After the Dragons Danced (A Rhaena Targaryen SI) -- 16. Factions

BAELA

Second Moon, 132 AC | The Narrow Sea

This was the final lap she would make in her patrol, Baela swore. The entirety of the night and the morning had been spent atop Silverwing, flying circles over Shame Isle, watching for any new fleets sailing from the West to invade the south-western most isle of the Stepstones. Sleep was heavy beneath her eyelids that struggled to stay open. A soreness could be felt rising through the muscles of her legs and her bottom, and gods, she knew it would sting quite badly when she returned to camp.

Slowly by slowly, she was gaining an understanding of why it had taken a decade for his father to vanquish his enemies. The Dornish were the most troublesome foes she had ever had to deal with, and that was including even the drunken usurping cunt and his flying carcass of a dragon.

They were like flies. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, and they were trouble to swat away, seemingly intimately familiar with all the little caves they could hide in within the island. The scum would then use the black of night to send raiding parties into their camps to harass them. All of it was their strategy in contrition, hoping they would eventually get tired and cede the island to them.

They had already overwhelmed Alyn and his sailors, who were spread thin patrolling the waters in between all the isles. Several regiments of the Dragon’s Teeth were sieging those that had already secured themselves in various caves all along the island, aiming to starve them out.

Therefore, a dragonrider was needed to patrol and ensure no new Dornish ships would make landfall to resupply the ones currently being besieged. From sunset to sunrise, since the moon had turned last, Baela had flown in circles over the island, burning anything on the black waters of the surrounding sea. Of course, the Dornish did not deign to use sails with the sun and spear of House Martell plastered upon them, instead preferring black sails used by pirates.

Something more permanent had to be done, she had surmised, long ago. Unlike her father, who had been chasing death on the Steps after his son had been unjustly murdered by his kingly brother, Baela did not have all the time in the world, nor did they have more dragons to call upon to help with patrol and battle. Already, she had advocated for the burning of all the harbours and shipyards of Dorne, to cripple their navies for good and all, in preparation for an eventual conquest of that desert wasteland.

Rhaena and Viserys had been the ones to stay her hand. Matters in Tyrosh were already complicated enough, she had said, they could not risk further hostilities with Dorne. One of the conquerors had died there, they had argued, and even the Conciliator, who had up to five dragons to call upon for most of his reign, had not dared to wage an offensive war on them. War with Dorne would take a long, long time, even more so considering Baela would be the only battle-ready dragonrider for years. And so she had relented, instead settling for starving the Dornish that had already made landfall on the island and preventing any fresh forces from coming to relieve them.

Silverwing roared as she glided past the western coast of Shame Isle, alerting her rider to something. Using the far eye, she could see a modest fleet a few miles off the coast, all of them with the sun and spear of House Martell proudly emblazoned on the masts. That was certainly a departure. It had been more than a fortnight since she had last burned an attacking fleet. That one had been sailing towards them in the middle of the night, with black sails to hide them.

It would not do to dwell too long on the reasons why this squadron sailed during the day and with such easily identifiable sails. Did they hope to take them by surprise? If so, how? Did they think that they could attack during the day now that Baela patrolled through the night? Or did they think Silverwing had already returned to Tyrosh. Either way, they were in for a rude awakening.

At her wordless beckoning, Silverwing dove headfirst once she was directly above the fleet, emerging from the sky like a demon from the seven hells. Weren’t the seven heavens in the clouds, and the hells below, she wondered. Mayhaps demons came out of the sky too, she supposed, as Silverwing let up in her dive and breathed her silver-and-yellow flames on the fleet below. Baela stayed low on the dragon’s back as the crossbow shots were levied by the enemy, all of them either being incinerated by Silverwing’s flames or bouncing harmlessly off her hardened scales.

Within a few moments, they were done. Silverwing roared her victory, and Baela ensured that it was indeed one, by checking the burning wreckage below to ensure that there were no survivors. There were none, but for the sake of being meticulous, she beckoned Silverwing to burn ever narrowing-circles around the wreckage.

The smell of steam and smoke reached her nose. There were none who would have survived that onslaught, Baela was sure. Thus, she urged Silverwing up back into the clouds, up higher and higher until she could blot out Shame Isle with her thumb. Taking out the far-eye once more, she investigated the scene below her.

The fleet with House Martell’s coat of arms had definitely raised her hackles. It would be a mistake to end her patrol here, she knew. She recalled Father once telling her of the Triarchy sending an unboarded fleet as a decoy for Caraxes to burn, only to then attack from a different point on the island, rendering a year’s progress of his conquests null. A year was an unacceptable amount of time for her to stay here.

Following her command, Silverwing turned eastwards around the island, looking for anything unusual among the merchant fleets that were headed for Bloodstone.

There was. Some merchant vessel, unarmed and with unmarked masts, was going to make landfall on Shame Isle. Since the Targaryen forces had begun rooting out or starving the Dornish invaders out of the isle, all other fleets were forbidden to land there, instead being directed to Bloodstone to pay their tolls and resupply.

Out of sight, Baela hovered above the clouds, watching through the far-eye as the unknown ships made anchor and the men that had boarded it began to descend. They were armed with spears, longbows, swords and shields.

That assured their destruction. Silverwing dived for them, breathing her silver-white flames on the few men that had disembarked, before going on and turning the ship and all within into burning cinders. She flew on, over the water, towards the other ships that were just behind the one that she had destroyed. The men’s screams lasted only a moment; the surrounding water boiled to steam, and the ships became burning candles in the sea.

Silverwing beat her wings fiercely and ascended into the sky quickly, swerving from side to side as she roared her victory. The swerving was to ensure she was harder to hit, should any bowmen have escaped her flames and wished to take aim at her.

It took only a few moments more to land back at camp, after making another lap around the island to ensure there were no more Dornish forces sallying forth to attack them.

She hid a wince as the soreness of being on a dragon for so long shot up her legs when she made her dismount. That was only going to get worse. After giving a few affectionate pets to her Silver Queen, and ensuring that she was being fed and watered by the two Dragonkeepers that had come with her, she made her way into her pavilion.

Dyanna was with her momentarily, helping her out of her armour. Rhaena had insisted on her wearing plate armour when she went into battle, and Baela had finally relented her reticence on garbing herself with such. Aye, chain mail was lighter, but it was more vulnerable than plate armour. Her twin had massively helped her case when she had gifted her a set of black plate cuirass, chased with copper.

She collapsed on the bed once her ever-loyal handmaid had helped out of her gambeson and hose.

“Shall I get the massage oil, princess?” she asked her.

“Aye. I badly need that, or I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

Dyanna obeyed, and oh, the relief was so, so good as she felt her muscles finally begin to relax. How long did it take for one to get used to a dragon’s saddle? Father always seemed unaffected even after long hours atop Caraxes, and during the war, Grandmother had never seemed tired after patrolling the blockade for hours. She had to stop her thoughts from straying too far in that direction, elsewise the grief would cripple her once more.

“Thank you, Dyanna,” she told the girl, once she was done, “You’re truly a godsend.” The girl blushed. Baela got underneath the blankets, her eyes heavy with sleep.

“Princess,” she groaned when heard one of the Red Cloaks call out from outside her tent, “There’s a raven here for you.”

“Where from?”

“Tyrosh.”

“Very well,” she replied after she covered her nakedness sufficiently, “bring it here.”

Only two words were written on the raven scroll, in Rhaena’s neat hand.

They’re awake.

Those two words had her calling for Dyanna to help her get into her armour. The two surviving men that had tried to kill her siblings two moons ago had healed enough to finally come to. The maesters had done an admirable job of treating them, it seemed. Baela had feared that they would die due to the poisoned stubs of the bolts that Rhaena had stricken them with. She was glad that they did wake up. Whoever had dared attempt to strike them down would pay.

Silverwing growled and bared her smoking and bloody teeth, clearly quite displeased that her fool rider interrupted her feeding session.

Despite her tiredness, she giggled, “There’ll be food enough in Tyrosh, my Silver Queen.”

The dragon harrumphed, sending a gout of hot air at her bonded human’s face, before bending her massive neck and letting her fiend of a rider climb onto her back. Baela giggled once more as the dragon took one more massive bite at whatever charred animal she had been devouring, before finally obeying the order to ascend the skies. They descended to the courtyard of the Archon’s Palace before too long. The distance between Shame Isle and Tyrosh was roughly the same as the flight between Driftmark and King’s Landing. .

Morning greeted the larger dragon with a cute trill, Silverwing answering with a bellow that seemed to shake the foundation of the entire palace. Her sister’s dragon was growing quite large, her body alone being the size of a destrier now, and her great pink wings being at least twenty feet from tip to tip. She was certainly large enough to bear her sister’s weight.

Baela sighed as she dismounted her dragon. There was little she wished for more than sharing the skies with her twin, just as they had dreamed of doing since they had been little girls, praying over their dragon’s eggs to hatch. Alas, matters in Tyrosh and the islands of the Narrow Sea had derailed that. Baela let out a tired breath. She was growing to truly dislike this city.

Two of the three Dragonkeepers were upon Silverwing as soon as she landed. After instructing them to feed her, water her and keep her saddle on, Baela ascended the steps into the palace, four Red Cloaks walking in lockstep with her.

More Red Cloaks stood sentinel in the hallway, all of them saluting her in turn as she walked past them; crossing their forearms above their chests and bringing them down to their sides as a show of allegiance. Rhaena had been the one to invent the salute specifically for the Red Cloaks, and she smiled to herself whenever it was done in her honour.

The Archon’s palace had been truly fortified after her siblings had been attacked in their own bedchamber. Now, guards could be found within their chambers as well as without; they had even found and conscripted female warriors to watch over her twin and her while they were in the privacy of their own quarters. Every used room in the palace was guarded constantly, and there were four men assigned to each of them at any time, following them everywhere they went. From the mere platoon that had been their personal guard before the attack, that number had swelled to two companies of a hundred each, and that merely for the Targaryens in Tyrosh. They had sent instructions to their grandfather in King’s Landing for Aegon’s personal guard to be increased as well.

Guilt bubbled deep within her belly when she recalled landing in the courtyard two turns of the moon ago to find the entire palace in uproar after her siblings had been attacked. She had failed utterly, that day. Viserys and Rhaena had almost been killed because of her negligence. Everything concerning their armies and their security had been Baela’s responsibility, the three of them had agreed, and three men had managed to steal into the palace to kill those she loved.

If not for the fortunate crossbow she usually stored under her bed as a last line of defence, she would have lost two more of her family at her watch. Only Aegon and her would have remained. Two lowly branches of their once great house, the only remaining children of their father. All because of her.

Tears were shining in her lilac eyes when she heard a knock at the door. Tanselle announced herself, and she bade her to enter, as she desperately willed the tears not to flow.

“Princess,” Tanselle told her once she entered her chambers, “The princess is in the Great Hall, meeting with the heads of the guilds. She bade me inform you that she’ll meet you once she is done.”

“Very well,” Baela told her, willing her voice to not break, “I’ll be in the hall momentarily.”

For a moment, she thought of taking off her armour, before deciding against it. Determination burned the guilt away. Justice for that attack would be delivered today.

Resolute, she made her way to the Great Hall. After a moon’s turn away on campaign, she was itching to see her siblings, and see for herself how matters in Tyrosh were proceeding. From all the reports they had sent to her, the revolts and killings had been quashed for good and all, and the economy had begun to recover. If the Gods were good, they would be back in Westeros soon, ready to take control of their brother’s regency and begin the arduous task of restoring their ancestors’ realm firmly under Targaryen rule.

There was shouting in the hall when she entered, only pausing as all those present turned to look at their returned princess, walking with her clinking armour. Baela took it in stride and took her place on the dais, beside Viserys. The meeting continued after a beat.

The front row was arrayed with men that had coloured their beards extravagantly, most likely the leaders of the guilds. Behind them sat holy men, either septons or their novices, in their vestment robes and jewellery that featured the Seven Pointed Star of the Faith. There were some among them with coloured beards as well. The Faith of the Seven was spreading like wildfire in Tyrosh, Rhaena had told her in the reports she received while in the Stepstones. Many of those who were once slaves had become devout since their shackles were broken, championing the Seven-Who-Are-One as the true God since they disallowed slavery. But, many was not all. The majority of the Tyroshi still held the beliefs of their own god, the three-headed Trios, and worshipped him zealously.

“They are murdering us in our beds!” One of the leaders of the guilds blustered, gaining much agreement from the rest of the crowd.

That had her puzzled. She leaned and whispered in Viserys’ ear, “What is he talking about? The revolts ended before the year turned.”

Viserys, with a downcast look upon his face, only told her that she’d be informed once the meeting came to an end.

“Even us, the faithful, have not been spared!” one of the men, a novice of the Faith judging by his garb, added.

Rhaena, ever magnanimous, replied with an even voice, “I can promise you that we’re looking into it. The city watch has been deployed on constant patrols all over the city, at almost all hours of the day. These ‘Champions of Trios’, will be captured soon enough.”

“My brothers are dying!” the man thundered once more.

“And we mourn him,” Rhaena replied, “your loss has been felt by us all, and your brothers will certainly be remembered. Trust in us now, the same way you did when we eviscerated those who had kept you in chains for centuries upon centuries. These deplorable murderers will be brought to justice, do not doubt it.”

The man looked angered still, but he sat back down.

“Now, if there’s nothing else, this meeting has come to an end. Thank you all for coming and informing us of all your issues. My siblings and I will work to ensure they’re taken care of, for us to make Tyrosh great again.”

Rhaena took her place off the stage, before one of their aides announced that there would be a meal served for all attendees in the ballroom. That seemed to somewhat take the air of despondence away from the room, as the attendants all got up and left to get their meal.

“Baela!” her twin called out as she came to embrace her once the hall was empty, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back, Rhae,” she replied.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, “You should eat, if you haven’t.”

Baela shook her head, “Not yet. You said those two idiots were awake. We need to find out where they came from.”

“They’ve been awake for days already,” Rhaena replied, “they can wait an hour or two more. They’re not going anywhere.”

“I am starving,” Viserys announced, letting out a rather put upon yawn. He received an eye-roll from both of them in response.

Her stomach rumbling reminded her that she was indeed hungry as well.

“You go first Viserys, Baela and I will join you soon,” Rhaena said once they exited the Great Hall, grabbing Baela’s arm and heading into their chambers.

“Why are you still in your armour?”

“I thought to keep it on. Once we find out where the assassins came from, I am to fly there and burn it to ash.”

Rhaena sighed, “I already know where they came from. I had them questioned as soon as they came to. I did not wish for Viserys to witness that, and so I haven’t told him yet. So far, he knows that we’re supposed to wait for you.”

“Oh,” Baela replied, “well then, tell me?”

“I won’t tell you yet,” she replied, “you need to eat, and then sleep.”

A mutinous glare was a fair response at that, she judged.

“I’m not changing my mind,” the fiend decided to be stubborn, “you will eat, you will sleep, and then we’ll decide what to do afterwards.”

“You’re not my mother!” Baela offered a protest.

“Aye, I know,” there was such a heartbreaking sadness on Rhaena’s face and a lump of regret lodged itself in Baela’s throat, “We only have each other now.”

Without further prompting, the person she shared a womb with began to undo the clasps of the armour, taking it off.

“I’m sorry,” Baela said, contrite.

“It’s alright. I’m not angry at you. I just… I just do not want you to lose yourself in all this. What we’ve decided to do… this is an undertaking that will take decades. There are going to be many people who try to finish us off. Those two came close, but they did not succeed. And since then, thanks to the measures you put in place, no further attempts have been made on our lives.”

“You don’t understand,” she replied, tears staining her eyes, “you two almost died, because of my negligence.”

Rhaena’s hands were on her shoulders once the last piece of her armour cluttered on the floor, “But we are alive. We are here. And it’s in no small part thanks to you.”

“You don’t understand,” she supplied weakly again, as silent tears fell down her cheeks, “I’m the eldest. Protecting all of you is my duty.”

“A duty you fulfil splendidly.”

Baela lay on the bed, her head atop Rhaena’s lap, as she sobbed. Her hands were gentle and soothing. GGods,she was so, so tired.

The sky was grey when she was startled awake by a dream she could not truly recall. She turned in the bed to see Rhaena next to her, aalive,one of her arms circling her middle. Her twin stirred from her sleep when she felt her moving.

“You’re better now?” Rhaena asked.

“Much,” she replied, smiling.

“Good, now you need to eat.”

“Have you eaten yourself?”

“Aye, I did eat and see to many other duties when you fell asleep yesterday.”

“I’ve been asleep a whole day?”

She nodded. This time, without much fuss, she allowed herself to be served a simple meal to break her fast.

After inhaling the meal, she asked her twin once more, “I’ve slept, and I’ve eaten. Now, can you tell me who tried to kill you?”

She sighed, “It was the Dornish. Aliandra Martell is the one who sent them.”

Baela’s face was alive with fresh fury. “Now will you let me burn them to ashes?” 

Her twin sister gave her an eye-roll, “We’ve been over this, Baela.”

“I know, I know,” Baela answered, “We can’t conquer them now. Our army is not large enough. Our fleet is tied up in the Stepstones. It is winter. The Seven Kingdoms are still recovering from the war. We have to wait for Morning to grow. We have to wait for Viserys to claim his dragon. We have to get Sheepstealer back in Targaryen hands. We have to wait until we sire heirs. You don’t need to tell me any of this again.”

A smile was all she got as a reply.

“Still, we can’t let Dorne go free,” Baela pressed on, “they’ve been hounding us in the Stepstones for moons. I propose that we at least burn their harbour, to cripple their navy for at least a few years while we firm our hold on our realms.”

“Gods,” her thumb forefinger was on the bridge of her nose, her head shaking with exasperation, “That’s escalation, Baela. That is what are attempting to avoid in the first place.”

Her arms were crossed over her chest, “The Dornish have already escalated things, Rhaena. They’re attacking the Stepstones, they’re invading the marches. The bitch tried to kill you and Viserys for god's sakes! What more do they have to do for us to finally take action?”

“I understand you Baela, I understand,” Rhaena pleaded, placing her hands on her shoulders, “Their time will come. They’ve been enemies to our family for generations, enemies of Valyria for millennia before that. You can be sure they’ll get their comeuppance. Just not now, not yet.”

Baela let out a sigh, “So, we’re at an impasse.”

“It seems we are.”

Rhaena sent for their younger brother, who she was informed was currently in his studies with the maesters. She, however, judged their current situation important enough to interrupt said lessons.

He did not hesitate in responding once they explained their current conundrum, “Baela is right. The Dornish need to be defanged with immediacy. Yes, conquering them is an eventuality, but what shall we do until then? Unlike Father, Baela can’t spend whoever knows how long patrolling the Stepstones and the Stormlands on the defensive. We cut them off at their knees for now, and then we eviscerate them when we’re formidable enough to.”

“Thank you!” Baela exclaimed, feeling rather vindicated.

“Very well,” Rhaena said.

“Don’t worry, Rhaena,” Baela told her, a smirk on her face as she began to put on her armour, “I won’t damage things too badly. All I will do is remind them of the Dragon’s Wroth.”

Silverwing was much happier to see her rider this time around, having been well-fed and well-rested. In the distance, Morning was flying above the sea, snatching unsuspecting prey with her hind limbs, bathing it in her black flames, and devouring it whole. In a short while, her Silver Queen was saddled by the Dragonkeepers, and they were off, towards Sunspear.

The tall and slender Tower of the Spear came into view in her far-eye, hours later, just as Baela had anticipated. The distance between Tyrosh and the seat of House Martell was similar to the distance between Dragonstone and King’s Landing. Even now, there were multiple manned scorpions she could see on the parapets of the castle, and on the harbour at the coast near it.

They would all burn.

As it was routine at this point, Baela bade her dragon climb high into the clouds, using her far-eye to ensure she was lined up perfectly with the harbour. Silverwing roared her eagerness, and then plunged out of the clouds like a demon out of the Seven Heavens. After all, the Lord of the Seven Hells was the son of the Father, cast out of his home for attempting to usurp him.

Her Silver Queen opened her maw and bathed the scorpions on the harbour in her silver flames, their metallic bolts melting away and the wood beneath turning into burning candles. As shouts rang out all around her, Silverwing swept leftwards, wheeling around to turn the shipyard into ash, before heading into the harbour and ensuring it was a harbour no more.

Just as the people became wise to the danger coming for them, Silverwing pointed her snout upwards and climbed into the sky, her wings beating fiercely and disappearing into the clouds once more. Once she levelled off, she surveyed the scene below her, paying special attention to the parapets of the castle and the defenders already manning the scorpions atop them, turning to aim at the sky. Her focus sharpened, and through their bond, she willed for Silverwing to be quiet.

She hovered overhead for a few moments, before bidding Silverwing to shut her eyes, a command she obeyed quite reluctantly.

“I’ll be your eyes, sweet one,” she told her dragon, “I just want to be sure you are completely safe.” A silver dragon dying in the sands of Dorne of a bolt to the eye was not a feat she was wont to repeat.

As testament to how exceptional her bond to Silverwing had become, Baela had her position herself above the castle while her eyes remained shut, and a moment later at her command, she dived. Baela had to be careful to ensure Silverwing did not fall to the ground head first. Certainly, a dragon as large and formidable as her might survive such a fall, but for the rider on her back, that was not a given.

“Zaldrīzes perzys,” she commanded, once the dragon’s snout was pointed perfectly at a group of scorpions on the crenellations beside the Tower of the Sun. All of them took flame, one after the other. Silverwing wheeled over to the various other battlements of the castle that contained scorpions. It was over only moments later. Any bolts fired were either incinerated by her dragon’s flame, or bounced off her hardened scales harmlessly. Once all the scorpions had been dealt with, all the longbowmen or men-at-arms o faced Silverwing’s fires next.

She rose into the sky to ensure all her immediate enemies had been successfully vanquished. They had, and thus, she bade Silverwing descend on the courtyard of the castle, just as her ancestor had done, more than a century ago upon Meraxes.

This was undoubtedly risky, but Baela had to make a point. She dismounted her Silver Queen. The dragon’s vast wings remained unfurled, forming a protective barrier around her against anyone who thought to dispatch her by approaching the dragon from behind. She bade her stay vigilant as she walked forward towards her snout.

“Aliandra Martell!” she called out as loudly as her voice could carry, “show yourself or Sunspear will burn!”

Silence was all the reply she got for long moments. Very well. Baela was not one to say things twice. If they thought she was here for child’s play, let them burn. 

Just as she secured herself to the saddle and was about to take off, however, a well-dressed Dornish woman finally emerged from the castle, a dozen guards wielding spears marching behind her. There was a scowl on her face, and her voice was full of venom when she spoke in her Dornish drawl, “What do you want, Targaryen?”

The girl was too arrogant for her own good. Ever in tune with her rider, Silverwing took a step towards her, baring her teeth, her nostrils smoking. The princess and her men took hasty steps back, their faces filled with dread. Baela resisted a smirk.

“Aliandra Martell,” Baela said, sitting atop her dragon, her hands casually resting on the handle-bar, “the Princess of Dorne.”

“It seems you’ve forgotten that you hold that title only by the grace of my ancestors. I hope this demonstration,” she said, pointing to the harbour to her right and to the burning rooftops of the castle, “shall remind you of that.”

“Any further attacks upon the Seven Kingdoms or its ruling house will be considered an act of aggression, and met with a much steeper response.

“Just to make this clear. No more of your fleet should sally forth towards the Stepstones. No more of your men should invade the marches. If you so much as mildly trouble the realms under the authority of the Iron Throne, I assure you, Dorne will not bow or bend or break; it will burn.”

Aliandra went to say something, but she didn’t care. Silverwing lept into the air, on her way back to Tyrosh. She had made her point; it was up to her to decide whether they would heed her warning. Reports from their grandfather confirmed that the ironborn had not, and she expected them to follow their example.

They landed on the courtyard of Archon’s Palace when the sun was low in the sky. Rhaena’s drake greeted Silverwing with a roar. The Dragonkeepers were on hand to feed her. Morning herself was busy devouring a bull, breathing gouts of pink flames on its flesh before tearing great chunks from it.

Rhaena was at the courtyard a while later, once Silverwing had been unsaddled, and had begun feeding on a cartload of fish.

“How did it go?” she asked, as Morning trilled a happy greeting at seeing her bonded. Rhaena moved to pet her bright pink scales.

“We shall see.”

Rhaena narrowed her eyes.

Baela rolled hers.

“I only burned the harbour as agreed, and pleaded with the bitch not to invade the Seven Kingdoms any more.”

“Pleaded?” her sister looked at her, incredulous.

Baela smirked, “In a manner of speaking.”

Rhaena let out a laugh, “Let’s hope she’ll prove more sensible than Dalton Greyjoy.”

“I pray that she doesn’t,” Baela replied.

Rhaena sat down to watch Morning eat, her face suddenly downcast.

“What’s wrong?” Baela asked, sitting down beside her, on the bottom step of the entrance to the castle. A cadre of Red Cloaks stood guard around them, ensuring there were no threats to them and that they were given a wide berth of privacy. Baela had one of them help her out of her armour.

“This shit is way, way harder than I thought it would be. And it’s taking too fucking long!”

“It’ll be over soon enough. We’ve made remarkable progress, have we not? The relief programs we set up are working as the guilds get back on their feet. The revolts ended, and the Stepstones have begun to bring in tolls from passing ships.” Baela replied, trying to encourage her.

“The revolts aren’t truly over,” Rhaena replied, angry, “fucking Champions of Trios!”

“Who are those?”

“A group of fuckers that’s emerged recently. They’ve been killing people and spreading terror in the city. They worship the Three-Headed-God Trios, who apparently believes that men should obey the authority of their masters. The Champions of Trios take this idea to the extreme, and they believe that a man being a slave was holy and that it was their master’s divine right to possess them. Of course, when we came here, killed the nobles, and broke the chains of the slaves, we apparently upset their Gods. Thus, they wish to restore Tyrosh back to slavery. They’ve been killing freedmen, guild workers and septons.”

Morning came to nuzzle her bonded’s palm, her snout bloody and smoking after just having completed her meal. She buzzed with contentment as Rhaena absent-mindedly petted her gleaming pink scales.

“The Gold Cloaks were fully formed and functional by the time I left for the Stepstones. Are they that ineffective?” Baela inquired.

“No. These Champions seem to melt into the night. They do their killings in the dark, leaving their victims corpses at some random part of the city. All they leave is a letter stating their demands with each corpse.”

Baela asked reluctantly, “Have you considered burning the Temple of Trios?”

Rhaena gave her a dirty glare.

“I know, I know. A large part of this city worship that God, and the vast majority of those are reasonable in their beliefs. Therefore, we can’t burn all of them down wholesale.”

Rhaena sighed once more, “Exactly. There are Gold Cloaks stationed at the Temple, watching for any sign of affiliation to the holy men of Trios. There are others stationed at every building that has been co-opted by our septons, to protect them. In the guild houses and trade centres too. That doesn’t seem to be dissuading them yet.

“Should there be another killing, I’ll implement a curfew on the whole city. Which is not a course of action we wish to take if we want the trades of the city to be fully restored.”

They stayed silent for a moment as the sky turned blood-red in the setting sun. The stars were already out.

An idea came to Baela, “How about spies?”

Rhaena cocked her head towards her. Baela continued, “Father used Mysaria’s skills during the war, did he not? Larys Strong was quite effective for the usurper’s cause. Why can’t we form a spy organisation of our own? Shadows to fight shadows.”

There was a mysterious glint in Rhaena’s eyes that Baela could not understand, “A League of Shadows.”

“Whatever you wish to call it, I guess?” she replied, chuckling.

“It’ll take a long time to set up, to be sure. And much longer to train its recruits. But it’ll certainly be worth it.”

“You can start with that Lyseni girl we rescued from Rogare’s manse.”

“Serenei?” Rhaena asked.

“Aye, she was a bedslave in Joanna Swann’s servitude, was she not?”

“She was still in training,” Rhaena countered.

“In training to use her womanly wiles to get information out of her clients,” Baela clarified.

Her twin nodded, “’Tis a fine idea.”

They settled into a comfortable silence once more, both of them laying on the bottom step of the entrance into the palace, watching the stars sparkle as night fell, and watching their dragons’ amusing antics; or rather, Morning’s antics and Silverwing’s exasperation at them. This was nice. She had missed this. In their childhood, they had loved to spend hours on the beaches of Dragonstone, laying beside each other and their dragon’s eggs, watching in awe as their parents taught their cousins how to fly their dragons.

That silence was interrupted by their rather exuberant younger brother, who had just finished his lessons for the day. He sat down at the step above them, “How did matters go with the Dornish?”

“Well,” Baela replied, “that bitch Aliandra certainly got the message. Let’s hope she proves to be wiser than her ancestors.”

“And how were your lessons?” she asked her brother.

“Boring. The maester’s voice almost put me to sleep,” he confessed.

Rhaena looked at her incredulous, “You want us to get you a different maester? How about Granduncle Vaegon?” All three of them laughed. When they were eleven, Father had temporarily requested the services of his cantankerous uncle after Maester Gerardys had travelled to King’s Landing to treat their kingly uncle, who had sliced his arm open to the bone after falling as he descended the Iron Throne. They had never seen their father as annoyed as he had been whenever he had to deal with the man. The seven of them had found Vaegon’s prickly nature hilarious, and had endeavoured to annoy him in turn, something that had him pulling out his own hair.

“On a serious note, we should install him as Grand Maester once Aegon takes the throne in his own right. Regardless of his nature, he is family, and that means he is infinitely more trustworthy than Munkun could ever be,” Rhaena reasoned.

“The Archmaesters conclave pick the Grand Maester,” Viserys countered.

“That is by courtesy, not by law,” Rhaena explained, before lowering her voice to ensure it did not carry, “And, there’s reason to believe that they took action to favour the usurper and destroy us.”

“What?” Baela asked.

“’Tis only my personal speculation at this point. Mellos treated Uncle Viserys quite ineffectively once he cut his arm. That is definitely suspicious for someone of his expertise in healing. He had seven silver links in his maester’s chain. He presided over the birth of the whore’s children and Helaena’s splendidly. He treated the monster himself after Luke carved out his eye. How is it that he failed quite so spectacularly with the king?”

“To what end?” Viserys asked.

“Think about it. It was 126 AC. The green whore and her faction were the best placed to take over at that point. The usurper had heirs of his own, both of whom had hatched their own dragons. The one-eye monster rode Vhagar and had come of age. Tessarion’s rider was safely ensconced in Oldtown. Then look at us. Save for Father, your mother and Grandmother, we had no capable dragonriders at that point. Of the seven of us, only Jace, Luke and Joff even had dragons to speak of at that point. Neither Stormcloud nor Moondancer nor Morning had been born.”

“Vexaron too,” Viserys added stubbornly, with a cute pout on his face.

The two of them laughed as Baela replied, “Oh Brother, Vexaron still hasn’t hatched.”

“I know.” How could a voice sound so dejected?

“Don’t worry, Viserys,” Rhaena told him, “you’ll have a dragon of your own soon enough.”

“Where from?” Viserys asked, whining.

“You’ll see,” she said. When she judged that not enough to convince him, she continued, “Have I ever broken a promise I’ve made you?”

Their little brother shook his head, suddenly resolute.

“This won’t be the first time.”

“Speaking of dragons,” Baela interjected, “Morning is certainly large enough to bear your weight. You should fly her.”

“I’m planning on doing so once we return to King’s Landing.”

“Why not now?” Baela asked.

“I haven’t had time to have a saddle made, Baela,” she replied.

Baela debated whether to share the secret she’s been hiding, “Well… I have.”

“What?”

At that, Baela beckoned two of the Red Cloaks ringed around them to fetch said saddle from the castle.

Once they came back with it, she explained, willing her voice not to break, “This…this was Moondancer’s saddle. I had it repaired and reupholstered soon after we reunited. I then had it brought down here upon noticing Morning’s fast growth. I was planning on gifting it to you on our nameday, now that it seems we’re going to spend it here.”

It was the only thing left of Moondancer now, went unsaid. After her dragon’s death, the usurper had dragged her out of the dungeons every night, to make her watch as Sunfyre ate her remains. When the whole affair was done, there was nothing left of her beyond the black blood stains on the ground she had died on. It was as if Moondancer had never even existed beyond her nightmares.

Hands wrapped around her middle, embracing her tightly, “Oh, thank you, thank you, Baela. I promise you, I will treasure this for the rest of time.”

She gave a teary laugh, “I hope so.”

Her sister got up excitedly and seemed to float over to her pink dragon, who was shrieking in anticipation. A Dragonkeeper helped her in saddling her, and as a benefit of her small size, they were done in not time at all. Baela followed to mount the dragon beside her.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming to ride with you. I do not wish to see you to fall in the ocean out of over-excitement. And, you’re wearing a court gown, not riding clothes.” she answered.

Rhaena gave her another eye-roll, “I was there with Jace and Luke and Joff as father taught them how to ride. I have ridden on Caraxes and Syrax and Meleys countless times. I know how to ride a dragon, Baela.”

Baela stared at her, momentarily unsure.

Rhaena let out an exasperated breath, “If it’s my safety you care so much for, you can follow on me on Silverwing. If I fall, I am sure you’ll catch me.”

“Very well,” Baela conceded, watching as she ensured the saddle was attached to Morning correctly, then as she mounted her dragon and fastened the chains that secured her to the saddle.

Only once she was secure did she have Silverwing saddled as well, “Viserys, you can ride with me if you wish.”

Said brother excitedly came forward. Baela wordlessly bade the massive dragon flatten herself to the ground even more than usual, to make climbing her saddle as easy for him as it could be. She climbed after him.

“Soves!” Rhaena loudly bade Morning take off. Silverwing followed the tiny dragon into the moonlit sky only a moment later.

The Targaryens and their Dragons — Circa, Second Moon, 132 AC

1. Aegon Targaryen (b.120 AC)

2. Baela Targaryen (b.116 AC) - Silverwing 
A female dragon, born in 36 AC in the cradle of the newborn Alysanne Targaryen, from an egg laid by Vhagar and sired by Balerion. Baela (the eldest daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Laena Velaryon) claimed the dragon in 131 AC, soon after the Dance of the Dragons came to an end. The dragon is docile, approachable and used to people, but proven to be fearsome in battle. She often coiled with Vermithor before his death in 130 AC. Silverwing is the largest living dragon in the world with silver scales, horns and wing-membranes, but with gleaming yellow eyes. Her flames are silver, sometimes with whorls of yellow.

3. Rhaena Targaryen (b.116 AC) - Morning 
A female dragon, born in 130 AC, hatched from an egg laid by Syrax and sired by Caraxes. The dragon hatched from one among the three dragon’s eggs that Rhaena took with her to the Vale, where she was sent by Jacaerys Velaryon to be a ward of Lady Jeyne Arryn during the Dance of the Dragons, in order to keep her safe and away from the war. The dragon is a vivid bright pink, the colour of the skies at sunrise, but with black horns, spinal crests and wing bones. Like her dam, her eyes are a gleaming yellow colour. Her flames are black, sometimes with swirls of pink.

4. Viserys Targaryen (b.122 AC)

5. Jaehaera Targaryen (b.123 AC)

Author’s Note:
We return to Tyrosh at last, for a glimpse of how things are going there. I hope Baela in Dorne didn’t disappoint you too much. The justifications for why she didn’t do more were laid out in great detail, though. We shall see whether Aliandra will be wiser than Dalton Greyjoy or not.
It goes without saying, but let me not assume; I don’t support IRL genocide, mass murder and/or ethnic cleansing. This is a fictional story set in a fictional universe. I am writing characters who function said fictional universe, and who reason according to the “code” of that fictional universe. Oh, and neither am I a proponent of slut-shaming IRL.
In this timeline, Morning was born sometime between Second Tumbleton and Rhaenyra’s death, meaning between 06/130AC - 22/10/130AC, when her ‘transmigration’ was happening, hence her already being so large at this point. Morning in the canon timeline seems to have been born somewhere between 02/131AC - 05/131AC, hence her still coiling about Rhaena’s shoulders in late 131 AC. 20 ft from tip to tip is the length of a shipping container. So, yeah, this Morning is an absolute unit. And her colour is a vivid pink. Imagine the barbie movie… yeah, that’s her vibe.
Every time we get a new dragonrider, I’ll be including the above appendix listing all the Targaryens and their dragons at that time for the reader’s reference.

Tell me your thoughts on the chapter in the comments below. Next chapter is ‘17. Rulers and Protectors’ where we shall return to King’s Landing to check in with Aegon and his regency council.