Helaena woke in bed alone, her breath trembling in her throat as her glassy violet eyes fixed on the dark beams of the ceiling overhead.
For a long moment, she simply lay there, listening to the faint howl of the sea beyond the stone walls.
"Why do they do this…?" She whispered, the words slipping out in a broken sigh. "Everything Baelon and I are trying to escape… they caused it. They caused those visions. Those dreams. Those nightmares…"
She rolled onto her side, burying her face into her pillow. Her tears soaked through at once, warm at first, then chilling against her skin.
For the first time in her life, Helaena felt truly, utterly lost.
The chains she thought she had slipped, tightened around her once more. Only now they wore familiar faces. Faces she loved. Faces she had trusted.
Rhaenyra.
The rightful heir to the Iron Throne. And yet in Helaena's eyes, in this fragile, reeling moment, she seemed nothing but an overpolished jewel.
A queen who preens like a dragoness in heat, clutching her bastards as though affection alone could crown them princes. Striding about Dragonstone as if the world should kneel simply because she wills it so. A woman who demands loyalty but cannot see the storm she births in every room she enters.
Aegon.
The king's eldest son. Her brother. And yet… Seven save her, a man who drowned all potential in wine before noon and in a woman's arms before dusk. A would-be king whose greatest conquest is the next tavern girl who laughs at his jokes.
He was a ruler fit only for brothels and cellars, not for the realm.
These mocking thoughts. Ugly. Unfamiliar. Callous in nature. They flickered through her mind as she found herself drowning in a sea of revulsion.
"The realm is split into two…"
Her tears slowed. She blinked at the ceiling, her breath steadying even as her voice hollowed.
"For two ignoble beasts. Two figureheads who drag us along with them while pretending they are made of nobler flesh."
She swallowed, her throat burning.
"And my mother… my mother has already drenched her hands in that struggle."
The pillow muffled her voice.
"She has placed her blood in that vile station. Spitting on peace. Spitting on sanity."
She turned again, flipping onto her back. The cold morning air brushed her damp cheeks, the sting like a slap.
"I cannot wait," she murmured. "We cannot wait. We have to leave this den of wolves."
Her fingers curled into the sheets.
"This place… this court… it eats at the heart. I can feel the fangs already."
Just the thought of seeing her mother later today sent a wave of nausea rolling through her stomach. Her lips parted in a soft gag, her hand flying to her mouth.
Her mother, still smiling gently, speaking softly, hands warm and comforting in her memories. In her childhood.
That same mother who, in their dream, had hidden her husband's corpse, hiding his death to steal a throne.
The image clung to her mind like a stubborn stain.
No matter how much love Alicent offered, Helaena could not force away the memory of that dream. The way her mother had looked at her father's lifeless body.
Silent.
Cold.
Calculating.
'Would she do the same to me?' A chill crawled down Helaena's spine. 'Would she ignore my corpse? Would she parade it through the streets of King's Landing like some pitiful doll, just to wring pity from the smallfolk?'
Her stomach twisted.
She turned her head toward the empty space beside her. The place where Baelon had slept only hours ago.
Her breath caught.
Slowly, she pushed herself up, pulling her knees to her chest. Her arms wrapped around her shins as if to keep herself from unravelling in both mind and body.
"Brother… where are you…?" She whispered, her small frame swallowed by the bed around her.
Creak!
Her fragile mumble was answered immediately. The door yawned open, and her brother stepped through the frame.
Helaena's breath eased for a heartbeat, only to catch again as she truly looked at him.
Baelon looked as though the night had chewed him up and spat him back out.
His silver hair, usually bright as moonlight, had been rubbed so thoroughly with earth and ash that it now hung in dull, muddy streaks. It was as if he had shoved his whole head into the ground.
On the other hand, his eyes were bloodshot, as deep bags formed beneath his eyes.
Helaena swallowed. Guilt washed over her like cold water. Realisation struck her.
She remembered nothing beyond that first horrifying vision. No dreams. No signs. No shared torment.
Which meant only one thing.
He did not sleep.
He had kept himself awake the entire night, so she would not endure another complete dream.
Still, it only deepened her confusion. Her sorrow.
One member of her family would exhaust his body to protect her from grief.
Another would barter her life without blinking if it meant one more step up the ladder of power.
"You're awake," Baelon exhaled. He crossed the room in quick strides and knelt beside her bed, taking her hand in both of his. "Come, Helaena. I have a surprise."
She barely heard him. Her eyes remained locked on his worn, sleepless face. Her gaze filled with confusion, apology… and mourning.
But Baelon was already rising, pulling her gently with him, guiding her out the door, down a winding, half-forgotten stone staircase hidden in a neglected corner of Dragonstone.
By the time they stepped outside, the world had begun to wake.
The sun had just breached the horizon, spilling molten orange across the sky. Light licked the rim of the sea, turning every wave into a blade of gold.
She blinked around in awe.
Despite all she had said, despite her wish to flee, a part of her had still hesitated. Doubts and memories clung to her, weighing her down.
Her mother's smile, her siblings' laughter, the home she had known since childhood.
But now…
'If the world beyond is as beautiful as this…'
Perhaps their choice was not so terrible after all.
Perhaps she and Baelon could rise with the sun from the northernmost cliff of Westeros, or soar over the warm breezes of the Free Cities, or travel through the shadows of Asshai.
Then—
A roar shattered her thoughts.
No. Two roars.
Helaena's head snapped up.
Two ancient giants stood on the stone shelf before them. One bronze and hulking, the other pale, elegant, shimmering faintly in the dawn light.
Vermithor.
Silverwing.
The dragons of King Jaehaerys and The Good Queen Alysanne. Their late great-grandsire and his beloved wife.
As she stared enraptured, Baelon stepped forward, laying a steady hand against Vermithor's massive jowl.
Then Baelon reached back, took Helaena's hand, and guided it forward, letting Vermithor sniff her trembling palm before he placed her hand upon the warm bronze scales.
Just like she had done with Dreamfyre all those days ago upon Baelon's return.
Slowly, the confusion inside her settled, and Baelon's voice reached her. "I cannot take away your memories. I cannot fix our mother. And I cannot mend the world."
He looked at her then, his eyes soft, straining against his apparent exhaustion. "I just want to remind you of something."
Helaena lifted her gaze, waiting.
"In the dream," Baelon said, "our mother said she would 'talk to the two of them.' Tell me… who do you think she meant?"
Helaena's eyes widened, realisation bursting forth like a spark. "You mean…?"
"Yes," Baelon answered simply. "It was likely us." Then he pressed, "And do you know what that means?"
"We succeeded…" she whispered.
Her chest lightened. Helaena looked at the two dragons before and thought of Dreamfyre back home.
Three dragons.
She understood, very soon, no one would force them into anything again.
Knowledge.
Magic.
Dragons.
All the strange, half-mad schemes Baelon had rambled about, she saw them now. They were coming to fruition. Manifesting before her eyes. Bearing fruit.
Baelon grunted softly as he climbed onto Vermithor's broad back, settling himself between two ridges. He stretched out a hand toward her.
"Come."
Helaena grasped his hand and pulled herself up behind him, settling against the warm scales.
Vermithor shifted, wings unfurling, vast enough to drown her in shadow.
She had thought Dreamfyre to be massive, dwarfing even Syrax in size. But once she looked at Vermithor beneath, she realised what it meant to embody her family's motto.
Fire and Blood.
"Sōvēs!, Vermithor!" Baelon commanded.
The Bronze Fury answered with a bellow, one so deep it reverberated in Helaena's very bones.
Vermithor's wings beat once, twice and then thrice. Then, before she knew it, wind tore past them as the world fell beneath their feet.
Silverwing burst upward beside them, pale wings slicing through the dawn air, her cry echoing across the sky.
Helaena's eyes widened, her breath stolen. Not in fear, but in wonder.
Freedom.
Real, unbound freedom.
It was here, beneath her fingertips and beneath Vermithor's scales. It was in the wind in her hair, in the cold air that burned her cheeks.
Beneath them, Dragonstone grew smaller and smaller, into a mere toy castle carved from stone.
Perhaps her troubles were the same, she thought. Small. Dwarfed by the world she had refused to see.
But then she stiffened.
"Brother," she murmured urgently, pressing tightly against his back. "What's that coming from below us?"
When she had looked down, she noticed a small gold speck rushing towards them.
"What?" Baelon shifted, craning his neck to look down. He stopped and then went silent.
Followed by a curse.
"Seven hells! Why must they ruin the fun now? We've been in the air for barely a moment!"
Helaena followed his line of sight and looked down again. Now, the golden speck rose fast through the air.
It grew and grew in her field of view, wings beating hard, molten scales aflame with morning light.
Syrax.
It was her half-sister Rhaenyra's dragon, cutting a direct path toward them.
Helaena, along with Baelon, fell silent.
Whilst they weren't surprised by what was happening, after all, they had been making quite the ruckus.
It was still an uncomfortable realisation that…
They had been caught.