In the days that followed, a curious rhythm established itself within the walls of High Tide. Each morning, as the first light of dawn streaked the eastern horizon with fingers of pale gold, Gael would slip from her chambers and make her way to the nursery, her footsteps nearly silent against the stone floors. The guards posted at the nursery door had grown accustomed to her early arrivals, offering respectful nods as they admitted her to the chamber where Laenor slept.
On the third morning of their visit, Gael entered to find the babe already awake, his tiny hands reaching upward toward nothing in particular, violet eyes wide and alert. The dragon hatchling, curled protectively at the foot of the cradle, lifted its head at her approach, amber eyes regarding her with that unnerving intelligence. For a moment, Gael hesitated, her hand frozen in mid-air as she met the creature's gaze.
"I mean him no harm," she whispered, the words falling from her lips before she could consider how foolish it might seem to address the dragon as though it could understand her. Yet something in the creature's demeanor suggested it comprehended far more than its infancy might indicate.
After a moment of assessment, the dragon lowered its head, a soft rumbling sound emanating from its throat as it settled back into its watchful repose. Gael released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and moved closer to the cradle.
"Good morning, little one," she murmured, reaching down to stroke Laenor's cheek with a gentle finger. The babe turned toward her touch, his mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise before curving into what appeared to be a smile. Something within Gael's chest tightened at the sight, a strange warmth spreading through her that was both unfamiliar and profoundly comforting.
She lifted him carefully, cradling his delicate form against her chest as she had observed Rhaenys do. His weight, slight though it was, felt significant in her arms, a tangible reminder of how fragile and precious life could be. The dragon shifted, stretching its wings before settling again, seemingly content to allow Gael this intimacy with its charge.
"Shall I tell you a story?" she asked softly, settling into the cushioned window seat that overlooked the endless expanse of the Narrow Sea. "Of Jonquil and her six maidens, perhaps? Or would you prefer something more adventurous, tales of Symeon Star-Eyes or Serwyn of the Mirror Shield?"
Laenor gazed up at her, his violet eyes seeming to pierce through her in a way that made Gael wonder if he somehow understood the weight of loneliness she carried. There was a solemnity to his infant features that belied his age, a quiet watchfulness that resonated with something deep within her own nature.
"You're a serious one, aren't you?" she whispered, tracing the delicate silver-white eyebrows that arched above his eyes. "I was the same, they say. Too solemn by half for a child."
The dragon hatchling had climbed onto the window seat beside them, its scaled body radiating a gentle warmth against Gael's side. She tentatively extended her free hand toward it, holding her breath as the creature considered her offering. After a moment's hesitation, it pressed its head against her palm, a gesture so unexpectedly tender that Gael felt tears spring to her eyes.
"I think he likes you," came Rhaenys's voice from the doorway, startling Gael from her reverie. "He tolerates few beyond Laenor and myself."
Gael moved to rise, but Rhaenys waved her back down with a gentle gesture. "No, stay. He seems content in your arms, and that is no small thing. Many infants are fussy at this hour."
"He's a peaceful child," Gael replied, her voice soft as she returned her attention to the babe. "There's a... a calmness about him that I find soothing."
Rhaenys crossed the room to join them at the window seat, her crimson robe catching the early morning light. "The maester says the same. That he possesses an unusual serenity for one so young." She reached out to stroke her son's cheek, a gesture mirroring Gael's earlier touch. "Though perhaps it is not so surprising, given his lineage. The blood of Old Valyria flows strong in him."
Gael nodded, though in truth, she had never felt particularly connected to the legacy of their ancestors. The blood of the dragon might flow in her veins, but it had never burned with the same fierce intensity that seemed to define her siblings and parents. She had always been the quiet one, the forgotten one, the afterthought in a family of giants.
Yet here, with this infant in her arms and the dragon's warmth pressed against her side, she felt something akin to belonging for the first time in her memory.
"Would you mind watching him while I break my fast?" Rhaenys asked, studying Gael's face with an expression that suggested she already knew the answer. "The wet nurse will come for his feeding shortly, but until then..."
"I would be honored," Gael replied, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice. "We were just about to begin a story, weren't we, little one?"
Laenor's tiny fingers wrapped around her own in what felt like agreement, his grip surprisingly strong for such a small being. The dragon hatchling settled more comfortably against her side, its eyes half-lidded in contentment.
Rhaenys smiled, a genuine warmth lighting her features. "Then I shall leave you to your tales. Perhaps start with Aegon the Conqueror it's never too early for a child to learn his history."
After Rhaenys departed, Gael gazed down at Laenor, who had begun to drift back into sleep, his eyelids fluttering closed over those remarkable violet eyes. "Not the Conqueror, I think," she whispered. "Not yet. Those stories have too much fire and blood for one so new to this world." Instead, she began to sing softly, an old lullaby her mother had once sung to her, about silver moons and peaceful seas and dreams as gentle as a summer breeze.
The dragon's amber eyes fixed upon her face as she sang, its head tilted slightly as if captivated by the melody. Gael felt a curious sensation as she met its gaze, a tingling awareness that crept along her spine and settled somewhere deep within her chest. For a fleeting moment, she imagined she could sense something of the creature's thoughts, not words, precisely, but impressions: warmth, curiosity, and a fierce, protective devotion to the sleeping child in her arms.
The notion was so startling that Gael's voice faltered mid-verse. The dragon made a soft sound, almost like an inquiry, and nudged her hand with its snout as if encouraging her to continue. Swallowing past the sudden tightness in her throat, she resumed her song, her voice growing stronger with each note.
As the days passed, this morning ritual became the foundation of Gael's time at High Tide. She would spend hours in the nursery, reading to Laenor from ancient tomes of Valyrian history, singing songs both old and new, or simply holding him in comfortable silence as they watched the ships passing in the distance, their sails billowing like the wings of great sea birds against the horizon.
The dragon hatchling, which Rhaenys had begun referring to as "the guardian" until Laenor was old enough to name it himself, became increasingly comfortable with Gael's presence. By the end of the first week, it would curl in her lap alongside Laenor, its scaled body surprisingly light despite its growing size. Sometimes, when she stroked the ridges along its spine, it would emit a sound reminiscent of a cat's purr, a deep, rumbling vibration that seemed to resonate through her very bones.
"He's never taken to anyone like this before," Corlys remarked one afternoon, observing from the nursery doorway as Gael sat with both child and dragon nestled against her. "Aside from Rhaenys."
Gael looked up, startled by the Sea Snake's unexpected presence. There was something assessing in his gaze that made her want to shrink into herself, to become small and unnoticed as she so often did at court. Instead, she straightened her shoulders slightly, her arms tightening protectively around Laenor.
"Perhaps he senses that I mean no harm," she offered quietly. "Dragons are said to be perceptive creatures he paused, searching for the right words. "I've always felt... different, at court. Perhaps he senses a kindred spirit."
Corlys studied her for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, his expression softened. "A perceptive observation, Princess. Dragons choose their companions with care, as do children."
After he departed, Gael gazed down at Laenor, who had awakened during their exchange. His violet eyes fixed upon her face with that uncanny focus that still startled her, even after days of such scrutiny. The emptiness that had hollowed her chest for as long as she could remember seemed to fill, degree by degree, with each moment spent in this room.
With each passing day, Gael found herself speaking to Laenor of things she had never voiced aloud, her fears, her dreams, the crushing weight of isolation that had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember. Though he was but an infant, incapable of understanding her words, there was comfort in the unburdening. The hollow ache that had resided within her chest for years seemed to ease in these quiet moments, filled instead with a warmth she had never known.
"I have always been alone," she whispered one morning, her finger tracing the delicate curve of Laenor's cheek as he dozed in her arms. "Even in rooms filled with people, I stand apart. Unseen. Unheard." The infant stirred, his tiny hand reaching up to grasp her finger with surprising strength. The dragon hatchling, curled beside them, lifted its head and emitted a soft, musical sound that seemed almost like a response to her words.
Gael felt her throat tighten with emotion. "But you see me, don't you? Both of you." The dragon stretched forward to nudge her hand with its snout, a gesture that had become familiar over the days. She stroked the scales along its neck, marveling at their smoothness beneath her fingertips. The creature's eyes half-closed in evident pleasure, a deep rumbling emanating from its chest.
Her brothers occasionally joined her in the nursery, though their visits were fleeting. Viserys would stand at the threshold, his attention divided between the child and the political discussions taking place elsewhere in the castle. He would nod absently at Gael, ask perfunctory questions about the infant's well-being, then excuse himself to return to where Baelor and Corlys debated matters of politics, shipping routes, and trade agreements.
Daemon's appearances were even more transient. He would stride in, restless energy emanating from his youthful frame, glance at the babe and the dragon with mild curiosity, then declare his intention to visit the training yards.
"Would you like to hold him?" Gael had offered once, extending Laenor toward her brother.
Daemon had taken a step back, his expression caught between amusement and alarm. "I think not, aunt. My hands are better suited to swords than swaddling cloths." He had ruffled her hair then, a gesture more appropriate for a child than a young woman, before departing with long, purposeful strides.
The revelation came as a quiet understanding that settled into her bones: she had been desperately, achingly alone. Not merely overlooked, but profoundly isolated within the walls of her own home, among her own blood. Here, in this stone chamber overlooking the restless sea, she had found something she hadn't known to seek.
Laenor's tiny fingers wrapped around her index finger, his grip surprisingly strong. The simple gesture unleashed a wave of emotion so powerful that Gael found herself blinking back tears. She brought his hand to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss against his perfect skin.
"You've quite bewitched me, little one," she whispered against his palm. "Both of you," she added, glancing at the dragon who had raised its head at her words.
The hatchling chirruped softly, a musical sound that seemed to vibrate through the air between them. It unfurled one wing, stretching it toward Gael's face with deliberate slowness. She remained perfectly still as the membranous edge brushed against her cheek, the contact so delicate it might have been imagined.
"I never thought..." she began, then stopped, unsure how to articulate the strange, burgeoning joy that had taken root within her. The dragon tilted its head, amber eyes unblinking, as if waiting for her to continue. "I never thought I would be needed," she finished simply.
That evening, as twilight painted the western sky in hues of violet and gold, Gael began penning a letter to her father. She requested permission to extend her stay at High Tide, citing Rhaenys's need for assistance with the newborn. In truth, the thought of returning to the Red Keep, to her life of quiet insignificance, filled her with a dread so profound it made her hands tremble as she sealed the parchment.
But as her quill hovered above the parchment, Gael paused. The letter seemed suddenly cold, formal, an entreaty to a king rather than a father. Would he even read it himself, or would it pass through the hands of countless scribes and stewards before reaching him? And if it did reach him, would he see the desperation beneath her carefully chosen words?
Gael rose from her writing desk and moved to the window, gazing out at the darkening sky. The first stars had begun to appear, diamonds scattered across violet silk. Her mother would still be awake, perhaps reading by candlelight as was her custom in the evenings. Alysanne had always been her refuge, her shelter from the storm of courtly life that had never truly welcomed her.
The corridors of High Tide were quiet as Gael made her way to her mother's chambers. Unlike the Red Keep, with its perpetual undercurrent of whispers and schemes, this place held a peace that resonated within her. No eyes following her movements, measuring her worth and finding her wanting. No courtiers with honeyed words and viper hearts.
She paused outside her mother's door, gathering her courage before knocking softly.
"Enter," came Alysanne's gentle voice.
The Queen sat by the hearth, a book open in her lap, her silver-gold hair unbound and falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She looked up as Gael entered, her violet eyes, so like her daughter's, warming with affection.
"My sweet child," she said, setting aside her book. "What brings you here at this hour?"
Gael crossed the room and knelt at her mother's feet, a position she had taken countless times throughout her life when seeking comfort or counsel. "Mother, I..." she began, then faltered, uncertain how to articulate the longing that had taken root in her heart.
Alysanne reached out, stroking Gael's silver-white hair with a tender hand. "Speak freely, my dear. Your thoughts are safe with me."
"I wish to stay," Gael whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Here, at High Tide. Not forever, but... longer. There is something here that I've never found at court." She looked up into her mother's face, searching for understanding. "I feel seen here. Needed, even. I feel accepted here in a way that..." She swallowed, unable to finish.
Alysanne's eyes softened with understanding. She had always been Gael's only true companion, the one constant in a life marked by isolation. The queen cupped her daughter's face between her palms, studying her with a gaze that seemed to penetrate to the very core of Gael's being.
"You've found something precious here, haven't you?" she asked softly. "Something beyond the walls and waters."
Gael nodded, unable to speak past the tightness in her throat. How could she explain the transformation that had begun within her? The way the emptiness had started to fill, day by day, hour by hour, with each moment spent in Laenor's nursery?
"Rhaenys has been kind," she managed at last. "And Corlys too, in his way. But it's the babe and his dragon that have... claimed me, somehow." She looked down at her hands, remembering the weight of Laenor in her arms, the warmth of the dragon against her side. "I've never belonged anywhere as I do in that nursery."
Alysanne was silent for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. When she spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. "I am happy to do so, my dear child, but we must discuss with Rhaenys beforehand."
Relief flooded through Gael, making her light-headed. "Truly? You think she might agree?"
"I believe she values your presence more than you know," Alysanne replied, tucking a strand of hair behind Gael's ear. "I've watched you these past days. You move differently here, as if you've shed a weight you've carried all your life."
Gael hadn't realized her mother had been observing her so closely. "The Red Keep has always felt... suffocating," she admitted. "Here, I can breathe."
"And that is why I will speak with Rhaenys on your behalf," Alysanne said. "A mother recognizes when her child has found a place of healing." She smiled, a hint of sadness touching her eyes. "Though I shall miss you terribly."
"You could visit," Gael suggested, hope blossoming in her chest. "Or perhaps I could return for short periods. I don't wish to abandon my duties entirely, only..."
"Only to find your own path," Alysanne finished for her. "As all children must eventually do." She sighed, her fingers tracing the contours of Gael's face as if committing them to memory. "You've always been different from your siblings, quieter, more observant. Perhaps your destiny lies not in the shadow of the Iron Throne, but here, by the sea."
Gael leaned into her mother's touch, overwhelmed by gratitude. "When will you speak with Rhaenys?"
"Tomorrow," Alysanne promised. "After the morning meal. Now, tell me more about this dragon that has so captivated you."
Later, returning to her own chambers, Gael felt lighter than she had in years. The prospect of remaining at High Tide filled her with a quiet joy that seemed to illuminate her from within. She paused at her window, gazing out at the moonlit sea stretching endlessly toward the horizon.
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The following morning dawned clear and bright, sunlight streaming through the windows of High Tide and casting long golden fingers across the stone floors. Gael woke early, her heart fluttering with a nervous anticipation. She dressed with care, selecting a gown of pale blue that her mother had once remarked brought out the violet of her eyes.
She found Alysanne already awake, breaking her fast on fresh bread and honey in her chambers. Her mother looked up with a smile as Gael entered, patting the seat beside her in silent invitation.
"You look lovely this morning," Alysanne observed, her eyes warm with affection. "Did you sleep well?"
"Hardly at all," Gael admitted, accepting a piece of bread but finding herself too anxious to eat. "I kept thinking of what we might say to Rhaenys, how we might phrase our request."
Alysanne covered her daughter's hand with her own. "Speak from your heart, my dear. That is always the most persuasive language."
When they had finished their meal, or in Gael's case, pushed food around her plate, they made their way through the winding corridors of High Tide toward Rhaenys's solar. The castle was already alive with activity, servants bustling about their morning duties, the distant clang of the practice yard echoing through the open windows.
Rhaenys received them in a spacious chamber overlooking the sea, its walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting naval battles and dragon flights. She rose as they entered, her expression brightening with genuine pleasure.
"Grandmother, Princess Gael," she greeted them, gesturing toward comfortable chairs arranged near a hearth where a small fire took the morning chill from the air. "What a delightful surprise to receive you so early."
Gael glanced at her mother, her courage faltering now that the moment had arrived. Alysanne gave her an encouraging nod.
"Grandaughter," Alysanne began, her voice gentle but direct, "we have come with a matter we wish to discuss with you, a proposal of sorts, regarding Gael."
Rhaenys's gaze shifted to Gael, curious and attentive. "I am all ears, Grandmother."
"Gael has found great contentment here at High Tide," Alysanne continued. "Particularly in her time spent with young Laenor. We, that is, Gael, wondered if you might consider allowing her to extend her stay. Not as a visitor, but perhaps in some more... formal capacity."
Gael's hands twisted in her lap, her eyes fixed on them as if they might provide the words she needed. When she finally looked up, she found Rhaenys studying her with an expression that seemed both thoughtful and knowing.
"It would be our pleasure to host you, Gael," Rhaenys said, her voice warm and sincere. "I can see how Laenor and his dragon have taken to you. No wet nurse is willing to come close to Laenor while his dragon is around, and the little creature barely tolerates anyone aside from me, yet it curls beside you as if you were its own."
Relief washed through Gael like a wave, leaving her momentarily speechless. "Truly?" she managed at last, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Truly," Rhaenys affirmed with a smile. "Another helping hand with Laenor would be most welcome. The babe seems to find comfort in your presence, and I confess, it eases my mind to know he has someone who cares for him so genuinely when my duties take me elsewhere."
Alysanne reached for Gael's hand, squeezing it gently. "Perhaps a trial period would be appropriate? To ensure the arrangement suits all parties."
"A sensible suggestion," Rhaenys agreed. "Though I have little doubt it will prove beneficial for all concerned." Her violet eyes, so like Gael's own, held a glint of understanding. "Particularly for Laenor, who seems to have claimed you as his own already."
"Thank you," Gael whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I promise I will care for him as if he were my own blood."
"He is your blood," Rhaenys reminded her gently. "And blood calls to blood, does it not?"
The conversation turned to practical matters then, Gael's chambers would need to be prepared for a longer stay, her belongings brought from King's Landing, her duties at court reassigned. Through it all, Gael sat in a state of quiet wonder, scarcely able to believe that the longing she had carried for so long might finally find its fulfillment.
When they left Rhaenys's solar, Gael felt as though she were walking in a dream, her steps light upon the stone floors. Outside, the sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon, its surface glittering with sunlight.
"Are you happy, my sweet?" Alysanne asked softly, linking her arm through Gael's as they walked.
"Yes," Gael replied, the simple word inadequate to express the fullness in her heart. "I never thought... I never imagined I might find a place where I truly belong."
"Every bird must find its own branch," Alysanne murmured, her eyes distant as she gazed out toward the sea. "Even those born to the highest nests."
They paused by a window overlooking the courtyard below, where Corlys stood with several of his captains, gesturing toward a map spread between them. The Sea Snake looked up, as if sensing their presence, and offered a brief nod of acknowledgment before returning to his discussion.
"Will Father be angry?" Gael asked suddenly, the thought piercing through her happiness like a cold wind.
Alysanne's expression hardened, the softness in her violet eyes crystallizing into something fierce and unyielding. Her back straightened, her shoulders squared, and in that moment, Gael saw not her gentle mother but the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the woman who had ruled alongside Jaehaerys for decades with a will of Valyrian steel beneath her silken exterior.
"Do not concern yourself with your father," Alysanne said, her voice low but resonant with authority. "He will answer to me in this matter."
The words hung in the air between them, a declaration that brooked no argument.
"But Father rarely—" she began.
"Rarely denies me when I truly set my mind to something," Alysanne finished, her tone softening slightly though her posture remained regal. "Jaehaerys may sit the Iron Throne, but he has learned over the years that certain battles are not worth fighting." A small, knowing smile touched her lips. "Particularly those concerning the happiness of our children."
Gael had never thought of her parents' relationship in such terms, had never considered that beneath the formal harmony of their public personas might lie a more complex dynamic of power and compromise. The realization that her mother wielded influence even over the King himself was strangely comforting.
"I had always thought..." she hesitated, searching for the right words. "I had always believed that Father's word was absolute, even within our family."
Alysanne's laugh was soft, almost musical. "Oh, my sweet, naive child. No man's word is absolute, not even a king's, not when he values peace in his household." She reached out to smooth a strand of Gael's silver-white hair. "Your father and I have had our share of disagreements over the years. Some I have conceded, others..." Her eyes glinted with something that might have been pride. "Others I have won through persistence and reason."
They resumed their walk along the corridor, the morning sunlight casting their shadows long against the stone walls. Gael found herself studying her mother with new eyes, seeing dimensions to her character that had previously been invisible.
"When will you return to King's Landing?" Gael finally asked, reluctant to voice the question but needing to know how much time remained before her mother's departure.
"In a fortnight," Alysanne replied. "Your father expects the Dornish envoy by the moon's turn, and I should be present for their arrival." She squeezed Gael's hand. "But I shall return to visit before the autumn storms make the journey more perilous. And perhaps by then, you will have more to show me of this new life you are building."
Gael nodded, a lump forming in her throat at the thought of her mother's departure. Despite the joy she had found at High Tide, the prospect of being separated from her mother, her confidant, brought a pang of sorrow.
"I shall miss you terribly," she admitted, her voice barely audible.
"And I you," Alysanne replied, drawing Gael into a warm embrace. "But this separation is different from those that have come before. This time, you are not being left behind or set aside. You are choosing your own path, claiming your own place in the world." She pulled back slightly, her hands on Gael's shoulders as she looked directly into her eyes. "There is power in such a choice, my daughter. Never forget that."
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Four days after Alysanne's promise, the morning tranquility of High Tide shattered with a servant's urgent knock at Gael's chamber door. The young woman's face was pale with worry as she delivered her message: Prince Viserys had collapsed during his morning ride.
Gael rushed through the corridors, her heart hammering against her ribs. She found her family gathered in Viserys's chambers, their faces drawn with concern. Her brother lay motionless upon the bed, his silver-gold hair splayed across the pillows, his skin ashen and beaded with sweat. The royal maester bent over him, fingers pressed to Viserys's wrist, his expression grave.
"What happened?" Gael whispered, moving to stand beside her mother.
Alysanne shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "He was riding along the cliffs when he suddenly fell from his mount. The guards brought him back immediately, but he has not awakened since."
Gael studied her brother's face. She had never seen Viserys look so vulnerable, so mortal. His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths, his eyelids fluttering as if caught in some disturbing dream.
"Is it serious?" she asked the maester, her voice small in the hushed room.
"A fever, certainly," the man replied without looking up. "Beyond that, I cannot yet say."
Daemon paced near the window, his tall frame tense with restless energy. His usual mask of indifference had slipped, revealing genuine worry beneath. He caught Gael watching him and stilled, his jaw tightening.
"He will recover," Daemon stated, as if his certainty alone could make it so. "Viserys has always been stronger than he appears."
Corlys and Rhaenys entered then, their expressions somber. "I've sent for a healer from the village," Corlys announced. "She has knowledge of local remedies that might supplement the maester's efforts."
Through the long hours of that day, they maintained their vigil. Servants came and went, bringing fresh linens, cool water, medicinal teas. The village healer arrived with her basket of herbs and tinctures, working alongside the maester in tense silence. Viserys's condition remained unchanged. neither improving nor worsening, suspended in some precarious balance between health and decline.
When dawn broke, Viserys's fever still raged. Daemon had taken to standing at the chamber window, staring out at the sea as if it might offer some solution to their predicament. Alysanne remained by the bed, her fingers working ceaselessly at her embroidery, though Gael noted the patterns made little sense, betraying her distraction.
It was mid-morning when the messenger arrived, his clothes travel-stained, his expression grim. He bore a sealed parchment marked with the royal sigil. Corlys received it, breaking the seal with careful fingers. His face remained impassive as he read, but something in his posture shifted, a subtle stiffening that sent a chill down Gael's spine.
"What is it?" Alysanne asked, setting aside her needlework.
Corlys looked up, his weathered face solemn. "Balerion is dead."
The words fell into the room like stones into still water, rippling outward with implications none of them could yet fully grasp. Balerion, the Black Dread, the last living creature to have seen Old Valyria in its glory, gone.
"When?" Baelon demanded, crossing the room in three long strides.
"Three days past," Corlys replied, his eyes moving to Viserys's unconscious form. "The king requests your immediate return to King's Landing for the funeral rites."
Gael watched her mother's face, saw the conflict there, duty to her husband and crown warring with maternal concern for her grandson. Finally, Alysanne nodded, her expression hardening into the queenly mask Gael had glimpsed days earlier.
"Make the preparations," she commanded. "We depart on the morrow."
That evening, a change came over Viserys. The sweat that had soaked his bedding for days began to cool, his breathing deepened, and the flush of fever slowly faded from his cheeks. By midnight, the maester confirmed what they had begun to hop, the fever had broken at last.
Dawn brought a transformed chamber. Sunlight streamed through hastily opened curtains, illuminating Viserys propped against his pillows, pale but alert, accepting a cup of broth from a relieved servant. Baelon stood at the foot of the bed, his weathered face alight with relief, one hand resting on Daemon's shoulder as if to steady himself against the tide of emotion.
"You gave us quite a fright, my son," Baelon said, his voice gruff with feeling.
Viserys managed a weak smile. "Forgive me, Father. It was not my intention."
Daemon stepped closer to the bed, his usual swagger tempered by genuine concern. He studied his brother's face, searching for something beyond the obvious signs of recovery.
"Do you remember anything?" he asked abruptly. "Of your illness?"
The chamber quieted. Even the servants stilled their movements, attention drawn by the unusual gravity in Daemon's voice.
Viserys frowned, his gaze distant. "Dreams," he said after a moment. "Strange dreams of fire and darkness. And Balerion..." He looked up at Baelon, a vulnerability in his eyes. "I felt him die, father. Before we received the news, I knew. I felt it here." He pressed a hand to his chest.
Baelon's face paled. "How is that possible?" he whispered.
"I don't know," Viserys admitted. "But in my fever, I saw through his eyes. Felt his ancient heart falter and stop. His last breath was mine."
A heavy silence descended upon the chamber. Gael shivered despite the warmth of the morning. She had heard tales of the bond between dragon and rider, but never had she imagined it could transcend death itself.
Preparations began at once. Servants rushed to gather belongings, stable boys readied the horses, and the Targaryen dragons, sensing their riders' urgency, grew restless in their temporary dwelling on the cliffs above High Tide.
Amid the flurry of activity, Alysanne found Gael in the nursery, cradling Laenor while his dragon perched watchfully on the windowsill.
"You've made your choice, then?" her mother asked softly.
Gael nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The thought of leaving High Tide, of abandoning this newfound purpose, filled her with a dread so profound it felt like physical pain.
"I will tell your father," Alysanne promised, crossing the room to press a kiss to Gael's forehead. "And I shall visit when I can."
"Thank you," Gael whispered, leaning into her mother's touch for what might be the last time in many months.
Outside, the dragons Vhagar and Silverwing roared their impatience, the sound vibrating through the stone walls of High Tide. Gael followed her mother to the courtyard, Laenor still in her arms, his dragon clinging to her shoulder like a scaled, winged cat.
The farewell was brief. Viserys, still weak but determined, mounted his horse with Daemon's assistance. Baelon embraced Rhaenys, exchanging a few quiet words before turning to Gael.
"Be well, sister," he said, his eyes lingering on the dragon perched upon her shoulder. Something like understanding passed across his face, too quickly for Gael to interpret.
Then they were gone, riding toward the cliffs where their dragons awaited. Gael watched them grow smaller in the distance, a strange mixture of loss and liberation swelling within her chest.
Rhaenys came to stand beside her, Corlys a step behind. "So you remain with us," Rhaenys observed, her tone neither questioning nor disapproving.
"If you'll have me," Gael replied, shifting Laenor in her arms as he began to fuss.
"We would be honored," Corlys said, surprising her with his formality. "High Tide welcomes you as its own, Princess Gael."
Above them, dragons took flight, their massive wings casting brief shadows across the courtyard. Gael watched them climb into the clear blue sky, growing smaller until they were no more than distant specks against the horizon.
The dragon on her shoulder chirruped softly, as if in farewell to its larger kin. Laenor's tiny hand reached up, grasping at a lock of Gael's silver-white hair. She looked down at him, at his solemn violet eyes.
"We're home," she whispered, the words both a promise and a prayer.
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Hope you enjoy the chapter!
Also if you want to see artwork of Rhaenys Targaryen, Corlys Velaryon, Gael Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, you can head over to my P. a. t. r. e. o. n to check them out.
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