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Chapter Text

The princess and her cat-dragon

Rhae I

The Red Keep was quiet, like when the grown-ups whispered before bedtime. Usually, it was all bustling and people rushing, going from place to place. Bringing food. Taking it away. Emptying chamberpots. But not today, no. Rhae didn't like quiet. She liked noise and play, like the sound of laughter and pots clanging in the kitchens. She wanted fun!

She spotted Balerion the Black Dragon, rubbing against her legs. She stared into his yellow feline eyes and asked, "Would you come on a little adventure with me, Balerion?"

Balerion was her great-and-fierce-and-fire-breathing cat-dragon cub, that would surely grow up to be the biggest dragon in the world one day! He was like a little brother to her, except Rhae already had a little brother, but he was a baby and babies don’t play, as cat-dragons do. She gave him a little scratch behind his ears and he purred, like a happy dragon, as all dragons do when they get scritches.

"Okay then! Follow me, fearless Balerion! " Rhae raised her hands high and marched to the door. " I'm not just a little girl, I'm big now, and I'm going on an adventure!" And like magic, the door swung open.

And there was her mommy, with her Dornish look and pretty brown eyes, standing there. "Where's this adventure, little one?"

Was her Mommy waiting there for her to wake up? The princess giggled, shaking her head. Silly thought. She puffed her chest out and said, "Adventure today, Mommy!"

Yet her response was not what Rhae expected. “My sweet dragoness, people are… busy today. Perhaps you should stay in your room.” She said gently.

Rhae thought her mommy looked troubled by something. Did she have a bad dream? Either way, Rhae would have none of it. “AD. VEN. TURE!” She enunciated each syllable, stomping her foot down each time, with extreme seriousness and seriosity. “I go, today!”

Her mommy shook her head, and couldn’t help but smile. “I do not know If that is the fire in your blood speaking, or the dornish stubbornness that you may have well inherited... from your uncles” She sighed, then gave way "Well, before you go, how about a little snack?” She reached into the recesses of her robe and revealed some sweets. Rhae liked sweets, but she would not be deterred today. She shook her head, saying no to sweets.

"I'm not a baby, Mommy. I'm big now, almost four. Snacks later, now it’s adventure time!" She told Mommy to move so she could go on her adventure.

Mommy smiled and placed the sweets on a nearby table. "Of course, my big girl now. Lead the way. Where to?"

Rhae put her little finger on her lips and hummed, eyes going up as if searching the ceiling. She saw grown ups do this when they were talking with her father and thinking very hard. And Rhae was thinking. And she was very grown up!

“Hmm, ok! Let’s go mommy! I’ll take you somewhere you’ve never been before!”

Being the big girl she was, Rhae decided to let her mommy come along on her adventure, so she didn’t get lost all by herself in the Keep. She knew for sure people got lost there, since she got lost last week while playing hide-and-seek. She hid so well her mommy didn’t find her, instead a man in a gold cloak did and she got a bad scolding!

But that was last week, when she was a little child. Rhae was now so much more grown up!

Hand in hand with her mommy, they ventured through the castle, their steps echoing in the quiet halls. Where should she go first? Rhae was thinking when her tummy rumbled, like a little dragon. She blushed and looked away.

“I told you” Rhae got lightly chided, and she could feel her cheeks burn. Betrayed by her own body! But her mommy only smiled and gave her a warm hug. “How about we start our exploration in the kitchens? Hmm, my sweet little desert flower? Every great explorer must at first pack a mighty lunch for their travels.”

Rhae felt the blush in her cheek still, but nodded silently, and her mother lead the way. The kitchen ladies would always greet her and her mommy with big smiles and sweet tarts, with lemon curd and crumbly crusts. Her mommy said in Dorne they have the best lemon tarts, but Rhae wouldn’t know. She never went outside of the Keep.

That’s why she was exploring today!

With treats in hand, and mother in tow, she continued her journey to the gardens in the courtyard. It was like her own secret world of green and colors. She imagined herself deep in the heart of the Sothoryos jungle, where dangerous beasts lurked. But her fierce cat dragon Balerion, was there to protect her, a mighty guardian. As she navigated the perils of her jungle, Rhae's imagination ran wild. She was an explorer, brave and fearless. She giggled, playing find-the-treasure and hide-and-seek, like all great adventurers do!

Soon, her mother had to go and seek to her baby brother, because he was a baby and he cried all the time. Because that’s what babies do.

Since she she didn’t want to be left alone in the big jungle, Rhae left with her mommy, But she didn’t feel like going home yet. The day was still long, so she chose to go on another adventure!

She went down the steps, giggling all the way. Then up the steps, huffing and puffing, for whoever made those stairs made them too big for her little legs. Luckily, Balerion was there with her, meowing encouragingly!

After a long and perilous journey, they arrived at the White Sword Tower, a place where knights lived, strong and noble.

Going down the halls, she met with a ser with golden hair who always treated her kindly. He was like a big brother, smiling in a way that made her feel safe. She found him, standing tall in his armor, like a shining knight from her stories.

"Hello, Ser," she greeted with a bright smile, using the word she heard everyone else use.

"Hello, Princess Rhae," the knight replied, his voice gentle and warm. He knelt down, his armor clinking softly. "What brings you to the White Sword Tower today?"

Rhae shrugged, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Adventure! I'm exploring like a big girl!"

The knight chuckled. "Well, you make a very brave explorer, Princess."

She beamed at the compliment. "Thank you.” She smilled giddily. As she stood before the knight, her innocent curiosity sparked a question in her mind. "Ser, why did your mommy call you Ser? And why are all the knights called Ser? Do you have the same mommy?”

The knight's laughter rang out, a beautiful lion's smile adorning his youthful face. He looked at her with care. "I’m sorry for laughing, my princess, but you just remind me of my little brother, he has always been an inquisitive one, just like you. “ Then, he paused and added “As much as it would have been a funny predestination to call me Ser, I’m afraid it’s not my mother who gave me that title.” He smiled fondly, straightening his back with pride. “A great knight did."

She listened with wide eyes, absorbing his words, not quite comprehending. "Oh." Then she shared her own story, her voice filled with the determination, putting her hand on her chest. "My mommy called me Rhaenys because that's how my great-great-great-great-greatest-grandma was called. And she was a good queen, and that's how I want to be when I grow up!"

The knight's smile softened, and his words were gentle. He crouched down, looking at her with his piercing green eyes. "I'm sure you'll grow up to be a great queen, little princess."

Her brows furrowed in a pout. "I'm not little! I'm already 3 and 9 months! That's like..." she counted on her little fingers. "Almost 4! That's almost grown up!"

The Ser shook his head side to side, and he smiled again, voice warm. "Of course, my princess. Please, find the mercy to forget this slight." Then he bowed his head, voice knightly and sincere. "Should the future queen ever be in need of this knight's services, I shall be at your assistance. You have my unwavering loyalty." he said with a flourish, like he was reciting a line from a song of knights of old.

Rhae beamed at his offer. "Sure!” she said giddily. She felt warm and fuzzy and she liked the ser, as she liked all the sers for they were nice and strong, and her daddy said they protected the King, which was her grandpa. But in the future it would be her. When she didn't quite find the words that she wanted to convey, she just opened her arms wide and gave him a big hug. “I love you big-brother Ser! And I love the tall Ser, and the shiny-sword Ser! When I grow up, you will come with me, and we'll go on an adventure, and we will see many things and find a mountain of treasure and lemon tarts. Like…like this much!” she gestured with her hands held as high as she could. “You and my fierce Balerion will protect me from the bad men and the ugly beasties."

The knight was taken aback by her proclamation, but he couldn't help but be charmed by her earnestness. He ruffled her hair gently, his words full of fondness. "Of course, little princess. I'll be there by your side, ready to protect you from any danger. Always."

Rhae’s brows furrowed again, and she shouted. “I’m not little!”

The knight smiled, bid her farewell and made his way down the hall. He had to see the King, which was Rhae’s grandpa.

Rhae soon found the rest of the White Tower greatly uninteresting. All the other knights were gone, so she had to do her exploring alone. Some doors were too heavy for her to open, and others led to boring rooms with next to no furnishing. No toys, no dresses, nothing! What were the Ser’s playing with all day?

When she got bored, Rhae turned back, only to find Balerion licking his paws in the shade. A devilish smile etched itself on her face, and she started running at fluffy companion.”We’re playing dragon hunting now! I’m the hunter!” the princess smiled and giggled all the way she ran. Balerion was startled by the sudden shift, then started running with all his might, leaving room for Rhae to chase.

When Rhae tumbled into her room, the sun was doing its sleepy dance on the horizon. She flopped onto her bed, sinking into the squishy mattress like a marshmallow. Her little feet were tired and her eyelids drooped with weariness.

“Had a good adventure today, my sweet?” Her mommy's voice chimed in, and Rhae turned her head with all the energy she could muster to meet her gaze. Mommy was holding little Eggy, who stared at her with his round curious eyes. The babe was sucking on his thumb, drooling all over.

“The bestest ever!” Rhae beamed, before nestling her head back into her pillow fort. “But I’m tired now and I want to sleep!” Her words became muffled as she buried herself in the sheets.

Softly, she heard her Mommy's voice, like a lullaby, “Fine, my love. Then sleep well.”

Suddenly, Rhae's head popped up like a jack-in-the-box. “Wait! You forgot something!”

Her mommy's gentle laughter filled the room. “What is it, dear?”

“Can’t I get a good night kiss?”

“Old enough for adventures but not too old for night kisses, are you?”

Rhae's cheeks flushed with warmth, but the feeling melted away as her mommy leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Then, with the gentlest touch, her mother tucked her in.

“Sleep well, my dear.”

With that, Rhae snuggled into her dreams, feeling all cozy and loved.

Chapter Text

So hide she did, in the shadow beneath the bed, where grumkins and monsters lived.

Rhae II

Rhae woke up to the cries of Eggy in the middle of the night, because Eggy was a baby and that’s what babies do. She groggily rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her small fingers working diligently. With a little yawn, she pushed herself out of bed, her feet shuffling against the cool floor. The baby's cries guided her through the dimly lit hallway, and she found herself standing before her mommy's door. Eggy sounded like a hurt kitten, and she wanted to ask Mommy to make him stop.

But when she opened the door, everything felt strange. The room was dark, and Mommy's face looked different – like she was scared or something. She cradled little Eggy in her arms, away from the fierce big man.

Rhae was scared of the big man. She wasn’t little, not anymore – but compared to the man standing in front of her, she felt so small. He was as tall as a mountain, big and large, dressed in knightly mail, splattered with red, and had a long red cape.

When he turned around, Rhae's heart raced. His eyes were all cold and mean, like there was no kindness in them at all. Just by looking at him, she could tell he was one of the bad men that father used to sing about, the ones that heroic knights in shiny armor would have beat.

But in the dark room, there was just Rhae, mommy, Eggy and Balerion. She thought of the big-brother Ser that promised to protect her, but he wasn’t here now. Not when she needed him most.

"Run!" her mother's voice broke through the air, filled with desperation. "Run, Rhae!"

Rhae didn't need to be told twice. She turned around as fast as she could, as fast as her little feet could carry her, away from the scary room. Her heart was racing so fast she felt like a wild horse.

Yet her baby brother was still crying, and Rhae didn't know what to do. Right when she was about to go out of the room, she looked back and saw her mommy trying and failing to push the scary man away. The man then took Eggy from her mommy's arms, and Eggy's cries turned into even louder screams, then the bad man threw him against the wall.

There was a crack like walnut breaking, followed by the sound of liquid splattering. For a second, everything turned silent. Her brother fell to the ground and stopped crying.

But why? Wasn’t crying what babies do?

Instead, her mommy began, an anguished and sorrowful cry, tears going down her cheeks. Rhae didn’t quite understand what was going on, but since her mommy was crying she started crying as well. With tears in her eyes, she watched as the bad man, with his large hands, grabbed her mommy’s head, and squeezed with his thumbs. He pushed his fingers into her mommy’s crying eyes, and it sounded like grapes popping.

Then, her eyes were gone and her mommy shed red tears, and her scream got worse.

Then the bad man began to rip her mommy's dresses.

And then…

“Kill the kid, Lorch” the bad man said in a gruff voice, and Rhae felt a greasy hand grab her shoulder. Instinctively, she turned around to see another bad man, this one shorter, bald and fat like a pig. But his smile was so evil, Rhae shuddered.

He laughed at her, a horrible, high-pitched thing, like a pig’s cries. Then he took out a dagger and licked its metal cold side. “Run, little girl! For my claws are long and sharp, and tonight I am hunting dragons!”

She was scared. So she ran. She ran as her little feet allowed her to, huffing with each step, going down the hall – had it always been so long? – then up the stairs, searching, searching for somewhere safe. She thought of father, of wanting to feel his sweet embrace, his strong arms and soothing songs. One second she was running, the other she found herself in her father’s chamber. The last safe place in her mind.

Rhae was crying harder, forgetting why she was there. Only upon seeing Balerion jump underneath the bed, did she remember she too had to hide. So hide she did, in the shadow beneath the bed, where the grumkins and monsters lived.

As she trembled in the dark. she realized – she wasn’t grown up. She wasn’t an adventurer. She was just a little, scared girl.

She cried and cried but the pig-like man laughed and came closer, and closer, until he was just beside the bed post. Did he see her? Her breath hitched, then she felt a meaty hand on her leg, and she yelled as her body was yanked up. She heard Balerion hiss, jumping to scratch the bad man, but instead he got his left ear cut by the knife, and ran away into the shadows.

The pig-man laughed and laughed, then he came closer, whispering devilishly in her ear. “Lord Lannister sends his regards.”

Rhae could only cry. The stabs came one after the other. Three, four, five, then it went higher than the little girl could count.

She felt pain. And cold. And tired. And then, there was nothing.

The nursery was silent.

Balerion I

He vaguely remembered his litter, and Mama’s cozy belly.

Then, a little human found him. The Name-Giver. She too had a name, for all humans, big and little do, but he didn’t know it yet.

“Please, Mommy! You promised I could have a kitten. You promised!”

The little human meowed in her own language at the big human, words that he couldn’t make sense of. Then he was wrapped in red ribbon and placed on a silk cushion that felt as cozy as Mama’s belly. The cushion smelled different, but it was a safe place to curl up. The Name-Giver would often come and give him pets with her tiny paws with no claws. Once he gave her a pet back, but his tiny claws weren't used to soft skin, and there was a strange noise, a shriek. A single bead of red came out from the wound, then water trickled down from the Name-Giver’s eyes, and snot fell down her tiny nose.

Bigger men came then, and took him in their arms to spirit him away. But the Name-Giver hissed at them: ” No! Don’t take my kitten! I want him, he’s mine!”

One of those men dressed in metal meowed strangely at her: “But Princess, your Father would never let you keep a pet cat. Especially one so feral that it would hurt you so.”

But the tiny human meowed back: ”What cat? Can’t you see this is a dragon! Look how big and mean he is! He is Balerion the Black, a Targaryen Dragon!”

Then there was laughter and giggles, and the big humans made merry.

And with just a meow from the Name-Giver, the kitten became Balerion.

Six moons passed, and the kitten started to look more like a young tomcat.

Balerion, that was his name. The Name-Giver, always spoke it when looking his way, so he reckoned it was what they called him. Words weren't his forte like those of the big humans, but he grasped their meaning in his own feline way.

Balerion was astute, an attentive observer. When the humans chatted among themselves, he discerned that Rhae was a name frequently mentioned when talking to the Name-Giver, and so he inferred it must be hers. He attempted to replicate their utterances, to call out her name, like she did his. Yet all that came out were meows. Not for a lack of trying, though.

Balerion was a patient stalker, an adept hunter. He'd silently trail the feeder humans who approached, who carried trays of polished metals upon which tasty treats lay in porcelain bowls. He would pounce upon them, grabbing featherless-little birds and cuts of red meats. With pride, he'd present his catch to Rhae, who'd lavish him with praises and ear scritches, even if the bigger humans would scold him.

Balerion stood sentinel, a vigilant guardian. He'd hiss away birds, dogs, and the men-in-metal or feeders with sugared gifts if they came too near his cherished Rhae. She cherished him in return, her bond, even though she couldn't ride him into battle or the hunt. Balerion was loyal, her herald and guardian.

And every day for Balerion was the best day ever, for he was with his little human. Every day was games, and hiding, and scratching and treats and laughter and sunshine.

Balerion always followed his Rhae. She giggled a lot, Balerion supposed that was like the humans’ attempt at purring, and so he liked to see Rhae giggle. When she was with her sun-mother and sun-brother, he could tell they were family because they smelled of sunshine. And her dragon-father, who had those purple dragon eyes, he'd make beautiful sounds with his fingers touching metal-thread and with his singing voice. Balerion didn't get the words, but it made Rhae happy, so he was happy too.

But then, dragon-father stopped coming around. At some point, Balerion forgot his face, remembering just his songs. Little Rhae was sad, and even though she didn't show it, he knew. He saw the sun-mother crying at night, when she thought Rhae didn’t see. But Balerion saw, and he knew.

Day by day, there were less people around. Less familiar scents, less scratches, less feeders with sweet gifts, and more men-in-metal. But Balerion kept playing with his Rhae, and every day was the best day ever, for he was with his little human.

Then, one night, the mountain-man and the pig-man came. Balerion didn't like them, evil men-in-metal. Sun-brother cried, so they hit him, until he smelled of blood. Sun-mother’s stared, so they hit her, and she smelled of blood.

The pig-man chased little Rhae, so Balerion showed her his hiding spot, in the dark shadows and away from the eyes of the feeders with long brooms. But the pig-man wasn’t feeder with long broom, but man-in-metal. He found Rhae, so Balerion roared like a dragon, and swooped down with his great claws, to protect his bond, as her paladin and champion.

Yet, a cat's claws were not as mighty as a dragon's. They couldn't pierce through the man-in-metal's armor. Instead, the taste of cold, unyielding blade met Balerion's ear, and with a heavy heart, he had no choice but to retreat and flee the danger.

“Lord Lannister sends his regards” the pig-man said. Then Rhae smelled of blood, and Balerion wept.

His bond is gone. He has survived battle, but lost his Name-Giver. Balerion the Black Dragon, his namesake who heralded black dread lost four riders, but he was big enough to swallow the grief. Balerion the cat could not do the same.

Balerion learned that cats were not dragons.

Years passed, and the tom-cat grew bigger and stronger. Unseen, he watched and hated, and thirsted for revenge. He spit at men ever since that day, especially the red-cloaked ones.

Balerion was his name. Since the Name-Giver was gone, nobody called his name. But he knew, he remembered.

Balerion, ever keen, observed the big humans conversing. They never spoke Rhae's name, but a different name pervaded—“Lord Lannister.” That must be his name, the one the pig-man called that night. Balerion knew, he remembered.

Balerion was a patient hunter. He'd pounce on the fat rats and little mice that hid in the sewers and in dark corners. But now, he eyed a different pray - the “Lord Lannister”. He watched his pray from afar, a human that exuded indifference toward others, a regal air even if he had no shiny metal on his head. He was proud, akin to a true lion.

But he was just an imitation. A mummer’s lion.

Balerion would show him. He would know the rage of a true feline, fur and blood.

Balerion was smart. He knew how a cat-who-was-not-a-dragon could hurt a-man-who-was-not-a-lion.

So, Balerion hatched a plan, and stood patiently. He waited for the humans to hold a feast, for they loved to eat together. He hunted the feeders who brought food on silver plates, for he knew them well. They left a plate bearing roast quail before the lion-lord. At that moment, Balerion coiled his muscles, channeling his energy for a swift move. He bounded from the corner, landed on the table, and darted across to his target.

This is mine now , he hissed as his jaws closed around the roasted quail in the lion lord's grasp. The room erupted in shouts and cries, as all men laughed at the mummer’s lion for having his prey-feed stolen by a true feline.

Mid-flight, Balerion glanced back at the fake lion’s face, enduring the humiliation from having a large-man-who-smelled-of-mead-and-deer and a man-with-long-face-that-smelled-of-winter laugh at him.

Balerion had shown him. The "Lord Lannister" now knew that men could not be lions, just as Balerion learnt that cats could not be dragons.

Years had passed still, and Balerion turned old and grumpy.

Balerion was his name. He forgot the Name-Giver's face, but remembered her name. Rhae.

Balerion was smart, and he wouldn't let himself get caught by the long-faced-girl-that-smelled-of-winter that caught all the other cats in King's Landing.

Balerion was a hunter, once, so he knew how to not get hunted.

But the girl, she reminded him of someone he had once cherished, and protected.

Did the Name-Giver look like her once? Or was she smaller? Balerion wondered. Mayhaps that was why he was playing this game of chase in his old age, to remember days long gone of his kittenhood.

At one point, the girl with the long face stopped chasing him. A guard with a gold cloak stopped her, and they talked in human speak.

"That’s the real king of this castle right there … Older than sin and twice as mean. One time, the king was feasting the queen’s father, and that black bastard hopped up on the table and snatched a roast quail right out of Lord Tywin’s fingers. Robert laughed so hard he like to burst. You stay away from that one, child.’”

Balerion didn't know what they talked in human-speak, but he could hear the girl giggle. Balerion liked her giggle. It was soft, and reminded him of something he had once held dear.

Years passed still, and Balerion had grown half-blind, and limp in one leg.

Cats do not live for long, amidst sewer water and rat plague.

Balerion heard a heavy screech. He looked up, and he could see a very big bird flying down. The biggest he had seen. It was so large, it let its bond on his back. And it spat fire.

A dragon? Balerion mused.

He closed his eyes one last time. Flame rained from above, bathing the cat in its warmth. The water turned to salt, and the land to ash.

When Balerion came to, he felt small, so small.

Then, he heard a little human speak. ”What cat? Can’t you see this is a dragon! Look how big and mean he is! He is Balerion the Black, a Targaryen Dragon!”

As the older humans made merry, Balerion's cold heart beat once more.

Fur and blood.

Chapter Text

A déjà vu is usually a glitch in the Matrix. It happens when they change something.

Balerion III

Six moons had passed, and the young tomcat had grown stronger, adjusting to his lithe youthful form. It was odd at first, feeling the vigor course through his veins after so long, but Balerion found it to be a welcome change. He was no longer half-blind and limping, but a creature of sleek grace, exuding confidence in his every step.

Balerion, that was his name. The new Name-Giver, always spoke it when looking his way, which surprised him since he hadn’t heard it used in countless moons. There was a familiarity in her voice, a connection that stirred faint memories within him. Perhaps this little girl knew his old Name-Giver. He wanted to ask her, but his meows proved inefficient. Not for lack of trying.

Balerion was astute, an attentive observer. When the humans chatted among themselves, he discerned that Rhae was a name frequently mentioned when talking to the new Name-Giver, and so he inferred it must be hers. Which made Balerion asks himself some questios, as too many things felt like they happened before. Like he had dreamed them before.

But Balerion knew better than to asks himself questions. That was something humans did, not cats.

And he was a cat. Not a human, nor a dragon. A cat.

Balerion was a patient stalker, an adept hunter. Soft paws carried him across the corridors of the castle, retracing the familiar paths he had taken countless times before. His keen senses guided him toward the kitchens, where delicious aromas wafted through the air. The feeders were busy preparing breakfast, their hands deftly arranging dishes on trays of polished silver. Upon one of those ornate trays, Balerion smelled something particularly enticing. Roast quail. He had acquired a taste for it, in his dreams, so he pounced upon it with no hesitation. Surely, the bigger humans would scold him, but he was young and fast now. They would never as much as see his tail – not to mention catch him. He was the king here, for these were his hunting grounds, as they had been for so many years now.

Balerion liked his new Name-Giver. He liked her new name, and her giggles. It somehow reminded him of something that happened what felt like a lifetime ago, but he couldn’t quite put his paws on the matter.

Either way, he cherished his bond with the new Rhae. She cherished him in return, her bond, even though she couldn't ride him into battle or the hunt. Balerion was loyal, her herald and guardian.

And every day for Balerion was the best day ever, for he was with his little human. Every day was games, and hiding, and scratching and treats and laughter and sunshine.

Balerion also loved the new-Rhae’s family. Her mother and brother smelled of sunshine, and her dragon-father would make beautiful sounds with his fingers touching metal-thread and with his singing voice. It was always soothing for Balerion to be near them, for they felt so close to him. Like his own family.

But then, new dragon-father stopped coming around. At some point, Balerion forgot his face, remembering just his songs. Little new-Rhae was sad, and even though she didn't show it, he knew. He saw the new sun-mother crying at night, when she thought New Rhae didn’t see. But Balerion saw, and he knew.

Day by day, there were less people around. Less scratches, less feeders with sweet gifts, and more men-in-metal. This somehow felt familiar to something Balerion had seen long ago, but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, Balerion kept playing with his new Rhae, and every day was the best day ever, for he was with his little human.

Until one day, new-Rhae decided to go on an adventure. Balerion, the ever-dutiful guard, stalked her from the shadows. New-Rhae went to the kitchens with her mother in hand, then to the gardens, where they played hide-and-seek and find-the-treasure. When the sun-mother left, new-Rhae decided to go to the tower where men-in-metal with white cloaks were.

It was here that he met him. The man that smelled of the “Lord Lannister”, a young but tall human-boy. Was he the fake lion’s cub? Balerion didn't waste moments in contemplation. The instincts that had guided him during countless nights of hunting the „Lord Lannister” surged forth, reminding him of his thirst for revenge.

In a swift motion, he lunged, teeth sinking into the exposed flesh of the man's left hand. With a calculated grace, he then raked his claws down the armor-clad figure, the metallic symphony ringing through the air. While the latter attack yielded little impact, the former earned a sharp gasp and a string of colorful insults from the "Lord Lannister" cub.

“You little beast! I’ll gut you for that!” as the boy in white cloak yelled, Balerion was already retreating into the shadows. The specifics of the human's words were lost to him, yet the fury behind them was palpable. Balerion had no desire to explore the depths of that anger.

"Flee, you accursed cat! But know that a Lannister always pays his debts!” The boy’s shouts rang in the distance.

Once he was far enough, Balerion found himself a nice place in the cold shade and licked his fur. The flavor of fake-lion blood lingered on his tongue, a taste nearly as satisfying as the prized roast quail.. But Balerion found something was missing.

Before long, the cries of a little girl could be heard. “Balerion! Come, kitty kitty! Balerion, don’t be scared! Come, kitty kitty!” his little girl was calling his name, then saying some words next to it. He remembered other humans-strangers used that to lure unsuspecting cats closer. Sometimes they would give scritches, but most times they would give be harsh, with kicks to the gut or worse. Balerion had learnt not to trust human-strangers calling to him, but this was different. This was new-Rhae, so he went to her.

When the black tomcat found his protégé, the sight that greeted him was heartwarming—a toothy grin lighting up new-Rhae's face. Yet, even in the midst of her apparent joy, Balerion discerned traces of dampness in her eyes, evidence of her tears. Crying was bad, for it was the opposite of purring.

The realization weighed heavily on him. He berated himself internally for making his girl cry. He had made her worry, running away like that. But this was him – the wild and feral side that he had cultivated during his years of solitude, where nobody called his name - and he found it difficult, at times, to think about anyone else around him, but himself.

But he couldn’t do that anymore. He had to remind himself, that if he ran off alone, his dragon-girl would cry.

And dragon-girl tears were the most precious thing in the world.

The day came and went, and with it, darkness fell upon the Red Keep. Balerion slept at the foot of new-Rhae’s bed, when anguished little-human cries woke his girl up. She rose up sleepily, yawning and walking with little steps. But Balerion was focused and sharp, not only because he was a hunter of the night, but also because he had a bothering feeling deep in his stomach, like he had eaten a bad rat.

Together, they went to the nursery which doubled as sun-mother’s room. As the door creaked open, Balerion's heart tightened in his chest.

He recognized him—the mountain-man. One of the wicked men-in-metal who had brought harm to Rhae's family. Balerion had been on a quest to find him, and now they stood face to face once more. His scent carried the stench of blood and an unfamiliar tinge of fear.

Yet, the realization struck Balerion that the fear wasn't from the mountain-man, but from within himself. Memories resurfaced, memories of this night and the horrors that unfolded for his Rhae.

He remembered. Remembered this night, and the smell of blood.

"Run!" her mother's voice broke through the air, filled with a mix of desperation and determination. "Run, Rhae!"

It was going to happen again.

New sun-brother cried, so they hit him, until he smelled of blood. New sun-mother’s stared, so they hit her, and she smelled of blood.

The pig-man chased little Rhae, so Balerion showed her his new and better hiding spot. There was a place in the dark shadows and away from the eyes of the feeders with long brooms, in a dark corner inside the old wardrobe where humans kept their change-furs.

But the pig-man wasn't merely a feeder with a long broom; he was a man-in-metal. Balerion chided himself for the oversight, for he had done the same mistake twice. And just like before, pig-man found new-Rhae and laughed, so Balerion roared like a dragon, and swooped down with his great claws, to protect his bond, as her paladin and champion. This time, since the pig-man was crouching, Balerion managed to jump on his face, and scritch-scratched with long claws as hard as he could, and pig-man squeeled.

Yet, a cat's claws were not as mighty as a dragon's. He had drawn blood on the evil man’s face, but it was shallow – too shalow, Balerion knew, to bring him down. For his trouble, Balerion was met with the taste of cold iron in his gut, as the angry man dug his blade deep inside Balerion belly with a vengeance. Then he threw his feline body in the corner, to bleed out.

Yet amidsts all that pain, it was the pig-man's words which cut the deepest. "Lord Lannister sends his regards." Angrier than last time, he ruthlessly pierced little Rhae's frail body again and again, and Balerion caught the thick scent of fresh blood.

The tomcat's body grew cold, his strength waning. He felt the warmth of his life's essence seeping from his wounds, and with his final breaths, he gazed upon new-Rhae. Her once lively eyes had turned vacant and glassy, a look of horror and pain etched forever into her face which would any other day be painted by giggles and smiles.

Balerion lamented. His bond was gone, and he would follow soon.

”What cat? Can’t you see this is a dragon! Look how big and mean he is! He is Balerion the Black, a Targaryen Dragon!”

As the older humans made merry, Balerion's cold heart beat once more, feline cunning and flaming vengeance burning in his citrine eyes.

He heard the voice of Rhae, and he remembered. She was old Rhae, as she was new Rhae. And somehow, he understood more now.

He didn't know how, but he knew he'd meet the evil metal-men again, six moons from now.

He’d give them fur and blood.

Chapter Text

Rhae was his little light in the dark, but the pig-man stole her from him. And now, the Black Dread stole the light from the pig-man.

Balerion IV

He was small again, and his belly rested on the soft silk cushion. The Name-Giver came giggling, to give him pets with her tiny paws with no claws.

Balerion was his name. And the Name-Giver’s was Rhae.

It was not just the name that was the same. The girl in front of him was the same Rhae, the old and the new. Balerion was certain, for he was an attentive observer, as the answer was in the details. She smelled like Rhae, of the sun and of dragons. She smiled like Rhae, with giggles like chimes and radiant laughter.

This was the same Rhae, but a bit shorter. The same Rhae who the pig-man hurt, the same Rhae who stilled in anguish, the same Rhae who smelled of blood and had her dress painted red.

Balerion didn’t know how. He thought he had lost his bond, twice now. But she was back to him. And he was happy.

And that was all that mattered.

....No, no it wasn’t, Balerion mused.

He was a sentinel, he reminded himself, a vigilant guardian – for now he had something to protect again. He knew, he felt it twice – the danger was coming for the little dragon-girl. Not now, but in six moons, when Balerion would be a young tom-cat. He needed to prepare. He would become stronger, so he could save her this time. He too, had claws, and it was time to get them sharper. Should anyone come to hurt his bond this time, he will make them bleed. Fur and blood.

Six moons passed, and the kitten started to look more like a battle-scarred tomcat.

Balerion, that was his name. The Name-Giver always spoke it when looking his way. He had heard others use different names for him too, like “Beast” or “Feral,” but those words meant nothing to him, for he did not understand the ways of man-speak.

Balerion was a wild hunter.He chased after the ravens with long claws in the rookery, the big dogs in the yard, and even the pigs in the Keep’s pigsty. He trained himself to confront larger foes, learning how to make them hurt and bleed and flee from him. This, however, resulted in cuts, bruises, and broken bones, leaving him with sore paws. But with time, these wounds healed, and he grew stronger.

Balerion was a ferocious protector. He walked with his Rhae, bathed with his Rhae, ate with his Rhae. Whenever she slept, he would keep vigil by the door. He’d hiss away any humans that didn’t smell like Rhae’s family. If he saw any men-in-metal, he would bite and claw as hard as he could, for even if nine times it proved useless, he would find the gap in their armor the tenth time. And he would learn the men-in-metal’s weakness.

Scorned by the humans, Balerion no longer received scratches, treats, sweet meats, or toys from strangers. He was treated as a bad cat. If he ventured anywhere close to the kitchens, feeders with brooms chased him away, but Balerion didn't mind.

As long as his girl was safe, every day for Balerion was the best day ever. Every day was games, and hiding, and scratching and treats and laughter and sunshine. And every night was hunting, and training, and learning and preparing.

And one day, Rhae went to explore the gardens. They played hide-and-seek and find-the-treasure, then Rhae decided to walk to the Tower where the men-in-metal with white-cloaks were. He met the “Lord Lannister” cub again, but this time the young human knew to fear him, for he had already bit into his hand and savored the not-lion blood. So the golden-haired boy kept his distance, watching Balerion with piercing and scornful eyes while gently caressing the hand that bore the scar from their previous encounter. Balerion found this amusing, and fitting.

Night arrived, and Balerion was prepared. When the sun-brother's cries woke his Rhae, he was ready. As they went down the hallway, Balerion led the way. The door opened, and he came face to face with the mountain-man. Close up, the man was much larger than Balerion remembered, and once again, he detected the smell of blood from the mountain-man and fear—but this fear came not from the mountain-man, but from himself. In that moment, Balerion knew he was not yet ready to take on the mountain-man.

"Run!" her mother's desperate voice broke through the air, "Run, Rhae!"

As sun-mother yelled, Balerion bit into the hems of Rhae’s nightdress and whisked her away. She turned around to see her sun-brother just as the mountain-man struck him, but Balerion urged her onward, knowing they had no time for respite. They were already down the corridor when they heard sun-mother’s screams, leaving Rhae frantic and scared. But Balerion guided her still, for he knew the pig-man would soon come after them.

So they ran, and Balerion hid the girl in the dark shadows, away from the eyes of the feeders with long brooms, placing her in a dark corner inside the old wardrobe where humans kept their change-furs. This time, Balerion didn’t hide with her, for he had learned that the pig-man was no mere feeder with a long broom, but a man-in-metal. He would find them no matter where they hid, so Balerion approached things differently.

Once Rhae was safely tucked away, he leaped onto one of the higher shelves where dragon-father kept dusty books. He was invisible, black cat-fur blending perfectly with the shadows. His muscles tensed like a coiled snake, and he waited patiently for the pig-man to arrive.

Tonight, Balerion had transformed into a man-hunter. He was the Black Dread.

His feline instincts made him tense with anticipation. He didn’t have to wait long. The short and fat man entered in the room and began to search for Rhae. But Balerion would not give her.

When the pig-man stepped towards the wardrobe, he did not see Balerion’s piercing citrine eyes as he pounced from behind.

He had spent months hunting pigs in the pigsty to take down this fat man. So he knew – that while his claws were sharp, they were too small to pierce the pigs’ greasy belly. Balerion learned that to take down a pig as a cat, one had to be smart and cunning. He had to strike at their weakness, where there was no fat, nor thick skin. He had to strike at their eyes.

So Balerion struck the pig-man like he struck pig, and he took out an eye.

The man screamed and squealed, his hand clutching the bleeding eye that Balerion had injured. Seizing the opportunity, Balerion lunged for the man's other eye, but he had lost the high ground. It was too late, for the pig-man had already found him.

"YOU... YOU... YOU... CAT! I’LL SKIN YOU AND COOK YOUR FLESH AND FEED YOUR ASS TO THE DOGS!" the pig-man raged, his voice high-pitched like a pig's. One hand still gripped the bleeding eye where Balerion had struck, while the other hand clutched the hilt of a small, metal dagger. "I’LL KILL YOU!" He rushed at Balerion, brandishing the blade, but Balerion displayed incredible agility, dodging the attacks skillfully. Once, twice, thrice—Balerion evaded, while the pig-man pushed aside desks, tables, and chairs, creating chaos in the dragon-father’s chambers. The pig-man's fury showed no signs of relenting; he continued with his attacks, growing increasingly annoyed and enraged as he tried to corner Balerion. Finally, he managed to back Balerion into a corner, and he laughed manically. "Nowhere to run now!" he screamed, then took the blade to his mouth, licking its width from tip to hilt. "I will enjoy this."

The pig-man struck Balerion with speed and fury, hitting his side, causing the cat to scream in pain. But the pig-man didn't stop there; he cut Balerion's legs too. When Balerion could move no more, the man slashed across his eye. "An eye for an eye," the pig-man laughed. He continued speaking, taunting Balerion further before kicking the helpless cat back into a corner and spitting on him. "I won't give you a quick death, damned beast."

The black cat could feel the warmth of his life's essence seeping from his wounds, with his last breaths, Balerion could hear a little girl’s frightened yelp, followed by the pig-man’s chilling words “Lord Lannister sends his regards”.

Balerion blinked, and the pain had gone away. In its place, the soft voice of a child like chimes in the wind. ”What cat? Can’t you see this is a dragon! Look how big and mean he is! He is Balerion the Black, a Targaryen Dragon!”

A new life began, and Balerion wouldn't give up.

Six moons passed, and the kitten started to look more like an even fiercer tomcat.

Balerion had done everything the same as in his last life, but better. Trained harder, fought more, hit smarter. He was rewarded with cuts and bruises and broken bones and sore paws, but he had gotten stronger. The swineherd was appaled by how hurt his pigs were, but Balerion didn’t care. He would be ready to take down pig-man this time.

They did everything like before, as Balerion went through familiar motions.

Once Rhae was safely tucked away, he leaped onto one of the higher shelves where dragon-father kept dusty books. He was invisible, black cat-fur blending perfectly with the shadows. His muscles tensed like a coiled snake, and he waited patiently for the pig-man to arrive.

Tonight, Balerion had transformed into a man-hunter. He was the Black Dread.

The short and fat man entered in the room and began to search for Rhae. But Balerion would not give her.

When the pig-man stepped towards the wardrobe, he did not see Balerion’s piercing citrine eyes as he pounced from behind.

Balerion struck the pig-man like he struck pig, and he took out his right eye. Then, he spun mid-air and used his back leg to scratch the man’s other eye, rendering it useless.

He managed to take out both of his eyes this time.

The man screamed and squealed, clutching both palms over his bleeding eyes, as if reaching for something that slipped through his grasp. "MY EYES! OH, I CAN’T SEE! I CAN’T SEE!"

He cried out, but Balerion felt no pity. Rhae was his little light in the dark, but the pig-man stole her from him. And now, the Black Dread stole the light from the pig-man.

"CLEGANE! THEY ARE ESCAPING, CLEGANE! GET YOUR ASS HERE, I CAN’T SEE!"

In the midst of the man's pain and confusion, Balerion seized the opportunity to continue his assault. But aside from his face, the pig-man was covered in metal, rendering Balerion’s scratches ineffective.

Balerion hadn't anticipated this. He had hoped the man would run away, much like the pigs did, but he didn't. The man was scared, crying, and clutching his face, yet he didn't flee.

Instead, his squeals had brought on the mountain-man into the doorstep. He was large like a horse and mighty with bulging muscles, Balerion already knew that. But seeing him with his hands bloodied and breeches down, he had somehow become even more ferocious, even more malicious.

Like someone stole his toy while he was playing.

The mountain moved, and Balerion felt the floor tremble under his paws. His muscles tensed, and feline blood froze. An instinct deep inside him told him to flee, for he was in the presence of a true predator.

The giant bridged the distance in his huge strides. First, he looked down at his comrade, who was turned towards a wall and didn’t meet the mountain-man due to his blindness.

“CLEGANE? IS THAT YOU THERE?” he asked the walls “OH SEVEN HELLS, IT HURTS. THEY GOT MY EYES. I CAN’T - ”

The tall man cut him off, striking his armored neck with his hand that was bigger than plates. Shiny metal armor bent under his sheer might. Then pig-man’s spine cracked, and he crumbled to the ground like a broken twig.

Hearing the horrible sound, Rhae yelped in the wardrobe, and cried.

"You little cunt," the mountain-man growled. In just three strides, he traversed the room and stood in front of the wardrobe.

Balerion couldn’t move. He could just watch in horror as the man opened the wooden wardrobe doors with such strength that they flew off the hinges and hit the walls. Rhae's high-pitched scream filled the air. Once tucked in the shadows, her little hands across her knees, she was now exposed to the evil man's gaze.

He didn’t give chase.

He didn’t speak cruel words.

He didn’t hesitate.

He seized Rhae by the head and flung her across the room like a discarded doll. Where she landed, blood pooled around her motionless form.

Balerion was consumed by anger, a fierce rage. He had fought so hard, tried so desperately to protect her. He wouldn't accept this outcome. Summoning every ounce of strength, he faced this demon, this embodiment of evil in human form. Roaring like a dragon, he lunged with all his might...

But the mountain-man didn't even spare him a glance. With a casual wave of his arm, thick as a tree trunk, he sent the black cat crashing into the wall like a tiny insect.

”What cat? Can’t you see this is a dragon! Look how big and mean he is! He is Balerion the Black, a Targaryen Dragon!”

And just like that, a new life began for Balerion.

If he were human, he would have laughed at himself. Laughed at the folly of trying to hunt the evil men-in-metal and find revenge! He thought he was a true hunter, a true predator – but in the end, he was just a cat.

A cat could fight a pig. Not a mountain.

In front of the force of nature that was the giant man, Balerion knew there was just one answer.

He had to get Rhae, and flee.

It was time to go back to the sewer-streets and rat-meats. This time, with his girl in tow.

Chapter Text

Balerion seemed to know exactly where they were going all along!

Rhae III

Rhae didn't like quiet. She liked noise and play. She wanted fun!

"Would you come on a little adventure with me, Balerion?"

Balerion was her fierce-and-sometimes-too-protective-fire-breathing cat-dragon cub, that would surely grow up to be the biggest dragon in the world one day! Wherever she went, Balerion followed her, and Rhae liked that because it meant Balerion loved her the most! She gave him a little scratch behind his ears and he purred, like a happy kitten-dragon, as all dragons do when they get scritches.

"Okay then! Follow me, fearless Balerion! " Rhae raised her hands high and marched to the door. "I'm not just a little girl, I'm big now, and I'm going on an adventure!"

Then they met with her mommy and went to the kitchens to eat lemon tarts with crumbly crusts (not because she was hungry or anything, she just wanted to go there!). After that, she went to the jungle-in-the-garden with her mommy and Balerion and they played find-the-treasure and hide-and-seek, like all great adventurers do.

Soon, her mother had to go and tend to her baby brother Eggy because he was a baby and he cried all the time because that's what babies do. Rhae went with her because she didn’t want to be left alone in the big jungle. But she didn't feel like going home yet. The day was still long, so she chose to go on another adventure!

She went down the steps, giggling all the way. She planned to go up to the White Sword Tower, a place where knights lived, but Balerion ran away in a different direction. She knew he was a mischievous cat, but still trusted Balerion for he loved her the most!

At times, Rhae's little feet would get tired, but Balerion would always wait for her to catch her breath and neat her dress. While she was resting, he was scouting ahead, always looking out for danger and bad men because that's what dragons do!

And together, they had the longest adventure down secret paths, just wide enough for her and Balerion to run through. Rhae had never been here before, so certainly, this must have been a place only she discovered! She was a great explorer!

The walls seemed to reach out and touch her as she passed, and Rhae's giggles echoed off the stones as she jumped into a small puddle. She got her dress wet, but there was nobody to scold her, so it was fine. Balerion led her deeper into the maze, his tail twitching like a friendly arrow pointing the way.

At one point, they entered into a square, but there were not many people. They looked sad, like Rhae when she lost her toy. But Rhae didn't let that drag her down. She was cheerful, for she found bins of colorful things, like apples and cabbages. Sometimes she saw people murmuring and fleeing, other times she saw faces peeking out the windows, but they disappeared when she tried to look closer.

Suddenly, Balerion dashed into a small opening, and Rhae followed without hesitation. She found herself in a narrow passage that was almost as dark as the night. But it didn't matter, because Balerion's eyes glowed like little lanterns, guiding her path.

Deeper and deeper they went, their footsteps making soft echoes. The passage twisted and turned, making Rhae feel like she was inside a puzzle. She could feel her heart beating faster with every step, the thrill of the unknown driving her forward.

Then, just as suddenly as they had entered, Balerion stopped. Rhae peered around, and her eyes widened as she saw the exit. It was a short ladder that lead to a trap-door. As they climbed out, Rhae found herself near a cart filled with delicious-smelling things, salty pies with butter and cheeses and hams. Balerion seemed to know exactly where they were going all along!

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Rhae crawled into the back of the unattended cart, and Balerion joined her. They hid well, under boxes and flaps. Rhae was so sneaky, like that time she hid from her mommy under the table!

The smell coming from the boxes was making her mouth water, Rhae couldn't help but open one and munch on some of the treats. They weren't as tasty as the ones the smiling-ladies at the kitchens cooked, but they filled her tummy for now.

After she had a good meal, she let out a tiny dragon-yawn as she felt sleep take her little body. She had walked the longest in her life today, from the jungle to the unknown dark maze to the cart of goodies. She deserved a good rest.

The corner where they hid wasn't very comfortable, but Balerion sprawled himself like a rug and Rhae used her cat-dragon as a pillow. Balerion was fluffy like a cloud, the best pillow-dragon.

Rhae had a sweet dream of her father smiling at her and giving her headpats because she was such a good girl and the bestest explorer ever.

When she woke up, she was surprised to feel the cart moving. She imagined the world outside passing by, all those strange people! Ttey didn't know she and Balerion were in the cart, like the secret adventurers they were!

Then they stopped, and Rhae heard people talking.

"J-just tarts, good knights! I only got tarts and baked goods here!" someone said, and then they removed the flaps of the cart and Rhae felt sunshine hit her.

As her eyes readjusted to the light, Rhae could see a bald man with a pot belly. When he spotted Rae he was at first surprised, then he looked scared.

“S-s-Ser, I swear I didn’t know she was there! Spare me, please!” the bald man pleaded and then Rhae realized there were three more men behind him with red-cloaks. They laughed and brought the bald man to the sword.

Seeing the red capes, Balerion had jumped on her side and was hissing like she had never heard him before.

Then one of the men raised his sword and Rhae closed her eyes. But the hit never came. Balerion had jumped on the man’s face, hissing and scratching, and Rhae was scared so she ran as far as she could.

But now, everything was strange and disorienting. She heard people screaming and shouting and saw buildings burning. The alleys were dark and and she could hear more people marching her way. Rhae escaped down a narrow path, but her little feet stumbled and her dress got caught in something sharp. It pulled and tugged, and before she knew it, her dress was ragged and torn.

She didn't know where to go, and everything around her seemed like a jumble of shadows. She ran, her heart pounding, tears streaming down her face. She wanted to go home, but she didn't know where home was. The alley seemed to stretch endlessly, and her sobs filled the air.

And then, in the midst of her despair, Balerion's reassuring presence appeared. He came bounding towards her, his eyes still glowing like lanterns in the dark. He rubbed against her, purring loudly, as if to say, "Follow me”

She didn't want to be adventuring no more! Rhae wanted home, but instead Balerion lead them to a place that smelled like a latrine, Rhae had to put a piece of her torn dress to her nose because the smell made her gag. Balerion kept going, until they got to a sewer hole. It was barred, but the bars were just wide enough for Balerion and Rhae to go inside.

Rhae didn’t want to, because it was smelly and wet. But behind them, there were bad men with swords and torches setting everything on fire, and she was scared. Most of all, she didn't want to separate from Balerion, not now. So they stepped inside, Balerion guiding her path with his yellow eyes.

Chapter Text

“Can’t wait to see Lord Varys’s face when I send him a little cat instead of a little bird!”

Balerion V

Balerion took his little Rhae into the sewer-streets, where he had once prowled in another life. The girl held a piece of cloth at her nose with one chubby hand. With the other, she dug her little fingers deeply into his fur, and Balerion could feel her tremble. He figured this would be scary for her, since humans didn’t have eyes as sharp as his to pierce through the dark. But it was the only place Balerion was certain the evil men-in-metal would not find her.

He walked slowly and with purpose, guiding her down on paths that he had once been so familiar with, back when he was a cat with nobody to call his name, back when the girl-with-the-long-face-that-smelled-of-winter chased him.

He knew of a good place to go, just up ahead. A wall that was toasty, a place where the floor was dry and there were no mice. There were little vents close to the ceiling where orange fire-light trickled out, so his little human would not be scared of the shadows anymore.When they arrived, Balerion sat down, licking his paws still bloody from scratching the red-cape’s face. He watched Rhae lean against the wall, her face shining up with joyous surprise at finding the wall so nice and warm.

“It’s so cozy like the baker’s oven! I wonder what treats they are baking on the other side?”

Seeing that his bond found the new home suitable, Balerion rose up. He put a paw on her legs then meowed, telling her he’d go hunting and return soon. Rhae didn’t understand and tried to follow him. Balerion protested with another long meow, and when she didn’t get the hint, he tackled her to the floor and put a paw on her legs.

They looked into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation only the two of them shared. Her pupils flashed with recognition, “You want me to stay here?”. Balerion didn’t comprehend man-speak well, but he understood what she conveyed, and meowed in acceptance. Rhae nodded, but her smile left her. She remained by the toasty wall and curled up on the dry stone floors. She didn’t want to be left alone, Balerion understood that feeling. But she didn’t know these tunnels like he did, and she didn’t hunt like he did. It was better this way.

The black cat disappeared into one of the tunnels and came back to his bond an hour later, dragging a black sheep’s wool coat. He struggled to drag it in his jaws, as sheep wool was heavy when it was wet, yet he didn’t give up. Balerion knew it would serve as a good blanket once it had dried up near the warm wall. Rhae didn’t seem too enthused by it, for it was smelly and moldy, but they had to make do. They slept cuddled together that night, their backs against the toasty wall and their feet under the itchy wool coat.

The next day, Balerion went hunting again. He found a couple of big and juicy rats and brought them to his bond for breakfast. She was very surprised, for the second he showed up, his bond yelped and shrieked. Balerion tilted his head up in puzzlement, then nudged the hunted rat closer to his bond’s feet. In response, Rhae jumped away, shuddering and berating Balerion for bringing a rat.

But he had hunted that rat for her! When they were in the castle, she would always praise him for hunting featherless-birds and sweet-meats that the feeders in the kitchens prepared. What was the difference between them?

A sudden shocking thought went through Balerion’s mind.

Could it be that dragon-girls don’t eat rat-meats?

Balerion had never paid attention to his girl’s meals before, but thinking about it he had never seen her eat anything that wasn’t served by the feeders in ornate bowls or shiny plates. He thought he had stumbled upon a great truth, it all made sense. He would need to find human-feed in ornate bowls for her.

Yet even after the revelation, Balerion felt reluctant to take her meal away. He had hunted it with so much love!

A second day came, and Balerion could hear his little girl’s stomach grumble. He knew that sound, not quite like purring, but more of a call to food. She was hungry. So Balerion went out to hunt.

He knew there were only mice-meats and rat-meats in the sewers, but his Rhae could not eat that. He had to venture outside. Soft paws down a dark tunnel took him outside, where the building with the warm wall was.

He had now seen why it was warm. There were chambers with big fires, and silent women in many clothes so that no skin showed brought dead people, and threw them in the flame. There were many people, so many, piled up in mounds – Balerion wondered why, then he watched the rest of the city.

The city smelled of rusty blood and wet ash. There were men on the streets, some were standing still with their bodies crooked in the ditches, while others were yelling and shouting their pains. There were women with torn dresses and bruised arms, looking around with vacant eyes and clutching their lower stomach. There were old grannies that cried in front of burned houses and children searching desperately for their parents.

Balerion felt that the air tasted heavy with human grief.

It was not safe. He would have to keep his Rhae hidden in the sewer-streets, away from this pain.

It took Balerion so long to find human feed, since everyone was too busy hurting, there were too few people cooking. But Balerion had a good nose, and he found it. It was a place that smelled of perfume, pillows and alcohol. Balerion went inside and found men-in-metal with unkempt beards petting pretty women’s chests with their hands, while others were dancing with women on beds, making the floors creak.

Balerion looked at them attentively. They didn’t have red-cloaks, but massive fur-capes of greys and browns that smelled of cold. He wanted to hiss at them, but he didn’t let himself get distracted; the goal was further away, in the kitchens.

When he entered the chamber that smelled of human-feed, he saw an older lady with a round face take out something from the ovens. She cried and lamented herself “Damn Northerner barbarians! They’re as cruel to us small folk as the rest of them! The Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Starks – Stranger take them!” then she spat inside each of the cups of mead she had prepared on the table. To what purpose, Balerion could only guess.

“Where’s the ale, woman? Bring the food and the drink, we can’t taste a whore’s cunt if our mouth is dry!” the booming voice of an older man came from the other room, followed by bouts of deep, manly laughter.

The old, round-faced lady grit her teeth but took the cups of ale in her hands. “Coming right up, my good and fierce Sers!” she said, then spat inside each cup again for good measure.

With her gone from the kitchen, Balerion jumped on the table and found some sweet meats. He helped himself to some, then took a meaty chicken leg in his mouth and was on his way to his little girl. She would eat well tonight.

Balerion and his bond had been living in the sewer-streets for more than a moon. Living in the sewers was easy for a cat, for there was no lack of rat-meats. It was hunting for his little Rhae that proved most challenging.

Balerion searched the city above for days, his nose twitching with frustration. There was so little human-feed he could bring back to her. The times he found food, it was mostly porridge and watery soups in bowls too big and unfit for him to carry in his mouth. When he did find a roast meat, he could only bring a tiny piece in his mouth at once.

He also couldn't go back to the castle’s kitchens, for they were too far away and he couldn’t risk leaving Rhae alone for too long.

As the days passed, Balerion noticed changes in Rhae. She had grown slimmer, the baby fat in her chubby cheeks had almost disappeared, and her arms and feet were now thin. Her voice had turned raspy due to the lack of water. His heart ached for his little human, and he was determined to find a way to provide for her.

One day, when he came back from a failed hunting in the city, he sensed movement nearby. Two boys, no older than ten, stumbled upon them. They were dirty and wore ragged clothes, but they looked well-fed.

"Hey, Creg! Look, there's someone here," one of them whispered, and his voice echoed through the tunnels.

"No way, who would live in the sewers, man? Let's get out of here, Little Lucky is waiting for us to bring him the kids," the other boy, a redhead, replied.

"No, no. Look, there's a kid there! With a cat!" the first boy, black-haired and missing teeth, insisted.

At his call, the other one squinted his eyes and watch closer. "Oh, Seven Hells! You’re right!”

They approached with small and uneasy steps, stopping when Balerion started to growl. They looked at Rhae, and addressed her in man-speak:” What are you doing here, kid?" the redhead said as they cautiously approached Rhae. She stood still and didn't utter a word. It had been so long since she had seen anyone, she didn’t know how to respond. Then tears welled in her eyes and she stuttered “I-I-I was playing with Balerion and I got lost.” Then she looked up and found the redhead boy’s eyes, and she pleaded. “I want my mommy! I want to go home!” then a stream of tears went down to her chin.

Balerion didn’t understand man speak, but when he saw the intruders made his girl cry, he hissed at them with a dragon’s ferocity. How dare they! He was ready to protect his little girl.

The boys backed off, clearly frightened by Balerion's threat. "E-e-easy now, little cat. Nobody needs to get hurt now," the redhead stammered, his voice trembling with nervousness. The one with black hair looked at Rhae and saw the disheveled state she was in. Concern overtook his fear of Balerion.

"Are you hungry, little one?," he offered, reaching into his cloak's pocket and pulled out an apple. "Here. All yours." With a quick motion, he tossed the apple toward her. Not understanding, Balerion took it as a declaration of war. How dare they throw something at his bond, were they trying to harm her?

But before he could pounce on them, Rhae stopped him wordlessly. She caught the apple, and a smile lit up her face. She bit into the juicy fruit, her hunger and thirst being satisfied. Balerion relaxed as he saw her eating.

He understood now, they were feeding his human.

The cat gave them another look over, seeing them in a new light. Surely, they had to be good boys if they fed his little girl. But then why did they still smell like bad people?

As they saw her munching on the fruit, the boys exchange a glance and a nod. The redhead spoke first. “Listen, little girl. Do you want to fill your belly and sleep in a cozy bed?” Rhae stopped eating, looked the boy in his eyes and nodded softly. “Good. Then grab my hand, and let’s get out of this sewer. You’ll never be hungry again. Do you like how that sounds?” Rhae hesitated for a second, considering their offer, then nodded once more. The boys exchanged another glance, “Who would have thought we would find a girl for Little Lucky in the sewer, of all places?” the dark haired one chuckled, and offered Rhae his hand. “Come, leave that dirty cat and follow me.”

Rhae rose to her feet, neat her dress, tattered as it were, then straightened her back like she was about to proclaim something important.

“I’m not going without Balerion! He is my cat-dragon and he comes with us!”

The redhead and dark haired boy took Rhae outside through some secret passages that even Balerion didn’t know about. They emerged into an unfamiliar part of the city, where they met other children around Rhae's age, or perhaps a bit older. The boys talked in human-speak and the children listened. They formed a line and started following the redhead, towards Little Lucky’s house.They took some dark alleys where few people saw them, and in half an hour of walking arrived at their destination.

Little Lucky's house was an odd sight, Balerion mused. It was less of a house and more of a big wooden shack, in one of the worse parts of town where the streets reeked just as poorly as the sewers. There were dozens of children walking about; the bigger ones, as old as 10, ran around barefoot in ragged clothing, while the little ones, the same age as Rhae, played in the nude. Laughter filled the air as the little humans jumped in puddles and flinged mud at one another. They were small and sun-kissed but they were happy, and well-fed. Not chubby, not by any means; but they fared better than his poor little Rhae.

Inside the house there were wooden benches and desks, and on the floor were traces of mud and clay. Scribbled tablets everywhere were scattered about. The redhead made his way thorough, obviously familiar with the place, then he opened a door and entered into a little separated room, like a study where a single boy stood at a desk, quill in hand.

He was about the same age as the “Lord Lannister” cub, but he looked nothing like him. His skin was dark like ebony, and his hair was light blonde. He was short, scrawny, and on his arm he had a seahorse tattoo. And he faintly smelled of blood.

He made the children including Rhae stand on one of the little benches, then he addressed them in human speak. His voice was clear and carried well in the small room.

"My name is Corlys Waters, but my friends call me Little Lucky!" the young man proclaimed, greatly emphasizing his words with a wide body language. "You come today in front of me, cold and hungry. Poor children from Flea Bottom. Children who lost their parents in the Sack, or children who were born in brothel halls.” Balerion could notice a little hitch in the boy’s speech, like he was reminiscing of something. “I was like you once! I had no food, no roof on my head. I suffered.”

Little Lucky rose up from his seat, throwing one of his legs atop a nearby desk, in a gesture of defiance. He scoffed. “But hear me! I fought so I would be like that no more! Now, I fight for you as well! I will give you a home, and a way to never live with an empty stomach ever again!"

The children exchanged glances, some barely comprehending the big words this youth in front of them was using. But they heard of food, and they felt at their growling tummies. They didn’t want to feel hungry any more.

One of the older boys was not convinced, however. He spat in disbelief. " Bull-crap! My nuncle taught me there is no such thing as a free meal! Then the cloaks took his head off for stealing some nobleman’s pig. Hah! And now you tell me, after the stags, and the wolves and the lions came and stole and raped, that you have enough food to feed us all?” his voice grew stronger with each word, conviction building as he let out weeks of repressed rage and hunger. “Bull-crap! You can't just give food like that, there is a catch! Say what it is you want from us!”

Some of the disbelieving children couldn’t help but nod. They didn’t feel as strongly as this boy, but they understood nonetheless. Some meals cost more than a couple of fingers.

Little Lucky grinned, his expression holding a mixture of confidence and readiness. He was prepared for this query. "I assure you, there is no catch! I won't ask much of you, just for you to listen to me, and what I will teach you…"

With those words, he launched into a long discourse that spoke of matters Balerion couldn't quite grasp. Talks of “reading and writing” and “little birds” and “his eyes and ears in the city” and “true, there’s no free meal”. Little Lucky had a way with words, or he was just giving terms too good to dismiss. Everyone, including the disbelieving boy, remained from that night on.

After a few days, Balerion grew to like Little Lucky’s house. He was glad Rhae had put on some more weight on her bones. She didn't reach the healthy weight she had back at the castle, for they only fed her little spoonfulls of oat porridge and fermented milk, but at least her cheeks were not as hollow as before. She started to smile again, to play with the little children outside too, barefoot because her old shoes had broken. She was happy, so Balerion was happy.

During the day, Little Lucky would come and teach all kids, big and small about some wriggly lines that humans liked to draw. “The Alphabet” they called it. Each child was given then a stick and a tablet of wet clay and they had to repeat the drawing. Rhae was bad at drawing, so sometimes Balerion would help her and draw with his little claws instead. At one time, Little Lucky found them and laughed hard and patted himself on the back, saying “I'm the first man to teach a cat the damned alphabet! “. At other times he would whisper under his breath, when he figured nobody was listening: “Can’t wait to see Lord Varys’s face when I send him a little cat instead of a little bird.”

Balerion didn’t understand the meaning of the words, for man-speak was too complicated. It wasn't long, however, that everyone began to call him “Crone’s Cat” because he was so smart. And each time someone called him that, Rhae would purse her lips and huff in displeasure. “His name is Balerion the Black and he is MY dragon-cat! Not Crone’s!”

After three moons, Little Lucky changed his lessons. Now, Rhae had to link the different letters she learned before, into certain patterns called words. It was hard, very hard, and Rhae couldn’t quite do it – and every time she failed her lessons, she would not get food. Balerion went to hunt for her at night, but always returned with his paws empty.

As her protector, Balerion tried to assist his bond, as best as he could. He was an astute observer, so he paid great attention to the lessons if that meant helping out his little Rhae get human-feed. So he took one of the little tablets for his own and started learning alongside his Rhae.

Learning was fun, and there were many types of learning.

One was sound-to-letter, or “spelling” as the humans called it. Given Balerion’s sharp feline hearing, it wasn’t hard at all. When he focused, he could link the human-sounds that Little Lucky made with the letters that he scribbled.

Another exercise was about linking the letters among themselves, sounds-to-word. “Dictation”, it was called. The black cat would often make mistakes, for the human speak was weird. Sometimes the same sounds were not written the same when grouped together in a word. It was confusing and hard, but he was improving slowly.

At last, Balerion’s favourite was called letter-to-letter, or “copying”. Rhae was very bad and very slow at this, because her finger-paws were so little and she had to use a stick. Balerion didn’t suffer from this disadvantage, he could use his claws, which were sharp and they worked fast in the wet clay. He was among the fastest of all the children. And when he was finished, he would do Rhae’s copying.

And because Balerion helped Rhae, she would always finish her work fast and she would get plenty of food.

The other children were very jealous of his little dragon-princess. Their faces would scrunch like lemons and they would say mean stuff. “Not fair, the cat is doing the writing for her!” a little boy liked to say. Others would lament “If I had the Crone’s Cat I would finish first!”

When the children were mean, Balerion would hiss at them, and his little girl would stick her tongue out and make funny faces at them, then laugh.

Life was good.

One day, when the children almost completed their training, the redhead and dark haired boy came back, and they retreated to Little Lucky’s private room in the back.

Balerion went behind them, trying to listen to what they were saying. He found that listening to humans-speak was useful in his learning of word-writing, even if he didn’t understand the meaning of the words just yet.

They closed the door behind them, but didn’t see Balerion sneak in.

“This batch is ready, Little Lucky. They can read and write well enough.“ the dark haired boy said in a hushed voice.

Little Lucky nodded sharply in approaval, his blonde curls bobbing down. “Very well. I thought so too. It seems a new flock of little birds is ready to fly into King’s Landing.” Little Lucky said pensively. He reached across his desk for a bottle of red wine, and slowly poured himself a cup.

If the redhead boy wanted to drink some as well, he didn’t show it. He spoke in a plain tone, as if speaking about the weather. “There’s 37 of them in total, none older than ten. We just have to cut their tongues out and send them roaming about. Lord Varys will be pleased. ” An evil glimmer flashed the redhead’s eyes. “After all, Lord Varys doesn’t like to hear his flock of birds chirping.”

Little Lucky considered his words, took a sip from his cup, then carefully regarded the cup’s decorations. Balerion noticed they looked like seahorses. There was a lull in the conversation as Little Lucky observed the cup with big eyes. “I can’t turn back now. “ he murmured to himself.

And after the short pause, Lucky started: “Rheed, sharpen the knives and prepare some milk of the poppy. But we shan’t do it now. Lord Varys might visit us later in the day, and I would like to let him see the flock first.” He took another sip of the wine, red as blood, and elaborated. “We cut their tongues first thing in the morning. Dismissed.”

The boys nodded, then left when Lucky dismissed them. Balerion followed in their shadows, his black fur rendering him inconspicuous.

Listening in on this conversation left Balerion with plenty of questions. One of them was: "Is it written Varese or Veris?"

Chapter Text

Akin to a master painter facing a blank canvas, Varys lifted his brush, and began to paint the truth in the colors he deemed fit.

Varys I

Lord Varys continued to observe the Master of Ships with interest as he had done surreptitiously throughout the meeting. An intriguing and quite unexpected turn of events had thrown the cyvasse board into disarray, shuffling the pieces about, and the King’s brother had the misfortune to fall right in the midst of it.

“There was a storm, “ Lord Stannis began again, clutching his fists under the table. “No man on earth could have-” His words were abruptly shattered by a tempestuous eruption. The new King, a brutish reveler, exerted his might with a forceful impact upon the table's surface, the wood yielding to his mighty fist.

"THE DRAGONSPAWN ESCAPED!" The King's voice thundered, spittle flying with each shout, "And it's your fault! YOURS! Storm or Flame or the accursed Seven Hells, a Baratheon - a TRUE Baratheon - would have relentlessly pursued those damned dragonspawn to the very ends of the earth!" The King's stubby finger jabbed at his brother's face, an accusatory indictment. "For as long as they draw breath, they are a threat to MY crown, MY realm, all due to YOUR treacherous cowardice!"

The King’s brother gnashed his teeth together with muted intensity. His visage bore a taut, imperceptibly drawn line of resentment . Men less astute than the Lord of Lies would certainly have failed to notice.

Stannis, the stalwart stag. A man who bravely held Storm’s End and received absolutely nothing in return. A man who successfully captured Dragonstone, the last bastion of the Targaryens. A man who stood his ground against his enemies.... bit his lip and cowered in his brother’s shadow . An inferiority complex? Would be a waste if I failed to exploit this.

Lord Varys smelled the oportunity to bring yet another pawn in the web of his machinations. Manipulation was a spider's true nature. He drew his prey in, with enigmatic smiles and mellifluous proclamations, artful threads woven from the loom of deception and intrigue. He spoon-fed them beguiling falsehoods while subtly exploiting their fears, deftly guiding them into his sticky snares of lies. His unsuspecting prey would venture forth, stepping ever closer to their self-inflicted demise within the intricate web he had meticulously woven.

Countless were the contenders in this intricate Game, yet he stood solitary in elevating it to an Art.

Akin to a master painter facing a blank canvas, Varys lifted his brush, and began to paint: "My Liege, if I may be so bold as to proffer my meager counsel upon this intricate matter. Even when beset by this trifling setsback ," he proclaimed with a measured flourish, an amiable gaze directed towards the King's own brother, "It is beyond a shadow of a doubt to all Your vassals, that Lord Stannis' accomplishments speak more than words about his where his loyalties lie."

Throwing the lesser brother a bone.

"Holding Storms' End, the ancestral seat of your Baratheon power was a great feat in its own. Now, I must also punctuate that the capture of Dragonstone is a symbollically significant success that undermines Targaryen authority and further cements your place as a new ruler. It sends a message to the small folk, that You come as not only a leader, but a liberator from the oppresive dragons. "

With an amiable smile, Lord Varys fell back. A perfectly timed pause later, he spoke once again. "I am as bold as to assert that Lord Stannis deserves the finest of rewards for his unwavering services and accomplishments"

The frame has been set. Now for the finishing touches.

Lord Varys continued, veiling a hint of reprimand within the guise of wisdom, "Punishment, as I see it, would be a grave misstep, one that I dare say could tarnish the valorous reputation of a strong and just King that we've so diligently cultivated. And given Lord Stannis’ feats, I fear your vassals may take it as a troubling precedent. We must show magnanimity to those that helped us achieve victory during the Rebellion – not punishment - or else there may be whispers of a King that is no better than the ones past.”

When the plea was concluded, Lord Varys bestowed his knowing grin upon Stannis. It was obvious the stalwart stag didn’t expect anyone to jump to his help. The spider’s aid was especially surprising. Stannis slightly nodded head in thanks. The gesture, imperceptible to most, spoke volumes, a grand salutation from a man whose visage was otherwise as inscrutable as chiseled stone. His honor would bind him to return the favor, in time.

It wasn't long until Stannis brought forth his own plea. “You've won the Rebellion, Robert. The Targaryens are gone, only three children remain. A girl, a boy and a newborn. All younger than Renly. They are no threat to us. They have no homes now, what will they ever do? They won’t last long in a foreign land. They have no gold, no contacts, and not even the most staunch loyalists would gamble on a child over you, Robert. Over us.” Stannis punctuated his arguments with conviction, and the other members of the small council nodded.

Magnificent! Welcome to my web, little stag.

After a pensive hesitation, the Master of Whispers felt it appropriate to add his thoughts: “I dare say, to send daggers in the dark right now, be they wielded by your brother, or a stealthy catspaw, will be perceived as weakness. True kings dont smother toddlers in their cribs. Let the Targaryen children go, for they are not our priority. Let them fade into obscurity.”

Let them fall into my hands.

The king wouldn’t let himself be dissuaded so easily, not on this matter. “BAH! The war isn’t over as long as they draw breath. Only babes you say…Give them some years, and they'll have the purple eyes and the right name, and our enemies will rally behind them! "

Mayhaps this King is not as dull as I made him out to be.

 "And you, fat eunuch!” The king threatened Lord Varys with rage. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do! You want me to reward Stannis and name him Lord of Storm's End. Hah, over my dead body!".

Stannis ground his teeth in frustration, a testament to his smoldering indignation of being denied the ancestral Keep of his family. His entire face turned a shade redder at being denied his right to rule by his own blood brother. This was a slight he could definitely not let go!

This affront would undoubtedly linger, festering within his psyche. I can definitely make use of this!

"If I may so presume, my Liege, since you must insist Storm's End isn't an option, I would still advise you consider Dragonstone. None amongst your vassals could contest whether Lord Stannis is worthy of this honor. Then again, an abler steward to serve on a post so close to Kings Landing  would be nigh insurmountable to find."

Stannis silently embraced this unexpected olive branch, and looked at the Master of Whispers in pleasant surprise.

A masterful strike, Lord Varys.

The remainder of the small council meeting's proceedings were of lesser importance. As the King concluded the council's deliberations, Lord Varys' countenance bore a satisfied smile. With calculated steps, he traversed the chambers, thoughts of impending maneuvers pervading his mind.

The tempestuous storm that facilitated the Targaryen princes' escape was nothing short of a divine benediction. The acquisition of Viserys and his sister Daenerys was not a mere objective, but a pivotal requirement. He would send clear directives to Illyrio: intercept them, seize the pawns that held the potential to tilt the balance of power in his grand play.

It was a great shame that Princess Elia and her children could not be used the same way. Simply reminiscing about the display of gratuitous violence of Mountain's brutality, invoked a great revulsion within Lord Varys. He still shuddered to remember seeing the red shrouds in which Lord Tywin Lannister presented Prince Aegon’s and Princess Elia’s mutilated corpses before the king.

The Lord of Lies did not approve. For all he was a man that would gladly get his hands dirty when needed, he abhorred needless cruelty.

A canvas stained entirely in red is the work of a fool, not an artist. A true painter employs crimson strokes judiciously, precisely where they serve purpose. No more, no less.

Most peculiar of all, the fate of Elia’s daughter eluded him. His little birds brought no news. Lord Varys held a genuine wish that a loyal Targaryen loyalist had shielded her. Should this prove accurate, he anticipated a day when he would find her whereabouts – and make good use of her.

Amid contemplations, Lord Varys navigated the unremarkable passageways and nondescript corridors of the Red Keep. An hour's passage sufficed to made sure that no curious eye would follow him. Then he changed his step, walking with purpose, to a quaint study chamber. His hand rapped thrice upon a wall, activating a contraption. As if conjured by his command, a narrow staircase made itself apparent behind facade of unassuming bookshelves.

Over eons, the bastion of King's Landing had amassed an archive of secret doors and dark tunnels. Who built them and to what purpose were truths that were lost with time. And they suited the Spider just fine.

Emerging from the concealed passage, Lord Varys had assumed a wholly distinct guise. His visage remained partially obscured by a cloak, while his attire bore the marks of toil and mire. The worn feet and grimy trousers spoke of a life spent in tending soil, hands ingrained with the evidence of labor. This particular veneer was but one facet of his versatile disguises, each tailored for a specific purpose.

On this occasion, the cloaked figure navigated Flea Bottom's grimy labyrinth, descending into the depths of poverty with each step, the environment morphing from red brick houses to humble thatched abodes, smiles of the populace dwindling, eclipsed by the pungent odor of destitution. A meeting awaited with the "bird hatchers," those responsible for sourcing and nurturing his "little birds."

Collecting birds for his silent flock had always proved a challenge. It was a terrible thing to consider, having the children suffer as such.

Truly a vile thing, yet it was necessary for those who played the Game to do vile things.

Yet Lord Varys refused to be a patron of needless suffering. He would often examine the way his merchandise was treated. Excessive cruelty was not to be employed – it not only contradicted his principles, it could also pose a threat of corroding the very cohesion of his flock, turning his birds rebellious.  

Among his "bird hatchers" was a bastard boy, the fruit of Montford Velaryon's drunken visits to whorehouses some two decades past. To coax him, it was enough for the Lord of Lies to spin a few lies and dangle the prospect of having the King legitimize him as a true Velaryon.  After that, the boy had become fully devoted - he would throw himself in the fire if Lord Varys only asked.

As he laid his eyes upon him, the cowled man only gave a curt and unsuspecting greetings. Corlys, the faithful "bird hatcher," stealthily led Lord Varys into his humble abode, a crucible where whispers took form and innocence was harnessed for a higher purpose.

"Esteemed Lord," Corlys began, a faint smile etched upon his lips, "I am honored by your presence." With a sweeping gesture, he beckoned Varys to behold the fruits of his labor.

"Thirty-seven in total," Corlys reported, his voice carrying a blend of accomplishment and pride. "Not a one beyond the tender age of ten. I, myself, ensured they acquired the fundamentals of literacy. Compliance and secrecy have been instilled as their second nature." He paused momentarily, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "All that remains is to 'trim their beaks’ and these “little birds” are ready to fly.”

Lord Varys' discerning gaze lingered upon the youthful faces assembled before him, a fleeting glance that conveyed an unspoken assessment. Their well-nourished countenances held no visible scars, no telltale signs of violence or undue suffering. Acceptable work. These young souls, impressionable and full of potential, were poised to become valuable instruments of the realm's betterment.

Everything, for the realm. Someone has to do it.

As his patron’ scrutinizing gaze traversed the assembly, Corlys' smile widened perceptibly. "Oh, and I believe you will find this greatly amusing, esteemed lord," he declared, a note of delight lacing his words. His hand reached out, pointing towards a little girl holding a black cat. "A gift from myself to you – the Crone's Cat” as he presented an unassuming black cat with a flourish. “I taught it the alphabet myself!”

Lord Varys, ever the spider weaving his intricate web, found a rare thread of amusement at Corlys' proclamation. This fleeting moment, however, was swiftly interrupted as his gaze sharpened, not upon the cat per se, but upon the presence of a certain little girl holding the animal in her embrace. Closer scrutiny unveiled the truth beneath her facade of tattered rags – silk, satin and dirt- a contradiction that piqued Varys' curiosity. A veil of bronze adorned her skin, a telltale sign of a dornish lineage, while her eyes - when looked at from just the right angle - held a rare shade of violet that shimmered discreetly in the dim light. This intricate puzzle visual led the cunning Spider to a most unlikely conclusion.

It could not be true.  Was she...?

Few things could evoke a startle from the spider, yet one had manifested right before him. Unable to contain his elation, Varys’ carefully crafted facade all but melted into the shadows as he laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

Varys's mind raced, already devising all the possible moves. Illyrio would need to be informed of this fortuitous happenstance. Acquiring Dorne's support just came infinitely easier. Plans for Young Griff warranted reconsideration; Why persist with the facade of the mummer when a superior alternative had elegantly presented itself? And what of Jon Connington, the man bewitched by a ghostly love, more enamored with the memory of Rhaegar than his own wife? How will he react when the very blood of Rhaegar is delivered to his doorstep?

Oh, how the pieces stacked in my favour today!

Varys’ mirthful gaze was swiftly purged by cold calculations, as he turned to the man that made it all possible. „ Magnificent work, Corlys. Your fervent dedication to nurturing these fledglings shall merit ample rewards, rest assured, and your gift will not go unnoticed.”

Corlys, blindsided by the Master of Whispers' unexpected commendation couldn’t help an audible gasp escaping his lips. But Lord Varys wasn’t done with him just yet.

Feeding my own dogs while solving a problem, all at once.

„ I can’t help but see the folly in allowing a future scion of House Velaryon to spend his youth away from the sea, away from their own ship.” He added with a fake smile ” I can make sure to fix that grievous oversight, under a very, very small condition. A trifle, to be honest.  All that this young Velaryon must do to get a ship befitting of their own station, would be to deliver a... small package ...with utmost discretion.”

  ---

Two moons later, "The Seahorse" made its maiden voyage, delivering a `package` to a "House with a Red Door".

Chapter Text

[...] let me try it! I can sail the ship sooo well!” She offered with a smile, but  Little Lucky dismissed her and scoffed at her.

She didn’t like to be scoffed at!

Oberyn I

Sweat streamed down his face as he paced aimlessly on the swan ship's deck. For weeks, storms and high winds had held them ashore in frustration. When they finally set sail, the capricious Narrow Sea turned into a mocking mirror of endless calm and sunshine. Even now, the ship's white sails hung limp in the stale air, the sky devoid of both breeze and cloud, dragging their journey to a crawl.

The endless delays only served to fuel Oberyn's fiery impatience.

He had called the Disputed Lands his home for the better part of a decade. Under the banner of House Martell, he had carved out glory, earning the moniker "Red Viper of Dorne" amidst sellswords and foreign legions. Battle after battle, he had honed his body like Valyrian steel, enduring countless cuts and sword strikes, laughing it all off at the end of the day.

Yet when the black ravens arrived bearing ominous tidings, Oberyn confronted a pain sharper than any sword’s blade.

News traveled slowly to the Disputed Lands, and it was many moons later that he learned of the raging war that had engulfed Westeros. It was said that his brother-in-law had sparked the flames of rebellion. There were stories of his alleged misdeeds, whispers of a treacherous prince who had defiled Lord Stark's daughter. Oberyn was not a fool; he suspected these were nothing more than ruses - a fabricated casus belli upon which the Northerners, the Vale, and the Stormlands could rally, hatching their plans already years in the making.

Despite the concerns these tales of Rebellion raised, it was a different set of messages that compelled Oberyn to return to Dorne with a heavy heart. His brother Doran had sent a letter exposing the Mad King's devious ploy. In a desperate bid to bind Dorne's armies to the Targaryen cause, the King had decided to 'keep guard' over his sweet sister Elia and her children in King's Landing – a move that rendered them little more than glorified hostages – while the Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys departed to Dragonstone.

Due to this subterfuge, the Prince of Dorne had been coerced into sending twenty thousand Dornish spears to aid the Mad King. His uncle, kingsguard Lewyn Martell, had been chosen to lead their command in a desperate charge. It was a laughable farce; Doran wrote in great detail of how the Mad King showed no regard for the dornishmen's lives and positioned them at the forefront – mere meatshields against the Rebel coalition’s heavy cavalry and armored infantry.

Learning of his sister's and uncle's precarious predicament, Oberyn was consumed by frenzy. At the time, he was no more than a centurion in the sellsword company known as the Second Sons. As soon as he put Doran’s letter down from his hands, Oberyn stormed into the tents of the commanders of the Second Sons, and desperately pleaded they let him command a legion and face the Lysene mercenaries that barred their way, before making way to Westeros. When they failed to see reason, Oberyn rallied six cohorts of men and bound them to his cause, all in a single night.  He defected with them, forming his own mercenary company – the Viper's Fangs. He commanded them with a steel hand and a maester’s cunning, charging with frenzied blitz tactics. He led his men personally, crushing the Lysene swordsmen that outnumbered them 3-to-1, in a series of miraculous victories.

The resounding success of the Viper’s Fangs was grander than what the Second Sons had seen in the century, yet Oberyn granted his men not a moment's rest or celebration. Immediately after their triumph, he rallied his finest troops and embarked on a grueling march back to Dorne. Fate was a cruel mistress; fast as he was, when Oberyn reached the Narrow Sea shores, he had received news of his uncle’s demise at the Battle of the Trident, followed by his sister’s and nephew’s gruesome deaths.

Oberyn bled tears of blood that night, promising vengeance and eternal hell to the men that took his beloved family away. Tywin Lannister, Gregor Clegane, Amory Lorch – they would taste the Viper’s venom, and their deaths would not be swift.

Burning with fury, Oberyn paid a king’s ransom to have a Southern Islander let his men aboard his ship, and that was how he got to his current predicament. Stuck on a windless sea, the ship’s sails were useless... and patience was never his forte.  

He slipped into his commander persona, barking harsh orders to his men, “Dismantle the mast, fashion oars from it. Every man will start rowing, 3 hour shifts – grumble, and you'll take a swim with the fishes” Then, switching to the melodious tongue of the sun-kissed islanders, he ordered one of the crew men: "<Convey to your captain that upon our arrival in Sunspear, his losses will be compensated twice over. Should he fail to accept these terms, I have no qualms about bloodying my sword on Southerner blood.>" the crewman nodded slowly at the poisoned words, and made way to his captain’s cabin.

Once that was out of the way, Oberyn took out his sword, and started chopping with his men. His uncle, his dear sister, and his nephew were gone. But his niece, sweet Rhae, was still out there.

He would not be late this time.

Rhae IV

"What's that? A fish?" Rhae's tiny finger pointed toward the expanse of blue waters. Little Lucky turned his gaze in the direction she indicated, his eyes following the ripples.

"That's a school of fish," he replied.

The idea that fish might attend school, much like she did, greatly puzzle Rhae. Did fish learn their letters too? How did they write without fingers? Perhaps they had claws like Balerion?

Her musings were interrupted by the sight of a great grey fin. "Whoa! And what's that? A bigger fish?" Her mouth formed a perfect 'O' as astonishment painted her features. Little Lucky's response held a touch of uncertainty. "That might be a whale, I think. I've never been out to sea before, you know." A soft hiss of annoyance colored his words before he turned his serious gaze to the horizon. "So you'd better let me concentrate on steering 'The Seahorse', or we might just end up shipwrecked."

Rhae's voice was full of curiosity as she inquired, "Shipwrecked? What's that?"

Little Lucky's hand met his forehead with a sigh – a gesture Rhae couldn’t quite understand yet. He explained with his calm voice, the same one that taught her to read and write. "Listen, Rhae. A shipwreck happens when a ship crashes into something—like a reef, cliff, or sandbank—and sinks in the water."

Rhae's confusion lingered. Why would he want to go into a cliff? It seemed simple enough to her – Little Lucky just needed to turn the wheel thing, and the ship would glide into the water, right?

“If you’re bad then let me try it! I can sail the ship sooo well!” She offered with a smile, but  Little Lucky dismissed her and scoffed at her. She didn’t like to be scoffed at! She was already a big girl now, almost 5, she knew (most of) her letters and she was going on a big ship on a long adventure. She was sooo grown up!

Unfortunately, this adventure wasn’t like she had once dreamed it. She wished her mommy and Eggy were there with her, but the bald man in robes told her they were gone somewhere far, very far away.  

Perhaps this ship went to far-far away and she will meet her mommy and Eggy there? She should ask Little Lucky about it.

Rhae was glad that she had Balerion with her, even if he didn’t appear very happy. Rhae thought it was because Balerion was  a dragon-cat and dragon-cats didn’t like water, but then she shook her head. This couldn’t be it. Balerion was fearless, he couldn’t fear some water!

Then what was the reason he was always so sad? Maybe the ship's constant swaying made his tummy uneasy? Rhae’s tummy didn’t have a problem with the ship. She liked the ship a lot, every part of it! Sure, she wasn’t allowed to go too close to the railing or climb anywhere but she really liked that she was sleeping in a weird bed that the boys called hammock!

Hammock was a very silly word, and it had a very silly spelling! Rhae giggled.

Rhae was sleeping in her hammock, going left and right with the waves, when she heard a big commotion outside. The redhead boy yelled “Anchor’s down, we’ve made land!“.Then, everyone buzzed with activity like little bees, hurriying to disembark, and Rhae followed them .

The world outside embraced her with a newness that made her little heart race. The air was warm, and surprisingly dry despite being near the sea. With wide eyes, she descended from the ship's side, her small feet meeting the unfamiliar terrain, of golden dunes. As her surroundings took shape, her gaze found a shape she recognized all too well – Little Lucky's triumphant grin. „I’m the greatest sailor on the Seven Seas! There was never a doubt!” he exclaimed in glee, and  and Rhae couldn't help but smile at his antics.

As she turned her eyes away, something else caught her attention – figures clad in armor and dark attire. Each one bore the emblem of a red dragon, a symbol she associated with her family, the Targaryens. A bearish-man with white hair stepped in front of her, then fell on his knee. He spoke with intent, and a powerful voice:

„ I, ser Willhelm of House Dary, pledge my sword to the Princess Rhaenys Targaryan of House Targaryen, long may they live!”

Then, as if they were prompted, the rest of the people dropped on their knees too and stared down at the ground „We pledge ourself to the Targaryens, long may they live!”

Rhae blinked in surprise, her heart racing as if a dragon had taken flight within her chest. Kneeling was reserved for her father, her mother, her grandpa – people who were important beyond measure. She had only seen such gestures reserved for those she deemed great.

Yet, here she stood, a girl on the cusp of five, not quite yet comprehending the world around her. "Thank you," she managed, her words stilted in her mouth, before she sheepisly added, "Uhmm and ... Long live the Targaryens?"

All the people rose up, faint smiles on their faces. Rhae blushed, and hoped they weren’t laughing at her. Then the first man – a ser, she understood now – came closer to her, and offered his hand.

„ Come, my lady, follow me to your new home. You're safe now.”

As he spoke, Rhae realized how much she had wanted to hear those words spoken to her. She was happy. So why did her tears start falling down her cheeks?

Chapter Text

Here she stood, a reflection of Rhaegar's very likeness. - Jon Connington

 She was his sister's spitting image [..] so reminiscent of Elia in her childhood.  - Oberyn Martell

Balerion VI

Balerion's paws touched the solid ground, and a surge of relief coursed through him. The weeks at sea had been a torturous ordeal for a cat, his stomach turning with each wave, leaving him nauseous and unable to stay close to Rhae. But now, as he stepped onto firm land, all seemed right. The humans who tended to Rhae bowed, treating her with care. It was more than once that she shed tears, which Balerion now understood could be happy tears as well, and he felt accomplished. His mission of taking his little girl to safety was over! Balerion was a good guardian.

A man-in-metal without any cloaks showed them the way, away from the docks. Balerion remained wary, distrustful of men-in-metal due to past experiences. He stayed close to Rhae, determined to shield her from any potential harm. After a short walk, they entered a sunlit courtyard, and Balerion's paws seemed to sizzle on the sunbathed sandstone. The air was hot and dry despite being near the sea. The gentle winds brought the scents of lemons and oranges, a fragrance that mingled with the distant sound of conversation.

This new place felt safe, a sanctuary hidden away from the chaos beyond, from the evil men in the city where he and Rhae had been.

The cat moved gracefully, his eyes absorbing the colors of the safehouse. Sandy yellows and coppers dominated the villa's exterior, a scene adorned with palms and citrus trees. A fountain stood at the courtyard's heart, an oasis in the midst of the arid land.

Though the heat was discomforting, Balerion found solace in the fact that Rhae seemed at ease. It made sense, he mused; Rhae smelled of the sun, it was only normal her home was in the land with of the sweltering sun!

Drawing closer to the courtyard's heart, Balerion's gaze landed on three figures seated beneath a palm's shade. A nurse, dressed in flowing black, tended to a baby; beside them sat a scowling young boy, no older than ten, with hair as blonde as sunlight and eyes as vivid as amethysts. He smelled like fire, like Rhae; but where his little girl was all gentle warmth, this boy was scorching ash.

The man-in-metal whispered to Rhae, prompting her eyes to widen with delight. Brimming with surprise and newfound happiness, she darted towards him, her small arms outstretched. "Little uncle!" she cried, running towards him with uncontainable joy.

Yet, what unfolded next compelled Balerion to shift his stance. The boy's sour scowl deepened, and as Rhae neared, he exploited his larger frame to forcefully push her to the ground. Rhae was surprised, but she didn’t appear hurt. Balerion thought they must have been playing a game of sorts. But that was wrong.

Before his Rhae could stand up, the boy unleashed a barrage of words in the man-speak, casting unfounded accusations at her: "Go away! It's all your father's fault! Your fault! This war took everything from me!" His fingers jabbed down, pointedly accusing her as surprise flitted across her face. "Don't give me those big eyes! I bet you schemed it all! Orchestrated my father's demise, conspired for your  father's downfall, all to secure your throne over the Seven Kingdoms! But that won't happen! My mother bequeathed the crown to ME, I am the king, not YOU! You are nothing but a dumb girl. The prophecy obsessed cretin brother’s dumb girl!"

His voice escalated into a maniacal frenzy, and before the nurse could intervene, he struck her with his open palm.

The slap struck Rhae's tender cheek, and in the wake of that sharp impact, a blanket of hushed stillness enveloped the courtyard. The world seemed to hold its breath, as if shocked by the cruelty of the act. Amid this silence, the boy's words emerged, dripping with venom and spite, each syllable a cruel cut. "You should've died, like your family!"

Restlessness gnawed at the man-in-metal; he seized the boy with the purple eyes by his wrists, squeezing so vehemently that the boy's limbs grew pale under the pressure. "That was uncalled for, Prince Viserys! She is a princess, and she is innocent. You were wrong to do that."

"I AM THE RIGHTFUL KING!" the boy bellowed, veins throbbing on his forehead. "I CAN DO WHAT I WANT! NOW LET ME GO!"

As he shouted, a wounded and indignant cry from little Rhae pierced the air. She clutched her cheek, which still bore the sting of the boy's slap. "Take it back! My mommy and daddy aren't dead! They just went on a big trip, far-far away! They'll come back for me, daddy promised!"

In response, the boy with purple eyes lifted his head in manic laughter. "Didn't they tell you? HAHA! Your whole family is gone! My father –“ he adjusted himself, poison coating his words” Your grandpa, the King died, a sword through his back. And so did your father, and your mother and your little brother – everyone you knew of is dead! We're the last dragons left! And YOUR father is to blam—" The man-in-metal was too late press his hand over the boy’s mouth and shut him up. The damage had been done.

Rhae stood up on wobbly legs, as if drained of all strength. With her arms balled into tiny fists, she summoned every ounce of determination and sent a resolute punch towards the boy's stomach. But seeing the boy slightly squelch in pain didn’t make her own pain go. She ran away, her little hands doing little to catch the torrent of tears that streamed down her tender face.

Balerion's blood seethed; He had allowed the boy to get closer to his Rhae because they smelled like family. Yet he made Rhae cry; he hurt her, with his hands and his words.

Balerion wouldn't let this pass.

As the man-in-metal and the nurse were scolding the boy, Balerion hissed, then launched at the boy’s face, and scratched his cheek, the same way the boy scratched his Rhae’s cheek. The boy shouted, a surprised yelp of pain leaving his lips. Balerion turned around, to enjoy the satisfaction of watching the boy’s tears – the same way he made Rhae’s tears fall. But when he turned around, all he saw were gloved fingers going around his face. Balerion hissed and tried to scratch away with his legs, but to no avail.

When the hand finally let go of his face, Balerion was shoved into a metal cage, the exit barred.

Jon Connington I

He stumbled down the stairs, his footing betraying him. The rebel pursued with bloodshot eyes. "Die for your mad king, you dog!" The words were a bellow as he swung his warhammer. No, it wasn’t so. He didn’t fight for the King – he fought for Rhaegar’s father. For Rhaegar, his Silver Prince. But pain held his tongue, the cold metal hammer grazing his shins.

The Sept’s bronze bells tolled. Once, twice, thrice.

As the rebel raised his hammer, the attacker’s visage transformed. Robert Baratheon's furious scowl was replaced with young Rhaegar's gentle face, his angelic mien looking down at him.  "Already giving up? That’s not the Jon I squired together with. He was a fierce warrior, capable of so much more. " Then, Rhaegar’s sword struck his arm, delivering another wave of agony.

The Sept’s bronze bells tolled. Once, twice, thrice.

Jon regained his senses, only to find Rhaegar's image changed. Blood oozed from his forehead down into hollow eye sockets.  There was a chasm set deep in his ruby chest armor, and Jon couldn’t tell the red gems apart from the dried blood encrusting his form. As he spoke, he bared bloody teeth. "You let me die, Jon. Why? I needed you. “ then his mouth opened to an inhuman angle, his voice becoming sharp and grating : I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME JON. WHY DID YOU LET ME DIE JON? WHY, JON?"

Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he couldn’t find the words to beg for the Prince’s forgiveness. Then corpse-Rhaegar lunged, cold fingers closing around Jon's throat.

The Sept’s bronze bells tolled. Once, twice, thrice.

As he was struggling for breath, the scene changed one final time. In Rhaegar's stead loomed an even scarier aberration, a shadowcat of abyssal darkness, draconic wings unfurled. To the animal’s side stood a dornish teenage girl, her strong features offset by blue hair; on the other, a teenage boy akin to a young Rhaegar, his hair dyed the same blue hue as his eyes.

The black shadowcat roared, an accusation Jon understood too well. Jon begged “Please, end this.”

It swallowed him whole in a single bite.

Jon awoke in cold sweat and to the sound of a sorrowful cat’s meows. ‘The damn thing, its cries reached all the way into dreams. How far did you fall, Jon, so low to be plagued by Sept bells and meowing cats.’ he shivered, hand trembling as he reached for the water on his nightstand. It tasted bitter, like ash and lime on his tongue. He raised himself up on the bedside, still finding it hard to put weight on his right foot, from where the Usurper had struck him, on the stairs of Stoney Sept.

He had almost lost his life then. The Battle of the Bells, that's what it came to be called. The Usurper spared him, only for King Aerys to condemn him to a fate harsher than death: exile, banished from his Silver Prince when he was needed most.

They said the graceful and elegant Rhaegar fell at the Trident. It couldn’t be true – Rhaegar was still in the prime of his youth. Still so young, so full of promise – a prince like him, one that could capture the heart of the smallfolk and the nobles alike, was one seldomly seen. The Gods would not have been so merciless as to take him away so soon.

They couldn’t take his Silver Prince away from him.

Jon put on his clothes, soft and lithe fabrics that one’s skin could breathe through in the sweltering dornish sun, as he made his way out in the sun gardens of the dornish safehouse. He had been exiled from the Seven Kingdoms, that was true, and to be caught on Westerosi land was to invite an executioner to chop his head off.

But if what the Spider told him was true, that one of Rhaegar’s children had made it out… Every risk Jon would take would be all worth it.

He would take the child and raise her as his own, if only to have a piece of Rhaegar closer to him.

Jon leisurely strolled through the dwarf palm trees and the orchards of lemons, when his musings were interrupted by some anguished cries. Was this an attack? Did the Usurper’s men catch wind of this safehouse? Jon looked down at his breeches, where his sword would have been holstered to his belt, yet now there was none. A mistake, Jon realized, to leave his house without his sword on him. If it came down to it, he would fight them with his fists instead.

As he got closer, the sobs turned louder and louder, only for Jon to realize they were coming from a little child. He started running faster, forgetting the pain in his leg as he rushed to the child’s aid.  

As he circled behind the tree, Jon Connington's gaze settled upon the young girl before him. He stared down at the poor little thing, as his breath caught in his throat. There was an undeniable blend of dornish blood in her appearance, from the dusky hue of her skin to her curly dark hair. Yet, as he scrutinized her, he couldn't help but be stunned by the resemblance to his prince, the one he so fervently wished to see once more.

Those arched eyebrows, so strikingly reminiscent of Rhaegar's, were etched above her expressive eyes – puppy dog eyes, the same one Rhaegar used to make when singing a sad song - now looked up at him with a mixture of innocence. Her cheekbones, subtly defined, bore a familiarity that made his heart ache; and then there were her lips, with their soft yet regal curve that held an uncanny resemblance to the ones he had seen countless times on the face of the man he had loved more than a brother.

Here she stood, a reflection of Rhaegar's very likeness. There was no doubt, this was Rhaegar's daughter, the very cause that compelled him to cast aside his exile, to brave the risk of life itself. The nights he had spent in restless contemplation after Varys told him of her existence, the anticipation of this encounter gnawing at his thoughts, had all led to this singular moment. Right before him stood the very girl who had set him on this path.

Here she was, hiding behind a palm tree, her sobs muffled by her small hands. The sight was both heart-wrenching and affirming. She was real, she was here, and she was in pain. With hesitant steps, Jon approached her, his voice soft and trembling with emotion, as he said, "Princess Rhaenys, it's alright. What is the matter? Talk to me please."

And as her tearful eyes met his, he couldn't help but feel a surge of fierce determination to protect her, to make amends for all that had been lost. For Rhaegar.

Oberyn II

If the servants were to be trusted, he had been late only half a day to greet his niece. So then, when he docked the ship in the hidden harbor, when his men came into the safehouse, why did he not find little Rhaenys?

“What do you mean she ran away and you couldn't find her for half a day? I want you to check every nook and cranny of this manse, find my niece for me, now!” Oberyn's voice dripped with a mixture of anger and incredulity. His eyes bore into the trembling servant before him as he demanded answers, his tone leaving no room for excuses.

“Y-yes, Prince Oberyn!” the servant shouted as he shuffled to fullfil the order. In Dorne, Oberyn wasn’t a mere sellsword; He was the second Prince, Oberyn Nimeros of House Martell. His word was law, and the servants had to obey.

Even so, Oberyn was a man of action. It was against his nature to just sit around and wait while others worked for him. Despite the exhaustion that lingered from the journey, despite his men's fatigue after rowing for half the width of the Narrow Sea, he had taken it upon himself and his loyal men to search the manse tirelessly.  

His sister's daughter was here. Blood of his blood. Oberyn couldn't stand by idly, knowing her away from his protection.

Hours of pacing, inquiring, and hunting down leads had passed until one of his men beckoned him towards the western gardens, where the Targaryen loyalists from Essos were quartered. Oberyn moved with purpose, his long strides carrying him towards the garden with determination. And there, amidst the verdant foliage, stood a man he recognized all too well – Jon Connington, the former Lord of Griffin's Roost and Hand of the King. A spark of surprise danced in Oberyn's eyes, for the sight of a man he once knew was holding his niece away from him, made the Red Viper’s blood boil.

"Jon Connington," Oberyn's voice was veiled in venom. "The Lord turned former, the Hand turned former. How quaint to find you, an exile, safeguarding my niece – from her very own kin." The words held a sharp edge, a challenge masked by a veneer of casual conversation. In his gaze burned the flames of inquiry, demanding answers.

Jon's expression was unwavering, the tension in the air palpable as Oberyn's words hung between them. His lips curved into a thin smile, a mixture of acknowledgment and defiance, as he met Oberyn's gaze head-on. "Prince Oberyn," he began, his voice steady, "I assure you, I had no intentions of keeping your niece hidden. When I found her, she was upset and crying, and I merely provided comfort."

Oberyn's eyes flashed with a twinge of skepticism. "Ah, yes," he retorted, a sharp edge to his words, "the sort of solace that only a stranger like you could offer, not one that her own uncle might extend."

"That wasn't my intention," he countered, his voice gaining a hint of diplomacy. His eyes turned to Rhaenys, a subtle gesture towards her as he added, "Little princess, if you are feeling better, I suggest you go to your uncle. I wouldn’t want him getting the wrong impression about me.”

Oberyn's lips curled upwards, a smile playing upon them, though beneath the facade of amusement lay a storm of thoughts. He interpreted Connington’s message differently. If the tales whispered upon the wind held any truth, his niece's safety might actually rest more assuredly in the grasp of Jon Connington than in the hands of other loyalists. It was said Connington's affections leaned toward the same gender, and specifically, toward Rhaegar - despite allegedly never telling him the truth - so he would like hold Rhaegar's daugher in great regard. However, if that was the case, Oberyn couldn't help but scoff at the man, for never showing Rhaegar his feelings. While Rhaegar and Elia did get married, his sister was dornish and they could certainly have worked out an agreement.

Oberyn was proud to be a man of great passion, with enough love to give to both the fairer and the sterner sexes, and he admitted it to the world without shame. He considered Connington weak, for he clung to his desires in secrecy, a cowardice that Oberyn could only look down upon. A real man embraced his passions openly.

Oberyn brought himself out of the musings. He had gone through a great amount of effort to be here. He wanted to hold his niece in his arms. Gods, how she evoked memories of his dear Elia! She was his sister's spitting image! The cascade of raven tresses, so reminiscent of Elia's own in her childhood, danced before his eyes. And the way her tears fell, just as Elia's had in times of sorrow, stirred a primal urge to shield her from harm.

Oberyn got closer and went on one knee, bringing himself to her eye level. "Come closer, sweet Rhae. Come to your uncle." Oberyn beckoned, his voice a soft caress. Yet, as his niece's eyes met his, he found Rhae looking confused. A fleeting hint of surprise crossed Rhaenys' as her voice, infused with innocence, asked "Who are you?"

The revelation seemed to amuse Jon, yet the effect was opposite for Oberyn. He cursed himself, his face dropping in a scowl. Of course, she didn’t know him. He only learnt of her through letters sent by his sister, and he recognized her due to how she reminded her of Elia.

But she didn’t know him. Oh, how he wanted to shout; Why was he gone for so long! He was nothing more than a stranger to his niece.

He addressed the little girl with kindness. "Rhaenys, I am uncle Oberyn, your mother’s little brother." He nodded along softly, encouraging her to approach. Her hesitant yet trusting steps carried her closer to Oberyn, and the moment her arms wrapped around him in a hug, Oberyn felt a blend of relief and anger. Relief that he finally held his niece in his arms, but anger at himself for being absent for so long that she hadn't even known his face.

As her tears continued to flow, mingling with the embrace of her uncle, Rhaenys poured out her heart. "I – I was so sad," she stammered, her voice fragile and broken by sobs. "Viserys was mean to me. He said that – that mommy and daddy and Eggy were d-dead." Each word emerged choked with emotion, her grief palpable. "And then he slapped me, so I punched him. But it didn't make the hurt go away, so I ran, and Jon found me. He said daddy would come back for me, and he told me to be brave and strong like daddy." Her voice trembled, a torrent of sorrow streaming down her cheeks. "Are mommy and Eggy alright? I want to see them, uncle," she pleaded through her tears, eyes searching Oberyn's face for reassurance.

"Hush, my sweet niece," Oberyn whispered tenderly, his fingers gently wiping away the glistening trails of tears that marked her cheeks. "No more tears, my little one. You must be strong, for me, and for your mother’s memory." His hands cradled her cheeks, a gentle touch that mirrored his words. With care, he lifted her into his arms, holding her close as if to shield her from the very sorrows that had plagued her young heart.

Then he gazed up, looking at Jon Connington again. He held a great dislike for the man, whether for his ineptitude, his cowardice or the way he lied to his niece about her father coming back, he didn’t know which he found more despicable.

His gaze raked over Jon, scrutinizing him carefully before his voice emerged, a sharp-edged bark. "Well, then, I suppose a belated thank you is in order, Lord Connington, for ensuring my niece's safety during these past hours. But I'll inform you that your services are now redundant, and Dorne bears no love for exiles. You may return to whatever forsaken corner of the realm you slithered out from."

Jon's retort held a grit of defiance, a stance that mirrored Oberyn's own unyielding nature. "I beg to differ. I'm not a Lord," he corrected, "not anymore. As you've so aptly stated, Ser Oberyn."

“Oh, then I must also correct you. I am not a Ser, but Prince” Oberyn fired back, his words pointed as a spear's tip. "A dornish Prince, nonetheless. “

“The only Prince I know is Rhaegar.” Jon retorted defiantly.

“The only Prince you knew, is what you mean.” Oberyn added, but he saw something shifting in Connington’s eyes. A harshness akin to a soldier’s resolve. Oberyn didn’t want to lose the staring contest, so he smirked and added: “Remember the difference in our stations, Connington. Bear in mind that while you tread upon Dornish soil, you'll heed my wishes, or I shall have your head myself."

"And do what?" Jon's voice was sharp with an edge of defiance. "I'll have you know, my head carries little weight. The only one who'd relish it would be the Usurper, and I find it hard to believe you'd serve it to him on a silver platter, especially after what his dogs did to your sister. Or am I mistaken?" Each word he enunciated dripped with challenge, as if daring Jon to counter his point. "Tell me, Prince Oberyn."

Oberyn's simmering rage bubbled to the surface, a fire that threatened to consume his composure. "No, my intention would be simpler," he hissed through clenched teeth, "I'd take your head and mount it within my chambers. There, I'd find peace, free from your pestering influence upon my niece." His gaze, sharp as honed steel, bore into Jon's, unflinching. "I'd sooner you stopped poisoning her with your twisted lies. Who sent you here, I wonder? I find it difficult to trust a man whose loyalties and intents are as muddled as yours, Connington."

Jon's jaw clenched, his fists balled at his sides. "Do not mistake my intent, Prince Oberyn. My loyalty to Rhaegar, to the Targaryens, is unquestionable. I owe them my life, and in his daughter, I see a glimpse of the man I once swore to serve."

"Swore to serve, yes, and look where that got him." Connington gnashed his teeth in anger at the sudden jab, but Oberyn only smiled in retort. "And who's to say what's best for her now? The world has become a dangerous place for a Targaryen. The life of a southern Viper would suit her better."

"And you believe Dorne is the sanctuary she needs? Where do you wish to take her, then. Sunspear, perhaps, where the Usurper would send daggers for her? Or do you mean to keep her in this little safehouse for the rest of her life?" Jon's voice held an edge, challenging the Dornish prince's conviction. “I can take her far away, to places where nobody would even dream of searching for her. She could be free, I could forge a new life for her. A new name.”

“A new destiny, is that what you want for her?” Oberyn asked, a placid smile rising on his lips.

“Her destiny? No…. No, I could never.” Jon answered with emotion in his voice, not quite meeting his gaze. “Don't get me wrong, Oberyn, this is far beyond us. Her destiny is as her father told, I see it now. He spoke of prophecies, of how the dragon had to have three-heads." Jon Connington's eyes suddenly caught Oberyn's own. He stepped closer, dangerously bridging the gap between them without breaking eye contact. "Don't you see it now, Oberyn? There’s only three Targaryen left. Three heads. She is the one, the child Rhaegar wanted. “

Oberyn peered into Jon's eyes. The light blue of his irises betrayed a manic conviction, a hint of veiled madness within. Oberyn's whole body shuddered. There was something wrong, something deeply unsettling about Jon Connington which managed to shake Oberyn to his very core.

"I will take the girl" Oberyn said, a commanding tone masking his fear. His hand slipped on his sword at his belt, only the presence of his niece nearby stalling his hand. Jon Connington was a variable, a risk that he would rather not take.

His words hung in the air, a tension between them palpable. "There will be no need for that, Oberyn," Jon responded, his tone conceding, his arms raised in a gesture of truce. "Let us not further burden the princess with violence, shall we?" His gaze shifted downward to Rhaenys, who watched the unfolding scene with wide eyes, her comprehension yet to catch up. "Take care, my princess, and remember our discussions. Our paths will cross again."

With a final nod, Jon departed, leaving Oberyn with a gnawing sense that this situation mirrored the one with the Lysene swordsmen. Connington remained a vexing puzzle that required swift resolution, a decision that could shape the future. Left unresolved, he could escalate matters, amplifying the turmoil.

A soft voice, tinged with uncertainty, pulled Oberyn from his contemplation. "Umm... uncle, can we leave now?" Rhae's voice quivered, her newfound connection with her uncle still settling in. "My eyes hurt, and I feel sleepy now."

"Of course, my dear niece," Oberyn replied, his tone gentle and reassuring. "Let us make our way to your chambers."

As they walked, Oberyn felt the weight of finality descend upon him. This moment was reserved for Rhaenys, his sweet niece. He was there for her, for he was all she had left. Oh, how he wished it wasn't so. Oberyn wanted to cry at the absurdity of it all! He was the one that went to war, he was the one that braved dangers and fought armed men without number. So then why was his sweet sister, so demure and calm in her demeanor, the one that fell to the sword first? Why was his nephew killed, why was his uncle sacrificed so?

Oberyn was plagued with such thoughts, but he wouldn't let it show. The desire to avenge Elia and her son, to quell the lingering echoes of the past, would have to wait for another day. No matter how much he silently suffered, he needed to be present now, for his niece.

Their journey was marked by brief exchanges, Oberyn attempting to offer words of comfort to a visibly drained Rhae. He told her of his daughters, Obara, Nymeria and Tyene, who were just a few years older than her. But seeing how tired she was, he decided to leave the heroic tales of his journeys to another day. He guided little Rhaenys to her quarters, allowing her to find solace in sleep. A pair of his most skilled guards were stationed at her door, and Oberyn commanded them to stand vigil at all times.

Oberyn, too, required rest, his weariness from their oceanic voyage still clinging to him. As he settled, he acknowledged the satisfaction of knowing his niece was safe under his roof, sheltered from the world's turmoil. And when he woke up, he would meet his little niece with a smile.

Chapter Text

She was his new bond, and here in the dream world he knew. Her name was Arya. The direwolf was her bond too, and her name was Nymeria.

Oberyn III

Oberyn woke up to chaos and disarray. Servants and his men were already toiling, searching desperately for something.

A missing niece.

"What in the seven hells do you mean she disappeared?!" Oberyn Martell's voice cut through the air like a whip cracking, making all the servants standing before him cower in fear.. "And what about the damned fools guarding her chambers? Did they decide to take a bloody nap?" His words were scorching daggers demanding immediate answers.

"They were found dead in a chamber nearby," a servant responded, their voice trembling under Oberyn's scrutiny. "Throats slit from behind. Whoever did this is no amateur." The servant continued, almost as if compelled, "Ser Dary has rallied a search party for princess Rhaenys. It seems that someone—"

Before the servant could finish their sentence, another servant burst in, their voice urgent and panicked. "Someone has set the ships ablaze! All ships but one are engulfed in flames!"

Oberyn's eyes blazed with fury, his sharp tone only intensifying. "Which ship remains untouched?" he demanded, his patience wearing thin.

"Lor— Jon Connington's ship," the servant replied, a hint of fear in their voice. “They are gone, my Prince.”

In an instant, realization dawned upon Oberyn. He had made a grave error, and his rage surged like a wildfire. Jon Connington had brazenly stolen his niece right from under his vigilant watch, and now they were sailing away on his ship, to Gods' knew where.

His voice thundered through the room, a furious tempest of emotions. "Connington! If you think you can escape my wrath, you are sorely mistaken! I swear by all the gods, the Old and the New, that I will hunt you down to the furthest corners of this earth!"

Oberyn Martell's anger seethed like molten lava, consuming his thoughts and fueling his every action. The loss of his niece, the one he had sworn to protect, the last living piece of his sister Elia, was a great injustice that tore at his heart. The heavy weight of betrayal pressed down on him, the bitter taste of Jon Connington's audacity lingering on his tongue.

He wouldn’t rest again, not until he searched, lifted every rock and every pebble in the world.

But first, Oberyn decided to seek help, from his brother. He took a quill and paper, and started writing:

My dearest brother,

A grave injustice has befallen our niece. Jon Connington, that cowardly and treacherous bastard, has stolen her away,from under my watchful gaze –

 

No, Oberyn furiously scratched away. He needed to come to terms with it first. He had not been vigilent. He was lulled into a false sense of safety, thinking himself next to Targaryen loyalists and Dornish servants. He had failed, he was not there for her, once more, and she slipped from his side.

Why, why was the world so cruel, to always take his family away from him?

He was the Red Viper of Dorne, a warrior; but before that, he was a lover; a man who held his family close, and cared deeply about them. So then why could he not protect them when they needed him most? Why did he always fail?

Oberyn was mad at himself, but he couldn’t let dark thoughts cloud his judgement. He needed to focus on his task: to find Rhaenys and bring her home. And for that, he would use every tool in his arsenal. He took another piece of paper, and resumed writing:

My dearest brother,

A grave injustice has befallen our niece. Jon Connington, that cowardly and treacherous bastard, has stolen her away, spiriting her to a distant land. My own foolishness allowed my guard to falter, and in my recklessness, our beloved niece now suffers.

We must retrieve her from the clutches of that deceitful scoundrel. I shall gather my forces and rally as many loyalists as I can muster. The paramount task is to secure a ship, as Connington burned all other vessels in the hidden harbor. Should we not find a suitable ship, we shall fashion one ourselves.

The favor I must beseech of you is no trifling matter. I implore you to summon the banners, calling forth every able-bodied man and woman to aid in this search. We shall leave no stone unturned, spanning all corners of the realm to reclaim our niece and bring her home.

It is my belief that Connington has likely fled Westeros, given his status as an exile and a wanted fugitive. Reports suggest his affiliations with the Braavossi and the Golden Company, leading us to focus our efforts there.

My failure to safeguard her weighs heavily upon me, and now, dear brother, I beseech your assistance. Together, we must recover our sister's daughter and restore her to the embrace of Sunspear.

With unwavering love, Oberyn

As he finished the letter to his brother, Oberyn wrote to his lover, Ellaria, asking her to come along and bring his daughters as well. He urged her to secure a spacious and swift ship, and to gather all of his men to accompany them.

He knew that he needed as many capable hands as possible to make this search effort successful. Time was of the essence. He started furiously writing more letters, making use of his noble connections as well as older debts and people that might be swayed by his reputation. Maesters at the Citadel, Essossi sellswords, pirates and spice merchants; he would pull in all the favors.

He would get his niece back, and then he would give Connington a slow, gruesome death.

And if the world would not yield to his conviction, he would show them what happened to those that opposed the Red Viper of Dorne. All that brought harm to his family will see their ends by his hands.

Balerion VII

The days dragged on, an unending cycle of sorrow for Balerion. His cries of longing, echoed through the cage was that confined him. Meowing and crying, he pleaded for attention, for freedom, for the companionship he cherished.

Yet, his pleas fell upon deaf ears. The humans who had locked him away seemed consumed by a frenzy, consumed by some frantic search that left no room for his needs. They had become blind to his hunger, his thirst. Forgotten.

But amidst the ache of hunger and the gnawing thirst, what weighed on Balerion's heart most was the absence of his Rhae. The one who had scratched behind his ears, who had always been there for him. Days turned into nights, and Balerion's worry grew like a shadow, casting a pall over his feline heart. Where was Rhae? Why hadn't she come to visit him? To rescue him?

He pressed his paw against the cold bars that separated him from the outside world, yearning for the touch of her small hands. He had been her fierce companion, her protector, her bond. He longed for her to appear, to find him, to take him away from this dark, lonely place.

One day, Balerion heard the shuffling of steps, but they were not his Rhae’s. They sound too heavy, the cadence too slow for his little girl.

“Ah, you unfortunate creature! My sincerest apologies for my oversight. I completely forgot I shoved you in that cage as punishment for marring Prince Viserys' face,"the man with a white beard called. Balerion remembered him, the man-in-metal without cloak. “I won’t say that what you did was not deserved. The Seven above know that Prince Viserys is sometimes testing my patience - and oh, I’m a very patient man. Sometimes too patient, but then again, my house’s coat of arms is of a plowman; the Seven know you need lots of patience to work the lands. “ he chuckled self-deprecatingly.

“Alas, “ he continued “ I’m sorry for keeping you here, little one. It was between killing you at the Prince’s behest, or putting you in a cage until his anger simmered down; I find you would agree with my choice, in favor of the alternative.” The knight laughed at himself. "If only you possessed the gift of speech, you willy little cat, I’m sure you would have plenty to tell me. "

Balerion didn’t quite understand human-speak; he could write the words but not understand their meaning, so what the knight told him might as well have fallen on deaf ears. But it was what the knight did, as he opened Balerion’s cage and gave him some water to drink that Balerion almost forgave all of his rage for being put in a cage, away from his Rhae for so long.

He needed to search for her, and find her. He had a feeling she needed him.

Days stretched on as Balerion meticulously scoured the manse, yet all that lingered were fragments of Rhae's scent. Following these fading trails, he found himself drawn to the docks — the place of their arrival. Understanding dawned upon him; somehow, for reasons unknown, his beloved Rhae had departed without him, embarking on one of those colossal vessels that unsettled his stomach.

Surely, his Rhae must have been forcefully taken by someone. She couldn’t have simply chosen to leave without him!

Balerion needed to find a ship and sail to his Rhae and rescue her. Unfortunately for him, all the ships in the docs were charred or sunk to the bottom of the sea. He would have to wait for the humans to bring a new one.

It had been almost a fortnight before a new ship appeared in the docks. Balerion climbed up the ship, ready to sail to his princess. He went unnoticed, as the crew was too busy listening to the harsh words of a stern man, his scent akin to Rhae's, of sunshine infused with an undertone of something sinister – like a snake.

The journey that followed was arduous, rendering Balerion thoroughly miserable. It surpassed even their initial voyage from Little Lucky’s place to the safe house, a time when his stomach churned ceaselessly. Whether the tumultuous seas or the void left by Rhae's absence was the cause, he couldn't discern which was worse.

When they finally made it to their destination, Balerion was fascinated to say the least. A massive city unlike any other sprawled in front of him. The central feature, towering above all, was the Titan. It appeared to straddle the gap between mountains, his stance commanding, shoulders rising high above jagged crests. The titan's bronze breastplate, his crested halfhelm, and his flowing green hair portrayed a majestic yet fearsome figure, that made Balerion shudder.

A harbor appeared to Balerion's right, a chaotic array of piers and quays, adorned with ships, big and small, of diverse origins. Another harbor lay to his left, a distant sight beyond half-submerged buildings. Their ship docked in one of the harbors, and Balerion didn’t hesitate to follow the man that smelled like Rhae’s family and board his little boat, concealed amongst boxes and crates.

This place was unlike any he'd seen, a collection of imposing structures that rivaled even the grandeur of the city he and Rhae grew up in.  As they approached, the illusion of a single island gave way to many smaller ones, joined by stone bridges that arched over countless canals. Grey stone houses crowded close together – slender and tall, topped with peaked tile roofs. The absence of trees struck him, leaving the city as a monument of stone amidst a waters.

Boats glided gracefully, resembling serpents with upraised tails and colorful heads. Not powered by oars, but poles manipulated by humans clad in earthy cloaks. They sailed down canals which branched off in every direction. Certain canals sprawled wider, bustling with more traffic, while others remained narrow and dark, creating tunnel-like passages.

When he finally made land and stepped onto one of the stone walkways used by humans, Balerion couldn't shake off the overwhelming sense of the monumental task before him. Just how was he supposed to find his little Rhae in this vast and foreign city of boats and canals?

For the first two moons, Balerion wasn’t alone in his search. The man that smelled like Rhae’s family brought along hundreds of humans - some wearing fancy cloaks like nobles while others smelled of sweat and the sea – and they all scoured the place. Every house, every manse, every large hall or market with many people was searched. But when they didn’t find her, they grew impatient and the man that smelled like Rhae was angry and desperate, but he called back the men and went to search elsewhere.

After they left. Balerion went down the narrow streets and hopped on every little boat to travel the canals, in search of his Rhae. He even asked the local cats, meowing inquisitively at them, but they only knew of sweet treats and mice meats.

In the following moons, Balerion searched everywhere, except for that island in the distance that made his hair stand on end. He felt a weird sensation coming from the place; there was a big house that smelled of fire and called out to him, to come closer, in the south of the island. But the rest of the houses felt strange or evil; one felt like sticky tar and bitter death; another felt like seven grabby hands, trying to yank at his tail; yet another felt like a thousand butterflies bringing sickly fever; and in the background, there were a thousand hushed voices, old and forgotten. Balerion didn’t approach the weird island, despite the magnetism of fire. Yet he searched the rest of the lands restlessly, to find his little girl and bring her home.

Year. After year. After year.

So much time passed, and Balerion still didn’t give up. He would listen to the voices of humans speak, keeping an ear out in case someone mentioned Rhae’s name. Yet, the language of man here was unfamiliar, and only on a few rare occasions would he catch snippets of speech he recognized. Some would speak about the despicable “Lord Lannister” and “his death by Dornish poison”, and in the same breath they would tell at length of “tales of the Frenzied Prince of Dorne that took down the Mountain and poisoned the King’s son” and of the “The Red Viper’s failed rebellion”.

Sometimes, they would speak in hushed voices, tales of “The Golden Company’s new leader”,  of “Griff and the Young Griffina planning something big”. Other, after they had too many beers, would go into heated discussions,  saying that “Lord Stark’s execution was a farce ” and then would talk in displeasure about the “War of the Five Kings” and the “red wedding at the Towers.”

But Balerion couldn’t follow the meaning of the words. All that he cared about was that never once did they speak his princess’ name.

Every morning, Balerion would go by the beach and write Rhae’s name in the grey sand, to remind him of his goal, to find his bond and bring her back to him. One such morning, when the fog was thick, his routine was interrupted by a girl that looked strangely familiar to Balerion. She wore a simple gown, had short black hair, a long face and she smelled of winter. She walked through the mist, a little sword hugged tightly at her chest, clearly not minding her surroundings. She was walking towards the water’s edge as she stepped into the dark sand at Balerion’s feet and walked over where he wrote Rhae’s name.

Balerion was deeply enraged by the slight, how dare she step on Rhae’s name! So he hissed and growled at her, his back arched ready to jump on her face. To his surprise, the girl emitted a guttural growl, matching his aggression, and positioned herself as if she was ready to launch at him.. “Don’t test me, little kitty.” She hissed “ I have more fight in me than you think!”

Balerion maintained his hissing stance, locking eyes with the girl, his tail raised high in defiance. Unfazed, the girl returned his gaze with unwavering determination. She wasn't about to back down from a staring match with a creature barely reaching her shins.

In the end, it was Balerion who yielded, and with another condemning look at the girl, he resumed writing Rhae’s name in the sands.

The girl's curiosity was piqued; she glanced down at Balerion, then shifted her gaze to the sand, following along with the spelling. "R-H-A-E. Rhae," she uttered. "Don't know what that is, but there, I've spelled it out for you, little kitty." A moment of musing and lip biting followed. "Actually, come to think of it, how do you manage Westerosi Common, little kitty? Are you, by any chance, an acolyte of the Many-Faced God too? They change faces, but turning into a cat?"

But the cat remained silent, continuing to etch in the sand. The girl's eyes darted around, a hint of fear shadowing her gaze, probing the shadows. "Is this some trial? Has Jaqen sent you?" she pondered, though the cat gave no response “I got rid of all my possesions, like the kindly man said. I can give up anything I want! But Needle it’s…” She paused, hidden emotion bursting through her placid face. “  It’s Jon and Robb and Brann and Rickon, it’s mother and father – even Sansa. Needle is Winterfell, and it’s a part of Arya Stark. I can’t just discard it. “

Eventually, after pleading to the cat for mercy then convincing herself that the cat was indeed a cat and not a peculiar variant of Faceless Man assuming animal form, she discovered a small gap behind a rock. She stroked her sword once for luck, then plunged it into the dark gaps, concealing it beneath the unassuming rocks. " Farewell, Needle. You're in the care of this cat now.” Then she turned to the face Balerion. “You better keep the secret of its hiding place, or I'll add your name to my list." She paused, observing Balerion's disinterest as he busied himself licking his paws. Her threat was clearly ineffective when faced by a cat.

" I say that, but I don't know your name. I'm guessing you had one, just like I did... Once, I was Arya, but that name's faded into the mist. Now I serve the Many-Faced God. I am no one." She cast a glance over the cat, then bit her lip in thinking. " Yet you don't serve, cat. So, a name you shall have. One befitting a valiant and fierce feline.” She mused, her lips curling into a gentle smile as she addressed him. "In memory of the master who once had me chasing after every cat in King’s Landing – henceforth, you shall answer to Syrius. Wear it with pride, for you're named after the finest swordsman Braavos ever saw."

She came close to pat Balerion’s fur, but he didn’t allow her. But the girl’s agility surprised Balerion. She moved quickly like a deer and her hand was slippery like an eel, as she grasped Balerion in her arms. With a triumph, she pulled the cat in an embrace and scratched beneath his ears and on his cheeks.

Balerion, while initially shocked, had to concede that  the girl who smelled of winter knew how to pet a cat. To his disgrace, he purred more than he should have that day. But he would never acknowledge that.

When night came, after Balerion did his usual searches for Rhae, he cuddled beneath a stone bridge to sleep. For the first time, his dreams were not ones of his little Rhae or prized sweet meat.

This was a different dream. He was large, like a dragon of old. The girl with long face that smelled of winter was there too, and a large wolf accompanied her. She seemed surprised at first, but then approached the large Balerion. She bore no fear. With gentle strokes, she caressed his damp snout, and Balerion purred. Beneath her fierceness from before, she was kind and gentle, like his Rhae.

So when the girl and the wolf wanted to climb upon his back, Balerion willingly allowed them, and together they flew into the vast skies.

She was his new bond, and here in the dream world he knew. Her name was Arya. The wolf was her bond too, and her name was Nymeria.

And for the first time ever, he saw the world through their eyes; as they did through his.

Chapter Text

Cat of the Canals

Cat would find the kindly man and the waif waiting at the temple on the knoll, on the nights when the moon was black. “What do you know that you did not know when you left us?” he would always ask her.

”I know what Blind Beqqo puts in the hot sauce he uses on his oysters,” she would say. “I know that Young Griffina took back her father’s roost.” She added, quoting a certain Westerosi sailor. “ And I know of a cat that can write in the sands.”

“It is good to know these things.” the kindly man agreed. “And who are you?”

“No one.”

“You lie. You are Cat of the Canals, we know you well. Why did you come to the House of Black and White?”

“Valar doheris. I came to serve. ”

“Serve? A girl has a name and a list, she only wants to serve herself.” The kindly man reminded her, a veiled threat in his words. “Such a girl is not welcome. Here we serve only the Many-Faced God, not ourselves.”

“I am not that girl.” She corrected the kindly man. “I am no one, and I serve the Many-Faced God.” she replied, biting her lip.

The waif slapped her.

The girl raised her hand to her cheek, more surprised than hurt. “Why did you do that?”

“It is Arya of House Stark who chews on her lip whenever she is thinking. Are you Arya of House Stark?” the waif asked.

“Arya Stark is gone! I am no one.” The girl protested.

“You lie.” The kindly man said. “Go and sleep, child. On the morrow you must serve.”

Serve she did, three days out of every thirty. When the moon went black, she became no one, dressed in the black and white robes of a servant of the Many-Faced God. On those nights, she'd help Umma cook, sweep temple floors, serve meals, sort through the belongings of the deceased, and count queer coins.

On the days she didn’t serve, she was Cat of the Canals. She was an orphan girl, working for a smalltime seafood merchant, and living in with his daughters. On those mornings, she stepped into a pair of worn boots that were a size too large and draped a brown cloak with a frayed hem over her shoulders.

Months passed, and Cat of the Canals got used to her routine. As she made her rounds through Ragman's Harbor, she pushed her barrow along, her voice ringing out in the air, "Mussels and cockles and clams." The cats by the docks would trail her, pawing after the tempting aroma. Arya would throw oysters to them, observing which feline would come out victorious. The biggest toms weren't always the winners, she noticed. Sometimes, the victory belonged to the small, swift and starved creatures—much like herself.

Among the feline company, her favorite was Syrius, the scrawny black tom she met on whilst hiding Needle. He stood apart, not swayed by the seafood aroma. Purpose seemed to guide his patrols, always searching for something. Or someone. At times, he'd be by the docks, writing in the sand. Cat called out to him, but he never once answered. ‘I won’t answer to the name Syrius’, a voice spoke inside her head. ‘The Name-Giver already gave me a name – and it's Balerion’. Cat didn’t know where those thoughts came from, but she felt it in her heart’s heart to be true. She tossed cockles his way, moving on with her rounds.

“Mussels, prawns, and cockles.” She cried out, passing Ibbenese whalers, Pentoshi cogs and Southern swanships. Cat stopped at the foot of every gangplank to cry her clams and oysters, once in the trade talk and again in the Common Tongue of Westeros. A crewman on the whaler jeered at her so loudly that he scared away her cats. Near another ship, an oarsman asked how much she wanted for the clam between her legs. Cat ignored him, but she remembered his face. If by change she stumbled upon his name, it would join her list of prayers.

One day she would see her prayers through. Meryn Trant, Ilyn Payne, Polliver, Cersei … the list was long, and it only grew longer.

‘Valar morgulis. All men must die', Cat whispered to herself; Him of Many-Faces bestowed his Gift on all men, in equal measure. She would simply ensure some received it sooner than others.

As the day waned, Cat arrived at the Happy Port, where the mummers were passing around wine and a bard's song was coming to an end. Amid thinning crowds, she was serving fresh seafood, when she suddenly stopped in her paces. Surprised, Cat’s eyes traced the features of a familiar figure -- a man whose name echoed daily in her thoughts and prayers.

Meryn Trant. Alone, in Braavos.

A murderous pull gripped Cat, as she thirsted to strike Trant's unprotected neck, but she stopped herself. This wasn't her. This wasn't Cat. Cat of the Canals was a street orphan from King's Landing. She had nothing to do with Trant.

Yet Cat couldn't stop Arya’s vengeance that burned like wildfire. Trant would die by her hands. Arya's hand was on her hidden dagger's hilt. She wanted to lash at him, to kill him right in the middle of the street, but Cat stayed Arya's hand.

Cat knew better. The kindly man and Jaqen had taught her how to be patient, and strike when the time was right. Silent as a shadow, she followed the corrupt kingsguard to a brothel. Infiltrating the brother came easy for Cat, given she hoften sold her oysters there for their supposed aphrodisiac effects. She just had to bring her barrow and smile at the guards.

Locating Trant’s whereabouts came easy, as well; all she had to do was follow his angry shouting. “She’s too old! Bring me one younger!” he was furiously asking the madam to bring her youngest girl.

When his eyes caught Cat's, selling her oysters in the hallway, Meryn Trant licked his lips. "I want that one. " he pointed towards Cat, who was doing her best to maintain her composure. The madam asked, bewildered. "The girl with oysters and cockels? She's not of the house's staff, just here selling her wares."

Trant had none of it. "Woman, are you deaf? Fetch the girl," the knight barked, driving others out. " All the rest of you, out! Only the girl stays. "

‘I've got my work cut out for me,’ the girl thought, passing silent judgement upon the corrupt kingsguard 'A despicable scoundrel, a rotten heart through and through. There is nothing to redeem for you, Meryn Trant.'

She discarded the Cat of the Canals persona at the door, like a pair of old slippers.

Arya Stark stepped in the room.

Arya Stark

"That's a fine pair of boots. Hard to find in Braavos," she began in a matter-of-fact tone, as if discussing the weather. "I suppose you won't need them anymore."

Meryn Trant was a mess. He lay gagged and sprawled on the floor. His naked form outlined the hundreds of nicks and thin dagger cuts that marred his skin. Yet for all the wounds, he wasn’t bleeding out on the Myrish carpets. Arya did as the kindly man taught her, and stroke with anatomical precision. She targeted places away from the veins and arteries that would make the man in front of her die too fast. She wanted to enjoy this.

"Not one for conversation, are you? Pity. I had so much to share with you. Arya hasn't spoken to anyone in a long time." she taunted. “You were the first person on my list, did you know? For killing Syrio Forel. Remember him?" The response was a pained moan.

"Time's passed since. I've claimed a few more, some of the Mountain's men." She reflected on her days with Jaqen, the Ghost of Harrenhal, back when she was the Ghost of Harrenhall. "A pity the Red Viper took the Mountain and Joffrey before I did. I should consider myself lucky he spared you."

She crouched down to meet his eyes, yetTrant’s gaze was fixed on her short steel dagger. It glowed red in the flickering candle light. "Do you know who I am? Do you know my name?" she asked slowly and purposefully.

The muffled response was indistinct. "Louder, I can't hear you." the girl mocked him, a hand to her ear. “What’s that? You don’t recall? Allow me to jog your memory."

Arya watched as her blade pierced through the man’s arm, followed by groans and cries of pain. "You remember now. I'm Arya Stark. This is a name you won't forget for the rest of your short life."

The blade struck again, and the wounded figure's resistance seemed to weaken. "Do you know who you are?" the girl challenged.

‘An evil man-in-metal.’ a voice resonated in Arya’s mind.

"You're no one. You're nothing," she declared coldly. “And soon you’ll be dead.”

She raised her dagger, aiming it for the man's exposed jugular. "For your sins, I, Arya of House Stark, sentence you to die." The girl who passed the sentence swung the sword.

By the time Arya returned, she found Brusco the merchant in his room, counting coins. She thumped her purse down on the table in front of him. She thumped the boots down too.

Brusco gave the purse a pat. It was fat and heavy with metal coins. “Good. But these?”

“Boots. For you.”

“Good boots are hard to find in Braavos,” said Brusco.

“Just so.” said Arya.

Brusco nodded in appreciation, resuming his counting.

“The moon will be black tonight,” she reminded him. "Do not search for me in the morning."

“I see. Valar dohaeris.” Brusco bid her farewell.

'Valar morghulis', she thought.

Braavos' streets were cold and damp. Shivers wracked her as she slipped into the House of Black and White. Through darkness and statues of Death, she moved, descending to the vaults. Quietly, she took a bath in the fragrant lemonwater bath, to wash away the stank of brine, fish and blood. When she emerged, soaped and scrubbed pink with her brown hair plastered to her cheeks, all traces of her previous day were gone. All traces of Cat of the Canals were gone. Only Arya remained. She donned clean robes and a pair of soft cloth slippers, and padded to the kitchens to beg some food of Umma the cook.

The kindly man awaited in the kitchens, his smile welcoming. “You have returned to us.”

“The moon is black. ” Arya affirmed.

“It is." the kindly man nodded. "What three new things do you know, that you did not know when last you left us?”

“The Mother of Dragons brought her dragons to Westeros. She has three of them.”

“It is good to know this. And what else?”

She thought back on her day. She hesitated, knowing full well she didn't have a secret to give. She held her breath, as an odd thought emerged from the deepest recesses of her mind. “You can’t entice all cats with oysters. Some prefer roast quail.”

“That may be so,” said the kindly man, absorbing the weird ‘secret’ without surprise. “And the third thing?”

This time she did not hesitate. “Meryn Trant is dead. The kingsguard. Someone slit his throat and pushed him into a canal. They kept his boots.”

“Good boots are hard to find in Braavos.”

“Just so.”

“Who could have done this thing, I wonder?”

“Arya of House Stark.” She watched his eyes, his mouth, the muscles of his jaw.

“That girl? I thought you said she was gone. Who are you?”

"I am Cat of the Canals, you know me well." Arya said, biting her lip.

"You lie."

“I am no one. Valar doheris, I came to serve.” Arya tried again.

“You lie.” He turned to Umma the cook. “My throat is dry. Do me a kindness, fetch me something to drink. Make sure to bring some for our friend Arya, who has returned to us so unexpectedly and irrevocably.”

Arya had wondered what the kindly man would say. He could be angry with her. He could be pleased that she had given the kingsguard the gift of the Many-Faced God. She had played this talk out in her head half a hundred times, going through the scenarios. This nonchalant exchange wasn't what she expected.

Umma returned with a serving of milk. 'A sort of message?' They mean to say I'm a child by feeding me milk? ' Arya didn't protest and drank the whole cup. The white liquid smelled a little burnt and had a bitter aftertaste. “Go to bed now, child,” the kindly man said. “On the morrow you must serve. You must rest your eyes.”

That night she dreamed she had four legs again. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal. She was small and the night was dark, but her eyes let her pierce the shadows through the fog. A girl’s shriek made her eyes turn around in panic. Her gaze turned towards the Isle of Gods, and a shiver overcame her. There were thousands of ominous eyes pointed her way. A gentle fire bid her close, but she did not dare approach the place where the Gods watched her.

When Arya woke the next morning, she was in a dark room. 'This must be a test' she told herself. With measured steps, she hugged the wall on her right, trying to make her way to the hallway. Strangely enough, the hallway was dark too. Minutes passed, and her eyes weren't adapting to the dark.

'The room isn't dark.' Arya realized in shock. 'I'm blind.'

Balerion

Balerion's routine remained constant. Mornings were dedicated to the search for Rhae, while afternoons were reserved for hunting and sleep. Evenings mirrored the mornings—searching again and etching Rhae's name in the sands.

It was during the nights that strange things happened. Amidst his nocturnal hunts, he heard distant whispers. Soft, almost prayer-like, a familiar voice recited names—Meryn Trant, Ilyn Payne, Polliver, Cersei...— and Balerion instinctively knew these were the names of wicked men.

Balerion listened with intent, and realized the voice was very similar to the one of the girl who peddled seafood by the docks, the girl who joined his dreams accompanied by her large wolf, Nymeria. He knew her, from his dreams. They never talked, but Balerion felt it. She was Arya Stark, but also Cat of the Canals, Nan the Cupbearer, Arry the Weasel, and Ghost of Harrenhal – and sometimes she was just a girl with no name. The girl’s identity was confusing for Balerion, but he somehow understood her.

One night, the girl appeared in his dream with ghostly white eyes, crying and finding solace in Nymeria's fur. Balerion’s heart ached, as he didn’t want to see this girl cry. He reached out to comfort her, offering protection and words. For the first time, he spoke to the girl in his dreams, and the human understood.

"Don't cry, little girl. I will be your protector."

Balerion's sudden words caught Arya off guard, prompting her to protest, "I'm not crying! I'm never crying!" Fortunately the kindly man wasn't here to pick on another one of her lies.

After a brief pause, she wiped away her tears, speaking in a heavy voice. "I can hand myself. I just need the kindly man to give me my eyes back."

Balerion considered the issue for a second. Were Arya's eyes not working anymore? Was that why she was crying? Balerion found a straightforward solution, that would help him as well to find Rhae. "I can be your eyes, and you can be my mouth."

Arya laughed. "What in the seven hells was in that milk? Now I'm dreaming of chatty cats offering to swap eyes for mouths. What's next? Wolves giving me their bloody teeth?" she cast a glance at Nymeria. Unexpectedly, Nymeria howled, and Arya grasped the wolf's meaning: “Balerion, cat, good. Balerion, pack. Trust, pack.”

Arya couldn't believe it; her laughter spilled out once more. "You both could speak all this time? I'm starting to lose my mind.". Balerion couldn’t understand the girl, why she was so disbelieving. Balerion was talking all day. It wasn’t his fault humans couldn’t understand his meows!

Arya returned from her self deprecating laughter, throwing herself back in the pits of despair once more. In that moment, she loathed them all— the kindly man, the waif, the acolytes, Jaqen, and herself most of all. It was her impulsive act, taking a life without a given order. She hated it, she hated losing her sight, she hated feeling so powerless, she hated being reminded of a silly weak girl chasing her mother and never reaching her. She rose to her feet, her fingers clawing through the tangled strands of her hair. “Damn me. It’s a dream, and I'm considering a cat's proposal. I'd be damned if it can get any worse.” there, in the presence of the colossal cat, she proclaimed boldly, "Very well then, bring it on." Her fingers met Balerion's paw, and in the blink of an eye, the world around them transformed.

Balerion's reality seemed to fracture, his very essence stretched thin and pulled into two distinct directions.

Within his initial dream, he inhabited his feline form, eyes fixed on his surroundings. He was there, yet another presence accompanied him—Arya. The girl was now in command of Balerion's body. She wept and meowed in disbelief, adjusting to her novel perspective at ground level. An attempt to stand upright ended with her back on all fours after a mere step.

In the second dream, Balerion was blind. A chill swept through the air, in the absence of the familiar warmth of his fur. Arya's essence remained by his side, yet Balerion found himself at the helm. Bewilderment seized him as he realized his front and back legs differed in size. The disparity in their placement and balance felt unnatural, and his tail was not there. Arya's laughter echoed, her message clear—‘This is how humans are.’ His paws, once cushioned with soft pads, had transformed into bony fingers, akin to those of humans. His body felt alien, touch heightened while smell and hearing were muted.

A chilling revelation dawned on Balerion—within this dream, he was simultaneously cat and human.

The dream didn’t last long, and when Balerion woke up he threw up the contents of his stomach. He felt drained mentally and physically confused, in his body.

Aftet he finally shook of the dizziness, he inspected his surroundings. His body's position had shifted, he found himself twenty paces away from where he went to sleep. ‘Could it be it was not a dream?’ Balerion asked himself. Curiosity led him to run towards the docks, where Arya sold her seafood. But she was not there.

After waiting for a couple of hours, he decided to search the streets for her. A strange feeling, like a beacon of light through the dark, guided his steps, closer and closer, until he finally reached her. A blind girl, begging in the streets. Her dim eyes didn’t see him, but she felt his presence.

“Syri-..” she quickly righted herself. “ Balerion, is that you? “

Balerion came closer, somehow understanding her man-speak much better than before. His soft paws guided him towards her embrace. At first, nothing happened. Balerion focused and tried to recreated the dream. He pushed his thoughts towards Arya, and she welcomed him. She too pushed her mind towards’s Balerion’s, and she welcomed her .

As they did so, the feeling of the world splitting in two came back, as Balerion and Arya slipped into each other’s skins.

Chapter Text

Announcement

•  The fiction changed its name. A Song of Fur and Fire was changed to Whiskers to Wings: The Dragon-Cat's Time Loop, to better reflect the premise and Balerion's journey.
• Balerion will be back after September 11th as I'm currently preparing for a couple of entrance exams. Until then, I would like to ask for your input, as to what you would like to see in the future:

Poll Options, which arc you want to see next:

1. Give me more Arya! I want to explore Braavos, face swapping and warging with Arya! BAMF Arya Stark ( during Canon / War of the Five Kings / GoT Season 5-6 timeline )

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2. Let Oberyn take his niece Rhaenys with him. I want to see her become one of the Sand Vipers and fight the Mountain in Tyrion's trial, like Oberyn did in the show! BAMF Rhaneys Sand ( focus on Rebellion era then walk into Canon / Got Season 4 )
   

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3. Travel with Rhaenys (Young Griffina) and Jon Connington! I want to see what Varys/Illyrio/Connington have got in store for Young Griffina. Have her lead the Golden Company and sit the Iron Throne. Usurp Cersei and fight with Dany's armies.  BAMF Young Griffina ( during Canon / GoT Season 8 timeline )
   

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4. Make Balerion get Jaime Lannister's aid and save Elia and her children, at the cost of King's Landing burning in wildfire. The anti-Targaryen sentiment is high, so they force Rhaenys and Aegon to die or take the black (even if they are children/girls). Jaime's honor binds him to follow Rhaenys and he takes the black too. Rhaenys x Jon. BAMF Female Watch, BAMF Jaime. ( during Robert's Rebellion into Cannon Era )

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5. Or suggest a different focus!

Thank you for reading and all the support! Can't wait to be back to writing after the exams.