The private solar deep within Highgarden was bathed in soft candlelight. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and old roses. A large table dominated the center of the room, covered with maps of King's Landing, detailed sketches of the Sept of Baelor, and notes on the Faith Militant's known positions.
Lady Olenna Tyrell sat at the head of the table like a queen holding court, her sharp eyes flicking between the maps and the two unusual guests before her.
Several of her most trusted advisors, a steward, a captain of the guard, and an elderly maester sat in silence.
Arianne stood beside Rhaego, her posture straight and confident. Rhaego remained mostly quiet, arms crossed, listening intently with his hood lowered just enough to show his silver hair and violet eyes.
Olenna tapped one wrinkled finger against the wood.
"Again," she said. "Show me the sept."
A maester's apprentice stepped forward at once, nervous hands smoothing the edges of the parchment. The map of King's Landing lay stretched across the table, inked in careful detail, its crooked streets, its seven gates, and at the center, the vast domed bulk of the Great Sept of Baelor.
"The Faith has increased its presence here… and here," the boy said, pointing with a thin finger. "Septa patrols along the square, and armed Poor Fellows at the outer steps. The High Sparrow's men watch all approaches."
"They watch the ground," Olenna said sharply. "They always do."
Her eyes shifted, slow and deliberate, toward Rhaego.
"Men are very good at guarding what they can see. Pity no one taught them to look elsewhere."
Rhaego stood near the edge of the chamber, arms folded across his chest. His tail moved behind him in a slow, restless sway, the tip brushing lightly against the stone floor. No one commented on it now. Not after the garden.
But they noticed.
He could feel it in the way their eyes lingered a moment too long.
The map meant little to him. Ink could not capture wind, or distance, or the way a city breathed from above.
Still, he listened.
Arianne leaned over the table, one hand braced against the wood, the other tracing a narrow street that wound toward the sept.
"If he flies in blind," she said, "he risks being seen. Not by soldiers… but by the wrong pair of eyes. A whisper is all it takes in that city."
Olenna gave a dry snort.
"A whisper is more dangerous than a sword in King's Landing. Swords kill men. Whispers kill houses."
One of the Reach lords, a grey haired, cautious he shifted uncomfortably.
"And if he is seen?" the man asked. "A flying boy above the sept will not remain a rumor for long."
"It won't need to," Arianne replied coolly. "He won't be there long enough."
Rhaego's gaze lifted from the map.
"I won't land near the sept," he said. "I'll circle first. High enough that no one looks twice. I only come down when I know where they are."
"Fast. Quiet. In and out before anyone understands what they've seen." he said.
Olenna studied him.
"You're very confident for someone planning to pluck my grandchildren from the claws of zealots," she said dryly.
Rhaego met her gaze.
"I'm not confident," he said. "I'm careful."
Arianne's lips curved faintly at that.
Olenna leaned back in her chair.
"Good," she said. "Confidence gets men killed. Carefulness gets them home."
She tapped the map again.
"You go in from above. You don't linger. You don't play the hero. You take them and you leave."
Arianne straightened, glancing toward Rhaego.
"You won't do this alone," she said. "We'll need timing. Distraction. Something to pull attention away from the sept, even for a few moments."
"Agreed," Olenna said. "I can arrange… noise elsewhere in the city. A disturbance. Nothing too obvious. Just enough to turn heads."
"One of your 'whispers'?" Arianne asked lightly.
Olenna's smile sharpened.
"My dear, information finds its way to me. It always has. "
Later that night, in a quiet chamber overlooking the moonlit gardens of Highgarden, Rhaego stood before a long mirror, adjusting the specially made outfit that lady Olenna had provided.
The dark tunic was cut loose in the back to allow his wings room to unfurl, while a long, flowing cape draped behind him to conceal his tail.
He tested the movement once, rolling his shoulders, making sure nothing restricted him when the time came to fly.
The door opened softly.
Arianne stepped inside, still dressed in her simple clothes but looking refreshed after the bath. She paused in the doorway, eyes sweeping over him with open appreciation.
"You clean up rather well, my prince," she said with a teasing smile. "The Reach knows how to dress a dragon, it seems. That cape suits you. Mysterious. A little dangerous. I like it."
Rhaego froze for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the compliment.
He glanced at her through the mirror, then quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
For a second he seemed to search for the right words, his expression a mix of discomfort and genuine gratitude.
"Thank you," he said quietly, voice a bit hesitant.
"For everything. For helping me with this. For coming with me… even though you basically dragged me into running away from your father."
Arianne's smile softened slightly, almost a laugh escaped her.
He turned to face her fully, violet eyes serious.
"I keep thinking about what Doran must be feeling right now. I helped his heir disappear into the night. That's not exactly the best way to start an alliance."
Arianne walked closer, stopping just a few steps away. Her expression softened, but her confidence remained.
"I've sent word. Whether it reaches him in time… is another matter," she reassured him calmly. "He'll receive it soon. It explains everything, that this alliance is real, that we're moving forward, and that the only thing missing is the fruit of our success. Saving Margaery and Loras will prove we were right to act. He'll understand. My father always does when the result is worth the risk."
Rhaego exhaled slowly, still looking a little uncertain, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
"I hope you're right."
Arianne reached out and lightly adjusted the edge of his cape, her touch casual but lingering just a moment.
"I usually am," she said with a small, confident smirk. "Now go. The night is yours. Bring those Tyrell siblings back safely, dragon prince. We'll be waiting."
Rhaego gave her one last nod, then stepped onto the balcony.
With a powerful snap, his wings unfolded behind him, catching the moonlight in shades of charcoal, crimson, and gold. He crouched on the railing, glanced back at Arianne once more, and launched himself into the night sky with a single thunderous beat of his wings.
Within moments, he was high above Highgarden, climbing rapidly into the clouds, the leather map strapped securely to his wrist.
The rescue had begun.
Arianne remained on the balcony, leaning against the stone railing as she watched his silhouette disappear into the night sky.
The cool wind tugged at her hair, carrying the distant scent of roses from the gardens below.
A small, amused smile played on her lips.
"I was expecting a goodbye kiss at least," she murmured to herself, half-joking. "But I suppose dragons have their priorities."
She let out a soft, throaty laugh, shaking her head at her own words.
One day, she thought, eyes still fixed on the dark sky where he had vanished.
One day I'll capture that dragon's heart… whether he knows it yet or not.
For now, she would settle for watching him fly toward danger and hoping he came back in one piece.