Midgardsorm

Syrax growls and rages when he sees Caraxes returning, covered with dust and soot — uncle did not bother to be careful: it can see it even from this distance. Rhaenyra turns around after Syrax, clinging to the saddle, sickened and bizarre — a gift from her uncle, who flew home through the columns of smoke. Caraxes has never liked to land smoothly, but with a ferocious roar Syrax he tries not to demolish the landing pad equipped for the runway. The soft soil after the rain subsides under the dragon’s paws, the same one bows his head, greeting either Rhaenyra, or Syrax, or both at once. He was never capable of humility and complaisance. Uncle climbs down from the saddle of Caraxes with a bang, without even shaking himself off, and goes to her, who is strapping herself with chains by the ankles. He takes her hand and makes her look at him. “Alicent gave birth.” Rhaenyra swallows the bitterness of the words. “A boy,” she nods and looks up at the sky: the sunset is far away, but it’s worth hurrying. Daemon unhooks her legs and jerks her to the ground like a piece of fluff. Her leather outfit deteriorates and absorbs the smell and color of the battle on the Stepstones. “You know that Viserys…” Her lips curve into an ironic, mocking smile. “I’m being passed off as Laenor Velaryon, Daemon. My children will not bear my surname, they will not become kings. My line will end with me and begin with the Velaryons.” Her uncle throws her elaborately braid back to where the drawing of the three-headed dragon rests. It’s just like when she was a kid. The only difference is that Rhaenyra can no longer be so free with her uncle: everyone knows the vices of the Targaryens, their sacred rules, which seem wild to these people. “Then I think I should figure it out.” “Thank you, Uncle,” Rhaenyra prudently moves to a safe distance as soon as she sees the ubiquitous brother of the bitch. “You helped me too much last time. Making so many mistakes that to this day I’m paying the price for believe your word. Daemon answers unflinchingly: “I kept it.” “So, as lord commander of the City Watch, you haven’t completely instilled in your people at least a little bit of fear,” steel is in her eyes, undisguised and innate, so heavy and hostile that it eclipses her purple iris. “And I don’t think they would have disobeyed your order.” Syrax growls in agreement, trampling into the mud and staining the yellowish scales with it, which Rhaenyra always strokes with trepidation, as befits a dragon rider. Rhaenyra chuckles slightly and encourages Syrax by slapping her on the side. “Now, Syrax,” and turns her gaze to her uncle, who is frankly looking at her, as he did on those nights when… she studied. “As for you, Uncle… Perhaps it’s my own fault: I was stuck in childhood, I believed that you were still the same knight, the same uncle who played with me in ridiculous dolls and taught me to ride a dragon. I was afraid to admit to myself that you no longer see me as the girl you braided before you ran away and took me for a ride on a Caraxes.” Her eyes rest on the dragon, who hasn’t changed a bit since Daemon put her astride his saddle. It’s a pity that its current owner is able to change. Not for the better. “Goodbye, Uncle. I need to leave now before it gets dark. It’s not that fast to get to Driftmark.” With these words and the Valyrian steel chain given, Rhaenyra jumps back into the saddle of a rather growling Syrax, straps herself in and slaps her sides, forcing the dragon to straighten her liquid-golden wings. She forces herself not to turn back to say goodbye to King’s Landing, resisting with all her might and clinging to the appendages of Syrax’s neck. *** A couple of days later, Princess Rhaenys, who is planning the wedding of Laenor and Rhaenyra, reads a message from the Landing with a stoic expression on her face. Frost and dew drops freeze in her eyes, flowers burn and liquid flames accumulate. “Still, Daemon gets what he wants.” Corlys just grunts as he reads Otto Hightower’s ridiculous handwriting. Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen is promised to another.