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Arrax had always believed that he and Lucerys, newly minted Lord of High Tide and perennial breaker of hearts, were bound together more surely than claw to bone, more closely than flame to smoke. Brothers, he thought, if not by blood, then by fire, by salt, by every wild thing that sang in their veins. From the moment he first cracked through the surface of his egg and blinked up at the world, all soft yellow light and clumsy human boy, Arrax had known Lucerys was his.
It was his Lucerys, who laughed like a bubbling spring and clambered onto his back with all the self-possession of a king, who whispered secrets into his ear under the stars; the dearest friend who shared his sweetmeats and crusts and patted Arrax’s snout when the older dragons got too loud, too fierce or too cruel. Now that Lucerys was older, sharper with his words and even sharper with his smiles, now that he strutted about High Tide’s sandstone halls like a young falcon taking his first victory lap — well, nothing had changed. Still his boy, his rider, his brother. No girl’s kiss or whispered courtship from simpering lady or clever lord would come between them.
Of this, Arrax was absolutely certain.
(Though, in truth, he might have fretted just a little when Lucerys had grown taller, his hands less ready to scratch behind Arrax’s frills and more inclined toward the laces of his doublets. But no matter, such phases passed along with the first bloom of youth.)
It was on this pleasant certainty that Arrax basked as they flew together toward King’s Landing, slicing through clouds like arrows loosed from a mighty bow. The wind smoothed through Arrax’s silver-white scales, turning him into a creature made wholly of light. Below, a patchwork quilt of fields and rivers unrolled lazily to the horizon. They were returning in triumph, or so Lucerys had said, all laughter and bravado. There had been invitations from his mother and many feasts speculated in their honor. A little flattery, a little politicking but nothing serious.
Nothing that could touch them. Still, they would have to stop at the dragon pit before Lucerys could parade into the city, and Arrax, with a grand self-importance only dragons can manage, took a moment to steel himself for it. The dragon pit, a monstrous, echoing vault of stone and shadow. A place meant to contain creatures that should never be contained. And within it, his kin. Though some kin are closer than others, Arrax thought dryly.
He’d landed with a thunderous grace that would have sent lesser beasts scrambling, folding his wings with the kind of casual artistry that only comes from being naturally superior and Lucerys slid from his back, laughing as his boots hit the ground. He paused to press his forehead against Arrax's snout in their customary greeting, and Arrax, rumbling with contentment, allowed himself a small puff of affectionate smoke. Only then did he cast his gaze about.
It had been years since they had been to King’s Landing and yet the pit was largely unchanged and his brethren, even less so.
A surge of pity travelled through him to all he surveyed. Vermax was dozing in a patch of sunlight, the lazy brute. Beyond him, Sunfyre glimmered in the corner like a half-forgotten jewel, too vain even in slumber to snore and Dreamfyre preened with a languid ignorance that set Arrax’s teeth on edge. He flared his wings wide in greeting (and subtle warning). He was not the biggest dragon, no — but he was quick, clever, beautiful, and worst of all for any would-be challenger: he had friends in high places. He prowled a few steps forward, muscles rippling beneath his pearl-white hide, and allowed himself a grand, leonine stretch.
From across the pit, Caraxes, the old, battle-hardened wyrm, only lifted one blood-red eye and promptly went back to ignoring everyone.
Arrax sniffed. Good. Keep your distance, old scoundrel.
"Show-off," Vermax mumbled through a yawn, thumping his tail against the ground.
Arrax preened under the sun anyway, letting it catch the pale red shimmer of his underwings. He was a lord of dragons, was he not? Lucerys’ champion and he would not slink about like some tame lizard. Let them see what he had become.
Still, a part of him remained alert, a hunter’s instinct humming just beneath his pride. The air in the pit was heavier than he remembered — as if storms were gathering just beyond sight.
Somewhere far above, Lucerys was speaking with the Dragonkeepers, his voice cheerful and easy, already making arrangements and planning for the court ahead. Arrax rumbled low in his chest, a noise no human could hear properly, and let his gaze drift toward the opening that led to the city beyond. King’s Landing had a smell on the wind that he didn’t like: sharp metal, old smoke, and the faint, sickly-sweet scent of something he could not yet name. Change, he thought, but of a peculiar kind.
For now, Arrax shook it off. He would fly at his brother’s side, he would protect him through all the boring feasts and flattery, and he would sneer discreetly at every giggling girl or swaggering lordling who dared cast a hungry eye in his direction.
No one would come between them. He would see to that personally.
The heavy, soot-streaked air was thick with the smells of old fire, oil, and scale, both familiar and faintly repulsive, like a perfume long turned sour. Not one for unnecessary humility, Arrax sauntered through the pit like a prince returning to a second-rate court. The other dragons loitered in various states of self-importance and boredom, each pretending that they were not, in fact, trapped within stone walls like caged lions.
He did not linger at the entrance. No, he strode forward, wings neatly furled, silver claws tapping a steady rhythm on the scorched floor, his neck arched in a curve that showed off the glimmering underside of his scales. Travelled, he might be, and second in beauty only to one, but dignity was a crown he wore as naturally as fire wore heat. He offered a perfunctory nod to Vermax first. Poor, dull Vermax, lying in a crooked heap by the feeding troughs with his tongue lolling out, eyes half-lidded with lazy confusion.
"Good sun today?" Vermax rumbled in a voice thick as porridge, blinking up at him.
Arrax, master of diplomacy when he felt charitable, allowed a gracious huff that could have been agreement. Vermax meant well. He truly did and it was hardly his fault that most of his thoughts seemed to roll about loose inside his skull like pebbles in a jar.
"May your talons stay sharp, cousin," Arrax said, with all the solemnity he could muster, before moving on.
Sunfyre was sprawled at the center of the pit like a living monument, his golden scales catching every ragged shaft of light and flinging it back tenfold. He gleamed with such arrogant magnificence that Arrax felt, unwillingly, a prickling pang of envy at the look of him.
"Late, as usual," Sunfyre drawled, without lifting his splendid head.
"I had better places to be," Arrax replied, cool as the moon. He did not snap, for snapping was for beasts without poise. Instead, he prowled a slow circle around Sunfyre, letting his own pearlescent hide glisten where the sunlight kissed it.
Sunfyre cracked open one languid eye, molten gold and sharp as a sword tip.
"Better places than the company of your betters? Brave of you," Sunfyre mused, in the tone of one pondering whether to squash a particularly persistent gnat.
Arrax bared a single, immaculate fang in a smile that held precisely no warmth, “If beauty alone made kings, you might rule more than a pit.”
The other dragons rustled uneasily, Sunfyre's temper was a thing of legend, but even he had enough vanity to let compliments disguised as insults pass unchallenged. Before Sunfyre could retort though, a bright, musical chirrup split the air.
Dreamfyre, lovely and oblivious, trotted up, her long blue tail weaving playful patterns behind her.
"Oh, Arrax, you look wonderful today," she trilled, eyes wide with innocent admiration."So slim! So shining! I heard you fought a wyvern once — is it true?"
Arrax, who had once scared a particularly aggressive flock of wild wyverns off a cliff in Yi Ti with a well-placed roar (hardly a fight, really, but why quibble?), bowed his head in gracious acceptance.
"It is," he said, voice rich with practiced humility. "The world beyond the pit is large, my dear, and full of wonders."
Dreamfyre gasped as if he had told her he had stolen fire from the gods themselves.
"I wish I could go beyond the city but Helaena does not ride much of late, not that she was ever a great proficient," she sighed, pressing a paw delicately against her own snout. "But I hear there is trouble in travel. Seasmoke once returned to us with fleas."
Sunfyre snorted thunderously at that, a burst of cruel laughter that set Dreamfyre blinking in confusion. Arrax only offered her a solemn nod."Fleas, yes. But there are worse things to fear. What of boredom, captivity, mediocrity?"
Sunfyre's laughter died abruptly.
At this, out of the shadows came Caraxes, long and low and sinuous as a river of blood. He slithered closer on crooked limbs, tongue flickering thoughtfully between broken teeth.
"Big talk for a pup who hasn't even lost all his milk teeth," Caraxes said, voice like gravel sliding down a mountainside.
Arrax stiffened, but held his ground.
Caraxes was older than all of them save the ancient ones who no longer stirred at all. Older, cannier, and fouler-mouthed by far. His wings hung low and his skin bore the scars of a hundred battles. His laugh was a sound that could chill even the boldest heart.
"Still strutting like a cock on a dungheap, I see," Caraxes purred, circling Arrax."Tell me, little prince, has your rider taught you new tricks? Will you sit up and beg for scraps when the court whistles?"
Arrax wanted to spit flame, to lunge, to knock the wretched old thing sprawling, but he remembered himself. He tilted his head instead, a single, elegant movement of disdain.
"My rider," he said with supreme calm, "Speaks the purest High Valyrian of any. Together we are scholars, travelers, Lords of our own domain. Not dancing dogs."
Vermax, picking his teeth with a broken talon nearby, gave a confused grunt of support.
Dreamfyre nodded, delightedly. "Oh, Lucerys sounds so clever. I heard his High Valyrian! Like songs made of jewels."
Even Caraxes rumbled a grudging chuckle at that.
"Words won't save you when the old blood comes calling," he warned, before slinking away like smoke.
Arrax flicked his tail, annoyed but unbowed. He turned back toward the sunwell where Lucerys stood waiting, mahogany curls haloed by the dusty light.
His boy. His brother.
The others could scoff and sneer and simmer in their chains; he and Lucerys were a pair meant for greater things. He could feel it burning in his bones. And yet, just as he began to move toward him, a strange sensation prickled along his spine: a faint, uneasy tugging, like a cloud passing before the sun.
Somewhere, something — was drawing near.
And their world would never quite be the same.
The feasting of the humans went throughout the night. Suffocated by the tedium of it’s occupants, Arrax waited. He hadn’t truly realised how much he’d come to miss him until Lucerys returned and Arrax brightened like a child spying a favored sweet across a crowded market. There he was — tall and strapping and laughing, the dust of travel still on his boots, his cheeks pink with life. He called out in a clear, melodic voice, the words rolling off his tongue with such grace that the other dragons stirred, curious. No one spoke so beautifully. Certainly, not the coarse barks of Dragonkeepers and the clumsy stammerings of other riders did not come close. Only his Lucerys was crisp, pure, proper.
"Arrax, azantys issa!" (Arrax, my knight!)
"Ziry istan jēdan." (We stay a while.)
Arrax rumbled in pleasure and stepped forward, nuzzling his snout gently against Lucerys' offered palm. His brother laughed, his fingers threading briefly along the fine scales between Arrax's eyes, a sacred spot, a place touched only by the trusted.
He almost didn’t hear the words. A while? Arrax, radiant with affection, interpreted a while as a few blissful days of basking and feasting and much-needed rest. But as Lucerys continued speaking, those lilting syllables both balm and command, the meaning became clearer. Several more days in the court of King's Landing. Not home to Driftmark just yet. Arrax's stomach, previously occupied with visions of fresh sea air and cool saltwater baths, dropped somewhere unpleasantly near his claws. The dragon pit so vast, so dark, so smothering with it’s many occupants, was no home for a creature like him. The walls pressed too close. The floor smelled of old soot and stale blood and the other dragons, restless and irritable, prowled and snapped at the air.
But what could he do? Lucerys spoke, and he obeyed. Such was the bond. Such was the law.
And so, when Lucerys gave him a final fond pat, turned on his heel, and vanished back up the stairwell to the glittering world above, Arrax laid himself down with as much dignity as he could muster and tried, desperately, to be patient.
The days oozed past like cooling tar. Arrax found the pit intolerable and the straw, old and scratchy. Unlike the generous hand of Lucerys, the fresh meat came too rarely and the stone walls trapped the heat and stink of beasts.
Vermax, bless his soft little heart, tried to make conversation but listening to him recount the thrilling saga of chasing a moth for two straight hours was enough to make Arrax contemplate biting off his own tail.
Like her namesake, Dreamfyre dreamed aloud, weaving foolish fancies about golden castles and silver moons and knights who would pluck wild roses just for her.
Caraxes lurked like a goblin in the dark, muttering to himself, occasionally snapping at passing Dragonkeepers purely for the pleasure of hearing them scream.
Even Sunfyre, glorious, wretched Sunfyre, seemed to wilt a little, his scales dulled by the stagnant air, his temper soured.
"We are gods," Arrax hissed once under his breath, pacing a tight circle."Not barnyard animals."
Still, he waited. And waited. The several promised days stretched into a week. Arrax grew listless. His beautiful scales lost their gleam. His wings itched for open skies. He missed the salty tang of Driftmark, the cool nights on the cliffside, the sound of Lucerys' voice recounting some ridiculous court intrigue and laughing until he could hardly breathe. He missed being important. Then, finally, Lucerys came again.
Arrax, who had been sulking near the back wall, shot up like a spark. He bounded forward with a low rumble of greeting, tail lashing eagerly, wings half-unfurled in unconscious delight. But the moment he reached him, Arrax froze, for something was wrong. Lucerys was different. His shoulders were tense. His hair, usually neatly tied with ribbon, was a little tousled. His cheeks flushed hot, not with excitement, but with something stranger, something softer, more dangerous. When he spoke, that lovely speech of his, it stumbled.
"Rytsas, Arrax... henujagon..." (Hello, Arrax... forgive me.)
Forgive, Brother?
Whatever for?
Arrax, deeply unsettled, pressed closer. He sniffed the air around his boy — there was no blood, no sign of injury, but something new clung to Lucerys' skin. A scent he had never smelled before, one of hot metal and leather. Like a crisp winter wind, it was a sharpness, like the snap of a blade leaving its sheath.
Another.
Lucerys' heart thudded unevenly beneath his ribs. His fingers were restless, twisting at the hem of his cloak. His lips, when they curved in a smile, seemed fragile as blown glass. Arrax, master of the unseen, master of the unspoken bond, realized it all in a single aching moment. His brother, his other half, was in love. Not with a song or a story. Not with a dream. With someone real made of bone and flesh. And worse still, Arrax could smell that the love was requited. All over him, that scent trailed, in every fibre of his clothing, his skin, even inside his very essence. Arrax moved back, stunned, staring.
Lucerys laughed — a short, nervous thing and reached out to scratch behind Arrax’s frill but the touch, while warm, was distracted. Already, he was thinking of someone else. Arrax rumbled low, a noise so soft only Lucerys might have caught it if he'd been paying attention.
He wasn't.
He was already looking back toward the stairwell, where low voices echoed faintly down.
Arrax sat down heavily, his tail curling protectively around his haunches. He was a dragon of Driftmark, a prince among beasts, second in beauty only to the sun itself. He had flown over oceans. He had fought storms. He had seen cities rise like islands from the mist.
And yet, in that moment, he felt very small indeed.
But he was no fool.
Dragons, despite the slander of humans, were no mindless beasts. They watched, they learned, they remembered. And Arrax, most of all, was a master of the silent arts, watching without seeming to watch, listening without giving himself away. He could not ask Lucerys in words; their bond, profound as it was, did not stretch to speech.
But he could look.
And he could listen.
The next day, when Lucerys returned, late again, rumpled and smiling like a boy drunk on sunlight, Arrax fixed him with a stare so heavy it might have cracked stone.
Lucerys, to his credit, winced under it. He approached, scratching the back of his neck, a nervous tic Arrax knew all too well, and mumbled in his rich, guilty High Valyrian:
"Nyke gaomagon daor vilipagon ao, Arrax." (I will not abandon you, Arrax.)
And then, with a sigh like a man confessing to a crime:
"Ñuhor rhinka... issa ñuha ñuha vepagon. Ñuha ñuhys. Uncle Aemond." (My heart... it is my downfall. My uncle Aemond.)
Arrax reared his head back in astonishment.
Uncle? The One-Eyed One? The brooding, grim-faced boy who had once snarled at Lucerys over wooden practice swords? Surely not.
But Lucerys only gave him a rueful, helpless smile, the kind one might offer after setting fire to a beloved tapestry by accident. Then, with a final caress of Arrax's snout, he turned and left again, his steps light and oddly sure. Arrax sat in stunned silence.
Uncle Aemond.
Well. If Lucerys would not tell him more, others might.
He began his investigation with Vermax, mostly because he was the least threatening, and, crucially, too dim to lie outright.
"Aemond," Arrax growled in dragon-speech, nudging Vermax with his wing,"Tell me what you know."
Vermax blinked his wide, silly eyes.
"Oh, him?" he said, stretching out one olive green claw to trace invisible circles in the dirt."He tried to claim us as a child. A fearless little thing then, but foolish. Now though, he’s a glossy shiny creature like yourself. Pretty, with a long white main of hair. Like a dead fish, but... noble, for a human. I suppose."
Arrax narrowed his eyes. Pretty, Vermax said, as if discussing a particularly decorative clump of seaweed.
"Cold, he is." Vermax added with a sage nod. "Colder than winter. Don't think he likes jokes. Don't think he likes much of anything actually, except fighting and frowning."
Arrax snorted. Perfect. His delicate, laughing Lucerys had fallen in love with an ice sculpture. Still, Vermax was no tactician. Arrax needed shrewder sources. He slunk across the pit to where Dreamfyre was grooming her already perfect wings, humming an off-key lullaby.
"Dreamfyre," Arrax purred. "Tell me of this Aemond. You would know him best."
Dreamfyre, ever eager to please, twirled in place.
"Aemond?" she chirruped. "He rides Vhagar! She's bigger than the sun! Bigger than mountains!"
Arrax fought down a shudder at the name. Vhagar. Old as the hills, vast as a nightmare, her breath had blackened fields and toppled castles.
"But he's so sad, says my girl," Dreamfyre sighed dreamily at the prospect of Helaena. "They say his heart is locked away, like a song trapped in stone."
Arrax resisted the urge to claw the walls. Sad, was he? Cold and sad and riding the death of worlds itself? A charmer, clearly, and exactly the sort of morbid poetry that would snare a romantic fool like Lucerys.
It was Caraxes, sprawled in the deepest shadow, who delivered the killing blow. Arrax approached cautiously; Caraxes was in one of his fouler moods, picking at an old wound with lazy malevolence.
"Speak, old one," Arrax growled.
Caraxes lifted his head, tongue flickering.
"You want truth, little prince?" he rasped. "Here it is, your precious boy has chained his heart to a specter."
Arrax stiffened. "Explain."
Caraxes snickered, a sound like knives being sharpened.
"Aemond is no free thing. He's Alicent’s creature, body and soul. She keeps him on a leash shorter than a kennel hound. She won't let him, or Vhagar, fly far. Not now. Not ever."
He rolled onto his back with a sinister purr, his long neck twisting with bite.
"So dream your little dreams, Arrax. But know this, your boy? He won't be riding home to Driftmark with love trailing after him. Not while the green Queen holds the chain."
Arrax turned away, throat tight. The pit, vast and heavy as it was, seemed to close in around him. Lucerys had not just fallen in love, he had fallen into a cage and for the first time, Arrax, for all his pride and beauty, his vast experience, felt powerless.
What good were wings if the ones you loved chose to bind themselves to chains?
What good was loyalty, if loyalty could not save them?
The next few days gnawed at Arrax's patience like termites in a rotted beam. Lucerys did not come to visit. There were none of his sweet melodies to brighten the stale air and none of his soft laughter to ripple across the stone vaults.
Simply gone. Gone from him, and, Arrax could only assume, to him. The thought made Arrax lash his tail so hard against the ground that dust and straw flew into Dreamfyre’s delicate nose, setting her off into a fit of offended sneezing.
"It's not right," Vermax whined one afternoon, blinking at the empty stairwell. "He usually brings lamb meat."
"Lamb meat," Sunfyre sneered. "And you wonder why you never grew taller than your rider."
Arrax paced furiously, wings twitching. He could not stand another day of this, of waiting, of wondering, of losing Lucerys to a boy who wore his sadness like a crown and rode the most monstrous beast still living.
No. If Lucerys would not fight for their bond, then Arrax would. Somehow.
The idea came to him in a flash of reckless brilliance. He could not speak to Aemond, that much was clear, but he could speak to the other half of him. To Vhagar. Dragons knew dragons in ways no human would ever understand. There were bonds older than Valyria itself, deep as magma beneath the earth. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could reach her. If only he could find the old ways, the secret ways, and remind her what loyalty truly meant.
An insane plot. One certain to end it death but it was all he had.
When Arrax announced his intention (with great dignity, mind you, he was not a beast to skulk about), the reaction was immediate.
Dreamfyre gasped so hard she almost hiccupped flame."No! She'll eat you!"
Vermax whimpered and tried to hide under a pile of straw, which was frankly pathetic given his size and even Sunfyre, arrogant Sunfyre, fixed him with something that could almost be called respect.
"Brave," he said, languidly admiring his own reflection in a puddle, "but stupid."
Caraxes, of course, merely cackled from his corner, wheezing like a rusty bellows.
"Little pearl’s going to wake the sleeping storm, eh?" he rasped. "You’ll leave a pretty corpse, at least. Might even impress Vhagar for half a heartbeat before she snaps you in two."
Arrax curled his lip. He knew all of it, knew Vhagar was ancient, a living relic from the Age of Legends, flown first by Visenya herself, sister-wife to Aegon the Conqueror. She was said to be larger than ships, older than memory, her fire hot enough to melt stone, her will unbent even after centuries.
All this, he knew, and yet, what choice did he have?
Lucerys had chosen this path, this perilous, tangled path and Arrax would follow, as he always had. No matter the cost.
When night fell, thick and heavy, Arrax moved. He waited until the Dragonpit fell into uneasy slumber, until the last torch guttered out and only the stars watched from above. Silent as mist, he slipped through the cracked arches of the outer gates, his white hide barely blending with the shadows.
King’s Landing slept uneasily under the moon, the great Red Keep looming above like a drunken crown. The city stank of fish and sweat and bodily pleasures but Arrax was not hunting men tonight.
He knew where Vhagar laired, outside the city proper, where no walls could hope to cage her— the fields beside Blackwater Bay, where her shadow could swallow whole villages and her breath scorched the stones black. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back. Even his talons, usually so sure, skittered once against the rock. This is folly, part of him whispered. This is brotherhood, the other part replied. So Arrax pressed on, heart hammering against his ribs, each step taking him closer to the place where the world’s last nightmare slumbered.
He smelled her before he saw her.
Old fire.
Older blood.
The sour tang of endless death.
It coiled through the night air like a living thing, making even Arrax’s seasoned stomach churn. He crept forward, wings tight against his sides, every scale on edge. And there, silhouetted against the midnight black of the night sky, she lay.
Vhagar.
Enormous beyond imagining, her wings folded like ancient sails, her body half-shrouded in mist. She breathed in deep, rattling gasps, each exhale stirring the grass for hundreds of feet around. The earth itself seemed to hum beneath her. Arrax crouched low, instinct screaming submission. He had always considered himself rather impressive, but next to her, he was a wren before a hurricane. And yet, he took another step. He would speak to her.
He must. For Lucerys.
(And somewhere in the swirling black of night, two ancient golden eyes flickered open.)
The grass whispered under Arrax’s claws as he crept closer, every muscle taut with readiness to flee or fight though he knew, in truth, neither would save him.
Vhagar stirred.
It was not a motion so much as a shifting of the world. The earth rumbled under her immense weight. The mist curled back from her scales like frightened spirits and those two eyes, vast and terrible, stared from the darkness. They pinned Arrax where he stood, smaller than a sigh.
"Who," came the voice, deep and cracking like ancient stone, "dares?"
Arrax dropped low, pressing his silver-white body against the earth in the oldest gesture of respect. His heart thundered in his chest like a war drum and his tail curled tight against his side. His wings ached with the desire to flee. But he did not.
He raised his head a little, letting the starlight catch the sheen of his scales, not in challenge, but in dignity.
"Arrax," he said, in the silent way of dragons: a name like a flame drawn against the night."Son of Driftmark. Bonded to Lucerys Velaryon."
For a long moment, Vhagar said nothing. Only her massive chest rose and fell, slow as the turning of seasons. Then, a sound, half-growl, half-laughter.
"Small prince," she rumbled, with a note that might have been mockery. "Smaller ambition."
Arrax swallowed hard, "I seek only to speak."
Vhagar’s wings shifted, not unfurling, not yet, but the motion sent a gust of wind so powerful that Arrax had to dig his claws into the ground to stay upright.
"Speak?" she echoed, incredulous. "Little worm. Near hatchling. You come to speak to Vhagar, who has seen kings fall and empires crumble? To speak to fire made flesh?"
A shudder passed through Arrax. It was then, he knew she could crush him with a single snap of her jaws, turn him to ash with a single exhale. And yet, he looked up. He saw, past the terrible grandeur, past the ragged scars and the ancient iron-hard scales, something else. Something that made his breath catch. A loneliness so vast it caught him off his guard. It hung about her like a second skin. It was in the slump of her vast shoulders, the slow, aimless twitch of her tail. In the way her gaze, fierce though it was, flickered with something aching, something hollow.
Vhagar was alone and the world she had helped conquer had outgrown her. Her kinfolk were dead. Her first rider, long turned to dust. Her second, and third, and fourth, all buried deep in the earth. She was too large, too old, too powerful for this fragile age.
No pit could hold her.
No city could honor her.
No song could truly remember her.
She slept now because there was nothing left worth waking for and here was Arrax, ridiculous and tiny, standing before her, not to challenge, not to command, but to speak.
Vhagar growled, the sound shaking pebbles loose from the cliffs above. "You tremble, little prince," she said, voice heavy with scorn.
Arrax, heart hammering, lifted his chin. "I stand, as I came."
A silence fell, deep and absolute. Then, slow as a glacier shifting, Vhagar lowered her massive head until one great amber eye was level with him. It was milky in places, scarred by centuries, but it burned still with a terrible, weary intelligence.
"Why," she asked, softer now, "does the son of Driftmark seek the monster of Dragonstone?"
Arrax exhaled slowly, “For my rider, my brother."
Vhagar snorted, a gust of hot, acrid breath that nearly knocked him over.
"Your rider loves mine," she said, almost idly.
It was not a question.
Arrax shivered.
"Mine dreams of foolish things," Vhagar went on, her voice dark with the wisdom of endless years. "Dreams of love and freedom, much too big for the chains he wears."
Arrax shifted, his claws scraping the earth."Dreams are not foolish,"
"All dreams are foolish," Vhagar murmured, "especially when they forget the iron that binds them."
For a moment, Arrax faltered. What could he say to her? That love would save them? That freedom would come? Before Vhagar, such pretty lies crumbled like sandcastles before a rising tide. But still, he had come for Lucerys. He must try. Arrax stepped closer, so close that Vhagar's breath warmed his scales.
"You are mighty," he said. "You have seen kingdoms fall. You have flown across the world. You are feared, honored, sung of." He paused, "But you are so very alone."
The words dropped into the still night like stones into a well. Vhagar did not move and for a heartbeat, maybe two Arrax thought she might destroy him for the presumption. But then, a sound. Not quite a growl, nor a hiss. A sigh, so old and broken and endless. The great head lowered until her snout touched the earth, a mountain bowing to a pebble.
"Yes," Vhagar whispered.
It was a sound so soft Arrax almost thought he had imagined it.
For the first time, truly, Arrax saw her as she was, not the terror of battlefields, the last living weapon of a long-dead age but a soul, vast and aching and unbearably alone. And he realized, perhaps she wanted what Lucerys dreamed of too. More than war and glory, just something, someone, to fly with. In the silence that followed, Arrax dared one final thing. He stretched out his snout, tentative as a hatchling, and brushed it, barely, against the rough, weathered scales of her forelimb. An olive branch for Lucerys, and his Aemond. For all the foolish dreams dragons still carried in a world that had forgotten them.
Vhagar said nothing more, but when Arrax turned and padded back into the mist, he felt her gaze following him, not hostile now, but all the more heavy.
He slipped back into the dragon pit under the cover of night without so much as a whisper of claw on stone. The dragonkeepers, gods-bless their blundering foolishness, were deep in their cups, no doubt congratulating themselves on another night of successful wrangling. When Arrax could no longer hear their voices echo, he coiled himself neatly into his usual hollow of old straw and scorched stone and waited for the new day to come.
No one seemed to notice his absence which meant that he had moved undetected. But Arrax — Arrax knew the world had shifted beneath his talons.
He had spoken to Vhagar and he had survived it. And more, he had seen her, not just the monster they all feared, but the lonely soul the world had forgotten.
Days more passed. And still, Lucerys did not come.
Arrax paced. He lashed his tail until the dust rose in choking clouds. He barked sharp, impatient greetings at anyone foolish enough to approach. Vermax, usually eager for a wrestling match, stayed well out of reach. Dreamfyre sang to herself at the far end of the pit, carefully ignoring him. Even Sunfyre lifted a lazy, glittering eye and decided against comment.
Brooding suits you," Caraxes drawled from his dark corner. "Almost makes you look dangerous."
Arrax ignored him.
He waited.
And waited.
And then, finally, Lucerys returned.
At first, Arrax thought his eyes deceived him.
Lucerys, usually a flame, all laughter and restless grace, looked...extinguished. There were dark hollows under his eyes. His clothes hung looser, as if he had forgotten to eat. His hands trembled when he reached out to press them against Arrax’s snout.
"Ziry iā daor moriot raqagon." (It is not safe anymore.)
The words in High Valyrian were whispered, torn from a heart heavy with fear and longing. Arrax lowered his head, rumbling a soft, mournful note deep in his chest. Lucerys leaned his forehead against Arrax's brow and stayed like that for a long time, drawing strength.
"Queen Alicent found out," Lucerys murmured, voice thick with despair. "About me. About Aemond."
Arrax tensed. Of course, the green Queen, that spider of silk and iron, would see love not as a bond, but as a threat.
"She has locked him away," Lucerys said, his breath hitching. "Somewhere in the Keep. A tower, I think. I don't know which."
The words fell like stones into the pit of Arrax’s stomach.
Aemond, trapped. Lucerys, desperate.
"I have a plan," Lucerys said, a thread of hope sparking in his tired voice. "In three nights, I will take him and we will fly away together."
Arrax closed his eyes briefly.
Three nights. Only three to steal a prince from under the Queen’s very nose.Three nights to defy the crown, the court, the gods themselves.
It was glorious madness and it was utterly impossible unless they knew exactly where to find Aemond before the moment came. Lucerys had courage to spare but he did not have eyes that could pierce stone.
Arrax rumbled low, a sound that made even Sunfyre glance up in wary interest.
He already knew what he had to do.
That night, curled beneath the cracked vaults of the pit, Arrax turned the plan over in his mind. There was only one creature alive who could help them. The only one who knew the secrets of the Red Keep’s hidden towers and the paths no man dared tread.
Vhagar, the ancient queen. The last true dragon of the Conquest.
And she would not give her secrets away for free.
Vermax, ever loyal and ever foolish, tried to dissuade him.
"No no no," Vermax mumbled around a mouthful of straw. "Bad idea. She’ll have your guts for starters."
Dreamfyre sniffled sadly and pushed a shiny pebble into his den, a token of good luck while Sunfyre rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out of his golden skull.
"Are you writing poetry now, Arrax?" he sneered. "Chasing dreams and ghosts and sad old monsters?"
Even Caraxes watched him with an expression that might have been grudging respect or resignation."Well," he said, "It’s been a long while since one of us has died doing something stupid."
When the third night fell, thick and velvet-black, Arrax slipped from the dragon pit once more, vanishing into the mist like a silver arrow.
Toward the cliffs.
Toward the sea.
Toward the slumbering shadow of history, waiting to be awoken once more.
The mist was thick on the cliffs that night, swirling low around the rocks like a living thing.
Arrax padded forward, silver wings tucked tightly against his sides, heart hammering loud enough that he was sure even the gods could hear it.
Vhagar slept as she had before, sprawled across her field like some ancient titan slain by time itself, with only the slow rise and fall of her vast sides betraying life. He stopped at a respectful distance, far enough to flee if needed, close enough to be seen and then, summoning all the reckless courage of his blood, he loosed a rumbling call into the night.
A courtier’s greeting, a challenge and a plea wrapped into one.
Vhagar shifted, the ground trembled underfoot and one massive eye cracked open, gleaming like a dull, battered coin in the starlight. She regarded him in silence for a long, heavy moment.
"You again," she rumbled, the sound like the grinding of two mountains.
Arrax dipped his head with exaggerated grace, fanning his wings in a salute worthy of a king’s court.
"Most venerable lady," he said, voice rich with charm, "might a humble prince beg a moment of your time?"
Vhagar’s lips peeled back, revealing teeth the size of ship's masts. It might have been a snarl or a grin.
"Begging," she said. "Appropriate."
Arrax pressed on. He told her, quickly, carefully, of Lucerys and Aemond. Of the queen's wrath, of the prison tower and of the plan to escape under the cover of darkness. As he spoke, he watched as Vhagar listened but her great head remained still and her eyes, ancient and unreadable, gave away nothing. When he finished, she exhaled slowly, the breath of a dying forge.
"Foolishness," she said at last, "And children's games. Courtly rot. Love is a candle in a storm, boy. Pretty, and doomed."
Arrax grimaced inwardly, she was not impressed with his display. So he slinked closer until he was near enough to lower his head in a way no dragon ever did lightly; the old signal of courtship, a playful, teasing bow used between young mates in days long past.
"If doom is certain," he said lightly, "shouldn't we enjoy the dance before the storm takes us?"
He even flicked his tail, the way Sunfyre sometimes did when showing off, a flirtatious little ripple of silver-white against the dark.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then, unbelievably, Vhagar huffed a sound that might have been a low, rusty chuckle.
"You flirt with death, little prince."
Arrax, feeling faintly mad, puffed himself up and tossed his head, "And I flirt well."
In truth, he thought, with deep private amusement, the old hag could use the attention. What was she now but a living fossil, feared, yes — but feared alone? All the terror and none of the tenderness.
It was almost... pitiable.
And oddly charming.
Arrax, who had known the adoration of crowds, the admiration of silver-tongued singers and brave knights, saw her loneliness as clear as he saw the stars and so he gave her what no one else dared; not fear but flattery.
You are magnificent, he said with every line of his body. You are worthy. You are not forgotten.
And for the first time in centuries, perhaps, Vhagar listened. She shifted, the great bulk of her body stirring a minor earthquake across the fields. Her head dipped low, so low Arrax could see every scar scored deep into her battered scales.
"You ask much," she murmured.
"I ask only for their freedom."
A long silence.
Then, with a heavy growl, Vhagar spoke:"I will help you, little prince. I will tell you where my boy is caged."
Arrax’s heart leapt and then sank, because her eye gleamed sharper now, calculating.
"But you will owe me," she said.
Arrax stiffened. ”Owe you what?"
Vhagar smiled. A terrible, slow curving of jaws and teeth.
"Not yet," she said. "Not tonight. When the time comes, you will know."
The mist thickened around them, the night seeming to close its jaws as surely as Vhagar could have done. Arrax considered, but really, there was no choice. He bowed low once more.
"Done," he said.
And from the darkness, ancient and terrible, Vhagar whispered the name of the tower; the place where Aemond waited, locked away behind stone and iron.
Arrax rose on trembling legs.
Victory, or something close to it, sang in his blood. He had done it. He, Arrax of Driftmark, white prince of the skies, had charmed death itself. And perhaps, he had won them a chance at freedom. But as he flew back toward the Dragonpit, wings slicing the mist like knives, he could not quite shake the cold coil of dread curling tight in his chest. For bargains made in the dark were seldom without price and the debt he now owed might one day cost more than he dared imagine.
The night before the escape, Arrax could not sleep. He coiled and uncoiled himself atop his heap of stale straw, his claws raking endless patterns into the dusty stone. Nerves gnawed at him.
This was it. The plan he had stitched together from hope and madness was about to be tested and Lucerys, his beloved, reckless Lucerys, had no idea what was truly coming, because, curse it all, Arrax could not speak to him. He could not tell him that when he soared into the night sky, he would not be flying alone. He prayed in the silent, stubborn way only dragons knew, that Lucerys would trust him. That when he saw the monstrous shape of Vhagar in the clouds, he would not panic. That he would not turn back, that the years of blood spilt together would pay dividends.
The hours dragged but the pit slept uneasily, a hive of shifting scales and low, grumbling breaths. Even Sunfyre, who usually shone like a lighthouse at night, seemed dimmer now, hunkered down and sullen. Dreamfyre whimpered softly in her sleep, dreaming of things bright and foolish, and Vermax rolled restlessly enough to rattle the rafters. Only Caraxes watched, wide awake, his red eye gleaming with wicked amusement.
"Little prince got you sweating fire?" Caraxes rasped as Arrax paced.
Arrax ignored him but Vermax, ever eager to contribute, lifted his head.
"You sure this plan's good?" he said, blinking one eye at a time. "Humans are dumb. They panic. They fall off and break all their soft little bones."
Dreamfyre, half-awake now too, added with a distressed chirp, "And the queen will be angry. Humans get very red when angry like beetroots!"
Sunfyre, gleaming faintly in the gloom, rumbled without lifting his head.
"It'll fail, you’ll see. Your prince will cry, they'll fall and burn. Waste of fine scales, if you ask me."
Only Caraxes snickered at the thought.
"At least it'll be entertaining," he said. "Maybe we'll get a show before the Keepers drag your corpse out."
Arrax flared his wings in irritation, a sharp, silver snap that silenced them all."It will work," he said aloud, the sound more of a vow than a hope.
It had to.
At last, finally, footsteps echoed in the tunnel. Arrax snapped his head around, his heart leaping.
Lucerys.
He crept in with careful, quick steps, cloaked in a dark mantle, hood drawn up. With him, he carried a small satchel, and wore a sword at his hip, not for show this time, but for need, and his face, when the torchlight flickered across it, was pale but determined.
Arrax rumbled deep in his chest, soft and welcoming. Lucerys smiled, that quick, beautiful smile that broke Arrax’s heart a thousand times.
“Ready, Arrax," he whispered, voice barely a breath.
He moved quickly, with the easy grace of long practice, fastening the light saddle to Arrax’s back, tightening the girths, checking the clasps. Arrax crouched low to help, though his tail twitched with nerves.
The other dragons watched.
Dreamfyre chirped mournfully, like a mother watching a foolish chick.
Sunfyre snorted, a jet of smoke curling from his nostrils.
Caraxes yawned, baring teeth like broken swords.
Vermax gave a half-hearted, sleepy cheer: "Good luck! Try not to die!"
Lucerys swung up into the saddle with a fluid motion, one hand steadying himself, the other brushing Arrax’s flank in silent encouragement and Arrax felt it — the trust, their bond, as strong and warm as ever and almost wept from sheer relief. He turned his head once to look back at the others. No matter their sniping, no matter their doubts, they were dragons.
They understood what loyalty meant and they would not betray him.
Caraxes lifted his chin in a rare, almost respectful nod.
Dreamfyre whined low in her throat.
Sunfyre, in the end, said nothing but Arrax thought he saw something grudging in the flick of his golden tail. And Vermax, silly, kind Vermax, called out: "Fly high, cousin and fly fast!"
Then Lucerys leaned forward, hands steady on the reins and Arrax stretched his wings wide. Together they launched into the night, into the wild, waiting dark.
The air rushed past, cold and sharp, snapping Arrax awake in every nerve and sinew. He beat his wings hard, gaining height, higher and higher until the dragon pit was only a black smudge behind them. The stars wheeled above like a thousand watching eyes and his boy whooped once, unable to contain it; a sound of wild, reckless joy that cracked Arrax’s heart anew. And there, ahead, drifting through the mist like a ghost risen from old songs —
Vhagar.
She was vast, half-shrouded by clouds, her wings spread so wide she seemed to cover half the sky. Lucerys stiffened in the saddle, and for a terrible heartbeat, Arrax felt his fear, felt the primal instinct to flee from that monstrous shadow.
But then, Lucerys tightened his grip. He pressed his forehead briefly against Arrax’s neck.
"I trust you," he whispered and Arrax surged forward, heart blazing, as Vhagar turned her colossal head — and waited.
The air grew colder as they neared the Red Keep. The sprawling fortress rose from the rocky spine of King's Landing like a grim crown, its towers clawing at the stars. Lucerys shifted uneasily in the saddle, pulling lightly at Arrax’s reins.
"Not that way," he murmured. "The gates are—"
But Arrax, usually the most obedient of creatures when it came to Luke’s commands, ignored the tug. He angled his wings sharply, following a path he chose: not toward the great, torch-lit gates, but higher, toward the lonely towers cloaked in shadow.
Lucerys pressed closer, tense. "Arrax," he hissed, "Rybas—" (Obey)
Arrax pushed faster, heart hammering with purpose. He trusted Vhagar’s instructions, ancient though they were. Somewhere ahead, he knew, Aemond was waiting, hidden away by the green queen and tonight, they would set him free.
From the mist above, like a mountain waking from a long slumber, Vhagar descended upon them. Arrax saw her in glimpses, wings blacking out the stars, massive body weaving through the clouds like a leviathan returned to the skies. Lucerys gasped aloud when he saw her so close. He yanked the reins back, pure, animal terror coursing through his blood, but Arrax bucked slightly, steady but firm, grounding him.
"Trust," he willed. "Trust me, brother."
And somehow, Lucerys did.
They circled the Keep once, twice, then Vhagar surged forward. With a roar that split the night itself, she crashed into the side of a squat, thick-walled tower near the river-facing side.
The stone shattered and ancient mortar rained down in clouds of choking dust. Under her vast fury the wall crumpled like parchment.
Arrax stayed above, wings beating hard, keeping Lucerys clear of the falling debris. When the smoke cleared, a jagged wound gaped in the side of the tower, and inside, like a pearl in a broken shell, stood Aemond and he did not look surprised.
He looked, Arrax thought with grudging admiration, ready. With his sword drawn, hair braided, one eye flashing violet in the dark, Aemond was no delicate court princeling. He looked every inch the dragonrider he was born to be. Then Lucerys shouted something Arrax couldn't hear and Aemond leapt forward without hesitation, vaulting across the ruined stones like a wolf freed from a snare.
Arrax dropped lower, hovering as steady as he could and Lucerys leaned dangerously far out, hand outstretched. The one-eyed prince caught it with brutal efficiency, hauling himself up behind Lucerys with a single, fluid motion. It was a heavy burden with both of them and the saddle groaned under the sudden weight, but Arrax adjusted, muscles flexing.
Lucerys laughed aloud, so wild and free and Aemond only grunted, twisting around to glare at the ruined tower as if daring it to collapse more.
"Soves!" Lucerys shouted.
Arrax needed no further urging. He snapped his wings wide and shot into the sky, the city shrinking away below. Behind them, a hundred torches flared to life as the alarm bells began to scream.
But they were already gone.
As Vhagar rose alongside them, a ghostly titan in the night, her vast wings beating slow and sure, Arrax stole a glance sideways and to his relief, she did not follow closely. She soared high above, masking their retreat with her shadow, but did not crowd them.
An ancient queen keeping watch, letting the young ones run free.
The journey to Driftmark stretched long and cold over the sea, but Arrax flew like a creature possessed. Lucerys clung tightly to the saddle, laughing breathlessly, his arm wrapped protectively around the one Aemond already had around his waist. Aemond, for his part, did not laugh. He sat stiffly, gaze fixed forward, sword still clutched in his fist, but when Lucerys leaned back to grin at him, Aemond's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. Arrax felt them on his back, linked almost flesh to flesh. It was not softness, no mere bond of honeyed words, but one of the old ways in fire and steel. Exhausted but exhilarated he turned his mind inward. Arrax considered Aemond’s sharpness, his cold fire, his grim strength and then he thought of Lucerys, his boy so bright and reckless and warm as summer wind.
Together, they were opposites, and equals. Not quite a tender ballad of love but something older and harder, two swords forged in the same flame.
Arrax rumbled to himself, amused and approving.
They will be fine, he thought. Warlike and stubborn together, but fine.
And with that, he tilted his wings toward the distant speck of Driftmark on the horizon, carrying his brother, and his brother's dangerous, beautiful heart, safely home.
The dark sea stretched beneath them like endless silk, broken only by the sharp grey cliffs of Driftmark rising in the distance.
How he’d missed it. The sweet embrace of home.
Arrax’s wings ached from the long flight, but he forced himself faster, keener, chasing the growing light on the horizon. Behind him, Lucerys leaned low over the saddle, face pressed against Arrax's neck, murmuring thanks in breathless High Valyrian and Aemond sat rigid as a spear, arm still locked around Lucerys' waist as it had been for the duration of their flight.
It was not the way of poets or songs, Arrax thought, but it was their way and it would be enough.
From above, he could see that Driftmark’s beacon fires had been lit, their golden light blinking through the mist like the heartbeat of the island itself. Arrax angled his flight downward, circling once, a single sweep over the black cliffs and white castle towers, before heading toward the greener land beyond the keep. He spotted a clearing easily, a broad stretch of sea-grass and sand where dragons often landed when summoned by Lord Corlys. Now it lay empty, save for a few startled night-watchmen blinking up at the approaching party. Arrax snorted, amused, as the men scattered like leaves in a storm.
Good, he thought. Let them run. Let them remember what we are.
With a final, sweeping gust of his wings, he dropped into a hard but steady landing, sending up clouds of dust and sand. Lucerys gave a wild laugh of sheer relief, slapping Arrax’s neck affectionately and Aemond dismounted just after him, with the efficiency of long practice, landing lightly despite the stiffness in his limbs. He stood back at once, one hand on the hilt of his sword, his good eye scanning the darkness. Ever watchful and so serious.
Arrax turned to study him properly now, the adrenaline of the rescue fading. Pretty, possibly for a human — though it was hard to say as they had no horns nor tails, with his pale hair and sharp profile. But more than that, Arrax thought, there was iron in him. Certainly, he was not some courtly prize to be stolen like a mere trinket. He resembled a blade, tempered finely and made dangerous.
Yes, he would suit Lucerys very well.
Arrax rumbled low in his chest, approving.
Lucerys already unsaddled had near collapsed onto the soft earth before catching himself. He looked around wildly, unaware of Arrax’s assessment of his mate, then laughed, a bright, astonished sound.
"We made it," he gasped.
Aemond grunted, a sound that might have been agreement or might have been simple exhaustion. His boy or their boy perhaps, reckless fool that he was, stepped forward and seized Aemond’s hand, their fingers tangling awkwardly and just for a moment, Aemond stiffened. Then, slowly, carefully, he allowed it. Their fingers tightened together, pale against the night. Arrax watched them, two strange souls and felt something warm swell in his chest.
"Good," he thought simply.
Above them, the sky lightened from deep blue to bruised purple. The dawn was coming and with it, its consequences. But for now, they stood free, on the wild edge of Driftmark, with the sea singing to the cliffs and the world wide open before them.
Free, alive and together.
Arrax folded his wings and lowered his head to the earth, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He watched as Lucerys tugged Aemond toward High Tide, their steps unsteady but sure, and behind them, in the misty air, the faintest, slowest shadow moved. Vhagar, far above, circling once before turning her great body back towards the dark call of the ocean.
A debt owed. A debt yet to be named. But that, Arrax thought, was a worry for another dawn. Tonight, he had done what few dared dream. He had kept his brother’s heart whole, his promises intact, and for a dragon, that was all that mattered.
Years had passed.
The wild flight, the desperate rescue, the frantic first days at Driftmark, all of it had softened into memory, like the bright burn of a comet fading into the long night.
Now, the cliffs of Driftmark sloped peacefully into the grey-green sea. The winds sang low songs through the caves and the castle bustled with life: banners snapping on the parapets, children laughing in the courtyards, the sharp, sweet scent of salt and smoke and honeyed bread filling the air.
In a field overlooking it all, two dragons lay side by side in the setting sun. Arrax, still sleek, still silver-white, his wings strong and sure, preened idly at his claws and beside him, vast but unbowed, Vhagar basked in the golden light, her wings folded like ancient sails. She was old. Gods, she was old. Her scales were worn, her breath sometimes whistled through a cracked tooth, and her once-proud roar had become more of a bone-shaking growl. But to Arrax’s eyes, she was magnificent. Not beautiful, perhaps, not in the way Dreamfyre or Sunfyre would measure beauty, but fierce, powerful, true.
And astonishingly, improbably, she had chosen him.
The eggs had been the first surprise.
Arrax still remembered the morning he'd wandered into the caves by the western cliffs and found Vhagar curled protectively around a clutch of smooth, gleaming shells, pale gold and silver, touched with streaks of red like sunset clouds.
No sound left him. He had stared. He had gawked. He had sat down very hard and stared some more.
"Mine," Vhagar had said with a lazy lol of her head, utterly unbothered.
"Yours too," she added, after a moment, almost as an afterthought.
Arrax had nearly fainted. Him. A father.
A sire.
It still made him giddy if he thought about it too long.
They hadn’t expected it, least of all Vhagar herself. She was older than half the world and no one had thought there would be life left for her to give, but dragons, as Arrax well knew, were full of strange, stubborn miracles. Now, as the sun dipped lower, casting the sea into sheets of molten silver, Arrax stretched luxuriously and glanced sidelong at his unlikely mate. Vhagar huffed through her nostrils, a sound halfway between amusement and derision.
"Your rider looks tired," she rumbled.
Arrax followed her gaze to the distant courtyard. Lucerys was there, chasing a pack of noisy children, his and Aemond’s brood, while Aemond stood impassively nearby, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in eternal judgment.
Arrax chuckled, a low, satisfied sound.
"He rides too hard," Arrax said grandly.
Vhagar's eye gleamed."What riding do you speak of, yourself or my master?"
Arrax laughed properly then, throwing his head back. "Both," he said. "But it’s your princeling he clings to at night."
Vhagar bared her teeth in a slow, wicked grin.
"Jealous, are we?" she teased, voice gravelly with age but still sharp as ever.
Arrax considered this, lazily flicking his tail across the grass.
"No," he said, finally. "He rides me by day and Aemond only at night. We are both proud creatures in need of taming." He paused, gazing out at the silver sea."And I am happy."
Vhagar shifted closer, her massive side a comforting wall of heat against his finer-boned frame.
"As am I," she said, after a long, thoughtful moment.
They sat like that for a while, watching the waves roll in, the sky bruising from gold to indigo. Somewhere behind them, Lucerys’ laughter rang out, defiant and full of life. Aemond’s deeper voice answered, sharp and dry and somehow indulgent.
And from the caves nearby, the faintest shuffling noises echoed — the new hatchlings stirring in their sleep, dreaming of flight.