From Storms to Thrones (Part 1)

Rhaenyra moved through the shattered village like a storm bound not by chaos, but by a quiet, unbreakable resolve. The weight of her fury didn't manifest in instilling fear or retribution, as many might have expected; instead, it forged her into something even more formidable. Every step she took drew the eyes of soldiers and villagers alike, her presence undeniable. In one arm, she cradled the sleeping child, her small head resting gently against Rhaenyra's chest, while her other hand gripped the hilt of her sword.

It was a sight that took the breath from your lungs.

I watched in silence as Rhaenyra ordered the soldiers to help the villagers, their bewilderment palpable as they obeyed, torn between their fear of the dragons watching from the shadows and their awe of the queen herself. The Cannibal stood ever-present, his dark, massive form casting a long shadow over the village, while Syrax kept a constant, watchful gaze. The soldiers moved swiftly under their careful scrutiny, not daring to challenge Rhaenyra's orders.

The villagers, who had been beaten down and terrified, slowly began to see Rhaenyra for what she was—not the tyrant they had feared, but someone who felt their pain, who understood their loss. As she moved among them, speaking softly, tending to their wounded with the child in her arms, she became something more than a ruler. She became one of them. And in that, she won their respect, not just because of her title or blood, but because she cared.

It was clear to all who saw it: she hadn't ordered this massacre.

It took hours to put out the fires, to tend to the wounded, and respectfully dispose of the dead.  There was a hush over the village, a reverence that even the dragons seemed to feel as they watched Rhaenyra work.

The only time she set the little girl down was when the last body was pulled from the rubble—the child's mother.

The moment the body emerged from beneath the wreckage, Rhaenyra's expression changed. The mask of control faltered for just a second as she gently handed the baby over to me, the little girl whimpering in protest. I held her close, trying to soothe her as Rhaenyra stepped forward.

She oversaw the recovery personally, kneeling beside the lifeless form of the woman who had perished in the wreckage. Her hands, steady but somber, cradled the body as she lifted the woman into her arms. The soldiers hesitated, wanting to help but not daring to intervene. One started to speak, but Rhaenyra silenced him with a single, cold look.

The woman's body, limp and pale, was treated with a care that left me speechless. Rhaenyra carried her through the village, her steps slow and deliberate, and every eye followed her. The silence was overwhelming, filled only with the crackle of dying fires and the occasional whimper of grief from the villagers. Even the soldiers had fallen into a respectful quiet as Rhaenyra walked the woman to the pyre—a monstrous pile of bodies, far too large for any village to ever deserve.

With tenderness that spoke of her own sorrow, Rhaenyra set the woman's body down at the top of the pile. She adjusted the woman's clothing, her fingers trembling as she smoothed the fabric, ensuring she looked peaceful, dignified. She brushed the woman's blonde hair from her face, her touch gentle and reverent. The queen leaned down and kissed the woman's forehead, her lips moving in a whisper of High Valyrian.

I could hear the words, though they were too quiet to understand fully even if I knew the language.  But it sounded like a prayer, or perhaps a promise.

Rhaenyra stepped back from the pyre, her face set in stone once again. She returned to me, her expression unreadable as she took the baby girl from my arms. The child fussed briefly, then settled, comforted by the warmth and security of Rhaenyra's embrace.

The villagers and soldiers alike watched in rapt silence as Rhaenyra raised her voice once more in High Valyrian, calling out to Syrax and the Cannibal. Her voice echoed through the stillness, and both dragons responded immediately, their massive forms lumbering forward. Even the Cannibal, seemed subdued in this moment, as if he, too, understood the gravity of what was about to happen.