Driftmark came into view. Laena looked at the isle with contentment. It would always be her home, yet her future one would be the place she and Aemon built together. She took his hand once more, smiling as they gazed down.
In time, King's Landing came into sight again. Balerion began his descent, the city's familiar smells rising to meet them. With a few heavy wingbeats, he landed, the ground trembling under his vast weight.
Aemon helped her down, and together they walked along the dragon's wing to the square. Before their escorts reached them, Aemon stole another quick peck on her lips.
"My Prince, my Lady, I trust you both had a good flight?" Ser Harrold asked as he brought up the horses.
"We did, Ser. Quite the wonderful flight indeed," Aemon replied with a cheeky grin that made Laena blush.
"Yes, Ser, we did," Laena added with a smile. "I'm sure you can agree that a flight on a dragon is something wondrous."
"It certainly puts things in perspective," Ser Harrold answered. "Though I feel far more comfortable on the ground. Then again, I am not of the blood."
"My Prince, my Lady. I assume everything went well?" Ser Tagar asked, his Velaryon-style armor flashing in the midday sun.
"Indeed, Ser. Prince Aemon is a wonderful rider, and Balerion is a magnificent dragon."
At that, Balerion rumbled and released a puff of smoke.
Aemon chuckled and walked over to the dragon, patting his massive snout. Soon enough, the dragonkeepers arrived to guide the Black Dread back inside.
"Bring him two cows, he's earned it," Aemon ordered, and the keepers nodded.
Once Balerion disappeared into the pit, Harrold brought forward their horses. As before, Aemon helped her mount.
They rode back through the city streets, and Laena's thoughts returned again and again to what had happened, to her first kiss. The memory made her smile, and when at last she parted from Aemon and found Rhaenyra again, she could not hold it in. Soon, the two were chattering excitedly about every detail.
Alicent Hightower (103 A.C. Sixth Moon)
King's Landing, the Red Keep's trainingyard
Alicent sat beside the other ladies of the court, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Laena, watching her brother Ser Gwayne cross swords with Prince Aemon.
The clash had already gone on for some time, yet Alicent could see plainly that Aemon was holding back. He moved with measured restraint, careful not to humiliate her brother before so many onlookers. Still, even in play, his skill was unmistakable. He wielded two blades instead of one, and there was a grace to his movements, sharp and fluid, like a dance, just as he had been when he led Laena across the hall at the coronation feast.
Steel rang against steel, the sound echoing across the yard. Gwayne pressed forward with a grunt, sweat beading along his brow, yet Aemon deflected each strike with effortless ease. Then, in a sudden shift, the young dragon turned the tide. His grey eyes narrowed with focus, his twin blades darting in a flurry of blows that forced Gwayne back, step by step.
Aemon feinted high, then swept low, his foot hooking behind Gwayne's ankle. Disoriented, Gwayne stumbled, and with a swift twist, Aemon's second blade knocked him off balance. He fell with a thud onto the hard ground, the breath leaving him in a sharp gasp.
Before Gwayne could recover, Aemon leveled the edge of his blunted training sword against his throat.
"Yield," the prince said calmly, his tone neither cruel nor mocking.
"I yield my prince," Gwayne replied, and as the prince helped him up. The gathered crowd clapped; she gave her brother a nod. How gave a small smile.
"You both fought well, a true showing of future knights of the realm," Ser Harrold said, patting Aemon and Gwayne on the shoulders.
Before the moment could settle, another voice cut through the air.
"Ah, the wolf pup, putting down a Hightower," Prince Daemon sneered as he strode forward. He was dressed in a black gambeson clasped with gold, the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned across his chest.
"Brother," Aemon said stiffly, giving the older prince the barest of nods.
"Care for a spar, little brother? It has been too long since I crossed swords with dragon's blood, diluted as yours may be," Daemon said with a crooked grin.
"As you wish, brother. I have never sparred with a rogue before," Aemon replied, a coldness to his voice she hadn't heard before. She felt herself shiver a little.
The words rippled through the gathered crowd, and Alicent felt her cheeks warm at the brazenness.
Harrold Westerling frowned, but Aemon ignored him. "A bastard sword, Ser Harrold."
Gasps broke out as the weapon was fetched. Aemon had just demonstrated his skill with dual-wielding, but would switch in the upcoming match. She knew Aemon was skillful, yet to see him face the Rogue Prince with such steel made Alicent's stomach knot. Aemon is still a boy, if tall for age, Prince Daemon twelve years his senior.
Daemon armed himself with a longsword and shield. "Come then, pup. Show me your dragon's fire."
The clash began swiftly. Daemon pressed the attack, shield high, his sword cutting hard and fast. Aemon met him, the bastard sword ringing with every blow. The younger boy gave ground, step by step, yet his footing never faltered. His grey eyes never left Daemon, calm in a way that unsettled Alicent.
The crowd expected Daemon to finish it soon, but then, in a blur, Aemon shifted. He darted low, his blade crashing against Daemon's shin, just like Aemon had done against her brother.
The Rogue Prince stumbled, his stance broken.
Before he could recover, Aemon swung and crashed the bastard sword into Daemon's stomach with a heavy crack. Daemon doubled over, gasping for breath, his shield arm sagging.
In that instant, Aemon struck again, sending his boot against Daemon's other leg, which sent Daemon falling on his back, and when he looked up from his daze, the bastard sword's point hovered at his throat.
"Yield," Aemon said, his young voice cold and steady.
The training yard went silent. Alicent felt her pulse hammer, her breath catch in disbelief. Her brother's face was bright with delight, Laena leaned forward with pride, and Rhaenyra smirked with satisfaction. Arya and Visenya both cheered, their young voices carrying across the yard.
For a moment, Daemon's violet eyes blazed with fury. Then, with a harsh, mirthless laugh, he let his sword fall to the dirt.
"Yield," he spat, as he swallowed bitter poison.
The crowd erupted in cheers and whispers, the sound swelling like a wave.
Aemon lowered his blade and stepped back, his face calm, almost cold. "Not bad for diluted blood, hmm?" he asked evenly as Daemon pushed himself up from the ground.
Daemon's jaw clenched. "Fire in your blood, it is," he muttered darkly, before turning on his heel and striding from the yard, fury stiffening every step.
Visenya Targaryen (103 A.C. Sixth Moon)
King's Landing - Dragonpit
End of the Moon
Balerion, the Black Dread, loomed like a piece of the pit so large the dragon was, each breath stirring a storm of sparks from the torches below. Beside him lingered Grey Ghost, pale as mist, smaller but restless, his tail lashing as he stretched his wings.
She clutched her skirts tight in both hands, her palms damp. The Dragonpit was familiar to her, yet tonight it felt strange, as though the stones themselves sensed her dread. Her closest family would leave. Aemon, Arya, Rickon, and even her mother. They would fly north to Winterfell and Seadragon Point, while she remained behind in King's Landing. To become one of Rhaenyra's ladies in waiting. She knew the day would come; now that she was here, it felt wrong.
Aemon came first.
He wore dark travel leathers; his silver-golden hair had started to return since it was burned off, the hilt of his sword catching the light. Harrold Westerling, sworn shield and shadow, lingered a step behind him with helm beneath his arm, steel polished until it gleamed red in the morning sunlight.
Aemon crouched before her, lowering himself so that his violet eyes met her own. His hands, calloused from training, cupped her face. "This isn't forever, little sister."
Visenya's throat burned. "But who will I train, now. You'll be so far."
A smile, faint but sure, touched his lips. "I'm sure Laena and Rhaenyra will indulge you; you three are all dragonriders and should learn how to be proficient in combat. Also, I'll be close, in your dreams, and you'll be in mine. Take care of our older brother; he has a lot on his plate now that he is king." Aemon noted with a chuckle.
Something inside her broke. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging as though her grip could anchor him to the ground. He held her tightly, pressing his face into her hair, breathing her in as if memorizing her scent. When at last he drew back, he kissed her brow, a lingering press of warmth.
"Be strong," he whispered. Aemon gently sifted her into another set of arms.
As she looked up, she saw her mother's looking grey at her. She had been in a similar position to her own. She had been a Stark before she was a Targaryen, and had come south alone when she married their father. By all accounts, she had carried it with the quiet dignity of the North. Her grey eyes softened now as she brushed tears from her daughter's cheeks.
"You are a Stark as much as a Targaryen. I know you will hold yourself well in our absence. Also, I sent, Wind down as soon as we arrive back in Winterfell, as well as the rest of your things," she murmured. Visenya's heart swelled a little to be reunited with Wind, the horse she raised as it grew from a filly.
Visenya blinked up at her, fighting the ache in her throat. "Promise? You sent Wind."
"I swear it, my little pup. I'm proud of you." Lyanna bent and kissed her brow, holding her a moment longer before easing her back.
Then Arya came.
At six, she was all wild dark stark hair with grey eyes, her small hands sticky from the sweet she had clutched earlier. She tugged fiercely at Visenya's sleeve. "I'll write to you," she declared, her voice solemn with the weight of her promise. "About all I do, and what I learn about swordplay. You do too okay?"
Visenya laughed through her tears, the sound wobbling in her chest. She hugged her little sister close, breathing in the scent of milk and lavender, and kissed her cheek. "I shall, little sister, I will miss you."
Arya smiled and wriggled free, scampering back to Lyanna's side.
Rickon Stark was last. "I'll keep them safe, Winterfell will not be the same without you," he said, with a small smile.
Visenya nodded fiercely, her lips pressed tight. "I know. I'll miss you too, Rickon." At that, they embraced, holding each other tightly. "I'll miss you, Vis," Rickon whispered into her ear before stepping back.
Visenya watched as Aemon turned to Viserys. The brothers embraced, speaking a few quiet words that only they could hear before parting. Then Aemon stepped to Queen Aemma, who drew him briefly into her arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek. With that, he climbed onto Balerion's back, the Black Dread shifting restlessly beneath him.
"Gods keep you," Viserys called, his voice carrying through the cavern. But beneath the weight of command was something softer, almost pleading. "Fly swift and safe." He stated as everyone had mounted Balerion.
Lyanna inclined her head, while Aemon returned the nod, pride burning behind his eyes. Arya waved furiously from her mother's lap, her little hand flashing in the firelight.
Harrold Westerling swung into place behind the group, steadfast and silent. Clement Crabb followed, as did Ser Jeffery, and later Rickon's personal guard.
As they all had chained themselves. Balerion spread his wings. Shadows drowned the torches. His roar erupted, a sound so deep it seemed to split the very bones of the world. Balerion took a few steps, and The Black Dread launched. The impact of his talons cracked stone, the gale of his wings scattered sparks and sand. The ground shook, dust raining from the dome above. Grey Ghost answered with a keening shriek, pale wings spreading as he leapt to follow.
"Goodbye!" Visenya cried, her voice breaking but proud.
Viserys raised his hand once more, though the dragons were already swallowed by the morning sun.
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