Rhaena POV
Maegor slept.
Or at least, something close to sleep.
Rhaena stood quietly beside the bed, arms crossed tightly over herself as she watched his chest rise and fall beneath thick blankets. Sweat still clung to his skin despite the cold cloths laid upon his forehead.
The room smelled of herbs.
Of sickness.
Of milk of the poppy.
A smell she had grown to hate.
Lord Maegor of Harrenhal, seventeen namedays old and already fading.
The boy looked younger while asleep.
Smaller.
Weaker.
Far too young to die.
The milk of the poppy had eased his suffering. He no longer tossed and turned. No longer whimpered from fever dreams.
But he was not truly there anymore either.
His breathing came slow.
Heavy.
Distant.
Rhaena swallowed.
At least he felt no pain.
That should have comforted her.
Yet somehow—
It did not.
Too many people she cared for had suffered.
Too many had died.
And every time she allowed herself closeness, the gods seemed eager to take it away.
Her jaw tightened.
She could not stand watching him like this any longer.
Not tonight.
Quietly, she turned and left the room.
The heavy door shut softly behind her.
The halls of Harrenhal stretched endlessly before her.
Dark.
Cold.
Massive.
Even after years living here, the castle still unsettled her at times.
Its halls felt too large.
Its towers too monstrous.
Everything in Harrenhal seemed built for giants.
Or dragons.
Her footsteps echoed softly against stone as she wandered.
She had nowhere particular to go.
No purpose.
She simply walked.
Through great halls lit by dying torches.
Past sleeping servants curled beside warm hearths.
Past guards standing watch.
Some bowed as she passed.
Others only nodded.
Rhaena barely noticed.
Her thoughts drifted.
Back to Maegor.
To Rhaella.
To Aerea.
Always Aerea.
The ache of losing a child never truly disappeared.
It merely grew quieter.
Like an old wound that refused to fully heal.
Eventually—
Without fully deciding to—
Rhaena found herself climbing.
Higher.
Up winding stairs.
Past abandoned chambers.
Past crumbling stone.
Until she reached one of the highest places still safe enough to stand upon.
Cold wind greeted her immediately.
She welcomed it.
The night stretched endlessly around her.
Dark forests.
Silver rivers.
Black hills.
The world looked small from this height.
Far below—
Hundreds lived within Harrenhal.
Servants.
Guards.
Builders.
Stableboys.
Cooks.
Sleeping now, most likely.
The castle itself seemed quieter than usual.
Only a few torches moved below.
Guards along the battlements.
Nothing more.
Rhaena sat carefully upon the cold stone.
Then looked upward.
The stars tonight were beautiful.
Countless.
Bright.
Like scattered diamonds across black velvet.
She smiled faintly.
How long had it been since she simply sat and admired the sky?
Too long.
The cold air brushed against her silver hair.
She inhaled deeply.
Then slowly exhaled.
Peace.
For the first time all night—
Peace.
Then—
Shouting.
Her brow furrowed.
She looked downward.
The guards near the gate were yelling.
Too far to hear clearly.
Something was happening.
The gates—
Opened.
Quickly.
Urgently.
A horse entered.
Fast.
Two figures sat upon it.
Rhaena narrowed her eyes.
She could not make them out.
Too dark.
Too distant.
But something about the urgency unsettled her immediately.
Important.
Something important had happened.
Rhaena rose at once.
Then hurried down.
The descent took far too long.
Gods cursed Harrenhal for its endless stairs.
Her boots struck stone quickly as she descended floor after floor.
She nearly cursed aloud twice.
By the time she reached the lower halls, her breathing had grown heavier.
Still—
She kept moving.
She crossed the courtyard.
Cold night air bit against her skin.
Servants and guards moved hurriedly nearby.
Something had happened.
Definitely.
She adjusted her clothes quickly.
Straightened herself.
Then walked toward the gate.
At first—
She only saw Maester Will kneeling beside someone.
A woman.
Silver hair.
Her stomach dropped.
No.
No—
Impossible.
She moved faster.
Then stopped completely.
Silver-gold hair.
Purple eyes.
Septa robes.
Her breath caught.
"Rhaella…"
Her voice barely came out.
"My Rhaella."
She rushed forward immediately.
Fell to her knees beside her daughter.
Gods.
Her beautiful daughter looked pale.
Bruised.
Unconscious.
Rhaena gathered her carefully into her arms.
"Rhaella," she whispered desperately.
No response.
Panic gripped her chest.
"What happened?"
She looked toward Maester Will sharply.
"What's wrong with her?"
The maester swallowed nervously.
"She is unconscious, Princess," he said carefully.
"I need to examine her properly."
His hands trembled slightly.
"Bring her to my chambers."
Rhaena nodded quickly.
"Yes."
Then her expression darkened.
Dangerously.
"Who did this?"
A familiar voice answered.
"Bandits."
Rhaena turned.
Her eyes widened slightly.
The Dondarrion knight.
Ser Lyonel.
Gods.
He looked awful.
Bruised.
Covered in dirt and dried blood.
Lyonel spoke again.
"A robber knight," he said.
"Ser Rian."
Her jaw tightened.
"Bandits attacked her wheelhouse."
He breathed heavily.
"They captured her."
His voice remained calm despite exhaustion.
"I tracked them."
"Freed her."
His expression darkened.
"They attacked again at an inn."
"We barely escaped."
Rhaena clenched her teeth hard enough to hurt.
Someone had dared.
Dared.
To touch her daughter.
Her blood.
A dragon.
The fury rose fast.
Cold.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
She stood slowly.
Then looked toward Maester Will.
"Take care of my daughter."
Her voice left no room for argument.
"If anything happens to her—"
The maester nodded quickly.
"Yes, Princess."
Then she turned toward Lyonel.
For a moment—
She simply looked at him.
Really looked.
He had saved Rhaella.
Risked himself for her.
Fought for her.
Nearly died for her.
The same knight she had insulted.
Dismissed.
Humiliated.
Rhaena spoke firmly.
"See that Ser Lyonel receives a king's welcome."
The guards blinked in surprise.
"Yes, Princess."
But Rhaena was already walking away.
Her anger burned too hot.
Too violently.
She stepped into the courtyard.
Then gave a sharp whistle.
A sound only one creature answered.
The wind shifted.
Then—
RAWWWWWWW!!!
A mighty roar shattered the night.
Dreamfyre descended from the darkness above.
Beautiful.
Terrible.
Ancient.
Blue scales gleamed beneath moonlight.
The dragon landed heavily before her.
Guards stepped back nervously.
Rhaena climbed onto the saddle without hesitation.
Her silver hair whipped in the wind.
Her purple eyes burned cold.
Someone was going to die tonight.
Ser Rian.
His men.
Every last one.
She leaned forward slightly.
Dreamfyre growled beneath her.
Then launched skyward.
Into the night.
To hunt.
The night sky belonged to Dreamfyre.
Cold wind tore through Rhaena's silver hair as the great dragon soared above the Riverlands, her vast wings beating against the darkness with enough force to shake the very air around them.
Below them—
Forests stretched endlessly.
Roads twisted like pale scars beneath moonlight.
But Rhaena paid attention to none of it.
Her jaw remained tight.
Her hands clenched around the saddle.
Her thoughts burned hotter than dragonfire.
Rhaella.
Her daughter.
Bruised.
Unconscious.
Terrified.
Someone had dared place hands upon her blood.
A daughter of old Valyria.
A dragon.
And for what?
Gold?
Pleasure?
Power?
Bandits.
Robber knights.
Scum who thought themselves untouchable because local lords looked elsewhere.
Her anger simmered deeper with every beat of Dreamfyre's wings.
The dragon felt it.
Dreamfyre always did.
Their bond had never needed words.
Others spoke of dragonriders controlling dragons.
Fools.
No dragon was truly controlled.
Especially not Dreamfyre.
No—
They understood one another.
Felt one another.
Dreamfyre knew her rage.
And the dragon shared it.
A low rumble echoed through Dreamfyre's chest.
Impatient.
Hungry.
Ready.
Rhaena leaned slightly forward.
"Aderās," she said quietly.
Dreamfyre answered immediately.
Her wings struck harder.
The world blurred beneath them.
Cold air whipped harder against Rhaena's face.
The inn could not be far now.
The only one close enough to Harrenhal.
The only place Lyonel could have meant.
And then—
She saw it.
A glow of torchlight in the darkness.
A lone building near the road.
Smoke drifted faintly upward.
Figures moved outside.
Men.
Armed men.
Many horses.
Too many.
Dreamfyre growled.
The sound rolled through the sky like distant thunder.
Below—
Some of the men finally noticed.
Heads tilted upward.
Confusion first.
Then fear.
Someone pointed.
Shouting erupted.
Rhaena's eyes narrowed.
Good.
Let them be afraid.
"Aeksion," she commanded.
Dreamfyre folded her wings.
The descent came fast.
Terrifying.
Powerful.
The ground rushed upward.
The men below scattered immediately.
"Dragon!"
"SEVEN SAVE US!"
"RUN!"
Dreamfyre landed hard enough to shake the earth.
Dust exploded outward.
The horses screamed in terror.
Some broke free entirely.
Others collapsed into panic.
The dragon lifted her great head.
Blue scales shimmered beneath moonlight.
Smoke curled between her teeth.
The surviving men stared.
Frozen.
Some dropped weapons.
Others backed away.
One man fell to his knees praying.
Rhaena slowly climbed down.
Her expression held nothing soft.
Nothing merciful.
Only fury.
"Which one of you," she said coldly, "thought touching my daughter was wise?"
No answer came.
Only fear.
Then—
One man ran.
Another followed.
Then several more.
Cowards.
Rhaena looked toward Dreamfyre.
"Oskisagon pōnta."
Dreamfyre moved.
Fast.
Far faster than something so large should move.
The dragon surged forward with terrifying speed.
Men scattered.
Screaming.
One tripped over a fallen bench.
Another dropped his sword entirely trying to flee.
Dreamfyre's roar split the night.
Panic erupted completely.
Some fled toward the trees.
Others toward horses.
None made it far.
The dragon cut off escape routes effortlessly, forcing terrified men back toward open ground.
The sound of chaos filled the night.
Shouting.
Pleading.
The thunder of boots.
The deep growls of an ancient predator.
One armored man tried rallying the others.
"Fight!"
He lifted his sword.
Dreamfyre answered with flame.
Heat exploded through the courtyard.
Men ignited instantly.
Men stumbled backward in terror.
The survivors broke completely after that.
No discipline remained.
Only panic.
Only fear.
Rhaena watched in silence.
Her anger remained cold.
Controlled.
No pity stirred within her.
Not after Rhaella.
Not tonight.
The men had chosen this road.
Chosen violence.
Chosen cruelty.
The same cruelty that had left her daughter trembling and broken.
Eventually—
The chaos ended.
Only corpses remained.
Silence settled slowly over the ruined inn yard.
Dreamfyre returned.
Smoke curled from her nostrils.
The dragon lowered her great head toward Rhaena.
Rhaena rested a hand gently against warm scales.
"Well done," she whispered quietly.
Dreamfyre rumbled softly.
Satisfied.
Then Rhaena looked toward the inn itself.
The building stood damaged.
Broken.
Scarred by violence.
People had died there.
Good people.
People who had helped Rhaella.
Who had stood against scum.
Her expression darkened again.
This place would become nothing but memory.
A warning.
She climbed back into the saddle.
Then looked downward.
"Dracarys."
Dreamfyre obeyed.
Fire washed across the abandoned inn.
Wood caught quickly.
Flames climbed into the night sky.
The building crackled and groaned as smoke poured upward.
Rhaena watched for a long moment.
Silent.
The fire reflected in her violet eyes.
Then—
She turned Dreamfyre back toward Harrenhal.
Toward Rhaella.
If you can, please read my novel (THE LAST LIGHT OF THE LIVING SUN) AND MAYBE EVEN A COLLECTION.