Morning came to the mist-shrouded island of Dragonstone, and everywhere was ruin.
On the wreckage-strewn grounds, people were clearing away the dead. One charred corpse after another was carried out and piled onto the open ground. Soldiers. Servants. Handmaidens. Children.
No one spoke.
No one dared to speak.
Only the dull thuds of bodies being dropped onto the ground echoed through the air.
Along the shores of Dragonstone, a funeral pyre had been raised.
It was enormous, taller than a man, built from fine pine logs drenched in oil.
Lying atop the pyre was Rhaenys Targaryen.
She had been dressed in clean clothes. Her silver hair had been carefully combed smooth, her hands folded neatly across her chest.
Her face looked peaceful, as though she were merely asleep. The brutal dragon battle had left countless wounds upon her body, but now they were all hidden beneath her clothing.
Beside her rested the head of Meleys.
The crimson dragon's eyes were closed forever now. Those golden pupils would never open again.
Its scales still gleamed beneath the sunlight, but the gleam no longer carried life.
Rhaenyra stood before the pyre in silence.
She wore a simple black gown, her hair loosely tied back, no crown upon her head.
There were no tears on her face, but her eyes were frighteningly red. Something swirled within them, threatening to spill over, yet she held it back with all her strength.
Daemon stood beside her, also dressed in black.
He remained silent as he looked upon the woman atop the pyre.
She had died like a dragonrider.
She had died upon dragonback, died in battle, died facing her enemies.
Corlys stood at the very front.
The Sea Snake had grown old.
These past few days alone seemed to have aged him years.
His back was hunched, bent beneath an invisible weight.
His eyes were swollen red, and the tear tracks on his face had yet to dry.
He stood there motionless, staring at his wife upon the pyre.
He had been standing there for a very long time.
Ever since the sun had risen.
No one dared disturb the grieving old man.
In the distance, Saera stood beside Silverwing with her head lowered.
She did not dare look at the pyre.
She remembered the moment Daemon ordered her to pursue them, and how she had deliberately slowed her flight.
She remembered Aemond's departing figure.
She remembered the fear in her own heart.
She was a bastard.
Ever since childhood, she had known she was not a brave person.
She feared death. Feared pain. Feared losing everything she possessed now.
But she had a child of her own.
If she died, what would happen to her child?
She no longer had any family.
Queen Rhaenyra did not acknowledge the child.
So she had to live.
Even if others looked down on her. Even if they called her a coward.
She still had to live.
At last, Corlys moved.
He walked forward slowly, one step at a time.
When he reached the pyre, he stopped.
He extended a hand and gently touched Rhaenys's face.
Her face was cold.
So very cold.
"Rhaenys..." His lips trembled faintly, his voice so hoarse it was nearly inaudible.
No one spoke.
Only the sound of waves crashing against the rocks.
"You promised me..." Corlys murmured brokenly. "You said you would come back... You said it... you said you would..."
Rhaenys gave no answer.
She never would again.
Corlys's shoulders began to tremble.
He bent over and rested his forehead against the edge of the pyre, silently weeping.
No sound escaped him.
Only the trembling of his shoulders.
Rhaenyra stepped forward.
She looked at Rhaenys in silence for a long while.
"Aunt," she finally said softly, her voice so light it seemed afraid to disturb the dead. "Thank you."
She paused.
"Thank you for supporting me so steadfastly..."
"Thank you for always standing at my side."
"Thank you..."
She could not continue.
She turned to look at her dragon, Syrax.
The yellow she-dragon lowered her head.
Sensing her rider's grief, Syrax let out a deep mournful cry.
Then she unleashed a stream of flame.
The fire landed upon the pyre, instantly erupting into towering flames.
Crimson firelight dyed half the sky red, even stealing the color from the sun itself.
Rhaenys's body was swallowed by the flames.
Meleys's severed head was swallowed by the flames.
The firelight flickered across the faces of everyone present, bright one moment and dim the next.
Corlys stood there, staring at his wife within the flames, his entire body trembling.
He remembered many years ago.
He remembered when she married him at fifteen, dressed in a white wedding gown, wearing that proud confident smile.
"It was I who chose you, not the other way around, Corlys."
He had never forgotten those words from that proud Targaryen woman.
He remembered the night of their wedding, when she mounted the Red Queen, Meleys, excitement shining from her like a child's joy as she performed flips through the sky.
He had stood atop the walls of Driftmark, craning his neck upward until it ached, waiting for her to return so they could consummate their marriage.
He remembered when she gave birth to Laenor, holding the child in her arms as she smiled and told him, "Look, he resembles me."
He had leaned over to look, and the child truly had resembled her—silver hair and violet eyes alike.
He remembered when she lost Laenor.
Even though he knew it had been a staged death, she had still cried for a very long time.
He had held her in his arms, not knowing how to comfort her.
He remembered every time she had stood beside him, weathering every storm at his side.
How many years had it been?
And now she was gone.
Gone ahead of him.
He had become a truly lonely old man.
"Rhaenys..." he murmured. "Rhaenys..."
The flames burned ever fiercer.
At that moment, Daemon walked over to Corlys.
He stood there for a while before finally speaking.
"You have my condolences."
Corlys said nothing.
"A dragonrider," Daemon said, "can know no greater death than dying in the skies."
At last, Corlys turned to look at him.
Within those eyes were anger, grief, and far too many emotions to name.
Suddenly, he reached out and seized Daemon by the collar.
"Why didn't you come sooner?!" the old man roared.
"If you had come, she wouldn't have died!"
Daemon did not move.
He merely looked at Corlys in silence.
What could he possibly say?
That Sunfyre had torn into his dragon's wing?
That he had already rushed there with everything he had?
That when he saw Rhaenys die, his own heart had bled as well?
He said none of it.
He simply stood there, allowing Corlys to clutch his collar.
Corlys stared at him for a very long time.
Then, slowly, his grip loosened.
The Sea Snake took a step back and shook his head.
"House Velaryon is already half-destroyed," he said, despair filling his voice.
"I am the sinner of my house."
Daemon remained silent for a moment.
"Corlys," he finally said.
Corlys raised his head.
"We still have another dragonrider."
Corlys froze.
"What?"
"The rider of Seasmoke," Daemon said. "He isn't dead."
Corlys's expression changed instantly.
"You..."
"Laenor," Daemon said the name plainly. "I believe that if he learns of his mother's death, he will shoulder his responsibilities."
Corlys glared at him, fury blazing in his eyes.
"You truly are ruthless," he said word by word, each syllable squeezed out through clenched teeth.
"You won't even spare my only son?"
Daemon met his gaze calmly.
"What matters now is winning this war," he said coolly.
"No matter the cost, we must win."
He paused.
"If we lose, you should know very well what fate awaits House Velaryon."
Corlys's face changed.
"And don't forget Dragon's Roost," Daemon continued. "Your tens of thousands of islanders—your people—are suffering there right now."
Corlys fell silent.
He did not dare imagine what would happen to House Velaryon if Aemond Targaryen emerged victorious...
"The whereabouts of Seasmoke," Daemon said, "I know them. He's in the Disputed Lands."
Prince Daemon let out a cold sneer.
"Those Volantenes. Those nobles behind the Black Walls. They're trying to tame that dragon."
"I heard quite a few people have already been burned alive."
"They think dragons are horses? They believe those bastards can ride one?"
Corlys remained silent.
Daemon reached out and pressed a hand onto his shoulder.
"Trust me."
"We can win."
Corlys lifted his head.
"Aegon II Targaryen is dead," Daemon said. "The Greens' king is dead."
"The blow they've suffered is even greater than what we've lost."
He paused.
"The Greens only have Aemond holding them together now. We still have many people."
Corlys looked at him in silence for a very long time.
Then he closed his eyes and nodded slowly.
At that moment, Rhaenyra walked over.
She looked at Daemon, her gaze complicated.
"Aegon is dead?" she asked.
Daemon nodded.
"Sunfyre fell from the sky. From that height, it would be difficult for him to survive."
Rhaenyra was silent for a while.
"Aunt Rhaenys..." she said at last, her voice thick with grief. "She might not have died. If you had arrived a little earlier..."
Daemon looked at her.
"My dragon's wing was wounded," he said. "By Sunfyre."
Rhaenyra froze.
"Sunfyre?"
Daemon continued, "That beast went mad protecting its rider and bit into Caraxes's wing."
"If not for that bite, I would've arrived sooner."
He paused.
"I already did everything I could."
Rhaenyra fell silent.
Suddenly, she no longer knew who she should blame.
She looked into the distance.
There, Saera stood beside Silverwing with her head lowered.
Something flickered in Rhaenyra's eyes.
Daemon followed her gaze.
"That bastard girl," he said quietly, lowering his voice, "she has divided loyalties."
Rhaenyra turned to look at him.
"I ordered her to pursue them, but she deliberately flew slowly," Daemon said. "So slowly that there's no way Silverwing couldn't have caught up. I saw it with my own eyes."
Rhaenyra was silent for a moment.
"She has a child," she said. "Jacaerys's child."
Daemon let out a cold laugh.
"So what?"
Rhaenyra looked at him.
"She's that child's mother," she said. "If she dies, what happens to the child?"
Daemon said nothing further.
Rhaenyra withdrew her gaze.
"Leave her for now," she said. "She's still useful."
The flames gradually died down.
The pyre became nothing more than a mound of ash.
Rhaenys and Meleys had turned to ash together.
Corlys stepped forward and crouched down, scooping up a handful of ash with his hand.
The ashes slipped through his fingers and scattered into the wind.
"Rhaenys..." he murmured.
No one spoke.
Only the sound of waves crashing against the rocks remained.
Again and again.
Never ceasing.
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