The Dragonpit was alive with a restless energy as Rhaenyra and I approached, our footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls. The air was thick with the heat and smell of the dragons, their roars and hisses mingling with the shouts and clamor of the Dragontrainers who were desperately trying to calm the massive beasts.
The Cannibal and Syrax were already saddled and ready, their scales glistening under the dim light. The Cannibal, with his dark, menacing eyes and imposing size, was particularly agitated. His massive form shifted uneasily, and the hissing sound he made was a low, rumbling threat. Syrax, though slightly less intimidating, was no less volatile. Her eyes glowed with an unspoken intensity, her powerful wings twitching as she growled softly.
Rhaenyra's face was set in a determined expression as she walked toward them, her resolve unwavering despite the chaotic scene. I followed closely, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity.
"Why are we going to Harrenhal?" I asked her, keeping my voice low to be heard over the cacophony of the dragons and the trainers' shouts.
Rhaenyra glanced sidelong at me, her eyes betraying a flicker of worry despite her stoic demeanor.
"I received word from Lord Strong. Things have gotten out of control there," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "Daemon is claiming he is the king, gathering men under his name—not mine. The longer I let this go, the bigger the problem becomes."
Her words hung heavy in the air, their gravity settling over us like a shroud. I could see the strain in her eyes, the burden of leadership and the weight of Daemon's defiance pressing down on her. The idea of Daemon, with his propensity for chaos and ambition, rallying men to his cause was a threat that could not be ignored.
We reached the dragons, and the trainers stepped aside, their expressions a mixture of relief and concern as they moved out of our way. Rhaenyra's hand went to Syrax's scales, and the dragon's growl softened at her touch.
The Cannibal, however, continued to snarl and shift, his impatience palpable. Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her gaze steady as she prepared to mount Syrax.
"This is a necessary move," she said, her voice steady as she glanced at me. "Harrenhal is not just a symbol of power. If Daemon is allowed to solidify his claim, it could fracture everything we've worked for. We need to show strength, and we need to remind those who might waver where true authority lies."
Her resolve was clear, and though I could sense the apprehension beneath her calm exterior, I understood the necessity of the situation. The realm's stability was at stake, and if Daemon's actions were allowed to go unchecked, the consequences could be dire.
As we prepared to mount the dragons, the air around us crackled with tension and the electric anticipation of the upcoming flight. I could feel the heat from the dragons' bodies, the powerful thrum of their wings as they prepared to take flight.
Rhaenyra gave me a quick, reassuring nod before swinging herself up onto Syrax's back. I followed suit.
As I climbed the makeshift rope ladder to mount the Cannibal, I was expecting to find the familiar brown saddle of Vermithor. Instead, my hands brushed against something new—a saddle as black as midnight, seamlessly blending with the dragon's own dark scales. The leather smelled of fresh tanning, and the war straps gleamed with a new polish, each buckle and strap meticulously prepared. The craftsmanship was flawless, the saddle designed for both form and function.
I took a moment to absorb the sight, feeling a wave of both surprise and curiosity. When I glanced over at Rhaenyra, she met my gaze with a raised eyebrow. The message was clear: I could almost still feel her anger from when Vermithor's saddle had failed me, nearly causing me to fall to my death. She wasn't taking any chances this time.
I settled into the new saddle, feeling its secure fit and the comfort it provided. It was evident that the extra effort put into this was to ensure my safety, and a rush of appreciation mingled with the tension.
With our dragons ready, the air around us charged with anticipation, I tightened my grip on the pummels of the saddle.
"Ready?" Rhaenyra called, her voice cutting through the clamor.
I nodded, my focus sharpening. "Ready."
With a final, shared glance, we urged our dragons into motion. The Cannibal and Syrax surged forward, their wings beating powerfully against the air, lifting us from the ground and into the sky. Below us, the lights of the Dragonstone faded, and the world shrank away, leaving us with the weight of what lay ahead.
We soared through the skies, the wind biting at our faces as the Cannibal and Syrax cut through the clouds with powerful, rhythmic beats of their wings. The landscape below blurred into a patchwork of green and brown, but my eyes were fixed ahead, where the Riverlands stretched out in the distance. We would reach them before nightfall, and the thought gnawed at me.
***
The sun, now starting to dip beneath the horizon, felt like a countdown—each fading ray of light marking the moments until we came face-to-face with Daemon once more.
The last time I saw him, I was mere seconds from death. Whether by his sword or his dragon, Caraxes, I hadn't been sure, but the murderous intent in Daemon's eyes was unmistakable. He had no hesitation about snuffing out my life. The memory still sent a chill through me, my body tensing involuntarily at the thought of it. The only reason I was still alive—still breathing and here, flying toward him—was because of the Cannibal.
The great black beast beneath me had saved me that day. I glanced down at the dragon now, his massive wings beating steadily, his dark scales blending into the growing shadows of the evening. Together, we had weathered and survived the perilous path that had led us to this moment.
My resolve had hardened with each beat of the Cannibal's wings, each shared glance and synchronized movement. We were bound by a common goal—to see Rhaenyra ascend the Iron Throne and ensure that dragonkind flourished under her reign.
The once-terrifying beast beneath me had become a symbol of our determination. My fear had transformed into a steadfast commitment, a resolve to change fate alongside him. As we soared toward the Riverlands, the Cannibal's steady, rhythmic flight was a reminder of our mission—one that transcended fear and embraced the power of our united purpose.
Together, we were more than a rider and dragon; we were a force poised to reshape the destiny of Westeros. And as the horizon darkened with the approach of night, our shared resolve shone brighter than ever.
Ahead, Rhaenyra flew on Syrax, her posture determined, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She hadn't said much since we left the Dragonstone, but the tension in her shoulders and the steady grip on her reins told me everything I needed to know. This wasn't just about Daemon's claim to the throne—it was personal. And I knew, deep down, that no matter how much she tried to mask it, Rhaenyra's emotions were tangled in this just as much as mine.
The sun dipped lower, the sky awash with hues of pink and orange. Soon, night would fall, and with it, the inevitable confrontation. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. Daemon had always been a force of chaos, and this time, I had no illusions that he would be any less dangerous.
As the wind whipped around me, I tightened my grip on the the pommels of the saddle, feeling the steady pulse of his strength beneath me. Whatever waited for us at Harrenhal, I would face it head-on.
And this time, I wouldn't be caught off guard.
Suddenly, Rhaenyra banked sharply to the left, and I watched her go, my heart leaping into my throat as I followed her trajectory. My eyes caught sight of black smoke billowing in the distance, thick and ominous. The Cannibal, always attuned to Syrax's movements, followed immediately, his massive form turning effortlessly in the air. I stiffened in the saddle, feeling the tension build as we chased the smoke.
We came upon a small village, and the scene below was chaos. Flames consumed the structures, their orange tongues licking the sky, while men clashed with swords in the village center. Fields were ablaze, livestock ran in terror, and even through the roar of the wind in my ears, I could hear the screams, piercing and desperate.
Ahead of me, I watched as Rhaenyra scanned the battle below, her sharp eyes narrowing as they landed on something that made her shout out to Syrax in Valyrian. Without hesitation, Syrax dipped into a death-defying dive, plummeting toward the ground in a near-vertical drop. My heart seized as I watched, but just before hitting the ground, the dragon pulled up and landed with a deafening thud, dust and debris flying up around them.
The Cannibal followed immediately, mirroring Syrax's maneuver with terrifying precision. My stomach bottomed out as the ground rushed up toward us, the air roaring past my ears. He hit the ground with such force that the men fighting in the streets staggered to regain their footing. The battle came to a sudden pause, every pair of eyes snapping toward us in stunned silence.
Rhaenyra dismounted Syrax with purpose, her face set like stone. She drew her sword from its sheath, the unmistakable sound of steel ringing out into the chaos. Her gaze swept over the men, who watched her warily, fear and awe written across their faces. I climbed down from the Cannibal, my feet hitting the ground with a jolt, and instinctively my hand went to my own sword. I was nowhere near as skilled as Rhaenyra or Rhaenys, but I could defend myself if needed.
As Rhaenyra stepped into the center of the battlefield, I took in the devastation around us.
Buildings were burning, the air thick with smoke and the stench of death. Bodies littered the ground—too many. It was only when I looked closer that the true horror hit me. These weren't soldiers. My breath caught in my throat as I realized the bodies weren't even all men. Among the dead were women—and children. My stomach twisted violently as the realization settled over me like a shroud.
This wasn't just a battle—it was a massacre.
Rhaenyra turned, taking in the full extent of the carnage, her eyes scanning the scene with a sharp, calculating focus. Then she stopped, her gaze zeroing in on someone. I followed her line of sight and saw what had caught her attention from the sky: a soldier standing amidst the chaos, holding a banner. The banner was black, emblazoned with the unmistakable sigil of the three-headed dragon, red against the dark fabric—Rhaenyra's colors.
These were Rhaenyra's soldiers.
I glanced at her, seeing the fury building in her eyes. Her face was a mask of cold rage, her lips pressed into a thin line as she marched forward with deliberate steps. She held her sword out, pointing directly at the soldier with the banner.
"Who ordered this?" Her voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the smoky air. The men around her recoiled slightly, uncertainty rippling through them as Rhaenyra's gaze bore into the soldier.
The soldier clutching the banner flinched visibly as Rhaenyra's gaze locked onto him, the weight of her wrath palpable in the air. His knuckles whitened around the fabric, as if it might shield him from the storm of her anger. He hesitated, shifting nervously, his eyes darting between her fiery gaze and the men around him, who had begun to tense at the mounting tension.
"It—it was Daemon, Your Grace," he stammered, his voice trembling. "The King gave the orders."
Rhaenyra's face hardened, the delicate beauty of her features twisted into a mask of cold rage. Her knuckles turned ashen as she tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, her anger so palpable it seemed to radiate from her. "The King?" she spat, her voice edged with an icy venom that cut through the acrid smoke filling the air. She gestured with her blade, the steel gleaming in the flickering light of the burning village. "He ordered this carnage? Under my banner?"
The soldier swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively. He nodded, his fear evident in the way his gaze darted between Rhaenyra and the chaotic scene around them.
"He said we were to bring the village to heel," he managed to stammer, his voice barely more than a whisper now.
"To heel?" Rhaenyra echoed, her voice dangerously soft. The words hung in the air like a chilling portent. "This is slaughter," she said, her tone dropping to a low, lethal whisper. Her eyes narrowed, her gaze boring into the soldier with a ferocity that seemed to scorch the very earth beneath her feet.
She advanced on him, her sword still raised, the blade catching the dying light of the day and reflecting it with a menacing gleam. The soldier's bravado crumbled as he took an involuntary step back, his bravado melting away under the weight of her gaze. The fear in his eyes was a stark contrast to the once unwavering confidence he had displayed. Rhaenyra's fury was a tempest, and in its wake, there was nothing left but the ashes of arrogance and the cold promise of justice.
I stood frozen, my hand tightening on the hilt of my sword. The weight of the moment hung heavy, the cold truth settling in the pit of my stomach. Daemon had done this. He had used Rhaenyra's name, her power, to commit this atrocity.
Rhaenyra stopped just short of the man, her eyes ablaze with a fury so intense it seemed to scorch the air around her. I couldn't make out what she said, her voice low and steady, but whatever words left her lips drained the blood from the man's face. He turned white, his grip on the banner slackening as the full weight of her anger bore down on him.
I started to approach her, hoping to find out what her next move would be, when a sound I knew all too well pierced the heavy silence—a baby's cry.
My heart lurched, and instinctively my eyes followed the sound. Without a second thought, my feet moved swiftly, carrying me toward the source. I pushed past debris and burning rubble, making my way to the unmistakable form of a woman lying on her side near a collapsing, flaming building.
The cries grew louder as I got closer, each wail cutting through the smoke and destruction, pulling me forward with urgency. My heart raced, and as I reached the woman, I saw what I dreaded—a small bundle in her arms, the baby squirming and crying out for a mother who could no longer respond.
I hurried to the woman's side, pushing aside the debris with shaking hands. The baby's cries grew more desperate as I approached, their sound mingling with the crackling flames and distant shouts of battle.
The woman lay still, her face obscured by the dirt and soot of the burning village. Her body was sprawled awkwardly, and I could see the blood soaking through her clothes, staining the ground beneath her. I gently pried the baby from her limp arms, my heart aching at the sight of the tiny bundle.
The baby—a little girl, was no older than four months old, wrapped in a bloodied swaddling cloth that clung to the infant's fragile skin. The poor thing's face was streaked with the blood of its mother, eyes wide and tearful. I carefully untangled the cloth, my fingers trembling as I tried to clean the blood away from the baby's delicate features.
I held her close, trying to offer comfort amidst the chaos. The baby's cries were piercing and relentless, a stark contrast to the deathly silence surrounding us. I glanced back at Rhaenyra, hoping she would come to help, but her focus was still locked on the soldiers.
I needed to get this child to safety. As I cradled the baby, I looked around for any sign of refuge, my eyes scanning the burning village for anything that might offer shelter from the destruction. Every instinct in my healer heart urged me to protect this tiny life, to shield it from the horrors of this massacre.
With the baby clutched tightly in my arms, I rose to my feet and began to move away from the flames, determined to find a safe place. The cries of the child echoed in my ears, a painful reminder of the innocent lives lost in the chaos.
I had just stepped away from the crumbling building when it gave way entirely, collapsing into a heap of flaming debris. The ground shook beneath me, and the heat from the fire was so intense that it seared the air around us. My arms instinctively tightened around her, protecting the tiny, fragile body as best as I could.
The sound of the collapsing structure tore through the chaos, and I felt a surge of relief wash over me—I'd made it out just in time.
The commotion caught Rhaenyra's attention. I glanced over just as her eyes locked onto me. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze. Her wide eyes took in the sight of me—my face covered in soot, clothes streaked with ash and dirt, and, most of all, the baby in my arms, its cries softening to whimpers against my chest.
Rhaenyra's expression shifted, the fury in her face momentarily replaced by shock and something deeper—concern, maybe even fear. She took a step forward, as if to come toward me, her hand still gripping her sword but her focus entirely on the small life I was cradling.
I tried to breathe, my heart pounding in my chest. The weight of the baby in my arms, the heat of the fire, and the devastation around us made it feel like everything was crashing down at once. I looked at Rhaenyra, not knowing what to say, but hoping she could see the urgency in my eyes.
Her gaze flickered from me to the child, and her lips parted, but no words came out. For a moment, the weight of the situation pressed down on both of us—the massacre, the loss, and now, the lives we had to protect.
Rhaenyra's voice rang out with authority, her command cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"Bring me the village leaders," she barked, her tone leaving no room for argument. "And put out these fires—now!"
Most of the men scrambled into action, but a few hesitated, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. I could see the doubt, the hesitation to move under her command, and I knew we couldn't afford to waste time.
I reached out to the Cannibal, his massive form looming behind Rhaenyra, his eyes already gleaming with menace.
"Remind them who she is," I sent to him softly to him, though I knew he hardly needed the encouragement.
The Cannibal, always eager to remind those around him of his raw power, stepped forward with deliberate menace, his towering figure casting a shadow over the hesitant soldiers. His throat rumbled with a deep, guttural growl that escalated into a deafening roar, the sound vibrating through the ground beneath us. It was a roar that seemed to shake the very air, and the men who had faltered immediately sprang into action, their eyes wide with fear as they rushed to carry out Rhaenyra's orders.
The baby in my arms let out a terrified scream in response to the Cannibal's roar, its small body trembling against my chest. I rocked her gently, whispering soothing words, though my heart ached at the thought of the child being thrust into such violence. But the roar had done its job—the soldiers who had considered ignoring Rhaenyra's command were now moving swiftly, no longer daring to question who was in charge.
Rhaenyra cast a glance my way, her eyes locking with mine. She knew what I had done, and though her expression remained hard, she gave me a small nod of acknowledgment, a silent thanks for making sure her authority wasn't questioned.
The village leaders were brought before Rhaenyra, a man and a woman, both of them disheveled and trembling, their clothes stained with blood and soot. They looked at her with sheer terror in their eyes, knowing full well whose presence they were in and what power she wielded. The woman's hand trembled as she clutched at her dirt-streaked skirts, while the man kept his eyes firmly on the ground, as if avoiding Rhaenyra's gaze might spare him from her wrath.
Rhaenyra stood tall, her posture commanding yet tempered by a subtle shift in her tone.
"Your names," she said, her voice softening slightly, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface. Her violet eyes, with that unnerving natural glow, remained unyielding as they studied the two figures before her.
The man swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke.
"Barnard... and Carina," he stammered, his gaze fixed on the ground at Rhaenyra's feet. "We are what's left of the village council."
Rhaenyra's eyes flicked over them, taking in the full scope of their disheveled forms. The exhaustion, the fear—they had clearly endured more than just this moment. But her anger wasn't directed at them, and I could see her wrestling with her emotions, trying to balance her fury with the need for answers.
"Barnard. Carina." Rhaenyra repeated their names with a sense of finality, her tone carrying the weight of her authority. It was as though she was solidifying their presence in her mind, forcing herself to remember who stood before her—survivors, but only barely. Her voice tightened slightly, the veneer of control slipping just enough to reveal the anger simmering beneath.
"Tell me," she continued, her words measured, "what happened here? Why is this village burning, and why do my soldiers carry the blame?"
Barnard shifted uneasily, his gaze firmly fixed on the ground, unwilling or unable to meet her eyes. His voice, when he finally spoke, was strained, hoarse from both fear and grief.
"They came with swords drawn," he began, his voice trembling. "They ordered us to bend the knee, to surrender half of our livestock and our stored grain to feed the army at Harrenhal. We tried to explain... we couldn't give that much. We'd starve in the winter if we did." His words faltered, breaking under the weight of what had been done. "We pleaded with them, but they didn't care. They attacked. Some of us tried to fight, but..." He trailed off, glancing toward Carina, seeking comfort or strength in her presence.
Carina, her face pale and drawn, took a deep breath. She was trembling, though her voice, when it came, was stronger than Barnard's, a testament to the resilience that had somehow kept her standing.
"It was your men, Your Grace," she said, her tone carefully measured, trying to balance the respect for her queen with the horror of what she was relaying. "They bore your banners, and they have been seizing control over the Riverlands with violence and death. They demanded our fealty. When we refused... they slaughtered us. Men, women, children. It didn't matter." Her voice caught, but she forced herself to continue. "Anyone who resisted, and even those who didn't... they showed no mercy."
She gestured weakly toward the bodies strewn in the streets, the smoke still rising from the smoldering ruins of homes. The devastation was clear, laid bare before them. It wasn't just the dead that haunted the village—it was the destruction of a way of life, the snuffing out of innocence. The air was thick with the stench of burning wood and flesh, mingling with the bitter sting of blood.
Rhaenyra's face darkened, her expression hardening as she took in the enormity of what had happened. Her hand gripped the hilt of her sword so tightly that her knuckles turned white. I could feel the fury building within her, though she remained composed, her body rigid with the effort of keeping her emotions in check. Even as a queen, her anger was barely restrained, but she maintained her regal posture, the iron control that had been drilled into her since birth.
"These soldiers," she said, her voice low and dangerous, each word laced with barely concealed rage, "were not acting under my orders." Her violet eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light of the burning village, snapped back to Barnard and Carina, her gaze sharp as a blade. "You said this has happened elsewhere?"
Barnard nodded rapidly, his head bobbing as if the act of answering might lessen the weight of her fury.
"It's House Blackwood, Your Grace," he said urgently, his voice trembling with desperation. "King Daemon has unleashed them upon the Riverlands. They're like wild beasts, rampaging with no restraint. We sent an envoy to Harrenhal, begging Prince Daemon to rein them in, but he ignored our pleas. They are tearing through our lands, demanding that every village submit, that we contribute everything we have to your cause." His voice broke, and he gestured helplessly toward the smoldering fields and the ruins of homes. "But we—" He swallowed hard, his eyes brimming with tears. "We're just farmers, Your Grace. We're not warriors."
Rhaenyra's jaw clenched as she turned slightly, her gaze sweeping over the burning village once more, the dead bodies littering the ground, the crying children huddling among the wreckage. She took it all in, the full scale of the horror that had been inflicted in her name, and I could see the weight of it pressing down on her shoulders. Daemon had not just betrayed her—he had tarnished everything she stood for.
Her voice, when she spoke again, was steely, filled with the cold determination of a queen ready to mete out justice.
"You are under my protection now. My men will tend to the fires and the wounded. I will see to it that this village, and the others that Daemon has ravaged, are rebuilt."
Barnard and Carina visibly relaxed at her words, though the trauma of what they had witnessed still hung heavily over them. There was relief in their eyes, but also a lingering wariness. They had seen the darker side of loyalty—how quickly it could turn to tyranny.
I watched Rhaenyra as she took in the ruin around her, her gaze falling upon the remains of what was once a vibrant village now reduced to ashes and sorrow. Her eyes were drawn to a small, lifeless form crumpled by the side of the road. The air seemed to grow heavy as she moved forward, her steps slow and deliberate, as if the weight of the world was upon her. She sank to her knees beside the boy, so small and fragile, barely larger than Joffrey. With trembling hands, she turned his tiny body, and the heartbreaking sight was undeniable. Even from where I stood, I could see the boy's vacant eyes, staring up at the sky with an emptiness that mirrored the desolation of the village. His innocence was lost to the cold, indifferent void above, a tragic testament to the cruelty that had befallen them.
She lingered there, motionless, the world around her crumbling in slow motion. For a brief moment, everything seemed suspended—time itself holding its breath as if to brace for the weight of the heartbreak that was coming. Her back was to me, but I could see the tension in her posture, the way her breath hitched. The boy lying before her was not just another casualty of war; he was a symbol of all she had fought to protect, and now, a brutal reminder of all that had been lost. It was in that stillness, in the space between devastation and fury, that something inside her seemed to fracture.
She rose to her feet, and it was then that I saw it—the dark flicker in her eyes. Her grip on the hilt of her sword tightened knuckles turning bone-white. When she turned toward her men, the cold, unyielding gaze she cast upon them sent a shiver of dread curling in my stomach.
It was clear: she was losing herself to the madness, and she was on the verge of unleashing her wrath upon them.
"Your Grace, a word," I called out, my voice unwavering despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me.
Rhaenyra whipped her head toward me, her eyes black as night, a deep, unsettling void that made my heart race. It took every ounce of strength within me not to flinch under the weight of her gaze.
Her expression was a storm, her fury and anguish barely contained. The darkness in her eyes spoke of a battle raging inside her, one that I could only hope she would manage to keep at bay for the sake of her people—and for her own sanity.
Rhaenyra's gaze was a tempest, her eyes narrowing as if ready to lash out, to argue, to ignore my plea. The fury and madness within her seemed almost tangible, threatening to engulf her entirely. I could see the battle in her eyes, the last flickers of violet struggling against the consuming darkness. It was a desperate fight, and I felt a pang of fear for her—fear that she might lose herself to the chaos and violence that surrounded us.
In that moment, I sent her a pleading look, my own eyes reflecting the urgency and concern that gripped me. Thankfully, a small glimmer of recognition sparked in her eyes—the last remnants of Rhaenyra still fighting to hold her ground. She took a shuddering breath and nodded, her expression softening just a fraction.
I guided her with a subtle nod, leading her toward a place where she could escape the prying eyes and the devastation. The village was falling apart around us, the crumbling structures a constant reminder of the ruin Daemon's forces had wrought. I knew we needed a shield from the chaos, a moment of refuge where Rhaenyra could find herself again.
As we approached the Cannibal, his massive form loomed over us, dark and foreboding. I turned to him, my voice steady despite the chaos.
"Shield us, please," I asked, desperation in my tone.
The Cannibal huffed, a low, rumbling sound that reverberated through the air, but he complied. With a powerful movement, he extended his immense wing, creating a shadowy barrier between us and the outside world. Darkness enveloped us, offering a brief respite from the devastation.
Under the safety of the Cannibal's wing, I stepped closer to Rhaenyra.
"Rhaenyra, look at me," I instructed, my voice firm yet gentle.
As she turned her gaze toward me, I could see just how close she was to breaking. Her face was pale, her eyes black wide with a mix of fury and pain. It was clear she was barely hanging on, her regal composure fraying at the edges. The rawness of her emotions was palpable, and I could almost feel the weight of her turmoil pressing against me.
"Breathe, Rhaenyra," I said softly, trying to ground her amidst the chaos.
Rhaenyra's breaths came in jagged gasps, her grip on the hilt of her sword tight and unsteady. The weight of the massacre seemed to press down on her, each breath a struggle against the rising tide of rage and despair. Her eyes, once sharp and commanding, were now clouded with the intensity of her inner battle, the darkness threatening to overtake her.
"I can't..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "I want to kill all of those men... order Syrax and the Cannibal to burn them in dragon fire... what they did... to these people—IN MY NAME..."
Her words were raw, laced with a deep, visceral anger that seemed to consume her. The horror of what had happened, the thought that her name had been used to justify such cruelty, was tearing at her very soul. I could see it in the tremor of her hands and the anguish in her eyes. The chaos and destruction were not just external; they were ripping through her from within.
I took a step closer, my own heart aching at the sight of her turmoil.
"Rhaenyra," I said softly, reaching out to steady her, but she jerked back, her eyes wide with an intense, almost primal fear.
"No—don't touch me," she said urgently, her voice quivering. "I can't—I don't want to hurt you—"
The sharpness in her voice and the panic in her eyes felt like a dagger to my heart. I jerked back, feeling a deep, visceral ache as if I were losing her to a storm I couldn't navigate. Watching her flounder in the grips of madness was like seeing someone drowning in an abyss of their own making, and all I could do was stand by helplessly.
The desperation that gripped me was overwhelming. I felt my own breath catch in my throat, a mixture of fear and frustration clawing at me. What could I do? How could I pull her back from the brink when every instinct told me she was slipping further away?
My mind raced, desperate to find some way—anyway—to reach Rhaenyra, to pull her back from the precipice she stood on. The crumbling village and smoldering ruins seemed to close in around us, the acrid stench of smoke and death suffocating. I needed something that would cut through the madness, something that could anchor her in this moment, before she lost herself completely.
The baby in my arms let out a soft whimper, and I looked down at it. Then my gaze flickered back to Rhaenyra. She was many things—a queen, a warrior, a dragon rider—but beneath all that armor and fire, she was also a mother. The woman who could command armies and ride dragons was the same woman who melted at the sight of her children, the one who became gentle and nurturing when her sons were near.
Before I could think it through—before I could second-guess the madness of what I was about to do—I stepped forward. My heart pounded in my chest as I closed the space between us, and with a sudden, desperate movement, I pressed the baby against her.
"What are you—" Rhaenyra gasped, her breath catching as her eyes widened, startled and confused.
"Hold her," I said, my voice firm but gentle. She froze, her eyes locked on mine in disbelief, and before she could protest or push me away, I carefully reached for the sword in her trembling hand. She was so stunned that she didn't resist. As I took the blade from her, I gently lifted her arms, bringing them up to cradle the baby instead.
I stepped back, my own heart racing, unsure of what would happen next.
For a moment, Rhaenyra just stood there, rigid, as if the weight of the infant was something unfamiliar, something foreign. The baby stirred softly against her chest, and for what felt like an eternity, Rhaenyra simply stared down, her expression torn between rage, confusion, and something deeper—something I hoped was still there.
And then, something changed.
Her posture shifted, the tension in her shoulders easing, though just slightly. The baby's small, fragile form pressed against her, and the hardness in her eyes began to flicker, the darkness wavering. I could see it—the fierce queen, the warrior, the dragon rider—beginning to give way to the mother beneath. The baby whimpered again, and instinctively, Rhaenyra's arms tightened just a little, her hands cradling the child with a gentleness that had been absent only moments before.
I watched in silent awe as her gaze softened, her violet eyes—still haunted—began to clear. The rage that had threatened to consume her like wildfire seemed to recede, replaced by a glimmer of something else. Not peace, not yet, but a fragile moment of clarity.
The baby cooed softly, its tiny fingers curling against the fabric of Rhaenyra's cloak. I could see the flicker of recognition in her eyes—the realization that this innocent life was now in her hands. Slowly, as if awakening from a trance, she looked up at me, her expression no longer clouded by the madness but filled with a quiet, trembling vulnerability.
"I—" she began, her voice hoarse, but then she stopped, her gaze dropping back to the baby. Her hands shook as she held the child, and I could see the battle raging within her—the queen, the dragon rider, the mother.
Rhaenyra stood there, trembling, the weight of the baby cradled in her arms like a fragile tether keeping her grounded. The air was thick with smoke and devastation, but in this small pocket of the world, beneath the protective wing of the Cannibal, it was as if time itself had slowed. The wind howled around us, yet the only sound that mattered was the soft, rhythmic cooing of the infant pressed against her chest.
Her violet eyes, still haunted by the massacre she had witnessed, flickered with a mix of emotions—grief, fury, guilt. I watched as the storm inside her ebbed and flowed, her gaze shifting between the baby and the wreckage beyond the Cannibal's wing. The chaos was still there, threatening to consume her, but now there was something more. A fragile, flickering light that spoke of the mother beneath the queen, struggling to resurface.
For a moment, Rhaenyra just stared down at the baby, her breathing still uneven, her hands trembling as she tried to steady herself. The madness had not fully left her—it lingered at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to pull her back into the abyss—but the sight of the child had done something. It had stilled the raging storm inside her, if only for a fleeting moment.
"I can't..." Rhaenyra whispered, her voice so faint it was almost lost in the wind, as though the very words weighed too much for her to speak. Her eyes found mine, wide and filled with a deep, heartbreaking plea. "Innocents... they were slaughtered. Children died believing I ordered this—that I wanted their deaths."
Her voice cracked, and I could see the anguish etched into her face, the guilt weighing her down like a leaden cloak. She looked down at the baby again, her thumb gently brushing against its soft cheek, her grip tightening just slightly.
"I want to kill those men," she confessed, her voice trembling. "I wanted to burn them to ash, for what they did."
Her words sent a shiver down my spine, the raw emotion in her voice palpable. But the baby's presence had pulled her back from that edge, tethering her to something more human, something beyond her rage.
"You are more than that," I whispered, stepping closer to her, though I kept my distance, letting the baby in her arms do what words could not. "You are a mother, Rhaenyra. You fight for your children—for a better world for them, for a world that won't be ruled by fire and blood alone. This—this isn't you."
She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. It was as if the weight of the world had finally come crashing down on her, all at once.
"I don't know how to stop it," she whispered, her voice breaking. "The rage, the need to make them pay for what they've done. It's... it's eating me alive."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart aching for her.
"You don't have to carry it alone," I said softly. "You don't have to become the fire, Rhaenyra. Let it be your strength, not your undoing. You can still stop this—we can stop this. Together."
The baby stirred in her arms, its tiny fingers grasping at the fabric of her gown, and I saw something shift in her. A softening. The cold rage that had gripped her so tightly seemed to release its hold, if only by a fraction.
For the first time since the massacre, Rhaenyra exhaled, her shoulders sagging as the weight of her emotions overwhelmed her. She held the baby closer, her grip gentle now, almost protective. The fierce dragon rider, the queen, the warrior—they were still there, but so too was the mother, the woman who had fought so hard for her children and for the realm.
"I don't want to lose myself," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
"You won't," I assured her, stepping closer, my hand resting lightly on her arm. "Not as long as you remember what you're fighting for."
Rhaenyra's gaze held mine, her eyes searching for something—reassurance, hope, perhaps a way back from the darkness she had nearly fallen into. And slowly, ever so slowly, I saw the glimmer of the woman I had known begin to return.
She nodded once, her resolve crystallizing into something both fierce and tender. The hardness in her eyes remained, but now it was softened by a deep, underlying compassion.
"We stop Daemon," she said quietly, her voice steadying. "We stop this madness. For them—" She paused, her gaze falling to the baby nestled in her arms, a gentle sadness reflecting in her eyes. "For her."
I looked down at the tiny, innocent face nestled against her, and my own smile was bittersweet, a mix of sorrow and resolve.
"For her," I echoed, my voice thick with emotion.
And in that moment, beneath the wing of the Cannibal, amidst the devastation and the horrors of war, I knew we had just taken the first step toward reclaiming Rhaenyra's soul—and the realm itself.