Morning broke over a mist-shrouded Dragonstone, revealing utter devastation.
Amidst the ruins, people were silently clearing away the dead.
Charred corpses were pulled out one by one and piled in an open clearing, soldiers, servants, handmaids, and children.
No one spoke. No one dared to. The only sound was the dull, heavy thud of bodies being laid upon the blackened earth.
Along the shores of Dragonstone, a pyre had been erected. It was a massive stack of wood, as tall as a man, built from the finest pine and drenched in oil.
Princess Rhaenys lay atop the pyre. She had been dressed in clean, noble garments, her long silver-white hair brushed neatly, her hands folded gracefully across her chest.
Her face was peaceful, as if she were merely sleeping.
The brutal dragon battle had left many wounds upon her body, but for now, they were hidden beneath the fine fabrics.
Beside her lay the severed head of Meleys. The scarlet dragon's eyes were closed; its golden pupils would never open again.
Its scales still caught the morning light, but the brilliant luster was devoid of life.
Queen Rhaenyra stood before the pyre in silence. She wore a long black gown, her hair tied back, without a crown.
Her face was tearless, but her eyes were a terrifying, bloodshot red.
Something turbulent swirled in her gaze, yet she gritted her teeth, refusing to let a single tear fall.
Prince Daemon stood beside her, also clad in black. He remained silent, looking at the woman on the pyre.
She had died like a true dragonrider, atop her dragon, in the heat of battle, facing her enemy head-on.
Corlys Velaryon stood at the very front. The Sea Snake had aged. In these few short days, he had grown much older.
His back was hunched, as if weighed down by an invisible, crushing burden.
His eyes were red and swollen, and the tear tracks on his weathered face had not yet dried.
He stood there, staring at his wife on the pyre, utterly motionless. He had been standing there since the sun rose. No one dared to disturb the grieving old man.
In the distance, Sara stood beside Silverwing, her head bowed.
She did not dare look at the pyre. She remembered when Daemon had ordered her to give chase, and she had deliberately flown slowly.
She remembered Aemond's retreating silhouette. She remembered the paralyzing fear in her heart.
She was a bastard. She had known since childhood that she was not a brave person.
She feared death, she feared pain, and she feared losing everything she currently had.
But she had her own child, Jacaerys's posthumous son, still in Tyrosh, waiting for her return.
If she died, what would become of her child? She had no kin left.
Queen Rhaenyra did not recognize the boy, so she had to live.
Even if she was looked down upon, even if she was called a coward, she had to survive for him.
Corlys finally moved. He stepped forward, one agonizingly slow pace at a time. Reaching the pyre, he stopped.
He reached out with a trembling hand and gently stroked Rhaenys's face. It was cold, so very cold.
"Rhaenys..."
His lips moved, his voice a raspy whisper nearly lost to the sea breeze.
No one spoke; there was only the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocks.
"You promised me..." Corlys murmured, his voice breaking.
"You said you would return... You said it... You said it..."
Rhaenys did not answer. She would never answer him again. Corlys's broad shoulders began to shake.
He leaned down, resting his forehead against the edge of the wooden pyre, weeping silently.
There was no sound of sobbing, only the rhythmic, devastating trembling of his shoulders.
Rhaenyra stepped forward. She looked at Rhaenys and remained silent for a long time.
"Aunt," she finally spoke, her voice light, as if afraid of disturbing a dream.
"Thank you." She paused, her throat tight.
"Thank you for supporting me... thank you for always standing by my side. Thank you..."
She could not go on.
She looked toward her dragon, Syrax. The yellow she-dragon lowered her massive head.
Sensing her rider's sorrow, Syrax let out a low, mournful croak.
Then, she opened her maw and unleashed a gout of golden flame.
The fire landed on the pyre, instantly igniting into a towering inferno.
The red light painted half the sky, making even the morning sun seem pale in comparison. The flames engulfed Rhaenys's body.
The fire consumed Meleys's head. The heat reflected off the faces of everyone present, their expressions flickering in the dancing shadows.
Corlys stood there, watching his wife vanish into the flames, his whole body shaking. He remembered so many years ago.
He remembered her at fifteen when she married him, wearing a white wedding gown and a smile of radiant confidence.
"I chose you, Corlys; you did not choose me."
He would always remember those words spoken by his Targaryen bride.
He remembered the night of their wedding, when she mounted the Red Queen, excited as a child, performing somersaults in the sky.
He had stood on the battlements of High Tide, looking up until his neck ached, waiting for her to descend to their marriage bed.
He remembered when she gave birth to Laenor, holding the babe and smiling up at him:
"Look, he looks like me."
He had leaned in to see; the boy did look like her, with the same silver hair, the same vibrant purple eyes.
He remembered when she lost Laenor.
Though he alone knew it was a fake death, she had still wept for a long time, unaware of the truth.
He had held her then, not knowing how to comfort her grief.
He remembered every time she had stood by his side, helping him weather the storms of the realm.
How many years had it been? Now she was gone. She had gone before him. He was now a completely solitary old man.
"Rhaenys," he whispered to the flames.
"Rhaenys."
The fire burned brighter and hotter. Daemon walked to Corlys's side.
He stood for a moment in silence before saying, "Pray, restrain your grief."
Corlys did not speak.
"For a dragonrider," Daemon said, his voice flat, "the most glorious death is to die in the sky."
Corlys finally turned his head to look at him. In those eyes were anger, sorrow, and far too many other heavy things.
He suddenly reached out and grabbed Daemon by the collar.
"Why didn't you come sooner?!" the old man roared, his voice cracking.
"If you had come, she wouldn't have died!"
Daemon did not move. He simply looked at Corlys, uttering not a single word. What could he say?
That a dying Sunfyre had delayed him? That he had rushed here with everything he had?
That was when he saw Rhaenys fall, and his own heart bled. He said nothing. He just stood there, letting Corlys grip his collar.
Corlys stared at him for a long time. Then, his grip slowly loosened. The Sea Snake took a step back, shaking his head.
"The Velaryons are already half-destroyed," he said, his voice laced with absolute despair.
"I am the sinner of my house."
Daemon was silent for a moment.
"Corlys," he began. Corlys raised his head.
"I know the whereabouts of Seasmoke."
Corlys froze. "What?"
"The rider of Seasmoke," Daemon clarified. Corlys's expression shifted wildly.
"You..."
"Laenor," Daemon uttered the name.
"I believe if he knew of his mother's death, he would take up his responsibility."
Corlys stared at him, fury reigniting in his eyes.
"You truly are a devil," he said, each word squeezed through gritted teeth.
"Even my only son... You won't let him be?"
Daemon watched him with a calm, unyielding gaze.
"What must be done now is to win this war," he continued coldly.
"By any means necessary, we must win."
He paused.
"If we fail, you know exactly what the fate of the Velaryons will be."
Corlys's face paled.
"Do not forget Rook's Rest," Daemon continued.
"Your tens of thousands of islanders, your kin, are suffering there under Aemond... though they are not dead yet."
Corlys fell silent. He did not dare imagine what would happen to the Velaryons if Aemond truly took control of the realm.
"As for Seasmoke's location," Daemon said, "I know he is in the Disputed Lands."
The Prince let out a scoff.
"Those Volantenes, those nobles within the Black Wall, actually thought they could tame that dragon. I heard quite a few of them were burned to death trying. They thought a dragon was a horse that any half-breed could ride?"
Corlys did not speak. Daemon reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
"Trust me. We can win."
Corlys looked up.
"Aegon is already dead," Daemon said.
"The Green King is gone. This is a greater blow to them than what we have lost." He paused.
"The Greens only have Aemond holding them up. We have many."
Corlys looked at him and, after a long silence, closed his eyes and nodded slowly.
At that moment, Rhaenyra approached. She looked at Daemon with a complex gaze.
"Is Aegon dead?" she asked.
Daemon nodded. "Sunfyre fell. Falling from such a height, it is difficult for him to have survived."
Rhaenyra was silent for a while.
"Aunt Rhaenys..." she spoke, her voice somewhat choked.
"She wouldn't have had to die. If you had arrived just a bit sooner..."
Daemon looked at her. "My dragon was injured," he said frankly.
"Sunfyre bit him."
Rhaenyra faltered.
"Sunfyre?"
Daemon recounted, "That beast went mad protecting its master and bit Caraxes's wing. If it weren't for that bite, I would have arrived earlier."
He paused, his tone softening slightly.
"I did my best."
Rhaenyra fell silent. She suddenly didn't know who to blame.
She looked into the distance where Sara stood by Silverwing, her head bowed. Rhaenyra's eyes flickered.
Daemon followed her gaze.
"That bastard girl," he lowered his voice, "she has a divided heart."
Rhaenyra turned to him.
"I ordered her to give chase, and she deliberately flew slow," Daemon said.
"So slow that it was impossible for Silverwing not to catch them. I saw it with my own eyes."
Rhaenyra was silent for a moment. "She has a child," she said softly.
"Jacaerys's child."
Daemon scoffed. "And so?"
Rhaenyra looked at him. "She is the mother of that child. If she dies, what happens to the boy?"
Daemon said no more. Rhaenyra withdrew her gaze.
"Keep her for now," she decided.
"She is still of use."
The fire gradually began to fade. The towering pyre turned into a mound of glowing ash. Rhaenys and Meleys had turned to ash together.
Corlys stepped forward, knelt, and scooped up a handful of ash with his bare hand.
The grey dust leaked through his fingers, scattered out to sea by the wind.
"Rhaenys..." he murmured.
No one spoke. There was only the sound of waves hitting the rocks. Over and over. Unceasing.
-----
A/N:
If you are enjoying the start of the story.
Drop some stones to help this book reach higher.
You can read upto 40+ Chapters. + Images
You can also read "+2 Free Chapters".
www.patreon.com/
LastDreamer