The Rogue Princess

Her brother doted on both of their children, though Rhaenyra in particular was his favourite. The little girl was no doubt the most spoiled child in all of Westeros, with dresses, jewels and toys heaped upon her by her father. In turn, Rhaenyra adored Viserys. Though no amount of jewels in the world would keep from her flying with her mother on Caraxes, her own smaller young dragon Syrax fighting to keep up.

Then came the fateful day.

"I want to ride her," Her seven-year-old daughter said, knowing better than to pout and whine with Daena, where such techniques would have worked on Viserys. "Please, Mother, she's more than big enough, and I'm more ready than I've ever been for anything, ever,"

Daena considered the creature. Syrax was certainly strong enough. Dragons grew incredibly fast in those first few years, and Syrax would be able to bear a child's weight with ease. No, it was Rhaenyra who was the limiting factor. Daena had claimed Caraxes at eleven, which was young to risk riding an already grown dragon. Syrax had been with her daughter since the cradle, and had never had any previous rider. Still, though... Daena was not accustomed to feelings such as nerves, but the idea of her daughter taking to the skies gave her a twinge of anxiety. 

That was what made up her mind. Daena would not wrap her children in silk and coddle them like a mother hen, like Queen Alysanne had done to Gael. Rhaenyra was a dragon. Daena had been teaching her to ride since birth.

"Yes, I believe you are," She said, and called for a saddle.

Her daughter was as good as buzzing with excitement as the dragonkeepers saddled her yellow dragon.

"Are you sure, Your Grace?" One asked Daena. "The Princess is very young,"

"Then she will be the youngest dragonrider our house has ever seen," Daena shrugged.

No doubt one of them would have gone to tell Viserys, however - who would keep his precious daughter firmly on the ground - so Daena hastened to check the chains on the saddle, and question Rhaenyra on the specifics of flying, the Valyrian commands. The girl already knew them, had known for years, but better safe than sorry. She would be there herself, of course, ready with Caraxes. That first leap, however, was Rhaenyra's to make alone.

"Sōvēs, Syrax,"

She needn't have feared. If Daena had realised she would kill for her daughter when Syrax hatched in her cradle, she realised she would die for Rhaenyra the first time she saw her take to the skies on the back of her own dragon.

The little girl let out a joyous whoop of glee, which Daena could hear from all the way on Caraxes. Her own smile was wider than she could ever remember it being since her mother died, and she was so proud she thought her heart might burst out of her chest. They flew over Blackwater Bay in the morning sunlight, swooping high to catch the upper winds. If Daena had her way, her daughter would be as free and unburdened as this moment for her whole life. 

Not for the first time, she considered taking her and Baelon from the Red Keep. Not forever, of course - Baelon was the heir, and must be known at court - but for some months, perhaps a year. They could tour the Free Cities, something Daena had wanted to do for years, though marriage, motherhood and expectations had prevented her. They could even visit the various keeps of Westeros, to placate Viserys and the council. She and her children could see the world. Baelon would no doubt become a better king from such experience. And they would be hers, at least for a time, not Viserys', not the court's, not the kingdom's. Hers.

The weather was glorious, that morning. Daena could even see the shadow of Dragonstone far on the horizon. Part of her wished to go all the way there and keep her daughter's achievement to herself, though that flight was hours long, and she did not want Rhaenyra or Syrax too tired.