Alysanne
The morning came bright and still, the kind that made the city smell of salt and sun-warmed brick. From her balcony Alysanne could see the roofs of King's Landing glittering, hear the clang of harbor bells and the cries of gulls. Silverwing dozed in her pit below the hill, wings half-spread to the light. The dragon's slow breathing rose through the stone like the pulse of the earth itself.
Inside, the Queen's ladies moved quietly, laying out silk and jewels for the day's court. Alysanne ignored them for a while, watching the smoke drift from the chimneys far below. When she finally turned, her voice was mild. "No silks today. Riding leathers."
They exchanged glances,one of those silent conversations that pass between the cautious and the bold,but obeyed. The silver-white leathers smelled faintly of oil and dragonhide polish; familiar, honest scents. She bound her hair with a narrow strip of grey ribbon, the color of cloud.
A soft knock came at the door. "Your Grace?"
Jonquil Drake entered, with the grace of a silent assassin. "The Small Council has gathered in the gardens. The King asked if you would attend, though he said you need not if you wish rest."
Alysanne smiled faintly. "Rest is for those who forget their purpose, Jonquil. What matters of state fill the morning?"
"They speak of yesterday's flight, Your Grace." Her tone suggested she wished she could say otherwise. "Some of the lords… um… question its wisdom."
"Do they now?" She fastened the clasp at her throat. "And where does my husband stand?"
"With you, as ever," Jonquil said. "But he tires of their fretting."
"Then perhaps I shall ease his burden."
She dismissed the ladies, took her gloves from the table, and walked with the Kingsguard through the corridors. Servants bowed as she passed; more than one smiled, wide-eyed, the memory of the dragons still fresh in them. In the outer court she could hear the low murmur of voices,men debating in the sunlight, their words carried on the wind.
Barth's calm baritone reached her first. "...and yet, my lords, who are we to chide wonder when it serves to bind the people's hearts?"
Then Lord Beesbury: "Wonder can turn to madness. A single misstep,one gust, one broken strap,and the realm mourns its Queen."
Alysanne paused by the gate, listening. Another voice, sharper, followed. "A woman's whim, that's what it was. A dangerous whim. The smallfolk cheer today and curse tomorrow."
She turned to Jonquil. "Is my husband here?"
"Not yet, your grace. He shall join any minute now."
Jonquil moved to open the gate, only to be stopped by Alysanne.
"Hold the gate"
"Your Grace?"
"They talk about my dangerous whims, and I am feeling whimsical now"
Understanding dawned slowly in her eyes, followed by a mixture of fear and admiration. She bowed. "As you command."
Alysanne descended the path to the lower yard, and went to the dragon pit where Silverwing waited. The dragon lifted her head at once, eyes whirling pale blue and white. Steam curled from her nostrils, carrying the scent of salt and iron.
"Did you hear them, sweet one?" the Queen murmured. "Men who have never felt the wind upon their faces, telling me what the sky should mean."
Silverwing rumbled, deep and approving. Alysanne smiled. "Shall we remind them who we are?"
The dragon shifted, crouching low to allow her rider to mount. Leather creaked, metal buckles clicked. "Soves," Alysanne whispered,fly.
The first downbeat of wings sent dust swirling through the yard. In three beats Silverwing was above the walls, in six she was level with the tower roofs. Alysanne guided her toward the gardens where the council met, the wind whipping tears from her eyes.
Below, the lords stood among trimmed hedges and marble benches, their parchments fluttering in the sudden gale. Jaehaerys was at the head of the table, one hand raised against the glare. He saw her first, and though his mouth tightened, his eyes betrayed amusement.
Silverwing wheeled once above them, casting the entire court in her shadow, then descended in a sweep of silver light and wind. The garden erupted,scrolls scattering, hats torn from heads, voices rising in alarm. The dragon's talons struck the paving stones with a ringing crack, claws digging deep. Her wings folded in a whisper of silk and thunder.
Alysanne dismounted in a single fluid motion, her boots touching stone as lightly as if she had stepped down from a stair. Dust and rose petals spun around her in the wake of the landing.
"Good morrow, my lords," she said, her voice clear and even. "I apologise for my entrance. It was just a woman's whim, you see. Dangerous. Isn't that right my sweet?"
Silverwing answered with a deafening roar.
For a heartbeat, no one even took a breath.
The lords of the council stood rooted like statues among the crushed flowers, mouths half-open, parchment drifting about their boots. Only the rustle of Silverwing's wings broke the silence , a long, deliberate motion that sent another ripple of wind across the garden.
Alysanne clasped her gloves in both hands and walked forward, unhurried. The sunlight caught the faint shimmer of her hair, and the scent of ash still clung to her leathers. She might have been the wind itself, come to remind them that crowns were forged, not gifted.
"Your Grace," murmured Lord Beesbury, recovering first. He bowed so low his chain nearly brushed the dirt. "We did not expect,"
"Evidently not," she said.
A few nervous chuckles died in their throats. She stopped before the table, looking from face to face ,
Barth's calm, unreadable smile; Benifer's watery eyes; Daemon Velaryon's pinched mouth. Even Jaehaerys, seated at the head, was still for once, his expression a study in careful neutrality.
"My lords," she began, "I am told you speak of my flight, of recklessness, of impropriety, of risk. You have weighed the wind, perhaps, and found it wanting."
No one dared answer.
"Let me weigh it for you," she went on, her tone soft but steady. "I flew for the same reason your king once did, because dragons are not beasts of burden to be kept chained in darkness, and because neither are those who ride them. The people cheered because they remembered what we are. Would you rather they forget?"
Barth's voice came, mild as rain. "No one denies, Your Grace, that the sight stirred hearts. But the council worries for your safety. The realm cannot bear to lose its mother."
Alysanne inclined her head. "A mother protects her children best when she teaches them courage. Fear has never built anything worth keeping."
Benifer cleared his throat. "It is not fear, Your Grace, but prudence. A queen must set an example of restraint…"
She turned her gaze on him, cool and precise. "Then take comfort, Grand Maester. I restrained myself from landing atop your library, though the thought did cross my mind."
Laughter burst from one or two of the younger lords before they could stop it. Even Jaehaerys's mouth twitched, though he masked it with a cough.
Alysanne let the moment linger just long enough to remind them who allowed laughter here.
"Restraint," she said more softly, "is not the same as stillness. We were born to rule in both peace and storm. I will not apologize for showing the realm that the fire still burns."
Lord Beesbury found his voice. "Your Grace, it is not the fire we question. It is the… manner. To fly above the city, to let the smallfolk gape as if at mummers…"
"Do you think them so base?" she cut in, her tone sharpening. "The smallfolk are the realm's blood. They toil, they pray, they endure what we never will. If they find joy in the sight of their queen reminding them that the blood of dragons still guards them, I count that as no shame."
Her eyes swept over the table, meeting each man's in turn. "It is easy to speak of the people when one's feet never leave the marble floor. Harder to look into their faces and see hope."
Beesbury dropped his gaze.
Alysanne drew a slow breath, easing the edge in her voice. "Peace has made us soft, my lords. Comfortable. That is not the same as safe. I would not have my children, nor yours, forget what it took to build this quiet. The dragons did not win the realm by hiding their wings nor their fire."
Barth folded his hands. "You speak truth, Your Grace. Yet peace has need of gentler symbols, too. The people love you not only for your fire, but for your mercy."
"And they shall have both," she said. "But mercy without strength invites scorn, and strength without mercy invites fear. I will give them balance."
Jaehaerys rose then, slow and deliberate, the movement of a man used to command but wise enough to know when to yield it. "My lords," he said, "your queen has spoken. If any here doubt her courage, they need only look to the sky. If any doubt her wisdom, they need only look to the peace she keeps. Let the matter rest."
The words were gentle, but final. Chairs scraped, heads bowed. The tension in the air eased.
Alysanne inclined her head toward him, gratitude flickering in her eyes. "Thank you, husband."
He smiled faintly. "You've won the day without fire or sword. The council will think twice before questioning your wings again."
"Hmmm. Maybe I should give them some fire."
She turned back to the lords. "Before we part, I will remind you of this: dragons are not ornaments to a crown, nor are queens. We serve no one but our loved ones. Do not forget again."
And Silverwing sent her own reminder realising her rider's emotion.
The sound came first, a shattering cry that split the air and silenced the courtyard. It was not mere noise but thunder given voice, an ancient memory of power that made every heart falter and every horse rear. Flames followed, a torrent of molten gold that painted the sky in furious light. The fire rolled and twisted, devouring the clouds themselves before fading into smoke that hung like incense over the Red Keep.
When at last the roar died, Silverwing stood there, vast and terrible, her wings half-unfurled, their silver membranes veined with crimson light. The air trembled around her, heat shimmering like the breath of the gods. She turned her head slowly, deliberate as judgment, and fixed her gaze upon the gathered lords.
Those eyes, ancient, molten, knowing passed over them one by one. No word was spoken, none dared. The dragon needed none. Her look said all that fire could not: Say something. I dare you to.
The silence that followed was deep and absolute.
Even the wind through the hedges seemed to pause.
And for a long, quivering heartbeat, the mightiest men in the realm remembered what their crowns and castles truly rested upon.
Then Alysanne stepped back, slipping on her gloves. "My lords, the council is adjourned. I have another matter to attend to, one of greater import than your fears."
As she turned toward Silverwing, Jaehaerys's voice followed her. "And what matter is that, my queen?"
She looked back over her shoulder, her smile bright as flame. "Flying of course."
She mounted Silverwing in one smooth motion. The dragon's wings unfurled, scattering papers and petals alike. With a single powerful stroke, they rose above the stunned council, the sun flashing off her armor as she climbed toward the city.
________________________________________
Jaehaerys
Evening had fallen softly over the Red Keep, that kind of tempered dusk that felt made for thought rather than for speech. From his solar, King Jaehaerys could see the pale shimmer of Silverwing circling far beyond the city walls, her wings catching the dying light like hammered moonlight. Alysanne was aloft again. The sight filled him with a strange ache, half pride, half envy. She had always found her freedom in the sky; he had always sought his in duty, though neither ever lasted for long.
He watched until the dragon dwindled to a speck above the bay. The windows rattled faintly as she climbed higher, her roar echoing against the hills. He thought of the way she looked when she landed, steam curling from her jaws, her scales dusted with ash, and Alysanne's cheeks flushed with wind and laughter. He could still remember when she had first mounted Silverwing, two lifetimes ago. She had looked back at him and said, "They'll never understand until they fly."
Perhaps she had been right.
He closed the ledger before him. The ink on his quill had gone dry an hour ago. For all his careful keeping of the realm's peace, he could not deny the creeping weariness that settled in him each day, a king caged by his own perfection. Roads and laws were his dragons now, yet none stirred his blood as Vermithor once had. That great bronze beast still slept in the pit below, chained more by neglect than by any keeper's will. When had he last flown? Two years, perhaps more. He had told himself that the realm no longer needed dragons in the sky. But tonight, seeing Alysanne soar, he felt the old call stir again, that pull in the marrow that whispered of fire and wind and height.
He rose and went to the window, the night breeze brushing the hair at his temples. The city sprawled beneath him , towers, septs, and smoke, the work of his life. Yet all his works would one day fade, he knew. The dragons would remain. They were the realm's memory, and perhaps its salvation, if men proved worthy of them. He wondered whether he still was.
"Ser Ryam," he said suddenly.
The white knight standing at the door straightened. "Your Grace?"
"Send word to the Dragonpit. Tell the keepers I will ride Vermithor at dawn."
The Kingsguard blinked, uncertain he had heard right. "Ride, Your Grace?"
"Aye. I would see if the Bronze Fury remembers his rider."
Ryam hesitated only a heartbeat. "At once, sire."
"And have the royal saddlers ready the riding leathers," Jaehaerys added. "The old set, not the ceremonial one. I've no wish to glitter like a tourney knight."
"As you command."
When the door closed behind him, Jaehaerys remained still, his reflection ghosted in the darkened glass. He could almost see the young man he had been , leaner, swifter, eyes bright with that reckless faith that dragons made gods of men. He smiled faintly at the thought. Not gods, he corrected himself. Merely kings who remember how small they are when the earth falls away beneath them.
Outside, the moon had risen , thin, cold, and clear. Somewhere beyond the walls, Alysanne's Silverwing would be landing, her shadow passing over the torches of the yard. Jaehaerys pictured her dismounting, hair loose, face aglow with flight. She would tease him in the morning when she heard of this, he knew. But perhaps she would also understand. For all their differences, they had always shared one truth: that dragons were the breath between them, the reminder that even rulers were born of sky and flame.
He turned from the window at last, extinguished the candle, and let the chamber fall to darkness. "Tomorrow," he murmured to himself. "Tomorrow we fly."
_________________________________________
The dawn broke pale over the bay, a thin veil of mist rising from the water. King's Landing still slept, save for the gulls crying over the harbor and the soft tolling of the sept bells. In the Red Keep, the King of the Seven Kingdoms stood by the window, dressed not in the silks of court but in old, worn leathers that smelled faintly of oil and ash. The air was cool against his face. He had not felt this kind of air in years.
"Your Grace," said Ser Albin Massey from the door, helm tucked beneath his arm, "the escort stands ready."
Jaehaerys turned. Four guards in the white cloaks of the Kingsguard waited with him, silent and gleaming in the dim light. Beyond them stood a pair of dragonkeepers,grey men in scorched leather, faces marked with the faint red welts of their trade. They bowed deeply, saying nothing. Dragons had little use for words, and so did those who tended them.
"Let's be about it, then," Jaehaerys said.
They descended from the Keep by torchlight, the tunnels winding down beneath Rhaenys's Hill. The further they went, the warmer the air grew, heavy with salt, brimstone, and the faint sweetness of burnt oil. Chains hung along the walls, old and blackened, their links as thick as a man's wrist. The King remembered the days when these corridors had been filled with sound,the bellow of dragons, the crash of wings. Now only silence and echo remained.
The lead dragonkeeper lifted his torch as they reached the final gate. "Vermithor lies in the eastern lair, Your Grace. He's been restless these last days."
"So have I," Jaehaerys murmured.
The gate creaked open on hinges that wept rust. Heat rolled out to meet them, thick and dry as desert wind. Beyond lay the cavern of the Bronze Fury,vast, dark, its walls slick with soot and old flame.
"Wait here," the King told his guards. They hesitated, but none spoke. Only Ser Albin ventured a look of concern. Jaehaerys gave a brief nod. "If he means to burn me, no steel will stop him."
He stepped alone into the gloom.
The smell was overwhelming,sulphur and scales and age. He could feel the dragon before he saw him, the low vibration in the air, the almost imperceptible hum that lived beneath the skin. Then came the eyes, twin orbs of molten gold in the dark, opening like sunrise through smoke.
"Vermithor," he said softly.
The dragon shifted. Chains clinked and dust cascaded from the ceiling as the great bronze neck uncoiled. The sound he made was not quite a roar,it was deeper, older, a note that seemed to rise from the bones of the earth.
"I know," Jaehaerys said quietly. "Too long."
Vermithor's breath gusted hot and heavy across the chamber, stirring the King's hair. The scent was sharp, edged with heat. Jaehaerys took another step forward, raising his hand. The dragon's pupils narrowed to slits. He rumbled again, louder this time,displeased.
"I do not come to bind you," Jaehaerys said. "Only to remember."
The dragon snorted, smoke curling from his nostrils. The sound was almost… derisive. Jaehaerys felt a smile touch his lips despite himself. "Aye. I've earned your scorn."
Vermithor's great head tilted, a ridge of bronze scales catching the torchlight. Another huff followed, and the King swore there was meaning in it,something between reproach and recognition.
"I forgot the wind," Jaehaerys whispered. "But you did not."
He laid his hand upon the dragon's neck. The hide was rough, thick as stone, pulsing faintly with the heat of the life beneath. For an instant he felt again the boy he had been,the one who'd climbed this same flank with shaking knees and found the sky waiting.
Vermithor exhaled, slow and deep, a rumbling sigh that filled the lair. It was as if he, too, had been holding his breath for years.
From behind came the shuffle of boots and the flicker of new torchlight. Ser Albin called softly, "Your Grace?"
Jaehaerys turned. "He remembers me."
The Kingsguard did not answer, though he stared at the dragon with wide, uneasy eyes. Few men, even those sworn to the crown, could stand so near Vermithor without trembling.
"Tell the gatekeepers to open the pit," Jaehaerys said. "We'll see the sky again."
The orders carried quickly. Chains creaked and doors groaned as the handlers began their work above. The dragon stirred restlessly, wings flexing, scales rasping against stone. When the last barrier gave way, the light of morning spilled down in pale columns. Vermithor growled low, tasting the air. The sound rolled through the tunnels like thunder.
Jaehaerys climbed the carved steps toward the saddle platform, every movement slow and deliberate. The old fear returned, but this time it was sweet,a living thing, half terror, half worship. He mounted without falter, the leather groaning beneath him.
For a moment, everything stilled. Then the dragon stepped forward into the sun.
The light struck his scales and turned them to molten bronze. The roar he gave split the morning, echoing across Rhaenys's Hill and down to the harbor. The city below erupted in shouts and the ringing of bells.
Vermithor spread his wings. The gust toppled carts, sending pigeons spiraling into the air. The King's heart hammered like a drum.
Then a familiar voice rang from behind him, carrying on the wind.
"Wait for me, my love!"
He turned. Alysanne was striding up the outer path toward the pit, her riding cloak snapping in the breeze, her hair catching the sunlight. "You'll not leave me to watch from the ground," she called.
Jaehaerys laughed, the sound bright and boyish in his throat. "Then hurry, woman, before the day grows old!"
"I will, but not without her."
She gestured behind her, and the shadow of Silverwing fell across the hill. The pale dragon alighted with a cry that set the stones to trembling. The crowd of keepers and guards fell back, shielding their faces from the downdraft.
"Go on," Alysanne said to Jaehaerys, eyes shining. "Let the city see what it has forgotten."
He nodded once. "Together, then."
"Together," she echoed, and turned to mount Silverwing.
Vermithor crouched, muscles coiling under bronze hide. The air around him shimmered with heat. Jaehaerys tightened the reins and leaned forward, the familiar weight of the harness pressing against his shoulders. For an instant he could hear nothing but the dragon's breathing,slow, immense, alive.
"Soves," he murmured, the word tasting strange after so many years. Fly. The dragon's great head turned slightly, one golden eye sweeping over the King, and then, with a grunt that shook the hill, Vermithor launched himself upward.
The world fell away.
Stone became dust beneath a single beat of wings. The wind struck hard and clean, snapping through Jaehaerys's hair, tearing laughter from his throat before he could stop it. They burst through the low morning haze, bronze and fire against the rising sun. Beneath them, the Red Keep flashed crimson, its towers small as toys, the harbor a pool of beaten silver.
He had forgotten this,the thunder of wings, the ache in the chest that was half fear, half exultation. The air smelled of salt and smoke and new sunlight. His heart hammered to the rhythm of Vermithor's flight.
From the east came a cry, bright and sharp. A second shadow joined the first,pale where Vermithor was dark. Silverwing. Her wings caught the sun and scattered it in shards of light. Alysanne rode astride her, hair streaming like a banner, her face alight with that fierce joy that had once undone courts and kings alike.
She drew level with him, the two dragons beating together in slow, tremendous rhythm. Their roars mingled, a chorus that rolled across the city and out to sea. The bells of the Great Sept answered as if in salute.
Alysanne shouted something, but the wind tore the words away. He could read her mouth, though,Look below!
He did.
King's Landing stretched wide beneath them, rooftops glittering with dew, streets alive with motion. People had poured from houses and markets, pointing upward. From the harbor, ships raised horns in salute; from the sept, septons spilled onto the steps, faces turned skyward. The cry went up through the city:
"The King and the Queen! The dragons fly again!"
Vermithor banked left, his shadow sweeping over the river. The water below fractured into ripples of gold and bronze. Jaehaerys guided him higher, then lower, circling the sprawl of the city,the fishmarket, the mud gate, the winding alleys of Flea Bottom,all frozen in awe. He felt the pulse of the city beneath him, the heartbeat of the realm he had built brick by brick, now looking up to the sky that had birthed it.
He caught Alysanne's eye across the gulf of air. She grinned at him, the wind reddening her cheeks, her hands steady on the reins. Gods, she was beautiful. She had always been beautiful, but never more than in flight,where the crown and court fell away and only the dragonrider remained.
Vermithor roared, a sound that rippled through his rider's bones. Silverwing answered in a higher, sweeter note, darting ahead, teasing. Jaehaerys leaned forward, urging the Bronze Fury on. For a moment, the two dragons danced,spiraling, crossing, their wakes carving patterns in the morning clouds.
The sun climbed, throwing their shadows across the water. It seemed to Jaehaerys that the years themselves were burning away,the weight of councils, the dust of parchment, the ache of old losses,all consumed in the fire of wind and motion. He remembered the first time he and Alysanne had flown together, young and unafraid, the sky theirs alone. He remembered her laughter echoing over Driftmark, her hair a silver trail behind her. And he thought, We have returned to ourselves.
They wheeled over the Dragonpit, where keepers and guards stood like ants in the yard below. Even the white cloaks craned their necks, dazzled. Jaehaerys pulled at the reins, and Vermithor responded with a slow, deliberate roll that showed the city the full spread of his wings,each one longer than a warship's mast. The people roared their acclaim, the sound rising like surf.
Alysanne drew nearer again. "He remembers you!" she called, her voice ringing across the wind.
"And I him!" he shouted back.
For a while they flew in silence, each lost to the rhythm of their mount. Clouds tore past, thin and cool. The sunlight broke in splinters across their scales. Far to the west, the fields of the Reach shimmered green beyond the Blackwater's bend. To the east lay the glittering Sea of Dorne. All of it, Jaehaerys thought, within their keeping,and worth every cost.
At length Alysanne lifted her arm and pointed downward. He nodded. Time to descend.
They angled back toward the Red Keep. The dragons' wings slowed, the air thickened around them. The roar of wind gave way to the beat of heart and muscle. As they dropped below the clouds, the city erupted again,cheers, horns, the tolling of every bell. Children chased their shadows through the streets; even the dour septons smiled.
They circled once more, then turned for the Keep. The dragons came in slow, proud arcs, wings shaking the air. Guards scattered in the yard below as they landed side by side,bronze and silver, fire and moonlight. The ground trembled, dust rising in a cloud. Vermithor lowered his head; Silverwing folded her wings with a hiss of steam.
__________________________________________
A little while ago, in the Red Keep
The morning after the King's decision dawned clear and wind-swept, the sort of day that seemed made for wings. From the upper terrace of Maegor's Holdfast, the royal family gathered, summoned not by duty, but by the sound that none in the Red Keep could ever mistake the thunder of dragons stirring.
Vermithor and Silverwing.
The Bronze Fury burst from the pit in a storm of dust and cinders, vast wings unfurling to catch the light. His roar shook the very stones beneath their feet. At his neck, the King sat straight-backed, his silver hair whipping like a banner, his face unreadable save for the faintest glint of something long buried, exaltation.
Silverwing rose next, her scales flashing white-gold as she climbed into the wind. The air rippled with her ascent. Alysanne rode her easily, hair streaming loose, her laughter carried faintly down through the gusts.
For a heartbeat, the sky belonged to them both. Husband and wife. Dragon and dragon. Fire and fire.
Baelon was the first to find words. He had been leaning against the balustrade, restless as ever, but when Vermithor broke the clouds, his grin spread wide. "Seven hells," he breathed, half in awe, half in delight. "The old man still remembers how."
Alyssa smacked his arm, though her smile betrayed her. "Mind your tongue. He's the King."
"He's flying," Baelon said, eyes bright. "For once, he's not a king chained to parchment." He shaded his eyes to watch the dragons wheel above. "I'd forgotten how large Vermithor truly is. Gods, what a sight."
Daella stood a little apart, her hands clasped tight at her breast. Her gaze followed Silverwing more than Vermithor, her voice soft and tremulous. "Mother shouldn't be up there. The wind, it's so strong…"
"She's been riding longer than we've been breathing," Alyssa murmured, though gently.
"I know," Daella said, still watching. "But still. I can't help it. When I see her like that, I think she could slip from the sky, and the world would fall with her."
Alyssa reached for her hand, squeezing it. "Then pray instead of fearing. The Mother hears both."
Saera was not praying. She was perched on the stone rail itself, hair whipping free, eyes alight with unrestrained hunger. "I want that," she said, pointing skyward. "Not the crown, not the court. That."
"Mind yourself before you tumble," Alyssa scolded, but Saera only laughed.
"They were born for this," she said, her voice fierce. "Look at them! The sky bends for them. That's what it means to be Targaryen."
Baelon turned toward her, half amused, half proud. "Then perhaps you'll earn your wings, little sister."
Saera's grin was sharp as glass. "I will. And mine will roar louder than hers. I am going for Dreamfyre. I will not ask for father's permission"
Alyssa and Baelon exchanged an uncomfortable look at that. They need to keep an eye out for her.
Vaegon, meanwhile, had not moved from where he stood by the archway's shadow. His arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed in thought rather than wonder. "Reckless," he muttered. "Two dragons aloft together without a signal or escort. If either misjudges the wind…"
Baelon laughed outright. "By the Seven, brother, do you measure joy by the rule of parchment as well? We should get you a dragon"
Vaegon did not rise to the bait. "When joy burns down a city, I'll be the one rebuilding it," he said coolly. Yet even he could not look away when the dragons wheeled together, crossing paths so close their wingtips grazed. His voice softened almost despite himself. "Still…it is a marvel."
Above them, the two dragons climbed higher. Silverwing arched her neck, banking wide over the bay, Vermithor following in her wake like a shadow of bronze fire. The city below had spilled into the streets, thousands watching, cheering, pointing skyward.
Alysanne's laughter carried faintly even there, a sound like sunlight on steel. Beside her, Jaehaerys turned Vermithor toward her in a sweeping curve, and for a heartbeat the pair of them were reflected in the waters of the Blackwater, a queen in silver, a king in bronze, their dragons dancing through their own fire-lit crowns.
On the terrace, Baelon exhaled low. "That," he said softly, "is how legends are made."
And for once, even Vaegon said nothing to disagree.
Back to present
For a moment, neither rider moved. The noise of the crowd, the clamor of the bells,all faded. Only the sound of the dragons breathing remained.
Jaehaerys swung down first, boots striking the scorched stone. His knees trembled, but the tremor was laughter, not weakness. Alysanne dismounted beside him, her eyes bright. They stood together before the dragons, wind whipping their hair, and the city's cheers rolling up the hill like a tide.
He reached for her hand. "It seems you were right."
She squeezed his fingers. "I always am."
The dragons settled shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the yard, their breaths misting the air in slow rhythm. Guards and servants stood at a respectful distance, faces streaked with soot and wonder. No one had seen both beasts aloft together since forever; even the oldest keepers crossed themselves when they looked upon the pair.
Vermithor shifted, his tail curling through the dust like a river of bronze. A low, contented rumble came from deep in his chest, echoing in the paving stones. It was approval, or forgiveness, or perhaps both. Jaehaerys stepped closer and laid a hand to the warm flank. "We'll not wait so long again," he said. The dragon's eye turned toward him,golden, knowing. A gust of smoke puffed from its nostrils, almost a snort, as if to say see that you do not.
Alysanne laughed softly behind him. "He scolds you still."
"He's earned the right." Jaehaerys turned to her. She was dust-covered, her hair tangled by wind, cheeks flushed from cold and speed. Never had she seemed more alive. "We frightened half the city."
"Then half the city will sleep easier tonight, knowing their king still remembers how to fly."
"Or tremble, knowing their queen cannot be kept from the sky," he said. Her answering smile was bright as the sun.
Silverwing crooned, a softer sound than Vermithor's roar, and lowered her head toward Alysanne. The Queen touched the dragon's snout, murmuring words too low for others to hear. The creature blinked, a slow lid of silver membrane, and huffed a cloud of steam that enveloped them both. When the mist cleared, Alysanne looked back at her husband. "Let them feed. They've waited as long as us."
Jaehaerys signaled to the keepers. Men hurried forward with carcasses of ox and goat, their fear balanced by awe. The dragons fell upon the offering, tearing meat and bone with the sound of breaking timber. The smell of blood and heat filled the yard, sharp and clean. For once, the King did not mind it; it smelled of life.
When the feeding was done and the beasts led back toward their pits, the King and Queen walked together through the outer gardens. The wind off the bay still carried traces of ash. Birds wheeled above, unsettled by the dragons' passage, their cries like fading echoes of that morning's thunder.
"You should have seen their faces," Alysanne said, amusement curling her words. "Old Benifer nearly swallowed his chain. Barth wept."
She reached out and brushed soot from his sleeve. "You built a realm on peace, my love, but peace must still have a heartbeat. They needed to see the fire that built it."
He stopped at the balustrade overlooking the city. The roofs spread below, red and gold in the noon light, the river glittering beyond. From this height the noise of King's Landing came up faint but steady: the hum of a thousand lives at work. "They cheered," he said quietly. "I had forgotten what that sounded like."
"Then don't forget again."
He looked at her, at the determination that had never dimmed. "Do you ever tire of reminding me what I've forgotten?"
She smiled. "When you no longer need reminding."
He chuckled, the sound roughened by wind and age. "That will not be soon."
"Good," she said. "I've always liked having purpose."
They stood together for a while, watching the smoke from the dragons' lair drift across the hill. The heat of the flight still lived in his muscles; every breath felt clean. At last he spoke, more to himself than to her. "It was not only for the people. I needed it too."
"I know."
He turned to her fully then. "Thank you."
She lifted an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For reminding me that the crown is not the whole of me."
Alysanne reached up, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "No crown ever was. We are Targaryens, my love. The sky is part of us."
They lingered until the bells marked the midday hour. When they returned to the Keep, courtiers lined the halls, bowing low. The air itself seemed different,charged, expectant. Jaehaerys felt it settle in his chest like a promise.
That evening, he went to the window of their solar once more. The harbor burned with sunset; far out, gulls circled where the dragons had flown. In the stables below, he could hear Vermithor shifting, restless but content. He imagined the great wings folded in sleep, the fire banked but alive.
Alysanne joined him, silent, a cup of wine in her hand. Together they watched the light fade.
When the first stars appeared, Jaehaerys spoke. "We'll fly again soon. Not for spectacle,just for ourselves."
"Good," she said. "The sky should not wait another year."
He looked at her profile against the dusk,the same woman who had dared him to rule, who had laughed at fear, who still could silence a court with a glance. "The realm will speak of this day."
"They will," she agreed, "but only because it reminded them who we are."
He raised his cup slightly, a toast to nothing and everything. "To remembrance."
"To flight," she answered, and they drank together as the night deepened over the city that once again believed in dragons.
Author's Notes:
I couldn't leave it with just Alysanne flying. I had to finish the thread and had to have Jaehaerys fly again. My ADHD had been acting up, so I had to write this. That's why you get two chapters this week. This is not the norm, tomorrow will be the chapter where MC awakens.
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