THIS WILL BE A SMALLER CHAPTER
Lyonel POV
Lyonel stood alone in the great hall of Harrenhal, doing his best not to look as out of place as he felt.
Cloud had been taken away, left outside with Thunder. The guards had insisted. A bird like that, they said, had no place near a princess. Lyonel had tried to argue, half-heartedly, that Cloud was harmless, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how absurd they sounded.
A massive white bird that could tear apart a raven mid-air?
Yes. Harmless.
He sighed quietly.
At least Thunder was there.
At least he wasn't alone.
Still, standing here, in this hall, it made him feel small.
The place was monstrous.
Great pillars of stone rose up like the trunks of ancient trees, disappearing into shadow high above. The ceiling seemed impossibly far away, lost in darkness. Every footstep echoed. Every breath felt swallowed by the vastness of the space.
Lyonel turned slowly, taking it all in.
"I've never seen anything like this…" he murmured.
Even Blackhaven felt like a child's castle compared to this.
And yet—
This place had been burned.
The thought crept into his mind, unwelcome but impossible to ignore.
Burned by Balerion… the Black Dread.
Lyonel looked up at the twisted stone overhead.
The walls weren't just black, they were warped, melted in places, like wax left too close to flame.
A dragon did this.
A single creature.
A single beast had brought a castle like this to ruin.
It sent a chill down his spine.
If such power existed in the world… what chance did men truly have?
Footsteps echoed across the hall.
Lyonel straightened immediately.
He turned toward the sound.
A guard approached first, but Lyonel barely noticed him.
His eyes were drawn to the woman walking behind.
Silver hair.
Pale skin.
Eyes that seemed almost too sharp, too knowing.
She carried herself with quiet authority, every step measured, controlled.
There was no doubt.
This was Princess Rhaena Targaryen.
The guard stopped, bowed slightly, then stepped aside at her gesture.
She dismissed him with a flick of her hand.
Now it was just the two of them.
The silence stretched for a moment.
Then she spoke.
"What is your name?"
Her voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it.
Lyonel bowed his head slightly.
"I am Ser Lyonel Dondarrion, Princess."
Her eyes moved over him, slowly.
Taking in his worn armour.
The absence of his breastplate and sigil.
The scars, the exhaustion.
Nothing escaped her notice.
Then she spoke again.
"What is the message?"
Lyonel swallowed.
This was it.
He reached to his waist and unclipped Adder's Fang.
The sword felt heavier than usual as he brought it forward in both hands, offering it to her.
"Princess," he said carefully, "the King has sent me to deliver this to you. A Valyrian steel blade, Adder's Fang."
Her expression did not change.
But her eyes sharpened.
She stepped forward and took the sword from his hands.
Lyonel let go.
She drew the blade slowly.
The dark rippling steel caught the dim light of the hall, shimmering faintly.
For a moment, she simply looked at it.
Silent.
Still.
Then, just as calmly, she slid it back into its scabbard.
And handed it back.
"I have no need for a Valyrian steel sword," she said.
Lyonel blinked.
"…Princess?"
"Return to my brother," she continued, "and tell him that."
She turned slightly, as if already dismissing the matter.
Panic flickered in Lyonel's chest.
"But… Princess," he said quickly, "the King wished for you to have it. He would be… dissatisfied if—"
She turned back to him.
Her eyes locked onto his.
Sharp.
Cold.
Dangerous.
Lyonel's words died in his throat.
"Who do you think you are?" she asked.
Her voice was no longer calm.
It cut.
"You dare speak to a Targaryen in such a manner?"
Lyonel felt his stomach drop.
"I—no, Princess, I only—"
"Enough."
The word struck like a blow.
She stepped closer.
"Go back to my brother," she said, her voice low and filled with disdain, "and tell him to shove that sword up his ass."
Lyonel froze.
He had no response to that.
None.
He opened his mouth—
But she was faster.
"LEAVE."
The command echoed through the great hall.
There was no mistaking it.
Lyonel lowered his head.
"…Yes, Princess."
He turned and walked away.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
The great doors of Harrenhal seemed farther away than before.
He had failed.
The King had trusted him with this task, and he had failed.
Or perhaps…
No.
There had been no convincing her.
Not with those eyes.
Not with that tone.
Some things simply could not be changed.
He pushed the doors open and stepped out into the courtyard.
The air felt fresher.
Lighter.
He exhaled slowly.
Then he saw them.
Thunder stood where he had been left, calm as ever.
And around him—
A small crowd had gathered.
Servants. Stablehands. A few guards.
All of them gathered around Cloud.
The great white bird sat proudly atop Thunder's saddle, letting people touch its feathers, chirping softly.
It looked…
Happy.
Lyonel stared for a moment.
Then, despite everything, he smiled.
"Of course," he muttered. "You're enjoying this."
Cloud let out a pleased sound as someone stroked its wings.
Lyonel approached.
"Alright, that's enough," he said, waving a hand. "Back to your work, all of you."
The crowd slowly dispersed, though many glanced back at the bird with curiosity.
Lyonel reached Thunder and placed a hand on his neck.
"Miss me?" he murmured.
Thunder snorted softly.
Cloud hopped from the saddle onto Lyonel's head once more, settling in comfortably.
Lyonel sighed.
"Yeah… I suppose I missed you, too."
He mounted Thunder in one smooth motion.
He took one last look at Harrenhal.
The towering black castle loomed over him.
Massive.
Unyielding.
Just like the woman inside it.
Then Lyonel turned Thunder away.
There was nothing more for him here.
With a light kick, Thunder began to move.
Cloud remained perched on his head.
And together, they rode away from Harrenhal.