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Chapter Text

She slowly opened her eyes. The darkness that had been enveloping her consciousness was reluctantly receding, like a heavy curtain on a window that no one was in a hurry to pull back. Her head ached dully, her temples throbbed and a thick fog seemed to swirl inside. Her body ached, every movement was made with great effort, as if she were made of stone that had been lying on the bottom of the cold sea. She looked around. The room was small and shabby, but at the same time there was a strange cleanliness in it, as if someone was watching over every speck of dust. A simple wooden bed with a thin mattress, a bedside table next to it with several glasses on it, and an old, worn-out chest in the corner. She tried to get up. Her muscles seemed to have forgotten how to work. When she leaned on her elbow, her whole body shuddered with pain, and she almost touched the glasses, they clanged, and one of them swayed so that it almost flew to the floor. The door creaked, and a woman dressed in simple linen stepped into the room. Her dark hair was gathered under a scarf, her face was tired, but her eyes were warm. When she saw that she had woken up, her features lit up, as if the clouds had parted, revealing the sun.

– You… you wake up! – the woman gasped and hurried to the bed. – Lie down, don’t move. It’s too early for you to get up.

There was genuine joy in her voice, and at the same time a strange reverence. She didn`t speak like a simple peasant girl to a sick person, there was something akin to piety in her intonations. She looked up at her. She saw a stranger in front of her and didn`t understand why she was looking at her as if she weren`t just a woman in bed, but the queen herself.

– Who are you? – the voice was hoarse, dry, as if she hadn`t spoken for many days. – And… what about me?

The woman seemed to freeze for a moment, her hands, which had already reached out to straighten the blanket, stopped. She looked at her with confusion, as if she didn`t know how to answer.

– How do you feel? – she asked carefully, and her voice trembled.

– I… I don’t know, – she whispered, putting her hand to her forehead. – Everything hurts. My head… feels like it’s splitting. But…– she trailed off, as the words suddenly hung in the air. She suddenly realized that she couldn’t piece together a single thread from her past. There was nothing in her memory. No faces, no names, no places. Just a black fog. – What happened?

She asked desperately. The woman bit her lip and seemed to be struggling with the words herself. Finally, she leaned a little closer.

– What do you remember? – she asked quietly. She looked away, swallowed. A cold emptiness filled her.

– Nothing, – she said barely audibly. – Absolutely nothing.

Silence filled the room, and even the sound of the wind outside the window seemed too loud. The woman stared at her for a long time, as if trying to figure out if this was a joke or a trick. But there was only helplessness and confusion in her eyes.

– So… you don’t know who you are? – she asked almost in a whisper.

She shook her head slowly. Something tightened in her chest, and for the first time she felt real fear. Not for her life, not for the pain in her body, but for the fact that her essence had disappeared somewhere. The woman sighed heavily, straightened up, and placed her palm on the edge of the bed, as if looking for support.

– Then, – she said after a long pause. – You really had better lie down for now? – and her voice had that strange reverence again, as if she knew something about her that remained an unattainable secret to herself. The woman hesitated for a long time, her fingers gripping the edge of her simple dress. Then she decided and leaned a little closer, as if uttering words that had the power to turn the world upside down. – Your name is Rhaenys, Rhaenys Targaryen.

She said carefully, as if afraid of scaring. Something tugged in Rhaenys’ chest. The name struck her, cutting through the fog. It sounded like an echo from deep within, foreign and yet her own. As if somewhere in the darkness of her memory, a thread had stirred, too fragile to grasp, but tangible enough for her to understand: it was a part of her.

– Rhaenys…– she repeated in a whisper, and there was hesitation in her voice. The woman nodded.

– You… a princess, – she added almost reverently, and her eyes returned to that same sparkle that Rhaenys hadn`t been able to understand at first.

Princess. The word lit up somewhere inside. It explained everything – why this simple woman looked at her as if she were a saint, why every phrase she uttered sounded cautious. Rhaenys inhaled slowly, feeling the emptiness inside her begin to contract around something invisible, like around the grain.

– What… happened to me? – she whispered, gripping the blanket with her fingers as if it could keep her from falling. The woman lowered her eyes as if gathering her strength and began.

– There is a war now. The royal blood is fighting itself, and the lands are burning. You… were at the Battle of Rook’s Rest. You flew into battle on your dragon…

The word “dragon” penetrated her like fire. Something inside her shuddered – warm, burning, and empty at the same time. A red silhouette floated before her eyes, in the fog of memory, for a moment. Huge wings that cut through the sky, fire that burned from within. But everything was blurred, as if through murky water. She reached out her hand in her mind and the silhouette melted away, leaving only the bitterness of loss. The woman continued, quietly and evenly.

– Two dragons fought against you. Their flames met in the sky, and the earth shook with their roar. Your dragon…– she paused for a moment, as if choosing her words. – It`s gone. You fell with it, and the fortress of Rook’s Rest collapsed. The soldiers pulled you out of the rocks, barely alive. And we… my husband and I took you to our home. We hid you.

Rhaenys looked up at her. There were so many questions in it that she didn’t know where to begin.

– Why? –  she said. – Why… why did you save me?

A smile touched the woman’s lips, but it was a tired, simple smile.

– We are simple folk, your grace. We don’t care about the throne and all these games in which kings and lords die. We only want to live on our land, raise children, and not see the fire above the roof. But we’ve heard about you. We’ve heard that you’re not like that… That you’re… a good person.

She fell silent, and the room was quiet. Only in the corner, the wooden bed frame creaked with movement. Rhaenys closed her eyes. Her chest echoed with that invisible warmth that rose at the mention of the dragon. A warmth that turned into emptiness. And somewhere far, far away, beyond the darkness of memory, she felt that this emptiness wouldn`t give her peace.

– I…– Rhaenys moved her shoulder carefully, as if the words weighed more than the body. – I`m very grateful to you. You saved my life. If I really am a princess… then I will find something to thank you and your family for.

The woman lowered her eyes in confusion, her hands clenched on her dress. She remained silent, crumpling the fabric with her fingers, as if she feared the very thought of the reward. Rhaenys made another attempt to get up. This time, more slowly, but her body still resisted, and a sharp pain shot through her ribs. The woman rushed to her, carefully picked her up by the elbow, helped her sit up. Her touch was hesitant, as if she was afraid to touch someone, whom everyone considered superior to mere mortals. It was difficult to sit, but Rhaenys inhaled stubbornly, getting used to the pain. She looked down at herself. She was wearing only a simple nightgown made of coarse linen, the sleeves rolled up so as not to put pressure on the bandages. There were white bandages on her arms, and here and there a faint stain of dried blood showed. On her left leg there was a neat, even seam, pulled together with thread, which slightly tightened the skin.

– You had a few wounds, – the woman explained quietly. – We thought they were broken stones when the castle collapsed. But they’ll heal if you take care of yourself.

Rhaenys looked up at her again, her voice almost childlike sincerity.

– Thank you. Thank you very much, – the woman nodded, turned quickly, and went to the chest in the corner. She opened the lid and began to take out her things, stacking them in a pile on the edge of the bed.

– That’s all you had, – she said, and stepped aside as if she dared not touch them any longer.

In front of Rhaenys lay a black shirt, a camisole and trousers, a pair of leather gloves, high boots. And next to them were burnt, in several places peeled and melted pieces of armor. The metal looked tired, like herself: darkened by the flames, with traces of blows and fractures. She looked at all this for a long time, as if at the fragments of another life. Her clothes were torn, burned in places, the fabric smelled of smoke and blood. It seemed that this bunch of things carried the memory of something that she couldn`t yet recall.

– I can give you a dress, – the woman said uncertainly. – Simple, but clean. I understand that you may not be used to this…

Rhaenys couldn't resist and laugh softly. Her voice sounded hoarse, but there was something alive in the laughter.

– Trust me, – she replied with a slight smile. – I won’t fall apart from a simple cloth.

The woman smiled a little too, embarrassed, and nodded, sighing with relief. When the woman left, the door creaked slightly and closed, leaving Rhaenys alone with silence and a pile of things on the edge of the bed. She stared at them for a long time, as if hoping they would speak and reveal their secret to her. But the clothes and the scorched armor remained dead, indifferent to her gaze. Neither the smell of smoke nor the black stains awakened anything in her memory. As if these were the things of a completely stranger, accidentally thrown into her bed. Rhaenys looked down at her own hands. The bandages slipped a little lower, and gold flashed on her finger. An engagement ring. She didn’t immediately realize how she hadn’t noticed it before. A thin, almost delicate ring, without stones, without unnecessary pomp, just pure gold. She took it off carefully, as if afraid of breaking it. Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the ring between her thumb and forefinger. And then, on the inside, she saw the engraving. Small letters, delicate but expressive.

"You are the only one who can take me from the sea."

Rhaenys felt her throat go dry. She swallowed involuntarily, squeezing the ring so that it almost dug into her skin. Her heart beat faster. She was married. She had a husband who had set those words in gold, words that rang with love. And she couldn't even remember his face. She couldn't remember his voice, his laugh, or the touch of his hands. Only that phrase, like a shipwreck after a storm, floated before her in the dark sea of ​​oblivion. Who was he? A sailor? A lord? A prince? Someone who truly loved the sea more than anything, yet confessed to her that only she could lift him from the waves? The door creaked again, and the woman turned, holding a folded, simple dress in her hands. Rhaenys quickly slipped the ring back onto her finger, as if she wanted to keep the secret even from herself.

– Here, – the woman came closer, holding out the dress. – It’s not fancy, but it’s clean and intact.

Rhaenys nodded and began to change. The woman, feeling uncomfortable, turned to the wall, as if she wasn’t the one changing her and tending to her wounds. Rhaenys pulled off her shirt. A cool breath of air met her body. She involuntarily looked down and shuddered. Huge bruises darkened on her ribs, yellow-blue, with an overflow of brown shades. They spread across the skin, like traces of being hit by a stone or a fall. Every movement responded with pain, but the worst thing was that she didn’t remember how it happened. She carefully pushed her hands into the sleeves of her dress. The fabric was rough, but pleasant after the bandages and the cold air. The woman, still turned away, waited for her to manage on her own.

– Okay, – Rhaenys said, as she pulled the dress all the way up.

She sat up straighter, straightening the fabric on her shoulders. The dress was a little short, but it fit her well. The woman finally turned around and, as if to finish, handed her a small wooden-framed mirror and a simple comb. Rhaenys froze. She hadn’t thought about it until now. A stranger was staring at her in the reflection. Long silver hair, falling in waves to her shoulders, slightly disheveled. Violet eyes strange, bright, like precious stones, but at the same time cold and alien. Above her right eyebrow, a thin cut, not yet completely healed, left a mark that would probably remain forever. She stared at her face for a long time. It was her. And at the same time not. She couldn’t remember how old she was, what she had looked like before, whether she had been more beautiful, or perhaps more tired. But she had to admit, she looked… not bad. Even with the bruise, the split eyebrow, there was something commanding and calm in her gaze. Which explained why even a simple woman in a linen dress looked at her with such respect. Rhaenys lowered the mirror, slowly ran a comb through her locks of hair. The silver waves obeyed, shining with a soft light in the evening rays that filtered through the small window. And the emptiness in Rhaenys's chest spoke again. For in the mirror she saw herself and at the same time didn`t know at all who the woman with the violet eyes was. Rhaenys slowly combed her hair, the comb sliding over the silver strands, sometimes catching on knots. Each movement gave a slight pain in her shoulders, but this pain was even pleasant, because it reminded her: the body is alive, it is still able to move. Finally, she braided a braid and tied the end with a thin ribbon that the woman gave her.

– Tell me…– she began, her eyes still on the comb. – Do you know anything about my family? – the woman paused, as if she hadn’t expected the question. Rhaenys raised her hand and showed her wedding ring. The thin ring glinted again in the lamplight. – I see I’m… married, – she said uncertainly. – But I don’t even remember his name.

A look of compassion crossed the woman’s face. She rubbed her hands on her apron and shrugged a little.

– I have little interest in great lords, – she replied cautiously. – But I know your husband is Lord Velaryon. He rules Driftmark. They say it’s a great island, and the lord sailor himself, famous throughout the world.

– Lord Velaryon, – Rhaenys repeated. The word seemed weighty, familiar, but her memory was stubbornly silent again. She nodded gratefully. – Driftmark… how far is it from here?

– That’s better to ask my husband, –  the woman smiled guiltily. – He knows more about the roads and the seas.

Rhaenys sighed, put down her comb, and looked at the pile of things on the bed.

– I don’t need all this stuff, – she said quietly. – But there are gems on the armor. You can keep them. Sell them, and let that be the first part of my thanks.

The woman clapped her hands in confusion.

– I… I don’t know if we can sell them. Everyone in the village is afraid to show even a copper coin for fear of attracting the attention of the soldiers. But…– her voice trembled. – We are very grateful to you, your grace. Very much.

Rhaenys nodded and lowered her eyes. The real gratitude was that they had saved her at all, risking their own lives. She reached carefully for her boots. The long laces stubbornly refused to obey, her fingers trembled, but eventually she managed. When she stood up, her body swayed, her legs seemed to refuse to hold her. The woman quickly ran over and put her shoulder under her.

– Quieter, carefully, – she said, supporting Rhaenys.

Her movements were hesitant but sincere. They slowly moved into the next room. It was a simple kitchen, like the rest of the house. A table, a few benches, a cupboard with glasses and earthenware. A fire was burning in the stove, and above it a cauldron hung on a hook, from which came a thick aroma that made Rhaenys’s stomach contract treacherously. The smell was rich, slightly salty, with herbal notes. Soup or stew, she wasn’t sure, but after long days of nothingness and pain, this smell seemed the best in the world. The woman carefully sat her down at the table, then bent over the cauldron, stirred it with a long wooden spoon, and the steam rose up, enveloping the room with warmth. Rhaenys sat silently, watching the woman move deftly at the stove. The kitchen was modest but cozy. A bunch of dried herbs hung on a shelf, a basket of apples stood under the window, a few potatoes in another. Life is simple, unpretentious, but real. And for the first time since waking up, Rhaenys felt her heart thaw a little. There was something in that smell of food, in the crackling of logs in the stove, in the gentle care of a strange woman that war and even the death of a dragon hadn`t erased. She ran her fingers over the wedding ring, which flashed again on her hand. "You are the only one who can take me from the sea." The words echoed in her chest again with pain and hope at the same time.

The woman had just placed the bowls on the table when the door burst open. A man stepped into the passageway – tall, broad-shouldered, but at the same time a little thin, as if years of hard work had drained the excess strength from him, leaving only his bones and endurance. His clothes were simple: a linen shirt, greasy on the chest and sleeves, rough trousers with patches on the knees, old boots in which the dust of the road had accumulated. His face was weathered, tanned, with deep wrinkles near the eyes. A boyish head with dark, disheveled hair and eyes, too serious for his age, peeked out from behind his shoulder. A moment later, another child cautiously peeked out from under the man’s arm – a younger boy, thin and slightly fair-haired, with an excited, almost timid look.

– Why are you standing in the passageway like an idiot? – the woman said, placing the last bowl on the table. – Make way for the people.

The man quickly controlled himself and stepped aside, allowing the children to step over the threshold. Both of them stared curiously at the guest who sat at the table, like some fairy-tale figure emerging from a legend.

– Your grace, – the man said and bowed his head, making a short bow. His voice was hollow, but not without respect. Rhaenys, who was still sitting straight, leaning against the bench, was a little confused. She shook her head.

– No need for that, –  she said quietly but firmly. – It`s I who should bow to you. You saved me, not I you.

The man was a little embarrassed, coughed, and stepped back to the bench, as if he didn’t know where to put himself. At that moment, the older boy dropped a bundle of firewood from his shoulder, which fell with a thud to the floor near the stove. He didn’t say a word, but quickly walked to the table and sat down opposite Rhaenys, not hiding his curious gaze. His eyes, dark and attentive, glided over her – from her hair to her hands, from her dress to her face. As if he was trying to figure out whether a living person was really sitting in front of him, and not a spirit or a mirage. The younger boy moved differently: at first he stood a little to the side, pressing both hands to himself, as if he were afraid of accidentally violating the boundaries. Only when his brother was already sitting, he slowly approach and timidly sit down on the bench next to him, and even then on the edge, as if he was afraid of taking up too much space. His eyes, bright and clear, were burning with curiosity, but his cheeks were burning with shame.

– This is my family, – the woman said, wiping her hands on her apron. Her voice was warm, with a hint of pride. – My husband is Bowen, and these are our sons, Myken and Deran.

Rhaenys nodded, looking from one boy to the other. She felt a strange pity, seeing these two, she wondered what her own family might be like. She felt ashamed, for she suddenly realized that she hadn’t even asked the name of the woman who had cared for her so lovingly. The shame stabbed her like a pin in the heart. She opened her mouth to ask, but the man beat her to it.

– Alice, what’s next?

He spoke directly, without diplomacy, as if he wasn’t afraid to question her position. His eyes weren`t filled with arrogance, but rather with anxiety for their family, for their house, for what they had gotten themselves into by sheltering the high status lady who now sat in their kitchen. Rhaenys felt the weight of his gaze and lowered her hands to the table, touching the ring again. The fire in the stove crackled, the children watched silently, and she had to find an answer, for herself and for them. Alice’s shoulders hunched in confusion and, as if searching for an answer on the table, she glanced at the bowl of steaming soup. Her hands mechanically adjusted her apron, but the words wouldn’t come. But Rhaenys didn’t give her time to hesitate.

– Don’t worry, I won’t be staying long, – she said evenly, although her heart was beating faster than she wanted to show. – I don’t remember anything about myself. But I’m very grateful to you for saving me. You saved my life, and that cannot go unrewarded. When I return home, I will thank you generously for everything. And for now…– she paused for a moment and nodded at the mountain of burnt armor that still lay in the corner. – You will receive the precious stones…

The man, who had been sitting silently until now, suddenly laughed. His laugh was low, rough, but without anger, rather bitter, with a hint of irony.

– Oh, your grace, – he said, wiping the wrinkle near his eye with his handю– You must be from a family of great lords, if you say such things. Lords and princesses can freely trade in jewels, but ordinary people… – he looked at his son, who was sitting opposite. – The neighbors would slaughter ordinary people for such wealth before dawn. And if it's not the neighbors, then the soldiers will beat them up on the way, accusing them of theft.

Rhaenys froze involuntarily. His words touched her painfully, and an unpleasant feeling stirred in her chest: she realized how strange she was here, among these people, and how little she knew about their world. But there wasn`t a shadow of embarrassment on her face. She straightened up, coldly even, like a real princess on a throne, and only her fingers tightened their grip on the ring on her hand.

– Bowen! – Alice exclaimed, glaring at the man reproachfully. – How dare you talk like that in front of a guest, and children, too?

He shrugged, but said nothing more. His laughter had died down, and now he sat stern, gloomy, as if he didn`t rejoice in his own words. Rhaenys bowed her head slightly, swallowing a sharp sense of embarrassment. She knew that their truth was different from hers. And yet she didn`t want to appear helpless.

– Tell me then, – she said carefully, changing the subject. – How far is it from here to Driftmark? And how can I get there?

– Driftmark? – Bowen asked, his voice returning to that firm, down-to-earth tone. – The island isn`t far. If you look from the high cliff beyond the village, you can see its outline on the horizon on a clear day. But to get there, you need the sea, – he paused, the weight of his words evident. – It would take a day by boat, maybe a little more. But…– he glanced around at his wife and sons, as if consulting them mentally. – Who would want to risk themselves and transport a princess at this time?

The older boy, Myken, straightened up impatiently. His eyes flashed with youthful excitement.

– I would take the boat, – he blurted out. – Even now.

Alice quickly put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing to hold him.

– Don’t talk nonsense, – she whispered, her voice more fear than severity.

The younger, Deran, lowered his head, but continued to steal glances at Rhaenys out of the corner of his eye, as if trying to memorize her every feature. Rhaenys sat silently, staring into the flames. Bowen’s words were cruel, but true. Somewhere in the depths of her memory, something stirred: the sea, the huge ships with blue sails, the laughter of a strong man beside her… but everything crumbled like sand through her fingers. She felt that as long as she was a stranger to herself, the path home would not be easy.

– I don`t want to bring trouble upon your home, – she finally said quietly but confidently– You have done more for me than anyone could have done, – the fire crackled, and somewhere under the roof a sparrow’s nest rustled. The room became quiet, filled only with the heavy thoughts of everyone. – I will go alone, – said Rhaenys, and her voice sounded firm, although inside she still felt weak. – To the harbor. There, I`m sure, there will be someone who will dare to take me for a fee. I only need something so that when I return home, I can find you and thank you properly.

Alice shuddered and shook her head hastily.

– You can hardly walk, your grace. It is dangerous for you to go to the harbor. There are no people there now, but wolves in human form, some reduced to poverty, some embittered by war. And soldiers are also prowling, here and there. They will recognize you ... and then there will be no one to save you.

But before Rhaenys could answer, an older boy spoke up from across the table, his eyes a stubborn gleam.

– I’ll take you, – he repeated decisively. – I have the hands and the strength. I know how to hold the oars. And my uncle’s boat is ready, he’ll give it to me.

– Myken! – Bowen exploded, as dull as thunder in the mountains. – Don’t you dare even think about it. Do you know what it means to take a princess out to sea? Who’s going to let you go?

The boy didn’t lower his eyes.

– But there’s a reward, Dad. She said it herself. If I do this, we’ll have everything we need. You heard it yourself, the stones from the armor, the gold… we’ll live better than ever.

– Shut up! – Alice stood up so abruptly that her chair creaked on the floor. – Do you think money is more important than life? You’re still a child, you stupid boy!

– I’m not a child! – he snapped, and in his voice rang the same heat that made Rhaenys’s heart clench. She knew that tone, somewhere deep inside she remembered youth, courage, stubbornness. – I`m a man now, and I can do it!

Bowen sighed heavily, pressing a palm to his face.

– Gods, you will take our heads off with your manhood.

The younger, Deran, sat quietly, swallowing his brother and the princess with his gaze, as if torn between admiration and fear. Alice lowered her eyes, her lips trembling. She saw her son before her – no longer a boy, but not yet an adult. And she saw the woman who had come to them from war, from fire and death.

– So be it, – she finally said quietly, as if each word was difficult. – If you are so stubborn, then so be it. But let the gods and the sea know, I don`t want this.

Bowen cursed softly, but didn’t argue. He looked at Rhaenys with a long, heavy look.

– You understand that now you are responsible not only for yourself, but for him as well, – Rhaenys nodded.

– I understand. And I swear he will return to you alive.

The kitchen fell silent. Only the fire crackled in the stove, and somewhere in the corner a mouse was rattling grains. And this silence seemed longer than the sea that awaited them ahead.

Chapter Text

They set out at dawn. The sky over the sea was still pale, faintly tinted with pink and gold, and the shore behind was quickly disappearing into a misty haze. The boat rocked on the waves, now rising, now falling, as if it itself breathed in the rhythm of the sea. The planks creaked underfoot, the water lapping faintly against the sides, and this monotonous sound brought a strange calm, almost lulled. Rhaenys sat at the bow of the boat, wrapping the cape that Alice had given her as parting words around her shoulders. She stared into the depths, dark and changing, trying to wrest some memory from them. The sea should have been her element, for it was here, she was told, that her husband, Lord Driftmark, ruled. But memory was silent. It was as if a dark abyss lay inside her, and no matter how much she peered, nothing but black water and fog emerged. She tried to piece together what she already knew. Her name was Rhaenys Targaryen. She was a princess. She had a husband, Lord Velaryon, ruler of Driftmark. She had a dragon, but it had died in battle. She herself had survived by a miracle, and now she was sailing home, saved by commoners. These were facts, but none of them came to life in her memory. They lay dead weight, as if cut from someone else’s book. For a long time, they sailed in silence. Only the slapping of oars rhythmically cut through the silence. Myken sat with his back to her, his shoulders tense, and rowed steadily and confidently. His hands moved with such force and determination that even the boat seemed more alive. Finally, he could not stand it.

– So you really don’t remember anything? – he said over his shoulder. His voice was timid, but his curiosity was not hidden. Rhaenys slowly inhaled the sea air. The salty wind burned her lips.

– Indeed. No names, no places, no events, – Myken tilted his head slightly.

– It’s a pity, – he said simply. – I would like to ask. About your world. About dragons. About what it’s like to fly over the sea in the sky.

Rhaenys looked at him carefully. His dark hair fell on his forehead, beads of sweat glistened on his temples, but his eyes were burning. He was young, strong, fiery, and fearless. His directness seemed too rough to her at first, but there was something pure, open about it. He wasn`t deceitful, didn`t embellish his words. And then, like a shadow in water, an image moved in her memory. A boy with a similar sparkle in his eyes. His hands weren`t yet fully grown, but already strong, his laughter was loud and desperate. She knew him, knew this fire. And suddenly she felt – she has a son. Her breath caught. Her heart clenched with pain and tenderness at the same time. She tried to grab hold of this memory, to unfold it, to see the face, to hear the voice. But everything dissolved, as if the sea had closed again over what had briefly peeked out. Only the feeling – sharp and unbearable, remained with her.

– You remind me of someone. Very important.

Myken looked around, his eyes widening with curiosity, but he didn`t ask. He only gripped the oars tighter, as if he felt that this comparison was the greatest reward for him. The boat moved forward, and the sun had already risen above the horizon, pouring gold on the water. And in Rhaenys’s heart there remained a vague, painful imprint, she has a son. And she must remember his name.

They sailed for several more hours. The sun rose high, its light already cutting the eyes, the sea shone like shattered glass. The boat stubbornly moved forward, but each stroke of the oars was more and more difficult, Myken was sweating, his lips were dry from the salty wind, but he didn`t stop. Rhaenys sat quietly, silently gazing into the distance. And suddenly she noticed a dark outline appear on the very horizon, like a spot. At first, one might have thought it was a cloud or a rock, but gradually its silhouette became clearer. A tall, masted ship, standing proudly above the waves.

– A ship, – Myken said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His shoulders tensed involuntarily.

The sails weren`t yet clearly visible, only patches of color that appeared and disappeared. Rhaenys narrowed her eyes, her heart pounding. And when the wave lifted the boat higher, she finally saw it. Blue sails and on them a majestic seahorse, silver in the sunlight. She shuddered. Something familiar and dear stirred inside her. The symbol was like a key, it unlocked the door in her soul behind which memories awaited. They were still not enough, but a feeling of confidence, warmth, and protection rolled in like a wave.

– Swim there, – she said quietly, her voice trembling. Myken looked at her warily.

– You’re not sure, – he growled. – What if they’re enemies? You say you don’t remember anything. Will they take advantage of this?

He clenched his jaw, eyeing the ship as if it were a threat. Young, hot, it was hard for him to trust a sign that meant nothing to him. But Rhaenys already knew.

– No one there will hurt me, – she replied firmly. – Take the boat there.

Myken sighed heavily and discontentedly, but he didn’t argue any further. His oars hit the water again, and the boat slowly changed course, pulling them toward the large ship. The closer they got, the more noticeable the commotion on the deck became. At first the sailors only stared listlessly at the little boat, but when they came close enough to see her face, it seemed as if something had happened on the ship. Everyone standing near the side froze together. Eyes wide, mouths open. And suddenly there was a commotion, shouts, hasty movements.

– Rope! Faster! – came the order from the deck.

People began to run frantically along the rigging, some already pulling heavy ropes, others leaning over the side, trying to get a better look. In a few minutes the rope ladder unfolded and touched the water. Myken was the first to lean on his oar, holding the boat so that it wouldn`t be tossed by the waves. He gave her a quick glance, in which there was both anxiety and delight.

– Go, – he said curtly.

Rhaenys rose cautiously, feeling the ground, or rather the boat, sway beneath her feet, but she grabbed the ropes. Her arms, still weak from her injury, trembled, but she began to rise nonetheless. Each step was heavy, but the desire to step onto the deck of this ship gave her strength. When she finally emerged, a dozen hands reached out to help her. She found herself among a group of people, tanned, in sailor's attire, with wind in their hair and a salty smell from their bodies. And they all bowed. Unlike the courtiers, there were no elaborate movements here, just a sincere, almost pious bow.

– Princess... – said one, the closest. His eyes shone with disbelief and relief at the same time.

The commotion passed in waves. People looked at each other, as if they themselves couldn`t believe they were seeing her alive. Someone crossed themselves, someone put their hand to their heart. And then a man stepped out of the crowd. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a weathered face and deep wrinkles around his eyes. His gaze was sober, but something warm burned in it. Obviously, he was the main one here. He stopped in front of her, bowed his head and spoke in a low, hoarse voice. Is this her husband?

– We thought you were... dead, princess.

– As you can see, I'm still breathing.

– We're glad, princess! – one of the sailors said, and his voice tore laughter and cries of relief from the rest of his throat.

– Thank the gods! – another picked up, raising his hands in the air.

– Lord Corlys will finally calm down a little, – someone behind him said with a smile.

So he's not here. Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. She looked at the sailors with that cold calm that befitted a princess. The captain cleared his throat, as if he were embarrassed, but it was too late to intervene, the sailors began to speak in unison.

– He hasn’t been himself since the news of your death came.

– He didn’t listen to anyone, he sat on Driftmark like a wolf in a cage.

– And his anger was terrible. They say he had a fight with the queen.

Rhaenys listened, her eyes downcast. Everything inside her suddenly warmed up, as if the sun had penetrated her soul after a long darkness. She remembered nothing – neither his face nor his voice, even her own feelings were like fragments smashed against a rock. But one thing she knew for sure now: if her death had shaken him so much, he loved her. She lifted her chin and met the sailors’ gaze again, as if nothing had happened. The princess had no right to be overly emotional in front of her people.

– Thank you, – she said, her voice growing warmer. – But before we rejoice, I must explain, – she looked around and called closer to Myken, who was standing behind, trying to stay out of the way. The sailors also paid attention to him, wary glances, whispers, a few crooked smiles. – It was Myken and his family who saved me, – Rhaenys said evenly and firmly. – They pulled me out of the ruins of the castle, gave me a roof, clothes, and food. And even though I…– she paused briefly, swallowing her own pain. – I don’t remember anything about the past, I know for sure that without them I wouldn’t be standing here. Make sure this young man has the best place you can give him.

The sailors looked at each other. Myken blushed, turned away embarrassed. Some nodded briefly, some only frowned, but the silence that had fallen was no longer hostile.

– We will get you home, princess, – the captain finally spoke. He bowed and added. – As soon as possible. Boy, let’s go.

– No, – he quickly objected. – I will stay on deck. I want to see everything.

The fire of boyish delight burned in his eyes, and Rhaenys suddenly felt an unexpected tenderness for him. He reminded her of someone, someone close to her, brave, just as impatient with the world. Her own son. She smiled, softly, almost motherly. Movement began again around them, some going to their posts, some pulling tackle, some running to the wheel. The sailors worked with renewed vigor, as if her return had given them courage. And as the wind whipped the blue sails with the seahorse, Rhaenys stood in the middle of the deck, holding onto the side. The salt air hit her face, her braid fluttering in the wind. She looked ahead, where Driftmark waited beyond the horizon. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel lost. She knew that home was waiting for her ahead.

The wind was picking up, pulling the ship forward, and already from the bow, where she and Myken were settled, the outline of the island could be seen. At first it seemed like a dark strip on the water, but the closer they came, the more its beauty revealed itself. Driftmark was a large, sprawling island, covered with greenery, like a velvet blanket. Wooded hills covered its heart, and closer to the sea they turned into fields and lowlands, where specks of houses glittered between the trees. Harbors gaped along the coast, in which dozens, perhaps hundreds of ships swayed: fishing boats, merchant ships, galleys with coats of arms, great warships with high masts. Rhaenys stared at it all with wide eyes. Her chest heaved slightly with excitement. She remembered nothing of her past, but now it seemed to her that in every hill, in every rock, she recognized something dear to her. Her heart beat faster, as if her body itself remembered what her head had forgotten. But what caught her eye most of all was the castle. It towered not on the island itself, but on a rock rising from the sea nearby. It seemed as if the stone ridge had grown straight from the waves, and on its peak, proudly and unbreakably, stood a majestic palace. The white stone from which it was built shone in the evening sun, as if it itself radiated light. Its graceful towers rose upward, light and slender, like hands reaching for the sky. The silver roofs sparkled in the rays, burning with a cold but beautiful glow, and it seemed that the sunset itself gave it its power. The cliff was washed by the sea on all sides, and only a narrow causeway connected the castle to the island. When the waves rose, the causeway would flood, and then it seemed that the castle stood apart from the world, like an independent island, a separate kingdom. Majestic, rich, like a fairy tale. And nearby, on the island itself, another castle could be seen. It was gloomy, squat, as if it had grown from the rocks themselves. Its walls were darkened by wind and sea salt, in places covered with a crust of gray crystals. The towers were thick, heavy, more like bastions than real towers. There was a sense of power in it, but cold, unfriendly, like in a wild element. Rhaenys couldn`t take her eyes off the white castle. She took a deeper breath, and something trembled inside, as if someone had gently touched her soul. Home...

– So which one is yours? – asked Myken, not taking his eyes off both strongholds. There was genuine admiration mixed with curiosity in his voice. Rhaenys involuntarily chuckled, looking at both castles.

– I don’t know, – she answered honestly. – But… it seems to me that the white one.

– And that’s fine, – Myken smiled, completely childishly, broadly, with a sparkle in his eyes. – Because it’s more beautiful. If I had to choose, I would also like my home to be that one, not the other.

He nodded at the gloomy walls of the black fortress, and in his gesture there was something of a boy dreaming of a better fate. Rhaenys looked at him and smiled sincerely. She turned back to the white palace. With each wave he became closer, more expressive. She could already see the carved arches above the gates, the slender spires that seemed to dance against the sky, and the stone balustrades where people might be waiting. And the longer she looked, the stronger the feeling grew in her: yes, this was her place. It called to her like a mother to a child. The sea roared all around, the wind stretched the sails, and the ship carried them forward – to the shore, to the castle, to the home.

As the ship entered the harbor, Rhaenys felt her heart clench with excitement. It smelled of tar, salt, and fresh fish, the air mixed with the cries of seagulls and the murmur of human voices. Life was bustling here: sailors were unloading bales of goods, lifting blocks creaked on the ropes, somewhere in the corner women in linen scarves were selling fish that were still beating their tails in baskets, nearby children were chasing cats, trying to snatch pieces of dried cod from their teeth. The harbor was full of discord. Someone was laughing, someone was arguing, and commands from pilots and sailors could be heard above all this. Metal rang against stone, soldiers checked their armor. When the crowd's attention turned to Rhaenys, the noise died down, as if someone had muffled the sound with one movement. People stopped, turned to her, and in their eyes there was first only surprise, then confusion, and finally recognition.

– Gods…– a woman whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

– Princess…– a voice echoed through the crowd like the rustle of the wind.

The sailors, black from the sun and the winds, lowered their heads. The soldiers in armor straightened and bowed. Even the merchants, who had just competed for every copper coin, suddenly paid her silent respect, as if they were afraid to believe their own eyes. Rhaenys walked slowly, stepping on the stone slabs of the harbor, and everything around her opened up before her, as if she were seeing the world for the first time. The evening sun flooded the embankment with a golden glow, the sea, full of ships, reflected this light with thousands of sparks. She felt every look, every bow, and her heart beat so loudly that it seemed to her that everyone would hear it now. Myken followed, keeping almost close, and his young eyes also glided intently over the islanders. He greedily absorbed the picture of this life – the faces of sailors, the busy figures of women, soldiers with seahorse emblems on their cloaks. His face shone with sincere curiosity. In the crowd, Rhaenys suddenly noticed one. He stood a little to the side, towering over the people like a mast. The man was young, but already sea-hardened: tall, broad-shouldered, with arms covered with the marks of labor. His head was shaved, only the copper sheen of the sun glinted on his skull, and this gave him the appearance of a warrior, ready for any storm. He was handsome, courageous, but he didn't gaze at her like the rest. Unlike the others, there was no worship or joy in his eyes. He looked at her for a long time, intently, with a shadow of apprehension, as if he saw something in her that he didn`t understand and feared at the same time. Rhaenys couldn`t interpret this look. She stopped for a moment, their eyes met, and a chill ran down her spine. She wanted to glance away, but his face was etched in her memory, too sharp, too straight. But the soldiers in seahorse cloaks came closer and bowed low, saluting. One, the eldest, stepped forward.

– Your grace, – his voice was solemn, but trembling with excitement. – Welcome home. Lord Corlys doesn`t yet know of your arrival, but we have the honor of escorting you to High Tide.

He pointed to a small boat. The sea was already covering the causeway, the waves were crashing against it, washing the stone up to knees, and it was impossible to walk on it. Rhaenys turned her gaze to the white castle that shone on the cliff. High Tide, that’s what the guard had called it. The name sounded gentle and at the same time proud, like a hymn to the sea. Her heart trembled again, feeling that it was there that the truth awaited her. She nodded and followed the warriors, and Myken, after a moment’s hesitation, glanced back at the crowd. His gaze involuntarily fell on the same young man with the shaved head. He stood like a rock, and even now, when everyone bowed their heads, he didn`t take his eyes off Rhaenys. And it seemed to Myken that this look concealed something more than mere caution.

The boat glided through the waves, and each stroke of the oar brought them closer to the white castle. The towers rose higher and higher above them, as if built not by hands, but by the tides and time themselves. The windows, which had shone with glass in the daytime, were now lit by the soft flames of candles and torches, and in the dark stone of the sea they shone with warm lights, like stars that had descended to earth. The silver roof spires caught the last rays of the sun and burned with a pure radiance, as if the very copper of heaven flowed through them. Rhaenys sat in the boat, her eyes never taking them off the castle. Two feelings struggled within her – a stinging thrill of admiration and a quiet fear. She didn`t know this place, couldn`t remember any room or corridor, but her heart beat as if it were her home, her fortress, her dock. When the boat touched the shore, the guards who had been waiting there rushed towards her like shadows. Their eyes widened, their jaws froze. They bowed deeply, and even the most reserved faces showed not only surprise but genuine relief.

– Lady Rhaenys…– one muttered, as if afraid he was mistaken and didn`t believe himself.

– Your grace! – another, the younger one, almost shouted and instantly dropped to one knee. Their voices were picked up by the others: short exclamations, quiet prayers, cries of joy. They all bowed to her as if before an icon returned from oblivion. Servants and maidservants ran up from inside the gate – in linen dresses, with white aprons, some even with jugs in their hands or keys at their belts. They stopped, forgot what they were doing, and only whispered to each other.

– She is alive…

– Lady… our lady…

Rhaenys stood straight, although inside she trembled. She nodded slightly in response to their greetings, and glanced at Myken, who stood nearby, a little confused, but held himself erect, as if he were an equal among equals.

– This is the one who saved me, – she said loudly and clearly for all to hear. – His name is Myken, and his family gave me shelter and life. You will take care of him. Make him the best you can.

The boy blinked, as if he couldn’t believe that he was being spoken of so solemnly. His cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn`t look away.

– We obey, your grace, – the maids replied. Two approached him, bowing and inviting him to follow them. Myken looked back at Rhaenys, as if asking permission, and she nodded. He pursed his lips and moved, but his eyes shone with childish curiosity, he already wanted to see this world that smelled not of sweat, but of gold and silver. As he disappeared into the depths of the corridor, one of the maids, the eldest, leaned towards Rhaenys and whispered.

– Lord Corlys is in the solarium, your grace. He doesn`t yet know of your arrival.

For a moment, everything in her froze. She didn`t know what kind of place this was, where to go, which corridors to choose. A black hole gaped in her head, and she barely kept herself from giving herself away. Her eyes slid along the walls, along the high windows, along the stairs that led deep into the castle, and she felt like a stranger in what should have been her own home. She inhaled, gathering her strength.

– I’m afraid I’ve lost my memory after what happened, – she said calmly. The hallway was so quiet that you could hear the crackling of a torch on the wall. Two young maids covered their mouths in fear, as if they’d heard a curse. The old maid made the sign of the cross in her own way, the way they did on the coast to ward off evil spirits. Their eyes were filled with worry. Rhaenys straightened up and, as if oblivious to her fear, said calmly. – Show me to the solarium.

Her voice trembled somewhere deep inside, but on the outside it was even and commanding. The servants nodded obediently and moved forward. She followed them, clenching her hand into a fist to hide her trembling. Every stone under her feet, every torchlight shadow was new to her, but in the eyes of those who saw her now, only confidence was reflected, for they saw their lady who had returned home. They walked along the long corridors of High Tide. The stone underfoot was polished smooth, and every corner of it seemed to Rhaenys both familiar and foreign. She touched the cold walls with her hand, peered at the carved coats of arms on the doors, at the tall windows through which the evening light filtered. As if searching in these little things for a thread of memory that would connect her with the past again. But nothing came. Only a strange feeling: her heart trembled, and her mind remained empty. When they stopped before the massive oak doors decorated with silver linings, the senior maid bowed deeply.

– Here, your grace.

– Thank you. You may go, – Rhaenys gasped and stood alone. She stood motionless for a moment, her hand sliding over the carved wood, as if trying to feel what awaited her outside the door. Then she raised her hand and knocked timidly.

– Come in, – came the low voice.

It was commanding, accustomed to command. The voice struck her with an unexpected echo. It seemed familiar to her, like something that had once been there every day, and yet foreign at the same time, for her memory gave her no clue. Rhaenys pushed the door open. It swung open heavily, with a groaning hinge. The evening sunlight streamed through the wide window of the solarium, gilding the table littered with maps and parchments. A man sat in a high chair. He looked up at her. Violet, deep, almost black, like the very depths of the ocean. His hand with the pen froze over the sheet of paper. Silver hair fell in braids to his shoulders. His face was tanned and weathered, cut with small lines from wind and salt, strong, but now frozen with shock. He looked at her as if a ghostly image had appeared before him, one he longed to see and feared at the same time. His pen dripped ink onto the clean parchment, but he didn’t even notice.

– Rhaenys…– he whispered.

She paused in the doorway, not knowing what to say. Her lips parted slightly, her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes met his, and in that abyss she felt something stir deep inside her. He rose slowly from his chair, as if afraid that a sudden movement would dispel the vision. His fingers trembled as he leaned against the table.

– This… this is impossible, – he breathed. – You…

He didn’t finish. Something flashed in his eyes – fear, faith, joy, pain. And Rhaenys stood silent, holding onto the door to steady herself. She knew only one thing: this man was someone extremely important in her life. And the thought made her chest burn warmer than the sun outside the window.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys stared at the man, and the longer she stared, the more her inner turmoil grew. He was older than she, but there was still something incredibly attractive about him – a strength, a dignity, a courage that didn’t fade even in the shadow of fatigue. He was tall, with broad shoulders, a straight back, a face carved by time and the sea, as if the ocean itself had left its mark on his skin. And yet, she didn’t remember him. She couldn’t remember a word, or a single moment when this man had been near her. Corlys couldn’t believe his eyes. He stood there as if battered by a storm, staring at her without blinking. His face, always stern and reserved, was now ablaze with emotion, from happiness and relief to pain that was breaking out. His lips trembled, a glint of moisture in the corners of his eyes, which he hastily hid by lowering his head.

– Rhaenys, – he whispered a second time, but this time his voice was hoarse, almost broken. He moved toward her slowly, like a sailor walking a deck in a storm, unsure if it would hold his weight. There was so much fear and hope in his eyes at once. – This…is impossible, – he whispered. His voice broke, as if he couldn’t believe he was saying the words. – I was told you were dead.

– I was saved… my lord, – Rhaenys answered quietly, uncertainly, but firmly. – One of my rescuers here in the castle, his name is…

She didn’t have time to finish. In a moment, Corlys had bridged the distance between them that had seemed endless a moment before. His hand came up and rested on her cheek. The palm was warm, rough from the sea, strong but vulnerable at the moment. Rhaenys shuddered. Her body reacted faster than her mind, and she recoiled as if from a flame. Corlys withdrew his hand in an instant, his eyes wide with surprise and confusion. He stared at her as if his own heart had been pushed away. Her heart pounded with fear and confusion. This man looked as if he were ready to embrace her, to fall to his knees, to kiss her hands. His eyes burned like fire, so much love in them that she could almost feel him physically. But to her he was a stranger. His face, his voice, his presence – everything seemed at once important and unfamiliar, like a dream she couldn’t remember.

– Are you… hurt? – he asked quickly, hoarsely, as if seeking an excuse for her reaction. – Did I hurt you?

– No, – she answered quickly. – I’m fine.

The words sounded too flat, too dry. Corlys swayed forward, as if he wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her close, to hide her from the world, from the war, from everything. But Rhaenys instinctively took a step back. She didn’t even think, her feet simply carried her away, increasing the distance. The gesture hit him harder than any knife. A look of utter confusion came over his face. He froze, not knowing whether to take another step or retreat. His shoulders tensed, as if he suddenly felt the full weight of the sea, the ships, and the wars.

– Rhaenys…– his voice became quiet, almost pleading.

She felt something tremble inside her. The name on his lips was so familiar, so warm, that her heart clenched. But her mind still remained empty. Rhaenys closed her eyes, as if that would help organize the chaos in her head. Her own voice betrayed her, became strange in this silence.

– I… I don’t remember anything.

The words hung between them like a black curtain. Corlys’s face hardened, but his eyes gleamed treacherously. He took a step back, and for the first time it seemed that this wasn`t the legendary Sea Snake, the lord of Driftmark, richer than kings, but simply a man. He swallowed, straining, as if there was a stone in his throat.

– You don’t remember… me? – he said carefully, like a sailor treading a slippery deck at night. Rhaenys shook her head. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, trying to control his emotions. When he opened them, there was no longer that defenseless joy in his gaze. He was silent for a long time, looking at her as if his world had suddenly turned upside down and he was trying to stand on his feet. His fingers were still a little shaky from the way he had just touched her cheek, and from her retreating. Finally, he swallowed hard and asked. – You don’t remember anything at all?

Rhaenys nodded, slowly, as if afraid she might break him with the gesture.

– I woke up after the battle… among strangers. I didn’t even know who I was. They saved me, gave me shelter, told me my name, who I was, – she paused, her throat dry. – Their eldest son, Myken, helped me get here. I had the servants accommodate him as best they could. I want to thank his family.

The words came out evenly, restrained, almost formal. But there was a quiet tinge of shame in her voice. She saw this man standing before her searching her eyes for a spark of a past connection, but there was nothing. Corlys's jaw clenched, his shoulders heaving again as if in the wind of a storm. He nodded curtly, too quickly.

– Of course they will be thanked, – his voice was muffled, as if he were speaking through a fog. – They gave you back to me…– his hand reached for hers, but dropped abruptly, and then he suddenly looked at her again, and his eyes were filled with despair, almost childish. – But how… how is that possible? How can you not remember? Nothing?”

Rhaenys felt something tighten in her chest. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know his face, his voice, his smell of salt and sea. But the pain in his gaze was so sincere that she could tell that the loss hurt him more than it did hers. She took a step toward him, stopped very close, but didn’t touch him.

– I’m sorry. I didn’t choose this.

Corlys closed his eyes, took a deep breath, as if trying to control himself, to hide from her the chaos that was breaking out inside. He ran his hand over his face, as if to wipe away both the tears and the anxiety. When he opened them again, his eyes were calmer, but the pain didn`t go away. He nodded and said, very quietly.

– No, I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.

His voice sounded guilty, and for a moment Rhaenys was even at a loss how a man of such magnitude could apologize so sincerely, as if it were his fault that life itself hadn`t fully restored her memory. She looked at him longer, and suddenly she felt something strange: as if her heart had recognized him before her mind. It hurt her to see his pain, even if her memory was silent, her heart responded. She didn`t know this man, but she knew: he loved her. And it was this love that seemed to her now the most terrible and the most precious at the same time. Corlys was silent. He could see that it was difficult for him to gather his thoughts together, as if all his years of experience, the habits of keeping himself in check, of holding back anger and sadness, were now worthless. Finally, he cleared his throat and said.

– You must be exhausted from the journey, – his voice sounded hollow, but there was already a tone of concern in it. – I`ll ask that you have a bath and dinner prepared for you. And I`ll call the maester to examine you.

Rhaenys lowered her eyes, feeling a sudden heat of shame.

– I… don’t know where my chambers are.

There was a moment of silence. Corlys froze, as if those simple words had punched another hole in him. He nodded, slowly, heavily, as if admitting to himself something obvious but very painful.

– Indeed…– he said finally, quietly. – Then I`ll show you.

He pushed the door open and stepped out into the hallway, letting her pass first. Rhaenys noticed his hand instinctively, almost unconsciously, reach out for her, and at that moment he came to his senses, stopped the movement, and quickly pulled it away, as if he were afraid he would push her away even more. It looked so lonely and painful that Rhaenys couldn't bear it herself. She stopped, raised her hand, and lightly took his elbow. He froze, as if from an unexpected blow. Under her fingers, she felt his body – strong, hardened by years at sea, the tendons tensed, the muscles tensed with an anxiety he didn't know. And then, slowly, as if he were allowing himself to breathe for the first time in a long time, his body relaxed. Corlys turned to her. His gaze was so surprised and warm that for a moment Rhaenys thought something in her was about to come to mind, to flash into memory. But the memory not came. Only a strange feeling of warmth that was born in her chest, like a candle flame in the dark. Her heart was beating too fast. She forced herself to smile lightly, almost imperceptibly. He said nothing, only nodded briefly, as if afraid of ruining this fragile moment. They walked the corridors in silence. The castle breathed in the evening, the light of the torches cast long shadows on the white stone of the walls, the cold wind from the sea seeped through the windows, bringing the smell of salt and seaweed. Rhaenys's gaze slid over every stone, over the tapestries, over the high arches and stairs, trying to find something familiar in every curve, in every patterned detail. But the memory was silent. And yet in this silence something echoed within her: she felt this place belonged to her, even if she couldn`t explain it. Corlys walked beside her, steady, calm, never taking his hand off hers. His silence wasn`t cold, but rather filled with thoughts he was afraid to say. He didn`t look at her directly, but his gaze slid sideways, as if he were convincing himself that she was really here, really alive, not a ghost. In the dark, empty passages, only their footsteps could be heard and the soft sound of the sea echoing dully in the stone. Rhaenys didn`t know whether to say anything or to remain silent. She simply walked beside this man who seemed to know her life better than she did herself, and she felt his warmth through the thin fabric of his sleeve. Finally, Corlys opened the heavy door and took a step aside, inviting her to enter first. Rhaenys stepped inside and froze. The room was huge, spacious, filled with a quiet golden glow from dozens of candles in candelabras. The high windows reached almost to the ceiling, the heavy dark blue curtains embroidered with silver threads descended to the floor, but one curtain was slightly pulled back, and through it a wide balcony could be seen. There, beyond the threshold, the twilight danced, the evening sea sparkled with silver. In the center of the room stood a huge bed of dark wood, heavy and strong, with a back carved in marine patterns. The wood shimmered with gold veins, and individual elements were covered with gilding. The bed was freshly made, the pillows were fluffy, and the thin silk threads of the pattern glittered on the blanket. All the furniture – cabinets, chests, carved sideboards, a table and chairs, sofas, and a heavy dressing table with a huge mirror in a frame inlaid with mother-of-pearl – was made in the same style: wealth without excess, a luxury that was meant to remind us that these rooms belonged not just to the lord’s wife, but to his lady, his equal, the mistress of the entire house. Tapestry hung on the walls. One of them depicted a ship with blue sails rushing towards a storm, the other a dragon circling the sea. She went to the dressing table. The mirror reflected her figure, but her eyes slid to the table. There were several boxes of jewelry there, shining even in the dim candlelight: pearls, sapphires, rubies. Nearby were thin bottles of creams and perfumes, left as if their owner had just used them. And on the back of the chair lay a blue shawl embroidered with pearls, light and gentle as a sea breeze. Rhaenys reached out and touched the fabric with her fingertips. She waited for something to stir in her memory, for a flash of familiarity. But nothing. A cold void. Her lips tightened slightly. Corlys remained standing in the doorway, not going any further, just watching her. His shoulders tensed slightly, he looked as if he was afraid to take an extra step lest he scare her. She slowly looked around the room again, as if searching for a clue, but all these things were just things. Beautiful, expensive, intended specifically for her, but alien. At that moment, the door opened again, and the maester entered the room. A gray-haired man in dark gray long robes, with a heavy chain around his neck. His face was tired, but his eyes were attentive, penetrating. He stopped when he saw Rhaenys, and for a moment he even forgot to bow, so sincere was his shock.

– My lady…– he whispered, bowing. – We were told you died…

Rhaenys raised a hand, stopping him.

– I’m alive. But…– she looked away and said a little more quietly. – I don’t remember anything.

The maester froze, his eyes widening. He looked back at Corlys. He nodded briefly, confirming her words. The maester took a deep breath, composed himself, and bowed again.

– Let me examine you, my lady, – he said carefully.

Rhaenys paused for a moment, her fingers gripping the shawl on the chair again. She looked back, Corlys was still standing by the door, his eyes fixed on her. There was so much pain and hope in his gaze at the same time that she didn’t know whether to run away or, on the contrary, to come closer. She nodded to the maester, agreeing. He questioned her for a long, tedious time, asking questions she couldn’t answer. His voice was even and calm, although his eyes slid from her to Corlys and back again with curiosity. She tried to answer, but each time she had to deny it. A foggy wall stood in her head, not letting a single memory through. She felt the maester's face grow longer and longer, and Corlys, on the contrary, became gloomier every time, as if each of her «I don't remember» cut him harder than a knife.

– Enough, – he finally cut off abruptly, when the maester began to ask about her dragon. – You see, she is exhausted!

The maester faded, but then he looked up at the couple.

– I confess, my lady, I have never encountered anything like this in my own practice. But I have heard of such cases. Sometimes people who have experienced a strong blow, a fall, or serious injuries lose their memory, – Rhaenys remained silent, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Corlys, who had been pacing the room like a caged lion, stopped abruptly and asked.

– Is this dangerous for her? Is her life in danger? – the maester shook his head hastily.

– No, my lord. The princess’s life isn`t in danger. It is more likely the result of a severe shock. Her body is recovering, and her mind… will try too, – a sigh of relief escaped Corlys’ chest. He turned away for a moment, and Rhaenys saw his shoulders relax a little. This small change told her more than words could.

– And the memory? – Rhaenys said herself, quietly but firmly. – Will it return?

The maester looked at her carefully, as if trying to discern behind her eyes the answer he himself was having trouble giving.

– Yes. But when no one can say. In the cases I know of, the memory has returned gradually. For some it has been days, for others weeks or even months. Often the earliest memories return first. But recent events can remain hidden the longest, – Rhaenys nodded slowly. It didn’t bring her much relief, but at least there was hope.

– And what should we do? – Corlys interjected. His voice had regained authority, though his eyes were filled with worry. The maester clasped his hands and answered.

– A lady should remain in familiar surroundings. Among close people, familiar objects, places that were once dear to her. Memories can be triggered by a smell, a touch, the sound of a voice. Her mind is searching for ways, and we must help it. I will write a letter to the Old City, ask the advice of the archmaesters. They have more experience in such rare cases.

– Do whatever is necessary, – Corlys ordered sharply. His gaze slid to his wife, and his voice warmed a little. – Everything.

– As you command, my lord.

Rhaenys sat silently, staring at the floor, as if the maester’s words weighed on her like a stone. Inside her was seething: sadness, anxiety, despair, and at the same time some quiet hope that this dark fog would someday dissipate. Corlys turned to her, and for a moment his face was completely different, not commanding and stern, but tired, filled with pain that he tried to hide from everyone but her. When the maester glanced at Rhaenys again, his attentive gaze slid to the bandages beneath her robes, and he spoke in a much softer, more caring tone.

– My lady, allow me to examine your wounds. I must make sure that the healing is proceeding properly, – Rhaenys froze. The thought of this man now starting to look under her clothes caused a wave of unease in her. She felt her cheeks heat up, and her hands closed automatically on the fabric of her dress. The maester seemed to guess her condition. He tilted his head slightly to the side, and a barely perceptible smile flickered across his lips. – Your grace, I was there for both of your births, – he said quietly, as if it were the most natural reminder. – Believe me, you are my patient first and foremost.

The words fell on her like pebbles. Two births? Rhaenys suddenly realized she had two children. The knowledge hit her harder than all the questions before. Somewhere in this vast hall, or in other rooms, her children were walking, running, laughing, or crying, and she didn’t remember their faces. She didn’t even know their names. Corlys, standing to the side, froze, as if these simple words had ripped him apart from the inside. There was so much pain in his eyes that she couldn’t help but look up at him. He looked as if he were about to break, but at the same time there was understanding in that look. He saw her shame, her confusion, and understood it better than any explanation could. But now he was a stranger to her. Yes, he was her husband, he had seen her naked dozens of times, but to her he was a stranger now, and that made her chest tighten even more. Despair flashed in his eyes for a moment, but in a moment it gave way to deep sadness and acceptance. He nodded, briefly, almost sharply, but with that manly respect she hadn`t expected from him.

– I will leave you, – he said hoarsely. He went to the door and was already reaching for the handle when, without knowing why, she spoke.

– If you don’t mind… I`ll call you when I`m ready for dinnerб– his hand froze on the carved wood of the door. He turned his head slightly. It was hard to tell what was reflected on his face – surprise, relief, or a quiet pain. But he nodded again, this time softer and with a faint smile.

– As you wish.

And he left, quietly closing the door behind him. The room was drowned in deaf silence for a moment. Rhaenys sat on the edge of the bed, feeling her heart beating wildly. She was still burning with shame, but at the same time something else was trembling in her chest: a strange warmth from the fact that he understood her without explanation. And this look – painful, sincere, left an imprint on her that could become a thread back to memories. In the meantime, the maester was already opening his box of clean bandages and ointments, behaving calmly and casually, as if nothing had happened.

When the maester was finished, he was pleased with her stitches, though he didn`t like the bruises on her stomach. She stood, carrying the weight of her own confusion on her shoulders, and moved into the adjoining room. The door was carved with waves of the sea, and inside was a semi-darkness filled with the thick scent of rosemary and lavender. In the center of the room stood a massive golden bath. The water in it was so clear that it glinted with golden reflections on the walls and ceiling. The maids were already waiting – two young girls with towels and jugs, another with a brush and soap. They bowed low, but Rhaenys, feeling an unbearable desire to be left alone, waved her hand away.

– Go.

The girls looked at each other and hesitated, but they didn’t dare to disobey the lady’s order. They bowed again and quietly disappeared behind the door. Only when the latch clicked did Rhaenys finally exhale, as if she had been holding her breath all this time. She pushed her underwear off her shoulders and was left alone with her body wrapped in white bandages. When she bent over the bathtub, it seemed that the water was breathing heat. Hot steam swirled, hugging her face and chest, making her doubt whether to immerse herself. But she carefully touched the surface with her fingers and was surprised, instead of burning pain there was a pleasant warmth, as if the water itself was pulling her into its embrace. She exhaled when the warmth enveloped her completely, and closed her eyes. For a moment, it seemed that she had finally regained something that had been missing for a long time: a sense of security. The water relaxed her, every muscle seemed to dissolve. She leaned her head against the cool edge of the bath and allowed herself to simply be. Here and now. In this water. In this warmth. But the relaxation didn`t last long. The master's stern words flashed through her memory: «Long baths are contraindicated for you for the time being. You should take care of your stitches, my lady.» And this thought immediately changed her state. Instead of enjoying it, she grabbed a sponge and began to rub her skin, as if she felt that she could wipe off not only the dirt, but also the dark gloom of oblivion. She rubbed herself persistently, until it turned red, until it hurt, until the water around her began to turn cloudy from her heated skin. She wanted to wash away everything: the strangeness in her own home, the despair in the eyes of the man who calls her his wife, and most of all, her own emptiness. But the memory didn’t return. Neither the smell of lavender, nor the shine of the golden walls, nor her own reflection in the water caused a single echo. Only emptiness and a dull ache in her chest. Finally, tired and irritated, she let go of the sponge and leaned back on the edge again. Her skin burned as if she had been lying in the scorching sun. Her whole body felt heavy and at the same time powerless. Rhaenys stared blankly at the wall opposite her. Her gaze swept over the carvings in the form of waves, but she saw nothing. What should I do? The question beat in her head over and over again, until it became painful. She could try as she might, but not a single memory would surface. Not a single corridor of this castle, not a single familiar face. And the greatest fear pressed on her heart, there was a man here. Her husband. He seemed to love her sincerely and devotedly, his eyes lit up with joy and relief when he saw her alive. But to her he was a stranger. His touch made her shudder, his embrace made her retreat. And what was most terrible, she didn`t know if she would ever be able to feel what she had felt before. The water was already starting to cool, but Rhaenys still sat still. She felt the heaviness growing in her chest. It was as if this entire luxurious castle, these high ceilings and towers, these rooms and the bathroom were not hers. She found herself in someone else's life, which everyone around her considered her own.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys sat at a table covered with a white tablecloth, decorated with delicate patterns. Before her, golden goblets of wine, silver dishes of baked fish, fresh vegetables, bread, fragrant spices shimmered in the candlelight. Everything looked elegant and festive, but Rhaenys felt like a guest in her own home. She sat alone and waited, leaning her elbow on the arm of the chair. She was wearing a soft white shirt, simple in cut, but the fabric was thin, almost transparent, gentle on the skin. And over it a heavy dressing gown, embroidered with gold threads in the form of waves and starfish. She remembered Alice, her simple dress, worn but carefully sewn to last another year. She remembered the table, set modestly but with love. Wooden plates, clay jugs, bread that smelled of the oven's warmth. The door creaked, and Rhaenys shuddered. Corlys entered quietly, but his tall, broad figure filled the space. He paused for a moment, looking at her, then spoke in a low, slightly hoarse voice.

– How are you? – Rhaenys looked up. His gaze was soft and at the same time watchful, as if he feared she would melt at the slightest breath of wind.

– Better, – she answered quietly and she motioned for him to sit down.

They sat down opposite each other. Silence hung between them, thick as smoke. They ate almost mechanically. Corlys glanced at her now and then, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. And Rhaenys swallowed the pieces, barely tasting the taste. Finally, she put down her fork, wiped her lips on a napkin, and broke the silence.

– Tell me something about me, – his eyebrows rose. She nodded, her voice filled with confusion. – It sounds strange, I know. But I… I don’t know anything. So whatever.

He blinked a few times, set down his goblet, and leaned forward a little.

– What do you know already? – Rhaenys took a deep breath.

– That I`m a Targaryen princess. That I`m your wife. That I`d a dragon. And… that I`ve two children. One of them, I think, is a boy. Tell me about them, – her words were cut short when she saw Corlys’s face harden. The joy in his eyes went out like a candle in a draft. He looked down, as if seeking strength in the wooden pattern of the table.

– I didn’t mean to start with this, – his voice dropped to a rasp. – But… our children are dead.

The words fell between them like a stone into water. At first Rhaenys didn’t understand. She sat still, feeling only the cold in her chest. Then the feeling of emptiness rolled over her with such force that she involuntarily grabbed the edge of the table. She opened her mouth, trying to say something, but only gulped air.

– Dead? – her voice was as low as a whisper. Corlys looked up. There was such a deep sadness in them that even without remembering, she felt the pain as her own.

– Yes, – he said slowly, as if each word was a struggle. – Our daughter and our son…

Rhaenys felt something tear apart inside her. She didn’t remember their faces, she didn’t even know their names, but the tears came on their own. It was a pain that came not from memories but from deep within her, from the instinct of a mother who hears the word «dead» and understands it without any explanation. She covered her lips with her hand to keep from groaning. Corlys reached out to her, but stopped halfway, afraid of making her retreat again. His fingers froze in the air, then he clenched a fist and placed his hand on the table.

– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you this so suddenly. I thought… I thought I’d have time to prepare you, – Rhaenys shook her head.

– No. It’s not your fault. I should have known, – her voice trembled, but she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. – Tell me about them, – she said, and this time her words were firm. – If I can’t remember, at least I want to know.

Corlys was silent for a long time. Pain and tenderness fought on his face. Finally, he nodded. His fingers felt the rim of the cup as if he was hesitating.

– Laena… She was…– he smiled a shaky smile that quickly faded. – A fire in the flesh. She laughed so hard that even the darkest day seemed sunny. Always wanted to fly, even before she could walk.

Rhaenys leaned forward. Tears were already shining in her eyes, though she didn’t remember any of those moments.

– She… did she live long? – Corlys shook his head slowly.

– She grew up. She became beautiful, strong. And gave birth to two daughters, – his voice warmed for a moment. – Baela and Rhaena. They have your eyes. And the third…– he trailed off and closed his eyes. – The third child didn’t survive. And she too.

Rhaenys froze. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound escaped. She felt everything in her chest go cold. She thought she felt that pain in her own body, like a scar you don’t remember but that hurts in the rain.

– And our son? – she asked softly. Corlys looked up. There was so much longing in them that her heart clenched.

– Laenor, – he said the name like a prayer. – He was completely different. Quiet, intelligent, dreaming of the seas as well as the sky. You joked that he inherited from me not only a passion for ships, but also stubbornness. He was always by my side in the shipyards, listening, asking questions, – he paused, as if taking time to catch his breath. – He was kind. To everyone. Even to those who didn’t deserve it.

Rhaenys smiled faintly.

– What happened to him? – Corlys looked away. His jaw clenched so tightly that the veins in his temples bulged.

– He died. A week after his sister. He was killed.

– Killed? – Rhaenys’s voice broke. He nodded, deep and heavy.

– It was mean, in collusion… – Rhaenys pressed her hands to her face. She didn’t remember their faces, their voices, but the pain was as if she had just lost them.

– I can’t even remember what they looked like…– she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. Corlys finally reached out and this time touched her fingers. His touch was warm, careful. Rhaenys wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, as if by willpower she was trying to hold back more tears. Her shoulders were still shaking, but her voice was steadier now. – Tell me… something good.

She tried to smile, though the smile came out weak. Corlys looked at her carefully. His eyes were still bright with pain, but they had a soft glint in them. He slowly set the goblet down on the table, interlaced his fingers, and leaned forward a little.

– Okay, – he said quietly. – I’ll tell you about a day I remember as clearly as if it were yesterday. Our wedding.

Rhaenys raised her eyebrows.

– Our wedding? – she repeated, as if savoring the sound of the word. Corlys nodded, and a warm, genuine smile finally appeared on his lips.

– Everyone was waiting for you, sure that you would appear, as befits a princess, accompanied by your father, and then they heard a roar. And everyone raised their heads, – he smiled wider, and in his voice there was a pride that even the years could not hide. – You flew to Meleys. All in red and black, like the flame that descended from the sky, – Rhaenys held her breath. A strange, sweet thrill echoed in her heart. The picture he was painting seemed so alive that she could almost feel the hot wind from the wings, almost hear the roar of the crowd. But an emptiness remained in her head. – You jumped from the saddle right in front of me. So proud, free, and I thought: «Here is a storm that I can neither tame nor contain», – he sighed and gently ran his fingers along the edge of the table. – I understood that you chose me. And it was more than I could have dreamed of.

She looked down at her hand. On her ring finger flashed a gold wedding band engraved with a phrase she had noticed earlier. Slowly, as if testing her own feelings, Rhaenys removed the ring and examined it more closely.

– It says here… What does it mean?

– It means exactly what you see. The phrase speaks for itself, – he didn’t explain further, and she felt that it was something personal, something that had their own lives engraved in it.

– Why this inscription?

– Because it suited only you, – she stared at the ring for a long time, as if trying to extract from the metal even a shadow of a memory. But everything remained dark. And yet she slowly replaced the ring on her finger, as if accepting it again. Corlys watched this in silence. A light of relief flickered in his eyes. – You’re tired, – he said after a long pause. His voice was soft but firm, like that of a man who knew when to stop. – You need rest.

Rhaenys could feel her heavy eyelids drooping, her body, still recovering from its wounds, begging for peace. She nodded.

– I guess so.

– I’ll go find a bed for the night, – Rhaenys, who had been adjusting her robe, looked up at him in surprise. Then, despite her own seriousness, she suddenly laughed softly.

– Do you have memory loss too? – her laugh was light as a bell, but there was an effort to dispel the tension. – Forgot where your chambers are?

He smiled faintly at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes held the same weariness.

– These are my chambers, – he answered calmly. Rhaenys froze. The words were simple, but she felt something tighten in her chest. She looked around the room, at the huge dark-wood bed, the tapestries and chests, and back at him.

– But… – she faltered. – Lords and ladies live separately. Don’t they?

Corlys frowned for a moment, but quickly smoothed his forehead and moved closer.

– Perhaps some do, – his voice was low and warm. – But you and I have always shared the same bed. Even when we argued.

She raised her eyebrows and tried to make a joke to hide her own embarrassment.

– So I’ve been putting up with you for so long? – the man’s lips twitched into a slight, genuine smile that he rarely allowed himself.

– Almost forty years.

– Forty?

– More than half my life, – Rhaenys looked down for a moment, her fingers sliding mechanically over the ring on her hand. She didn’t know what to say, but a flash of something warm suddenly appeared in her heart.

– Well, if we have already done so… then perhaps we shouldn’t change anything, – he stopped right in front of her, looking intently and seriously.

– I don’t want to embarrass you, Rhaenys. There’s probably at least one bed in this castle for its lord, – he tried to joke, but his voice trembled treacherously. She nodded in confusion, feeling something invisible tighten in her chest. Corlys slowly took her hand in his, and lightly touched her fingers with his lips. It was a gesture not of passion, but of respect, tenderness, and restrained pain. – Rest.

He let go of her hand, turned, and walked toward the door. When the door closed behind him, Rhaenys sat in silence for a long time, feeling the warmth of his kiss on her fingers.

***

Rhaenys cautiously descended the last steps and paused before the massive door that was supposed to be the Small Hall. The maid had said that was where she was expected, but her heart was pounding as if she were going to court. She took a deep breath, straightened up, and when the guards, bowing their heads, opened the heavy doors, Rhaenys entered. The hall wasn’t at all as small as it was called. The ceiling rose high, the arches intertwined in bizarre patterns, and the painted panels came to life in the candlelight. The sea adventures depicted on them seemed so real that they smelled of salt and wind: ships fighting a storm, sea monsters raising their heads from the waves, the figures of warriors with spears and oars. In the center of the hall stood a long table, covered with a light morning meal: fresh bread, cheese, a bowl of fruit, a few clay jugs. There were two people sitting at the table: Corlys, leaning forward, and Myken, who was explaining something to him with a surprisingly lively and emotional tone, waving his arms. Their voices fell silent as soon as she crossed the threshold. Corlys's gaze instantly fell on her, and she suddenly felt a surge of uncertainty. Had she made the right choice in choosing this dress? The maids offered her several options, and she almost at random stopped at blue velvet. The fabric was dense, heavy, and at the same time gently enveloped her body. The sleeves fell in long, narrow lines, the belt emphasized the waist, and the deep, though not too frank, neckline elegantly framed her collarbones. Corlys's gaze slid down her body, and she felt a heat flare up in her cheeks. Recovering from his own thoughts, Corlys stood up.

– Good morning, my lady, – his voice was even, but his eyes still held the spark of that first glance. He took her hand and touched it lightly with his lips. The warmth of his touch lingered on her skin, and Rhaenys, unable to remember anything but unable to remain indifferent either, sighed slightly.

– Good morning, your grace, – Myken stood up too and bowed his head.

– Good morning, – she replied, feeling her voice sound quieter than she would have liked.

Corlys, as if trying to hide his own excitement, quickly pulled out a chair for her. Rhaenys sat down, smoothing the hem of her dress, and felt a new look fall on her. The boy wasn`t looking at her like Corlys. There was admiration, curiosity, and a frank youthful sincerity in his eyes. He quickly looked away, but Rhaenys had time to notice the sparkle. There was a pause at the table. She touched a piece of bread and raised her head.

– You were talking about something, – she said, trying to melt the ice. – I don’t want to interrupt you.

– We were talking about ships, – Myken answered quickly, his voice ringing with delight.

Corlys nodded, but it was clear from his eyes that all his thoughts now revolved only around her. She only smiled slightly and turned her gaze to the fruit on the table. But something stirred inside her. She still didn’t remember him, didn’t remember herself next to him, but Corlys’s words and looks left a warm mark.

– This boy has a curiosity about the sea, – he said with that special note of satisfaction that he rewarded only those who truly impressed him. – And not just curiosity, but intelligence.

Myken straightened up as if his back had been propped up. His eyes lit up even more.

– My lord, – he blurted. – Will you allow me to serve you? I want to learn! I want to see the sea, the ships, I want to be useful.

Corlys smiled at the corner of his mouth. His gaze flicked to Rhaenys, then back to the boy.

– How can I refuse the one who saved my wife’s life? – his voice even, but there was a hidden warmth in it. Myken jumped up in joy.

– Then let me start today! – he exclaimed, clenching his fists so enthusiastically that he looked ready to run straight to the port. But before Corlys could say anything more, Rhaenys leaned forward.

– No, – she said firmly. – I gave his parents my word that he would return home. And I cannot break my promise.

Myken flinched, as if he had hit a rock.

– But I`m an adult, – he objected, almost desperately. – I can decide for myself!

– You can, – Rhaenys said more gently. – But first I must keep my word. Your parents must know where you are and what you intend to do, – she turned her gaze to Corlys. – I`ll ask you, lord-husband, to arrange a safe escort to get the boy home. Then he can ask his parents his question. If they agree, he`ll return to Driftmark.

Myken frowned, but didn`t dare to argue. Corlys tilted his head to the side and studied the boy silently for a few moments. Then he asked suddenly, sharply.

– And what do your parents have in your settlement? – Myken flinched in surprise.

– What? Uh… an old house, – he began uncertainly. – And a small field. My father is a carpenter, and my mother works in the fields.

– A carpenter, you say, – Corlys repeated slowly. – I always need good hands on the docks. And there will be easier work for your mother than in the fields.

Myken blinked in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

– You… you want to take us? All of us?

– I owe it to your family, – Corlys replied simply. – So I can provide you with a home here on Driftmark.

Rhaenys raised her eyebrows slightly. Myken, however, was beaming like the sun. He almost threw himself into Corlys’ arms.

– Thank you, my lord! Thank you! I… I`ll never let you down!

– We’ll see, – Corlys replied, the shadow of a smile on his lips. – You’ll be home by sunset, along with what I promised your family. If they agree, my offer will always stand.

Myken jumped up, as if the bell had already called him to the harbor. He quickly muttered something like «thank you» and ran out, barely touching the floor with his feet. His footsteps died away behind the door. Silence filled the hall again. Rhaenys sat, thoughtfully moving her spoon in her bowl, looking at her porridge, as if the answer to all her questions could be found there. Corlys, leaning his elbow on the table, watched her. The silence between them stretched like a rope in a storm. Finally, he spoke.

– You didn’t like my offer to his family? – Rhaenys raised her head, a little surprised by the directness. She shook her head slowly.

– No. On the contrary, it was very noble, – Corlys leaned forward a little, studying her face.

– Then why do you look like I just did something wrong?

– I… – she began, but the words stuck. She looked down and touched the bowl with her spoon again. – I’m not dissatisfied.

– Rhaenys, – he interrupted calmly but firmly. – I know you too well to believe that.

She froze. His words seemed to hit her like a wave. Too well… and she didn’t know him at all. Rhaenys slowly put down her spoon so she wasn’t holding anything extra in her hands. Her fingers closed together, and she looked at him.

– Tell me honestly, – she said quietly, but her voice was shrill. – Are you doing this sincerely? Or just to impress me?

Corlys blinked as if he’d heard something foolish, and then indignation flared in his eyes. His voice darkening.

– Do you really think I’m trading your approval giving people houses and jobs? – something sharp flashed in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and frowned. – Do you really think I’ve stooped that low? To play the virtuous role just for show?

Rhaenys sighed, but instead of apologizing, she just said sharply.

– I’m sorry. I don’t remember who you are or what actions are typical for you.

Her voice was almost a growl – short, sharp, and suddenly the room was quiet again. Corlys froze. His face was stony, only the corners of his eyes flashed with pain he didn’t want to show. He slowly leaned back in his chair, sighing as if he’d dropped a bag of rocks onto his chest. Rhaenys looked away too. She wanted to say something more, to break the oppressive atmosphere, but the words were gone. Silence stretched between them again, only this time it was even heavier, even colder.

Breakfast dragged on. The silver spoons clinked against the dishes, but even that sound seemed too loud in the oppressive silence that hung between them. Rhaenys ate slowly, as if forcing herself, and she found herself wondering if she was really hungry or if she simply didn’t want to offend him by refusing. Corlys glanced at her from time to time, but then looked away immediately, as if afraid of striking a chord in her heart again. Finally, he put down his knife and fork, straightened up, and said.

– Perhaps you want to take a walk? I’ll show you the castle, the halls, the galleries, the courtyard… – Rhaenys froze for a moment. A wariness rose inside her, as if he wanted to interrogate her or force her to remember something. But there was only a quiet hope in his eyes, a warm light trying to break through the cold wall of her forgetfulness. She nodded.

– Yes, I would.

When she had finished her last spoonfuls of porridge, he stood and offered her his hand. Rhaenys hesitated a moment, but placed her fingers in his. His hand was hot, rough with wind and rope, and the warmth made a thin crack in her for something almost familiar. They left the Small Hall and moved along the corridors. The Tide greeted her with grandeur and cold luxury. The tall arched windows let in sunlight that fell in stripes on the stone floors. His voice was even, but you could tell he was talking about every detail with pride.

– This is where I keep our maps, – Corlys explained. – The history of my voyages. I laid them myself.

Rhaenys touched the frame of one of the maps with her fingertips. The lines and symbols meant nothing to her, but a faint shadow of something familiar stirred within. She frowned, trying to hold on to the fragment, but it slipped away.

– You had a keen eye, and you always found mistakes even where my best cartographer hesitated, – Corlys added quietly, watching her.

She shuddered. The words made her strangely uncomfortable, for she didn`t know if they were true or if he was just trying to comfort her. They walked on. She felt the walk slowly becoming shadowy, no memories came, but each step brought with it a new burden of responsibility. They entered the Hall of Nine, and Rhaenys involuntarily froze on the threshold.

– So these are your Nine Voyages, – she whispered, looking around with awe. – Trophies to be proud of forever.

Corlys, who was walking behind her, smiled and laughed hoarsely.

– Finally, I can tell my stories, – he said, leaning toward her. – And you won’t say you’ve heard them a hundred times.

His eyes flashed, and there was the same fire in them that a young man who had once sailed unknown seas had. Rhaenys couldn’t help but laugh with him. Lightly, sonorously, somehow childishly.

– It all seems so… arrogant, – she said, surveying the glitter of gold and marble and stone. – As if you wanted to turn the throne room into a treasury.

– All of this is for you, – his gaze darkened for a moment, and he took a step closer. – Like this castle. I built it for you.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. A skeptical smile touched her lips.

– That sounds too sweet and romantic… for a Sea Snake.

– Maybe so, – he said, and his voice became lower. – But I would lay the whole world at your feet if you wished it, – Rhaenys sensed that he wasn`t joking. His words weren`t an exaggeration or a comfort to her, they were the truth. He really felt that way. It suddenly touched her, and her chest felt warm and anxious at the same time. – I hope, – he added after a pause, looking her straight in the eyes. – That one day you will remember that.

Her lips stretched softly in a smile. She walked around the room, running her fingers along the carved mantelpiece. Under the pads of her fingers she could feel the cool stone and the delicate craftsmanship. Her gaze lingered on the two large chairs in front of the hearth. Corlys came closer, and there was something quiet, almost gentle in his voice.

– We often spent our evenings here, – he smiled wearily. – I could talk for hours about ships, about the sea, about everything in the world, and you would listen. Sometimes with a slight condemnation in eyes, sometimes with a smile.

She smiled again, peering into the chair, as if trying to see herself in this place. And though no memory came, a strange feeling of comfort touched her heart.

– That… sounds like something good, – she said quietly. His eyes lit up for a moment with hope. – I thought you were just sitting on your throne.

Corlys laughed softly, low, and a light flashed in his eyes.

– I like you much better on it, – she raised an eyebrow in surprise.

– Really? You let a woman sit on your throne? – his smile grew more serious. He stepped closer, leaning forward a little to look her straight in the eye.

– You have ruled Driftmark all the years I`ve been at sea and at wars, – he said in a flat, almost solemn voice. – And there is no man in whose hands I would trust it more than you. Moreover, there is no man under whose hands Driftmark has flourished so much.

His sincerity was palpable, and Rhaenys involuntarily paused, wavering between joke and gratitude. He held out his hand to her and, leading her slowly up the steps, sat her down on the Driftwood Throne. The chair was enormous. Rhaenys sat straight, but she couldn’t help but notice that her feet didn’t quite reach the floor. Corlys smiled with gentle pride, as if he had been waiting for this.

– They made a stand for you, – he explained, pointing to the carved bench beside the throne. – So you could sit comfortably when you held council here.

She looked down at the stand, then back at him, her eyes growing more alert.

– Can a woman rule? – she said defiantly, as if testing him for any other answer. Corlys took a deep breath and stood before her as if she were his true mistress.

– You are my queen, – he answered simply. She shivered at the words, there was more to them than affection, there was an oath. – You were the heiress, – he continued, his gaze never leaving her. – When you were born, your grandmother, Queen Alysanne, called you the future queen. You were raised to be a queen. And then your father was killed in war and you were twice robbed of the crown that was rightfully yours, – his voice was hoarse, with an angry note in it, like a wound that still hadn’t healed. – But to me, Rhaenys, you have always been and are my queen.

Her fingers trembled slightly, touching the armrest of the throne. She wanted to say something – a joke, an excuse, a stinging retort, but the words caught in her throat. Suddenly, something flashed through her mind like lightning in a dark sky. Rhaenys froze, staring off into space, and a vision of a long-lost world began to form in her mind. The stuffy, narrow corridors of the Red Keep and her, a little girl, running through them, gasping for laughter, before hiding in the folds of her grandmother’s heavy skirt. Her mother's warm hands, gently but skillfully braiding her hair, parting it. Her father's voice, patient and kind, teaching her to trace the first letters on parchment while the ink still spread across the sheet. These memories were childhood, but they were hers. Her own.

– Rhaenys? – Corlys's worried voice brought her back to reality. He leaned closer, as if he feared she was about to faint. She blinked, as if shaking her pupils from the glare of memories, and suddenly her face bloomed with a smile. A real, sincere smile, the kind he hadn’t seen since she lost her memory.

– I remembered, – she said, almost laughing, her voice trembling with excitement. – My childhood… I remembered it!

Joy, disbelief, and fear of losing this fragile moment flashed through Corlys's eyes. His hand involuntarily reached for her fingers, as if he wanted to make sure that she was really here, in front of him, and that these words were real. She squeezed his hand in return and smiled again. Rhaenys glowed with quiet joy, even if they were just fragments of childhood memories, but they were real, and she held them inside her like jewels. Corlys saw a new light appear in her eyes, and, regardless of his own affairs and worries, he decided to lead her on.

– Let’s go, – he said, offering her his hand. – There are places where you were happy. Maybe they will help you remember more.

They set off along familiar corridors. This time Rhaenys felt that she knew this road. The turns seemed right, the stairs familiar. A smile touched her lips of its own accord. But suddenly she stopped. Her gaze was glued to the large canvas on the wall. In the portrait, she herself, young, with a proud but gentle expression on her face. She was sitting on a sofa in a blue dress, two children sitting on either side of her. A boy and a girl, with bright eyes that still glowed with life. Behind them stood Corlys, younger, but with the same commanding posture. His hand rested on his wife’s shoulder, and there was so much strength and tenderness in the gesture that Rhaenys’s heart suddenly contracted. She took a step forward. Her fingers slid over the rough canvas, as if she wanted to feel the warmth of these children, to remember their voices. Her chest tightened, but there were no memories. Only emptiness and helplessness. Corlys stood nearby, his face stone, although his eyes reflected pain. He carefully placed his hand on her elbow, but said nothing. They moved on. The path to the children’s rooms was short. But even on the threshold they were intercepted by a servant with some urgent message for the lord. Corlys stopped, sighed in dissatisfaction.

– Sorry, I must go, – he said, with a hint of regret.

– Go, – Rhaenys replied softly. – I’ll finish myself.

He leaned closer, instinctively reaching for her temple to leave a familiar kiss. It was a gesture he had probably made a thousand times in their lives. But now he had come to his senses in time. His arm fell helplessly to his side. She saw the movement. And it stung her again, the closeness that had been and was gone at the same time. She lowered her eyes so as not to betray her confusion. His footsteps died away around the corner, and Rhaenys, summoning the last of her courage, pushed the heavy bronze latch and stepped inside.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys carefully opened the door and stepped into the room. The air inside was cool, a little stiff, as is the case in rooms that haven’t been used for a long time. But the room looked well-kept: there was no trace of dust, the bedclothes were sparkling clean, the carpets lay flat, and the candlesticks were polished to a shine. Someone had obviously cared for these rooms, cared for them with the reverent care with which one preserves something precious and sacred. She paused in the doorway, inhaling the scent of the room. It smelled of light floral scents – lavender, rose, and something else delicate and sweet. The high-poster bed was adorned with a delicate canopy, pale blue, with silver stars embroidered around the edges. Near the headboard stood a table with carved legs, and on it were a few trinkets: a small mirror, a pair of bone combs. Against the wall stood a dresser with an oval mirror, in which Rhaenys herself was now reflected. She froze, seeing her reflection next to the reflection of the room. For a moment it seemed to her that another figure might appear in the mirror – thinner, younger, with the silver curls. Her daughter. She slowly approached the dresser, ran her fingers along the surface of the wooden frame. She touched the comb. But nothing. No flash, no echo. Only silence. Pressing her lips, she moved on, looking around the room: on the shelves stood books in beautiful bindings, several dolls in expensive dresses, which already looked more like collector's items than toys for play. A tapestry of an embroidered dragon hung on the wall. Rhaenys walked to the end of the room, touched the fabric of the canopy, paused at the window that overlooked the sea. The waves reflected the sun, and their movement reminded her of her restless heart. She closed her eyes. No. Nothing. Only emptiness. Sighing, Rhaenys turned and walked to the next door.

This room was different from the first step. There was a completely different spirit here – strict, direct, simple. A boy's room and at the same time luxurious in its own way, as if it belonged to a prince. The bed was wide, without a canopy, covered with a dark blanket. There were chests along the walls. Real swords hung above the wall. Some of them were decorated with intricate hilts. On the other wall were sea charts hung in wooden frames. Rhaenys walked slowly, her gaze sliding over each object. On the table lay parchments, an inkwell, a quill. Everything was as if the boy had left it yesterday, stopping in mid-sentence. By the window was a wooden ship, neatly carved, with thin sails. Her fingers barely touched the side of the toy, but she stopped, afraid to disturb this frozen order. It smelled of wood, wax, and something else sharp, perhaps blade oil. She walked around the room, looked in the window. There was the same sea. The same wind played with the waves. And again nothing. Not a single memory. She stood in the center, looking around, and suddenly felt a strange pain rise in her chest. These rooms preserved the life that should have been here. Laughter, conversations, quarrels, tears – everything that makes up everyday life. But now only things remained of it, silent witnesses. She left the room, quietly closing the door. In the corridor she stopped for a moment, leaned against the cold stone of the wall and closed her eyes. Emptiness again. Suddenly, from the left, the sound of footsteps was heard. She hadn`t even had time to raise her head when something warm, lively, and strong crashed into her, pushing her back and almost knocking her off her feet. Arms, thin but already strong, closed around her. Her forehead rested on her shoulder, and hot breath touched her chest.

– Grandma…– it came softly, hoarsely, as if the word had escaped by itself.

For a moment, Rhaenys froze. The world seemed to stop, everything around her – the stone of the walls, the light in the windows, even her own breathing disappeared, leaving only this one word pulsing in her chest. A girl of about fourteen, with long curly hair that fell in heavy waves over her shoulders, leaned against her. Her skin was dark, and her whole body smelled of smoke and sulfur. This smell struck her memory, in the deepest depths, not as a picture, not as a clear memory, but as a feeling itself. Something painfully familiar, something that didn’t need words. Rhaenys mechanically pressed her fingers on the girl’s shoulders, but didn’t answer right away. She struggled with herself, trying to find even a tiny echo in the emptiness of her memory. The girl, sensing this indecision, quickly recoiled as if she had been burned. She took a step back, looked down at her hands, which were still trembling from the hug, and whispered guiltily.

– I’m sorry, grandma… I… Grandpa wrote to me. He said that you… that you were alive. And that you had lost your memory. But…– she swallowed, her eyes watering. –  But I didn’t think you didn’t remember me.

She looked up. And in those dark eyes, framed by long lashes, something flashed that made Rhaenys’ throat tighten. Pain, a childish resentment, carefully hidden behind courage. Like a stone thrown into water, but the waves still diverged. Gods, how she looked like that girl in the portrait in the hall! The same curls, the same features. A copy and an echo at the same time. Rhaenys suddenly remembered Corlys' words, one of the granddaughters in the Vale, the other nearby, on Dragonstone. It had to be Baela. She took a deep breath, feeling warmth fill her chest, and spoke softly.

– Baela... – the girl shuddered, as if from an unexpected touch, and raised her eyes again. And at that moment something changed: a light appeared in them, a hope, tiny and fragile, but alive. Rhaenys raised her hand and very gently, carefully touched the girl’s cheek. Baela instantly pressed her cheek to that hand, as if seeking refuge in it. – I’m sorry, – Rhaenys whispered, swallowing bitterness. – I’m sorry I don’t remember you.

Baela pressed her hand even tighter against hers, as if she wanted to force her grandmother’s memory back. Her shoulders shook, but she held on, not allowing herself to cry.

– I’m still glad you’re back. Even if you don’t remember me.

Rhaenys smiled faintly. Everything inside her was tight and aching, but at the same time she felt that this girl was hers. And let the mind be silent, the heart knew the truth. She grabbed Baela with both arms and carefully pulled her to her. Her embrace was still a little uncertain, but warm. Baela sobbed very quietly, hiding her face in grandmother's shoulder. Rhaenys felt Baela's body tremble in her arms. At first it was quiet, like a light sob, but after a moment the girl couldn`t stand it and her shoulders shook from restrained sobs. She took a convulsive breath, leaned her forehead against her grandmother's shoulder and whispered through her tears.

– I missed you so much, grandma... I... I didn't know how to live without you. How to breathe, how to get up in the morning when there's only one thing on my mind, you'll never hug me again... you'll never say a word to me... I'll never hear your voice...

Each “never” hit Rhaenys’s heart like a blow, like a hammer breaking a stone. She had no memory, no picture, and that made the pain even sharper. Because this girl knew her, remembered her, lived all these years with love and pity, and she was nothing. Rhaenys pressed Baela closer to her, so that only the sound of her breathing and the hot beating of her heart separated them. Her fingers slid through the girl’s curls, intertwined with them tenderly, stroking her head.

– Shhh, baby…– she breathed out in a trembling voice, barely holding back her sobs. – I’m here. I’m with you.

But the words sounded too poor next to the abyss of feelings she felt from Baela. So Rhaenys did the only thing she could, hugged her even tighter, putting all the strength, all the tenderness she was capable of into it. And suddenly, completely unexpectedly for herself, she felt her eyes fill with tears. First one, uncertain, hot, rolled down her cheek. Then another. And in a moment the tears flowed freely, mixing with the girl's sobs. She leaned down and kissed Baela on the top of her head several times, pressing her lips to her soft hair, inhaling that smell of smoke and sulfur that reminded her so painfully of something lost.

– Forgive me, – she whispered again and again, kissing her head. – Forgive me...

But Baela only hugged herself even tighter, as if she was afraid to let go, afraid that if she opened her arms, the grandmother would disappear again. And there, deep in her heart, Rhaenys felt, even if memory was silent, even if her mind couldn`t remember a single moment, that this girl's love was piercing through everything, like roots through stone. Her tears no longer seemed like weakness. They were the only proof that she was alive. Rhaenys didn't know how long they stood there. Time melted away in the warmth of the children's embrace, in those sobs and whispered apologies, in the tears that flowed down their cheeks, mingling with each other. It could have been a minute, it could have been an hour. Only one thing mattered to her, she held her granddaughter in her arms, and she held her as if she were afraid of losing her again. Finally, Baela slowly pulled away. She rubbed her tear-red cheeks with her fists, trying to look proud and grown-up again, as befits a descendant of Velaryons and Targaryens. But her eyes still sparkled with childish vulnerability. Rhaenys raised her hand and gently stroked her face.

– The maester says, – she said quietly, trying to encourage the girl. – That my memory can return. Today I remembered a little of my childhood. It just means I have to wait a little longer.

– So…– Baela asked cautiously, hope shining in her eyes. – Will you still remember us?

Rhaenys smiled and nodded.

– I’ll do anything to remember. And you’ll help me, right? Take me somewhere where we used to hang out. Tell me something, show me… maybe it’ll help, – Baela wiped away the last of her tears and, smiling more like an adult, nodded. She grabbed her grandmother’s hand and pulled her through the castle’s corridors.

– Let’s go! – her voice became lively again, ringing, so that it echoed off the stone walls.

They turned a few corners and found themselves in front of a door, which Baela opened without hesitation. A spacious, bright room opened before Rhaenys. In the center stood two beds. But the halves of the room were different, as if they embodied two completely different souls. On the left, everything is elegant, delicate, with exquisite fabrics, a few figurines, thin lace on the bedspread, light colors. A real princess's corner. And on the right, simpler, but no less carefully selected things. The atmosphere was militant, albeit with a girlish charm. Baela proudly spread her arms.

– This is our room. My bed is over there, – she pointed to the more military part. –  And Rhaena’s is over here. She always loved everything beautiful and elegant. She could sit for hours at this table and comb her hair, braid ribbons, I was always more drawn to weapons and dragons. Grandpa brought me some books about dragons, and I reread them ten times, – she smiled, but sadness flashed in her eyes again for a moment. – We often sat here, telling each other secrets. You always listened to us, even when you were very tired. You sat over here, – she pointed to the chair by the window. – And just smiled while we argued about who was better.

Rhaenys cautiously approached the chair. She touched the armrest. Nothing stirred in her memory, but there was a strange warmth in her heart, as if the traces of those evenings still lived in the stone and wood. She sat up, looking at Baela, who was waiting for a reaction. She went to the shelf, took one of the tattered books and held it out to Rhaenys.

– Do you remember, you always said that I shouldn`t only swing my sword, but also learn. Because strength is nothing without wisdom. I was angry then, but now I understand that you were right, – Rhaenys listened to her, looking into the expressive features of her face, into the sparkle of her violet eyes. There was so much tenderness and at the same time pride in these words that somewhere deep in her soul something stirred. Baela leaned over and touched the time-worn box on Rhaena's table. She opened it and inside, among the simple decorations, lay a small shell. – We found this together on the shore, – she said, her voice trembling. – You said then that shells remember the sea, even when they are far from it.

She held out the shell to her grandmother, her eyes sparkling with tears again. Rhaenys took the thing in her palm. It was cold and smooth, but somewhere deep inside there was a warm spark. As if this shell really reminded her of something, something pulled from the fog of memory, but hadn`t yet broken through.

– This is… very beautiful, – she said quietly, squeezing the shell in her hand.

– We spent so many evenings here, grandma. We argued, made up, laughed until we cried, – Rhaenys slowly raised her hand and touched her granddaughter’s cheek. Baela leaned tightly against her palm. – Did you… remember something, grandmother?

There was so much hope in her voice that Rhaenys’s heart sank. She shook her head slowly.

– It’s not so fast, dear. I need time.

The words struck Baela. The girl looked away for a moment, as if to hide her disappointment, and flopped helplessly onto her bed. The bed creaked, the pillows bounced, and she crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to show how hurt she was by this answer. Rhaenys didn’t want to see her like this. She stood up and walked across the room again, as if to prove to herself that she had to find some kind of clue. Her fingers slid along the shelves, across the table, across the fabrics, until they stopped on a small soft toy nestled in the very corner. She took it in her hands. A green dragon with wide wings and a slightly worn muzzle, time hadn`t spared it, but it still had the expression that must have once delighted a child. She stood, examining the faded seams, the slightly faded color, the threads sticking out of the side of the wing.

– What is this? – Rhaenys asked, almost in a whisper. Baela looked up.

– It's mother's toy, – she explained, more gently. – Vhagar.

And suddenly the world around Rhaenys went dark. It was as if an invisible wave had covered her from head to toe. She was no longer standing in the nursery. A little girl sat on the soft carpet at her feet. Curly silver hair fell to her shoulders, her fingers stubbornly clutched the green dragon, as if it were a living creature. The child touched the wings, turned the toy's head as if it could really fly. Her laughter rang clear as a bell.

– Look, mom, it's flying! – the girl exclaimed joyfully, throwing the dragon into the air and catching it again.

Rhaenys's heart trembled with tenderness then. She stretched out her arms to lift her daughter onto her lap, inhaling the familiar smell of milk and sweet baby skin. The picture changed. Now before her was the same girl, but older, with an expression of more adult stubbornness. She held the same dragon in her arms and waved it as if she were challenging the sky itself.

– One day, – her voice sounded resolute. – I will rise above all. Vhagar will be mine, and no one will dare to say that I`m weaker than anyone! Everyone will know that I`m the daughter of Rhaenys Targaryen!

And she, laughing, raised the toy so high that it seemed as if it would really flap its wings and fly. Suddenly everything broke again. Memory burst into something else, into something big, bright, and terrible. The sky opened up before her. The wind beat against her face. She felt every jerk of the powerful wings, every strain of the dragon’s muscles beneath her. Her red, spiked beast roared, cutting through the clouds. She was her, a single whole, flame and blood, fused into one. And suddenly a shadow. Another creature emerged from below, a giant, green creature with a mouth full of teeth and wings that seemed wider than the sky itself. Vhagar. Old, majestic, terrifying. It rose from the depths like a mountain come to life. Her heart clenched with something that wasn`t fear but rather an acute awareness of danger and inevitability. Memory tore into pieces: the bright sunlight on Vhagar's green wings, Meleys's roar, her own fingers gripping the ropes convulsively. And then it all fell apart. A scream of pain tore from her chest as the world turned. Rhaenys staggered, dropping the toy from her hands. She fell to the floor with a thud, her face contorted with what felt like both physical pain and something bigger, deeper, heavier.

– Grandma! Are you sick? – Baela screamed, jumping out of bed in an instant. She ran over and grabbed Rhaenys by the arms. – What happened? What happened to you?!

Her eyes were bright with panic. Rhaenys was breathing heavily, trying to come back to reality, to exhale that hot wind of heaven from her lungs and to keep her fingers from trembling. Her eyes were still wide open, and her heart was pounding. Rhaenys, still trembling a little from the wave of memories, took a deep breath and forced herself to collect herself. She saw Baela looking at her in fear, the girl's eyes shining with tears and anxiety.

– It's okay, my dear, – she finally said, gently placing her hand on her granddaughter's cheek. Her voice was a little hoarse, but calm. – Don't worry. I remembered Laena.

Baela's eyes widened.

– Mom? – her voice dropped to a whisper. Rhaenys nodded slowly.

– Yes. And… – her voice trembled, she paused. – I saw Vhagar. In the sky. And my dragon… She… she killed her.

At those words, Rhaenys closed her eyes, swallowing back the pain that surged through her chest again. She didn’t know if it was a real memory or a fragment of a dream, but the feeling was too sharp to ignore.

– Grandma… – Baela gasped and suddenly threw herself on her neck, hugging her tightly. – Oh, Grandma…

She pressed herself against her as if trying to dissolve in her embrace, and Rhaenys held the girl close to her and began to stroke her back slowly.

– It’s okay, my girl, – she repeated softly, like a spell. – It’s okay.

They sat like that for several minutes.

– You need to go to Dragonstone, – she said suddenly, as if she had found some saving thought. – You grew up there. If you see these places again, maybe the memories will come back more quickly.

Rhaenys thought about it. The idea seemed right, there was something intuitively right about it. She remembered the maester’s words about familiar circumstances.

– You’re right, my dear, – she replied softly. – It might help.

Baela suddenly came to life again, her eyes shining.

– You need to rest a little. And I… I need to talk to grandfather, – Rhaenys smiled faintly.

– Okay, – she gently stroked Baela’s curls and added. – Go.

The girl hugged her tightly again, as if afraid to let go, and only then did she leave the room, leaving her grandmother alone with her thoughts.

***

Rhaenys sat in a chair by the window, and a long beam of light slid across her profile, as if emphasizing the thoughtfulness in every feature. Behind the glass lived Driftmark, spinning in its usual rhythms. From here, from a height, she could see the causeway that separated the fortress from the rest of the island, on the other side the lights came to life one after another, like stars over the sea. In the harbor, boats and ships arrived and departed in an endless cycle, and on the shore they shouted, reloading goods, fishermen mended nets, children ran screaming between the warehouses. Life went on as usual. And only she felt this gap. There was a soft but confident knock on the door.

– Come in, – she said flatly.

The door opened, and Corlys appeared on the threshold. He looked tired, but there was a certain unwavering dignity in his bearing, as always, even now that time and trial had taken their toll on him. His dark eyes rested on her, and for a moment he paused, as if considering how to begin.

– How are you feeling? – he asked, taking a few steps into the room.

– I’m fine, – she replied calmly, though she felt something tighten in her chest at the falsehood in his words. – I remember a little about our daughter today. And something, it seems, from the battle. – Corlys’s eyes hardened for a moment, like blades. His lips parted slightly, he wanted to say something, but Rhaenys beat him to it. – I’m fine.

She repeated firmly, almost sternly, not letting him bombard her with questions. There was a pause between them. He stood there like a sailor deciding whether to go to sea in a storm. Finally, he nodded and sighed.

– And how did it go with Baela? – his voice softened. – I should have warned you… I wrote to granddaughters. They should know.

A shadow of guilt crossed his face.

– I didn’t recognize her, – Rhaenys admitted, tilting her head. – But that’s okay, – she paused for a moment before continuing. – She suggested I go to Dragonstone. She says that maybe I’ll remember more among familiar places, – Corlys grimaced, barely perceptible, but it was enough for her. She caught even the slightest muscle movement that betrayed reluctance. His gaze drifted to the window, as if he were searching for an argument there, among the waves. – You don’t like the idea, – she said quietly. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked slowly across the room, his back to her. – I can go alone if you don’t want to.

– I won’t let you go there alone, – Rhaenys smiled, almost ironically.

– I didn’t ask you to let me go, I just said I could go alone if it was difficult for you.

– No, – he turned to her, his face serious, even stern. – You won’t go alone. Wherever you go, I’ll be there.

Her heart sank at the words: there was something tender about them, and something as unyielding as chains. She stared at him for a long time, studying this man who had always belonged to her and the sea. And she didn’t know if his stubbornness was a sign of concern or a manifestation of his own power.

– I`m not a caged bird, Corlys, – Rhaenys suddenly flared, her eyes flashing, her voice trembling like a string. – You cannot lock me in here, even if you think it is for my good.

He immediately raised his hands as if to calm the storm, but there was fire in his eyes too.

– It`s not my whims, – he protested, his voice deep and hard, like a wave breaking on a rock. – I`m not locking you in. I am just… worried.

– Nothing will happen to me there, – she protested, throwing a new spark into the fire. He shook his head, as if he didn’t believe her naivety.

– That castle is full of jackals, Rhaenys. They’re just waiting for an opportunity to bite. If they did it then, they’re doing it now… – he paused, but his gaze said it all. – You’re more vulnerable now than ever.

– So what do you suggest? – she snapped coldly.

Corlys was silent. His face was heavy as stone, but his eyes betrayed fatigue. He turned away, took a few steps, and, sighing, sank into the chair opposite her. His elbows rested on his knees, his palms clasped together, and only after a long pause did he speak.

– I don’t want to go there because I had a fight with the queen, – Rhaenys blinked, not immediately understanding the meaning of his confession.

– You what?

– When I found out you were dead, – he began, his voice shaking with old anger and pain. – I blamed the queen. I said it should have been her. That she should have died.

Shock parted her lips, but in a moment they blossomed into laughter. She tilted her head to one side and looked at him, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

– And look, at least your head is still on your shoulders and your tongue is in your mouth, – Corlys snorted, a crooked smile playing on his lips, though his eyes still glowed with the darkness of memory. Rhaenys stood and came closer, her figure casting a shadow on the floor like wings. She leaned forward, placing her hand on the arm of his chair.

– Come with me. For my sake, – he looked up, and there was a sea in them: deep, dangerous, but also tender to her. He was silent for a long time, and she was about to repeat her request when he finally answered hoarsely, almost in a whisper.

– I could never refuse you, – and that simple truth melted their quarrel, although each of them knew that the real storm was yet to come. Corlys was silent for a long time, his fingers stroking the carved armrest of the chair, as if to delay the moment. Finally, he sighed deeply and stood up. – There is something else, Rhaenys, that I wanted to discuss with you, – his voice sounded serious, even solemn.

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small dark box. His gaze was heavy, like the sea before a storm, as he held it out to her. Rhaenys took the box with curiosity and caution, as if it were something fragile and dangerous at the same time. The lock clicked. Inside lay the sign of the hand – a symbol of power, trust, and immense responsibility. She looked up at the man with a question that needed no words.

– The queen sent this, – Corlys said quietly, as if the words were difficult for him to say. – With Baela. She gave it as an apology. She offered me a position. As if it could make up for the loss of you.

Her chest tightened for a moment. She closed the casket slowly and ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the lid.

– Then let me greet you, my lord, – her voice was even, but there was a tiny note of irony in it. But his face remained serious, without joy or pride. Only thoughtful weariness and a shadow of doubt. Rhaenys narrowed her eyes. – But I see no enthusiasm. Any other man would be delighted with such an offer.

Corlys smiled at the corners of his mouth, but without mirth.

– Any other man, perhaps. But I believe there is another person who deserves this position more than I do.

– And who is it? – her voice became sharper, like a blade. He took a step closer.

– You, – Rhaenys froze, feeling the words hang in the air like thunder before a strike. She inhaled slowly, trying to make sense of what she had heard.

– I wasn’t offered it, – she whispered, her voice both relieved and defiant.

Corlys opened his mouth to protest, to convince her, but Rhaenys suddenly raised her hand and covered his mouth. The movement was so natural that she froze immediately, realizing what she was doing. They stood in silence. Her hand felt the warmth of his skin, the rustle of his beard, and her heart beat somewhere in her throat. She waited. She waited for him to grab her hand, to pull it away, but he too froze, looking at her with that ancient depth that she hadn't had time to remember, but which she felt with her whole body. The second stretched into eternity. She hastily pulled her hand away, taking a step back.

– Sorry, – she breathed, a little startled.

– No need. You’ve been doing this for years. It’s your usual gesture when you want me to shut up. Your body must know it instinctively, – an unexpected smile broke out on her face. She laughed softly and bowed her head, letting the moment ease the tension.

– So I have many more surprises like this in store. But let’s get to the point. You have to agree, – Corlys frowned.

– Do you really think so?

– Of course. It’s an honor and an influence. And you…– she paused, looking at him carefully. – You’ll clearly be more useful in this position than I, who can’t remember anything.

– You’re wrong. Your mind hasn’t gone anywhere, Rhaenys. Memory is just a form, but your mind, your sharpness, your judgment, they stay with you, – Rhaenys shook her head, a little wearily.

– Maybe. But still… I don't mind. If you become the hand, I'll be happy.

A shadow of the old expression that had always accompanied their arguments came to his face: a mixture of stubbornness and tenderness. He had no intention of giving up his opinion, but he didn’t want to break her convictions just yet. He took her hand in his, held it for a long time, his fingers gliding over her skin as if he were teaching her anew. Then he lifted it to his lips and kissed it with a respect and devotion that even years couldn`t shake.

– As you wish, my princess. If you truly wish it, I won`t argue, – the Sea Snake’s confidence was again evident in his stance, and only a faint doubt remained in his gaze. – If you wish to go to Dragonstone, I can organize everything so that we are there by evening.

Rhaenys blinked, struck by his words. She expected resistance, more denials, another attempt to dissuade her from this journey, but instead he offered her exactly what she wanted.

– So soon? – her voice was softer than she had expected.

– I have a ship that is always ready to sail, – Corlys smiled slightly, his smile carrying the pride of a sailor who always had his finger on the pulse of the waves. – Just say the word.

She looked away, her fingers running over the lid of the box with the sign of the hand, which she still held in her other hand. The realization of the weight of that symbol, and that he was willing to give it up for her, weighed heavily on her heart.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys stood on the bow of the ship, leaning forward as if trying to wrest some answer from the wind. The salty breeze brushed her cheeks, untangling her hair, and the heavy breathing of the sea could be heard from the depths below. The evening shadows slid across the water, blurring the shoreline, and it seemed as if the world was dissolving into cold shades of blue and black. The castle was getting closer. Tall, silent, it rose from the rocks like a true sentinel. Its towers carved from the rock, grim and heavy, as if the sky itself were supported on their shoulders. Stone gargoyles peered out from among them, their gaping mouths resembling dragons in a moment of roar. The reliefs on the walls, the dark arches, the sculptures, and the spires – everything here reminded of the ancient bondmen of this castle, of those who ruled with fire and fear. Rhaenys felt her heart clench, the place seemed both familiar and hostile, and because of this, two feelings struggled within her. It was as if she were looking into a mirror that reflected her life, but the images in it were covered with fog. She leaned on the railing, peering into the castle longer than she should have. And just then, she heard quiet footsteps behind her. Corlys came over, stood beside her, and, also leaning on the edge, looked ahead into the darkness. His face seemed even sterner in the half-light, but there was a softness in his eyes that he hid from everyone but her.

– So what do you say? – he asked, carefully observing her profile. Rhaenys thought for a moment, then smiled wryly.

– It looks more like a gloomy cave than a castle.

Corlys laughed. His laugh was quiet but deep, and it rolled like a wave. He shook his head, breathing in the sea air. Rhaenys looked up at him, peering, trying to pull at least a spark of memory from her depths. He stood so close that she could feel the warmth of his shoulder, but still he remained a stranger to her. His features, his laughter – all this should have affect her, reminded her, but the silence in her memory was impenetrable. She looked away sharply, so as not to betray her disappointment.

– And where is your Hand` brooch? – she asked, to break the silence.

Corlys frowned, but he took a small carved box from his pocket. He opened it, and the silver sign glinted in the evening light. Rhaenys reached out, took it, and without hesitation pinned it to his chest, where the fabric of his camisole was a little thicker. Her fingers slid over the fabric, and she involuntarily smoothed the folds with her palm. She felt his muscles tense beneath her fingers, a brief, almost imperceptible movement, but to her it became tangible, like a hum under her fingers. She looked up and met his gaze. They were only inches apart, and in those eyes she read something she couldn’t explain in words: a mixture of pride, fatigue, and a love that was still foreign to her, but too strong to ignore. Her palm lingered longer than necessary. And only then, pulling her hand away, did she smile, trying to hide her excitement.

– That’s better. Now you look just like the Hand of a queen.

One of the sailors called out to him, telling him it was safe to anchor. Corlys nodded, and heavy chains fell from the ship’s sides with a crash into the sea. The metallic crunch echoed off the rocks, and the stark symphony of the moment was palpable. When the boat brought them to shore, Rhaenys stepped onto the sand of the beach. Small shells crunched under her feet, and the wind from the sea played with the hem of her cloak. She froze for a moment, catching her breath, and immediately noticed the woman waiting for them. The Valyrian silver in her hair, gathered in a heavy braid, shone even in the dim evening light. Her eyes were violet, deep and full of tired strength. She had once been a beauty, and traces of that beauty were still preserved in her features, but childbirth and the burden of the crown had left their marks. She had curvaceous forms, a little slow in her movements, and even in her gaze one could read that restraint of a person who carries more than she can bear. Her dress of heavy dark burgundy velvet played with iridescence with every movement. Diamonds shimmered on her chest and wrists, precious stones emphasized her status, but it seemed that she was hiding behind this brilliance, as if behind a shield. The queen's fingers were richly decorated with rings, and now she was fiddling with them. Beside the queen stood a young man. Broad-shouldered, tall, his figure still retained the awkwardness of youth, but already the strength of a future man was evident. Dark hair fell over his forehead, brown eyes looked with wary curiosity, and a snub nose gave him an almost boyish frankness. He held himself straight, but his arms, crossed over his chest, showed a certain stiffness. Baela froze next to him. Rhaenys noted this and suggested to herself, perhaps this was her fiance. Perhaps the queen's son? Corlys came a little closer to her, his shadow sliding across the sand. He bowed his head, greeting the queen. But the queen didn`t take her eyes off Rhaenys. Rhaenyra stood tense, as if struggling with herself. Her fingers slid once more over her diamond rings, and finally she took a step forward. Her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat, her eyes gleamed with a wet light, and she gave in to an instinctive urge to hug her aunt. But Rhaenys, who had never had time to get used to this new world without memory, froze. Her body didn`t recognize this movement, didn`t respond, and at the moment when the embrace almost touched her, the queen felt strange. Rhaenyra froze, stopped a step, and a brief pain flashed in her eyes, instantly hidden behind a gentle smile.

– I`m glad you`re back, – Rhaenyra’s voice trembled slightly, but there was sincerity in this tremor. – And that you`re alive.

Behind Rhaenys’s back, Corlys tensed so much that she almost physically felt his tension. Like a string about to snap. His silence was heavier than words. And suddenly the young man took a step forward.

– Welcome back, lady-grandmother.

Rhaenys flinched at the address. Her gaze swept over him again, more carefully this time. Tall, strong, dark-haired, brown-eyed. No hint of Valyrian descent, no silver in his hair, no violet in his pupils. Only foreign blood. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, she studied his features, searching for anything familiar. He couldn’t bear her gaze and looked away, his lips pursed slightly.

– Baela told me about your memory loss, – Rhaenyra spoke again, as if in a hurry to fill an awkward pause. – I’m very sorry. I wish you a speedy recovery. If there’s anything I can do…

– There’s little we can do about it, I’m afraid, – Rhaenys interrupted, calmly, almost coldly. She didn’t want sympathy. Baela, who had been standing a little to the side all this time, stepped closer and asked timidly.

– Grandma, do you remember Rhaenyra? – Rhaenys looked at the girl, then at Rhaenyra. A dull echo of something old stirred in her chest, just a shadow. She sighed.

– No.

Rhaenyra nodded faintly, accepting it as defeat, but not allowing herself to show emotion. She straightened up and, taking another step, placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

– This is Jace, – she said evenly. – Ours with Laenor son.

Rhaenys froze. Her eyes narrowed even more. Laenor’s son? She glanced at the boy again, searching for at least a spark of truth. But not a single feature matched what she would expect from a child of Valyrian blood. Her insides almost screamed: this boy couldn`t be my grandson. But she remained silent. Her face remained impenetrable, only an icy light flashed in the depths of her eyes. She knew that the time for questions and doubts would come. But not now.

– I don’t want others to know about my memory.

The silence that followed her words lasted only a moment, but it felt longer. Their gazes met, first with Baela, then with Rhaenyra, finally with Jace. All three nodded silently, accepting her condition as an unbreakable law. Rhaenyra quickly regained her composure and spoke softly, with the same care with which she had stepped on the sand.

– You must be tired. We’ve prepared room for you in the castle, – Rhaenys nodded briefly, but added.

– Thank you, – and then Corlys spoke up from nearby. His voice was firm, almost solemn, as if it weren`t just a gesture of courtesy but a duty he wouldn`t cede to anyone.

– I`ll guide you.

They followed to the castle gates. The entire journey to the stone stairs and dark arches that led deep into Dragonstone felt like a theater. They walked together, step by step. But as soon as the castle doors closed behind them and they each separated into their own corridors, the tense game fell apart. The gloomy corridors of Dragonstone greeted them with cold. The massive stone walls, decorated with dragon bas-reliefs, pressed down on consciousness. Torches trembled in high niches, but their light wasn`t enough to disperse the shadows. Each of their steps echoed off the walls, echoing in a long whisper, as if someone invisible was following them. Rhaenys walked slower than usual. Her gaze glided over the carved stones, over the window openings where the night ocean turned black, over the deep arches. She tried to catch at least something familiar, at least one spark of memory that would pierce the darkness in her head. But nothing. Only heaviness, only the coldness of stone. Corlys walked beside her, carefully watching her out of the corner of his eye. He didn`t hurry, didn`t push, although his steps were naturally faster. When they stopped for a moment at another bas-relief or column, he was silent. He waited, allowing her to feel her way through this labyrinth of memories. Finally, they reached the appointed room. The servant opened the heavy door, let them inside, and immediately disappeared into the darkness of the corridor. The rooms were spacious and cold. The walls were stone, thick, decorated with several tapestries with dragons. A fire smoldered in the fireplace, trying to at least slightly disperse the winter breath of the castle. A bed with dark carved pillars rising up like four guards. Corlys took a few steps inside, looked around the room, and said dryly.

– I’ll ask to prepare other rooms for me nearby.

He was about to turn around when he felt slender fingers clasp his hand. Startled, he looked back. Rhaenys stood beside him, holding him as if her touch were the only thing that could keep her from falling into the abyss of loneliness. Her gaze was serious, even a little hard.

– Stay, – he blinked, not understanding. – You said yourself that there were jackals here, – she replied, not looking away. – They’re just waiting to see weakness. If you move to another room, they’ll sense it. We must act as if nothing had happened.

Her voice was cold, firm, but there was another note in it – a thin, almost invisible crack through which fear was seeping. Corlys remained silent, staring at her. The firelight reflected in his dark eyes, adding depth to them. His face was composed, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

– Reasonable, – he finally admitted. His voice was low, hollow, as if there was more to it than words.

Her fingers held his hand for a moment longer, then slowly released it. But even as the touch faded, the tension between them didn`t dissipate. On the contrary, the room suddenly filled with it to the brim. Corlys walked over to the fireplace, threw in a few logs, and as the fire flared, a warm light illuminated his face. He sat down in the chair, but his eyes never left her. And Rhaenys stood in the middle of the room, feeling that she had taken a step she herself didn`t yet fully realize. She turned to the window to hide her confusion. The wind howled outside the glass, and the sea rose in the distance in black waves that glittered in the moonlight. She wanted to focus on the view, but she could feel his presence filling the room. His shadow fell on the floor next to hers, and even when he was doing nothing, the mere fact of his presence created a strange sense of security.

Rhaenys returned from the bathroom, slowly closing the heavy door behind her. She walked to the bed, each step echoing in her head. Doubts were growing, maybe this wasn’t the wisest idea at all. Sharing a room with Corlys… and, most importantly, a bed. But when she came out and saw that he was already in bed, she was overcome with a slight sense of relief. Corlys left her no place for embarrassment, he turned away, taking up only his half of the bed, and next to it, neatly folded, was another blanket waiting for her. It was like a silent promise, he wouldn’t cross the line. Rhaenys sighed, blew out the candles, and the room fell into semi-darkness, lit only by the crackling of the fireplace. She slid under the blanket, hiding almost with her head, like a child trying to shut herself off from the world.

– Good night, – Corlys said quietly, without turning his head.

– Good night, – she replied, just as restrainedly, and they both froze.

The room was silent, except for the crackling of the fire and the even, measured breathing of the man next to her. But now his breathing seemed to disrupt her own rhythm, it was too close. And the warmth that came from his body through the blanket seemed both alien and familiar at the same time. She turned her head to the wall, trying to concentrate. Her thoughts swarmed around her husband, her children and grandchildren. She wanted so much to remember their faces, their voices. But her brain resisted, as if blocked by a thick wall. No matter how much she pressed her own memory, it remained empty. Gradually, fatigue took over. Her body relaxed, her eyes closed. Sleep began to cover her slowly, like a wave that at first barely touches the sand, and then suddenly takes you under itself.

A picture unfolded before her eyes. She stood in the Hall of Tide. The air was heavy, stifling, filled with weeping and muffled voices. Something was tearing in her chest, her heart beating so hard it seemed like it was about to burst. A coffin stood before her. Inside it was a charred body, almost not human. The smell of smoke and ash still lingered in the air. Two little girls clung to her skirt, sobbing so hard that their shoulders shook with each sob. She could feel their tiny fingers squeezing the fabric, hot tears soaking her hands. The pain was tearing her in two. It was so sharp and all-consuming that it seemed that she herself would crumble to pieces. This wasn`t just a loss, it was a tragedy that was tearing a part of herself. Rhaenys opened her mouth to scream, but the sound caught in her throat. The world around her trembled, and she knew she would collapse under the weight of this grief. The picture in her mind changed abruptly. Now her knees touched the cold, stone floor of Hall of Nine. Night enveloped the castle, only the torches trembled on the walls, casting bizarre shadows as if the ghosts themselves were watching her. The air was bitter with smoke and stench, it cut into her lungs. Before her lay another body. Burnt, black, but still warm, as if it had just been pulled from the fire. And this wasn`t a stranger, this was her child. Her blood, her flesh. Rhaenys reached out her hands as if to embrace, but each time her fingers froze in the air. It was impossible to touch, where there had once been a face, only a cracked and blackened mask remained. Entire body was covered in burns. She didn't know where to touch, where to look for even a shred of the child she had once held. She was crying. No, she was sobbing, so loudly that the walls echoed her scream. It wasn't a woman's cry, it was the scream of a beast whose heart had been ripped out. Her hands were trembling, and her body was convulsing with pain. Her heart was breaking into pieces with every look at the charred body, and each fragment was sticking deeper into her soul. Someone was standing nearby. She heard footsteps, felt someone's presence. Hands touched her shoulders, trying to lift her up, pull her away from this horror. But she pushed them away again and again, waved them away as if from an enemy. She couldn't afford to turn away, couldn't give the child to the gods. Another scream escaped her throat, hoarse, broken. She felt herself dying along with this body. It was as if her insides were being ripped out, leaving only the shell. The pain was so intense that there was no room for thought, only pure hell. And suddenly, amidst all this suffering, a sound broke through. A voice.

– Rhaenys… – he was distant, as if through a fog, but he still cut through the darkness. – Rhaenys.

Her eyes opened. She sat up in bed, leaning forward, as if she had been pulled out of the abyss by force. Her face was wet with tears. Her throat burned, as if after a scream. Her heart was pounding so hard that her chest was tearing from the inside. She gasped for air, as if she had been pulled out of the water after a long dive. Rhaenys couldn`t understand where she really was. Dream and reality intertwined. It seemed to her that she still smelled the burning, that she could hear the screams of little girls, that the black, mutilated body still lay before her. She pressed her fingers into her chest, trying to cope with this pain, but her heart continued to tear from within.

– Rhaenys, – Corlys said, leaning towards her. His voice was low, agitated. – It was a dream. Just a dream.

She wanted to answer, but only a hoarseness escaped her throat. Tears rolled again, wetting her hands. Unspeakable pain lived in her body, squeezing every nerve. Her shoulders shook with sobs, and her chest convulsively grabbed the air, as if she were drowning.

– Rhaenys! – he carefully but firmly wrapped his arms around her. She pushed him away with her shoulder, as she had pushed away someone's hand in that terrible dream. But Corlys didn`t retreat. He was stronger and stubborner. – You`re here. This is a dream, do you hear? Just a dream.

She fought in his arms like a wounded bird, but with each passing minute she weakened. Her tears flowed down his nightgown, washing away the warmth. Corlys hugged her tighter, pressing her to his chest.

– It's okay, – he whispered, although he himself felt his heart breaking with anxiety. – You're with me, you're safe.

He stroked her back, her hair, occasionally bending down and touching her temple with his lips, trying to bring her back to reality with at least some warmth. His breathing was even and deep, so that she could feel his rhythm and adjust to it, as once on the deck of a ship the sailors adjusted to the beat of drums. But Rhaenys didn`t calm down. Her sobs were muffled, with pain.

– Children…– she finally broke out in a hoarse voice, between sobs. – I saw them… dead…

Corlys froze. Her words cut his heart deeper than any sword. He felt the ground give way from under his feet. A dream, a vision, a memory that had escaped from her memory and torn her to pieces.

– It was a dream, – he repeated quietly, but now his voice was trembling. – Only a dream.

She shook her head, choking on tears.

– No… I felt… I held them… I couldn’t…– her hands gripped his shirt, as if she were afraid to let him go. – I couldn’t save…

His own eyes clouded over. He saw a mother dreaming of her children’s deaths. And though he knew their children had long since left this world, seeing Rhaenys relive their deaths over and over again was unbearable. He ran his fingers over her tear-stained face and leaned closer.

– You couldn’t save them. It’s not your fault. Do you hear? – he forced her eyes to look up at him. They were red, misty, but they were looking straight into his. – You’re alive. I’m with you. We’ve been through this.

She looked at him, but she couldn’t let go of the pain right away. A low moan still escaped her chest, as if she were choking. Corlys held her even tighter, as if he wanted to connect their hearts so that his strength could flow into her. She sobbed again, but in a different way. Her body began to relax under his hands, her sobs becoming less frequent and her breathing more even. Corlys felt her fingers, which had been so convulsively clinging to him, now simply holding his shirt like an anchor. He sat there for a long time, not letting go of her. Time dragged on slowly, like a calm in a storm. He stroked her hair, feeling it wet with tears, and he realized that he was ready to sit like this all night, just so that she wouldn’t fall into that horror again. Her tears were still flowing, but now they were quieter. She finally began to calm down, feeling his warmth, his strength, his steadfastness.

Rhaenys didn't remember how sleep had overcome her. It seemed like she had just sat there, pressed against Corlys, pouring her pain onto his chest. Her body was wrapped in a blanket, and above it, even tighter, his hands formed a warm, cozy cocoon. She lay pressed against his chest, and only now did she realize that her fingers were still gripping his shirt, as if she was afraid to let him go even in her sleep. He smelled of the sea and something familiar, so elusive that she wanted to cry again. The pain hadn`t gone away. He still sat inside, heavy as a stone, but this safe shell covered him from above. For the first time since she had woken up in this world, Rhaenys felt not alone. She slowly opened her eyes. The world was dim, the morning light was just filtering through the narrow windows. She saw his face very close, calm, tired, a little exhausted. Corlys wasn`t sleeping as deeply as she was, and perhaps her every movement was echoed in him. She moved carefully, but it was enough for him to open his eyes too. His gaze was sleepy, but soft, without a shadow of coldness or distance. He immediately opened his arms, as if he didn`t want to restrain her will, giving her space. But Rhaenys didn`t want this space. She didn`t want to lose this warmth. She was afraid again, what if she woke up alone? In that darkness, in that emptiness after sleep, where the world consisted only of burnt bodies and her own pain? She shuddered at the thought. Before he could ask anything, she pressed herself closer to him, hiding her face in his shoulder.

– Thank you.

– You're welcome.

Rhaenys only leaned closer once more, breathing in the scent of his skin. She was afraid to look up and meet his gaze. She was afraid there would be something in that gaze she couldn't bear. His hand slid hesitantly through her hair. She felt he wasn't sure if he had the right to do this, if he wouldn't break her new fragile balance. But it was right. His fingers slid through her strands, soothing, and she felt the tension leave her body, like a tightly stretched string. But one thought was spinning in her head. She gathered the strength to voice it. Her voice was quiet, a little hoarse from the night's tears.

– Who did this to our son?

His body suddenly tensed. She felt him freeze, his breathing become heavier. It was as if the question had struck him to the very heart. Rhaenys didn`t look at him, she just lay there, listening to the silence that was buzzing inside him. And the silence made it even harder for her to breathe. She was afraid of the answer, but even more afraid that he would remain silent. Because then she would have to get to the truth herself. The pain in her chest flared again, not as excruciating as in her dream, but deep and sharp. She felt that in another moment she would run out of air again. His breathing was heavy, and Rhaenys felt every word born in him with pain. Finally, he spoke.

– Our son’s lover did it, – Rhaenys froze. For a moment something inside her turned over, she didn’t even immediately understand the meaning of the words. Her fingers squeezed the edge of the blanket.

– His… lover? – she said in a hoarse voice.

– Yes, – Corlys confirmed heavily. – He disappeared right after Laenor was gone. I organized a hunt, raised everyone, but he was never caught. As if he had dissolved into thin air, – Rhaenys slowly sat up in bed. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her temples rang. Her eyes widened, but there were no words. – That’s not all, – he added more quietly. – Rhaenyra and Daemon… They took advantage of it. Laenor prevented them from being together after Laena`s died. And they got married right after his death.

Rhaenys’s breath caught. At first she felt the blood rush to her face, her hands begin to tremble. And then the flames engulfed her completely.

– They… WHAT?! – her voice broke into a scream. – And you’re taking me here, to their castle after that?! – her shoulders shook. She rose to her feet, as if she couldn’t stay next to him on the same feather bed after such words. – Do you understand what you’re saying? Our son was killed… How can you sit at the same table with these people, how can you…

She couldn’t find air, as if every cell in her body refused to accept what she had heard. Corlys stood up, but he didn’t take a step toward her, just stared, his hands held low.

– It’s you, – he said evenly, though there was a storm in his voice too. – It’s you who made me get involved in this war again.

Rhaenys turned sharply to him, her eyes burning.

– Me?!

– Yes. We do it for our grandchildren.

Rhaenys stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself to keep from shattering. Inside, she was seething: pain for her son, hatred for those who had taken advantage of his death, and even greater hatred for the fact that she was now forced to look these people in the eye. She covered her face with her hands and sighed, sharp, ragged, as if she were choking back a scream. Corlys took a few steps forward, then stopped, leaving half a step between them. His eyes were serious but not cruel. He looked at her as if he were trying to hold on to the thread that might hold them together while everything else fell apart.

– Rhaenys, – his voice was deep, a little hoarse with suppressed tension. – You need to… at least wait a little. Give yourself time until your memory returns.

She laughed sharply – bitterly, tightly, so that something in her chest seemed to crack.

– Memory? – her voice broke. – And if she never comes back, huh? If I remain… an empty shell.

Corlys couldn`t stand it and moved closer. His hands rested on her shoulders – heavy, warm, unwavering. He leaned down to look her straight in the eye.

– Enough! – his voice carried the same firmness with which he had once commanded entire fleets. – Don’t dare talk about yourself like that. It’s coming back, – he said firmly. – You remembered your childhood. You remembered our children. These are your memories. They pierce through the darkness, – Rhaenys stopped. His words pierced her like an arrow. She felt the pain in her chest again that had torn her apart in her sleep. – Little by little, the memory will return, – he continued, not letting go of her shoulders. – I know you, Rhaenys. You`re strong. You`ve always weathered the storm, even when it seemed the ship would shatter to pieces. And now you`ll stand.

Her eyes misted over. She wanted to push him away, to scream that he didn’t understand, that everything was different for her. But the words stuck in her throat. She just stared at him in silence. This man… he was still a stranger to her. His features were familiar, yet somehow new. She remembered his face, but she didn’t remember what it felt like to be with him. And yet… he had a strange effect on her. His voice cut through the chaos, his hands stopped her thrashing, his confidence held her when her own was gone. Rhaenys closed her eyes, took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she wasn’t falling into an abyss.

– Maybe, – she whispered. – Maybe you’re right. But I’m so scared…

Her voice broke, and she leaned closer, barely perceptibly. Corlys didn't move, didn't squeeze her any tighter, just stood there, as if waiting for her to decide whether to accept his support. Her chest heaved convulsively. She pursed her lips, but tears welled up in her eyes again. And this time she didn't turn away, she just leaned her forehead against his shoulder, sighing softly and painfully.

Chapter Text

The great doors swung open with a thud, and the cold, stony breath of the hall enveloped Rhaenys. Ser Lorent, standing at the entrance, solemnly announced.

– Lord Corlys Velaryon, Hand of the Queen, Lord of the Tides, and Master of Driftmark. And his lady-wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.

The conversation that had been rolling dully around the table had instantly ceased. All heads turned to her. Every gaze was surprised, wary, and some downright suspicious. Even the flames in the lamps seemed to waver and freeze. Rhaenys felt her stomach tighten, but her step remained steady, confident. She walked as if the halls of this castle had always been her domain, as if she didn’t feel the tension cutting her lungs with each breath. She reached her seat, which Corlys had arranged in advance, explaining to her exactly where she should sit. His light touch on her back, almost imperceptible to the others but palpable to her, was the signal to stop. She bowed her head to the queen, restrained, though her chest was rumbling. Inside Rhaenys pulsed a blind desire to kill this girl with her bare hands, to tear her apart for all she had taken. But outwardly she remained impenetrable. Corlys meanwhile had come around the table, his new insignia of Hand flashing in the torchlight as he took his seat directly across from her.

– What happened to Ser Darklyn? – his voice was calm, but there was steel in it. Rhaenyra led with her shoulder, her hands tightening on the back of her chair.

– He tried to master the dragon, – she said shortly. – And he died.

Corlys frowned, his expression betraying surprise.

– For what? – his voice was more reproach than question. Rhaenyra took a breath, her gaze sweeping over the faces of the crowd, seeking support.

– We need riders. Darklyns have Valyrian blood. He volunteered to try.

The hall was noisy again, several voices speaking at once, but Lord Broome was the loudest. He rested his palm on the table and leaned forward.

– If Princess Rhaenys is with us again, – his words sounded like a challenge. – She can take a new dragon.

All eyes turned sharply to her again. Rhaenys felt her insides go cold. For a moment she froze, her heart pounding so loudly it was pounding in her temples.

– That’s not the best idea, – she answered slowly, with a polished restraint that hid the storm behind it.

– Why not? – Broome asked sharply, as if he were truly hurt by her refusal. His dark eyes stared at her, waiting for an explanation.

Rhaenys wanted to say something, but the words stuck. She couldn’t say out loud that she didn’t even remember her own dragon, let alone claim another. Her chest tightened as if the entire hall was looking right through her, seeing her weakness. Suddenly, a voice saved her.

– Because losing a dragon is hard! – Baela snapped, her young face burning with emotion, her eyes blazing with fire. – It’s not easy to get into the saddle like a horse. It’s a wound that never heals. It’s not for you, sir, to judge who gets to ride a dragon again, or when.

The hall fell silent. Lord Broome leaned back in his chair, his jaw clenched in displeasure, and then fell silent. Rhaenys looked at her granddaughter, at this small fire that was rushing against the older men, protecting her. Inside, Rhaenys felt a strange sense of gratitude and shame building. She, the old princess who should have fought back herself, had to remain silent, for she had nothing to say. She only glanced at Baela, and she seemed to understand the silent sign. Rhaenyra clenched her fingers so hard that her knuckles turned pale.

– I don’t know what to do. Green`s army marches through our lands, and we sit here on this cursed island, trapped! – a murmur ran through the hall. Some lords nodded, others spoke in unison.

– You must go to Prince Daemon, – Lord Celtigar stood up. – He cannot stand aside while the enemy burns our homes!

– Yes, – Broome agreed. – You must stand by your husband, Your Majesty.

Rhaenys sat silently, waiting, like a predator in the shadows. She watched each one carefully, studying their faces, their intonations, the way the lords bowed to Rhaenyra, less out of respect than out of desire for power. The queen glanced at the table, at the hands clasped in the lock, then back at her councilors. With each word, her teeth clenched tighter. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.

– Enough! – Rhaenyra’s voice struck like a whip. – Ser Broome, go to Daemon. Tell him I order him to return.

Broome straightened up triumphantly, as if he had been waiting for this for a long time. He gave a short bow and was about to leave. Rhaenys tilted her head slightly, her gaze unwavering, but something coldly clenched inside. Sending him… Wasn’t that a reckless decision? She knew Rhaenyra wanted to get rid of his annoying speeches, and the choice was more a matter of convenience than strategy. But before anyone could say more, the door flew open. A guard ran into the hall, breathing heavily from his haste.

– Your Majesty! – he bowed and hesitated for a moment, not daring to immediately utter the news.

– Say, – Rhaenyra ordered, wearily but sharply.

– They’ve spotted Seasmoke over Driftmark, – he finally managed. Corlys barely suppressed a wry smile and leaned back in his chair.

– It’s a common thing, – he said calmly. The guard blinked, swallowing.

– He has a rider, my lord, – the silence fell so heavy that the pitch in the lamps could be heard cracking. All heads turned to one another, their eyes reflecting confusion.

– A rider? – Rhaenyra repeated, slowly rising. – Who?

– You can’t see it from the ground, Your Majesty, – the guard lowered his head even lower. – But they say… that it’s one of the Lord Hand’s sailors.

Rhaenyra took a sharp breath and straightened, her voice becoming commanding, even harsh.

– Saddle Syrax. Now.

She grabbed the hem of her dress and rushed to the exit. The servants rushed to carry out the order. The hall was buzzing again. Rhaenys felt a wave of cold anxiety rise. And then her gaze caught Corlys. His face, usually impenetrable, changed for a moment. First genuine surprise, then embarrassment, almost confusion, and finally a guilty, almost shy look down. Like a boy caught doing something forbidden. No one would have seen it from the outside, but Rhaenys saw it and didn`t understand. What was this man hiding? Why did this news strike him so? Corlys stood up. His movements were measured, but something restless flickered in his eyes.

– With all due respect to Lord Corlys, commoners cannot ride dragons, – Lord Celtigar said, pouring himself a glass of wine. – What do you say, Lord Hand?

– We`ll listen to the queen, – he said evenly, almost dryly. – She`ll decide.

He didn’t even wait for a reaction. He turned and walked towards the exit, cutting off the thread of argument before it could flare up. Rhaenys had already taken a step to follow when she was stopped.

– Princess, – everyone turned to her. Their faces were wary, with a hint of anxiety. – You`ve been a rider for decades, what do you say? Such a phenomenon can sow doubt among the people. If a peasant can ride a dragon, then how are we, the blood houses, any different?

Rhaenys stood still, her gaze sliding over the faces of the lords. She felt their impatience, fear, resentment. They waited for confirmation of their words, for condemnation. But she had no intention of giving them that.

– You`re mistaken, – she began quietly, and the silence fell instantly. – It isn`t the rider who chooses the dragon, – someone wanted to interrupt, but she raised a hand, silencing them. Her voice became icy. – And it isn`t the lords who decide who has the right to fly. It`s the dragons who decide.

Her words echoed along the stone walls, leaving a deep mark in the silence. From somewhere on the edge, she heard a soft, almost proud exhale. It was Baela. Her lips curved into a smile, her eyes shining. Rhaenys glanced sideways and met Corlys's eyes. He was already standing at the door, pausing to look at her. There was pride and a cheerful spark in his gaze. Rhaenys turned away from the hall and headed for the exit. Her dress rustled on the stone, and muffled voices continued to echo behind her for a long time. When she stepped out into the cool corridor, Corlys pushed away from the wall and immediately moved beside her. He didn't say a word, but his smile, barely noticeable, almost defiant, said more than any explanation could. Rhaenys only raised an eyebrow, looking at him. Anxieties still throbbed inside. What was he hiding from me? And why was that look... so familiar? She hardly took her eyes off him as she walked beside him: he walked steadily, his footsteps echoing off the walls, but she could see his shoulders tense a little, his hand occasionally sliding along his belt, as if he was searching for the hilt of sword.

– Take me to the Dragonpit, – she finally said, when she could no longer remain silent. Her voice was firm, even stern. Corlys flinched slightly, but he answered in an even tone.

– You’d better ask Baela. She knows these moves and dragons better than me, – he glanced at her sideways. – You taught her yourself.

– I want you to do it, – Rhaenys interrupted, her eyes flashing with cold fire.

He pressed his lips together. As if he wanted to say something, but the words stuck. In the end, he just nodded, and they walked on. The silence between them grew like mist over the sea. It was hard for her not to remember a part of her life, not to know how to deal with him. But it was even harder to bear his silence. He walked as if made of stone, as if trying to hide his own thoughts. When they reached the exit to the caves, the guards met them. The men bowed their heads low, but a shadow of doubt flickered in their eyes. The air of the caves was thick, heavy, imbued with the sharp, tart spirit of the dragons who had lived here for generations. The stone breathed with warmth, even in the darkness the presence of the beasts was felt, their heavy snorting and the distant echo of their movements.

– Take us to my cave, – one of the guards looked up, as if he couldn't believe his ears.

– But, princess, your dragon… she’s dead, – Rhaenys stopped and slowly turned to face him. Her voice cut through the air like a blade.

– I know. But the cave remains.

The warden lowered his head in embarrassment, muttering an apology. Then he nodded to the other, and they moved forward, leading them down. The smell grew heavier. The air was bitter with old ash, the metallic taste of soot and animal breath. In the darkness, the dragons moved faintly, a low snort, the click of claws on stone, the hoarse rustling as they rolled in their sleep. Rhaenys walked confidently, her eyes fixed on the dark arches ahead. But she could feel her husband tense. Corlys tried to walk with dignity, but his fingers reached for his belt again, for his dagger, his eyes darting into the darkness, catching ghostly movements. She couldn’t help but notice how he quickened his pace a little, to get past the particularly dark places more quickly. He was afraid of them. And this vulnerability, so unlike his usually indomitable appearance, moved her more than she would like to admit. He was a tall, proud man, accustomed to facing danger, but here, amidst the smell of sulfur and the distant roars of dragons, his confidence was cracking. He didn’t want to show his fear, but it was obvious to her. Finally, they reached it and stopped. The cave was empty. The silence in it seemed even thicker than in the rest of the pit. Only the faint smell of sulfur and burnt stone held the memory of its former ruler.

– Leave us, – Rhaenys told the guards.

They bowed their heads and retreated, leaving them alone in a deep silence, broken only by the distant creaking of chains and the low humming of other caves. She stepped deeper. Bone fragments, large and small, the marks of past meals crunched under her feet. The stone under her palms was rough and warm, in places covered with cracks left by claws. She walked slowly, running her fingers along the walls.

– Meleys…– she whispered. And the sound of her voice bounced off the walls of the cave in a dull echo.

She walked on, touching the stone with her palms as if searching for something. Maybe a memory, maybe the warmth that had once been here. Each step she took echoed across the wasteland. Corlys was silent. He didn’t move, standing at the entrance, but she could feel his presence. His figure was a dark silhouette against the flickering torchlight. He wanted to move further away from this darkness, to escape, but he stayed. Because she was here. Rhaenys walked further, where the floor was darker from ash, and crouched down, running her hand over the charred stones. Her fingers absorbed the warmth of the past years. She closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of sulfur, trying to feel something more. The silence was oppressive. Only the distant echo of dragon cries reminded her that the world around her was alive. Rhaenys stopped in the middle of the cave. She closed her eyes again and bowed her head. The silence, the smell of ash and stone, the heavy air – it all weighed on her, but at the same time it brought back pieces of what she had lost. She straightened up and ran her hand along the wall one last time, as if saying goodbye. Then she turned toward the exit. Corlys stood there. His face was in shadow, but she could see how he was swallowing hard, how hard it was for him here. And yet he never took his eyes off her. She walked slowly toward him, and as she approached, he unconsciously reached out to steady her. Rhaenys didn`t pull away. On the contrary, she let him. And for a moment it seemed to her that this strange man, so clumsy among dragons, was the only one keeping her afloat right now. Suddenly something clicked in her chest. Memory. It rolled over her like a wave sweeping her off her feet.

She appeared before her eyes, a girl of thirteen, thin and too stubborn for her age. That night she had sneaked into the Dragon's Lair, her heart beating so loudly that it seemed that it would be heard all over King's Landing. Every shadow then seemed alive, every sound of a guard's footsteps, about to grab her by the hand. But fear didn`t stop her. Only one desire burned in her chest, to prove that she was no worse, no weaker than anyone. She saw Meleys. Then the dragon seemed to her like a giant red mountain, moving and exhaling smoke. Her heart pounded in her throat, but her legs carried her forward on their own. She stretched out her hand, her fingers trembling, and touched the hot scales. And at that moment Meleys opened her eyes. Yellow, burning, but not at all evil. She tilted her head, and Rhaenys felt that she was accepted. Then she remembered another picture. How she had sat in the saddle in her wedding dress. The red fabrics fluttered in the wind, her heart pounded with anticipation, and Meleys felt her every breath. The dragon was strength, freedom, a soul that had merged with her own. That picture changed abruptly. That terrible moment was in her eyes again. Fire, screams, the roar of battle. And the teeth, like giant blocks, closed on Meleys's neck. The crack of cartilage and bone could be heard even through the roar of war. Her beast, her heart, was torn to pieces before her eyes. The memory rolled so hard that she staggered. Her breathing became ragged, her mouth convulsively opening and closing, like that of a fish thrown ashore.

– Rhaenys! – Corlys's voice cut through the fog. He was near, the alarm sounded in every word. – What happened?

She gasped for air and could barely speak.

– I remembered... Meleys. And the battle again... I need to... sit down.

She sank down on the stone, her back to the cold wall. Her breathing hadn`t yet evened out, her heart still beating like a captive bird. Corlys hesitated for a moment, then with a soft sigh, he sank heavily beside her. His movements betrayed the pain in his leg. They sat shoulder to shoulder, but there was a tiny space between them, like a boundary that no one had yet dared to cross. Rhaenys tilted her head and asked softly, wanting to switch.

– What’s wrong with your leg? – Corlys didn’t answer right away. His eyes stared off into the darkness of the cave, as if he too had seen his own ghosts. Finally, he said.

– I was on the Step Stones not long ago, before this war began. I was almost killed, – he smiled through the pain, weak but sincere.

– You’re a living being, Corlys, – he finally looked at her. And there wasn`t only weariness in his gaze, but also something soft.

– I cling to life, – he said slowly, almost in a whisper. – Like a sailor clings to the wreckage of a ship after a storm. Because I must return to you.

He reached out and took her hand. His fingers were rough, warm. He leaned down and kissed her hand, holding his lips to her skin for a long time, as if he were afraid she would disappear if he let go. Rhaenys froze. She felt his warmth, his strength, and for the first time in a long time, the pain in her chest receded a little. In the silence of the cave, time seemed to stand still. Rhaenys slowly, almost timidly, succumbed to weakness. She leaned her head on his shoulder. Corlys didn`t move, as if afraid of scaring this fragile moment. And it was this stillness that allowed her to relax. His shoulder was strangely comfortable, like a stone polished by the sea, against which you could press yourself and feel that the storm was no longer so terrible. Her body, still tense from the memories, gradually began to melt. The tears that had frozen on her eyelashes dried in the warmth of his presence. Her breathing evened out, her anxiety receded. She sat there, listening to his breathing. It was even, deep, almost soothing. And with each passing moment, she felt an invisible cocoon envelop her again, the same one she had woken up in this morning. There was no fear in this cocoon, no pain from loss. There was only this man nearby, and the peace he gave, even silently. Her hair lay on his shoulder, sliding down his arm. Somewhere deep in her heart, a feeling arose that this touch was right, natural, as if it had always been this way. She allowed herself to close her eyes and simply breathe with him. Her body was finally at rest, not fighting the pain or seeking escape. Corlys only held her hand in his. Rhaenys felt the tension in her fingers fall away, as they relaxed of their own accord in his hand. They remained like that for a while, in complete silence. And there was something almost sacred in this simplicity, like a tiny island in a stormy sea that belonged only to them. But the peace wasn`t eternal. Thoughts, like waves, began to beat against the shore of her consciousness again. She slowly opened her eyes and, without taking her head off his shoulder, spoke. Her voice sounded quiet, but deep down there was a crack, painful and sincere.

– I don’t understand, – her words were slow, as if she was afraid to say them out loud. – Why I can’t remember anything about you.

She paused for a moment, peering into the darkness of the cave, where the shadows played with her gaze. Fragments of memories flickered in her head like shards of glass: childhood, the voices of children, the pain of loss, flying on a dragon, the taste of the wind. But none of these fragments formed the image of the man on whose shoulder she now rested her head.

– I’m collecting fragments…– she whispered, squeezing his hand, as if seeking confirmation of reality. – But you’re not among them. There’s none.

Her chest tightened at this admission. She saw his face every day. His gaze, full of anxiety and tenderness. His silent strength that had protected her all along. And yet her memory was silent. It was as if someone had cut him out of all her past lives, leaving a void where there should have been a whole story. She sighed softly. She still ached inside, but next to him, the pain had become softer, more bearable. And even though she had no memory of him, her heart felt that he belonged to her life. Corlys slowly looked away into the darkness of the cave, swallowing the silence. His voice, when he spoke, was low and a little hoarse, as if he had had to swallow his own pain before he could speak.

– I wish I knew how to help you… – he paused, squeezing her fingers in his palm. –  But I’m powerless here.

His confession wasn`t loud, but it echoed through the cave with a heavy echo that made Rhaenys shiver. She slowly raised her head, looking at him sideways. His profile was illuminated by the ghostly glow of the torch at the entrance: the lines around his eyes deepened, his brow furrowed. This was a man who had weathered too many storms, and yet he looked vulnerable now.

– Everything will return, – he continued, and his voice had that assurance she had begun to recognize, even though she didn’t remember the past. – We just have to wait.

The words fell on her heart like a warm cloak on a cold evening. And though she knew the waiting might be torture, that the memories might never return, there was so much faith in his voice that for a moment she wanted to believe it too. She dropped her head back onto his shoulder. Her body relaxed again, and this time she allowed herself to breathe in his scent of salt, sea, and a touch of iron, familiar and yet foreign.

– You’re hiding something from me, – her voice was quiet, but there was steel in it, the same steel that had probably once made her fearsome to her enemies and unyielding to her allies.

Corlys shivered slightly beneath her head, and the tremor didn`t escape Rhaenys’s notice. His shoulders, still strong and unyielding, tensed as if an invisible weight had fallen on them with a new weight. He didn`t move away, didn`t try to move her head, but the silence that had arisen between them became thick, heavy, almost suffocating. His fingers, which had been resting calmly on top of her palm, clenched slightly, as if he were about to say something, and then they unclasped, allowing her hand to remain free. Rhaenys looked up slowly, though her head never left his shoulder. Her eyes gleamed in the dim light, searching his face for some kind of answer. He sat too straight, too still, and it was that stillness that gave him away.

– Corlys…– she stared at him. – I see the way you act. Do you think I don’t feel it? That I don’t see your eyes? You’re always tense. And now, too.

He exhaled slowly, as if the exhale were harder than any words. His jaw clenched, muscles rolling under his skin. He remained silent. But silence was the worst answer of all. Rhaenys felt her heart begin to pound harder, and a single question throbbed in her head: what was he hiding from me? Her fingers slid up of their own accord, touching his chest, where she had recently pinned the sign of the Hand. She felt Corlys’s heart beating as fast as her own. It wasn’t indifference. It was something else. Something big, dark, and terrible that he held inside.

– Tell me, – she whispered, and for the first time there was a pleading note in her voice, fragile and unfamiliar to her. – If I mean something to you… tell me.

Corlys didn’t answer right away. His head tilted forward a little, and he closed his eyes, as if he were hesitating between confession and silence. And then, he only squeezed her hand tighter, so that you could feel the warmth of his palm and the trembling inside.

– There are things, – he said finally, low and hoarse. – That can break you even more than losing your memory.

He stopped, and his voice disappeared into the darkness of the cave, leaving behind a deaf emptiness. The cave was quieter than ever. Rhaenys lifted her head from his shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. She was pale, but her voice was firm.

– It couldn’t be worse, Corlys. I want to hear.

He closed his eyes and didn’t open them for a long time, as if he were dragging out a moment that was burning him from the inside. Finally, he exhaled so deeply that it seemed as if the air had been ripped from his chest.

– I… have made many mistakes in my life, – the words came out slowly, as if they were difficult to wrest from his very heart. – And I regret them all the most to you, – Rhaenys listened intently. He didn’t look at her, only held onto her hand as if she were the only anchor that kept him from drowning. – I’ll understand if, when you remember everything, you want nothing to do with me.

She felt a chill run down her spine. It sounded like a sentence. But she didn’t interrupt him. She just waited patiently, although inside she was already clenching in anticipation. Corlys finally met her gaze. His eyes were full of pain, shame, and something else, a vulnerability she had never seen in him.

– I betrayed you, Rhaenys, – he said quietly, but each word fell like a stone. What she heard hit her harder than any memory of loss or defeat. Her gaze, soft a moment ago, opened sharply and attentively, as if she was trying to make sure he really said it. – I have two bastards, – she took a while to make sense of. Her head was spinning. And when she did, her heart seemed to stop. Corlys hurried, as if he was afraid that if he was silent for even a moment, she would leave. – Allyn works on my ships. You learned about him before the battle… Adam… he worked at the docks. And now, it seems, he is… Rhaenyra’s new rider.

His words hung in the air like thunder without a flash of lightning. Rhaenys sat still, her face set in stone. A storm raged inside. Anger, resentment, surprise, and a strange coldness that enveloped her from within, forcing her to wait, like a judge passing sentence. Corlys tilted his head, avoiding her gaze.

– This is my greatest sin. And my greatest fear. When you remember everything… you`ll hate me forever.

His voice trailed off again. And once again, only their breathing remained in the cave. The cave where Meleys had once dozed seemed even darker. The charred walls and bones on the floor echoed this confession, as if the dragons themselves were listening. She wanted to rise, scream, strike him, but instead she sat motionless, her fingers clenched into fists.

– So, – her voice was cold, almost shrill, though inside she was seething. – You sat by my side all these days, watching me try to remember something, and you didn’t say a word?

He tilted his head in acknowledgement.

– I was afraid, – he admitted honestly. – Afraid that when the truth came back to you, you would leave me forever.

Her heart trembled with mixed feelings. She turned away into the darkness of the cave so he wouldn’t see the tear glint on her eyelash. Suddenly, a flash of image flashed through Rhaenys’ mind. A simple but vivid image. The day she first returned to Driftmark after everything, and went down to the docks for the first time. She had been confused, alienated, looking at the world as if through a fog. And among the crowd of sailors stood a boy. He stared longer than was customary. Stared in a way that made her uncomfortable at the time. It was as if he recognized something more in her than she could see for herself. She realized only now that he resembled Corlys. Not in manner, not in gait, but in the line of his jaw, in the expression of his eyes, in the quiet fire that burned behind their gaze. And now it became clear why he looked at her like that. Rhaenys turned to the man. She felt her body tense, the air in her chest becoming heavier than stone.

– I need to be alone, – she said quietly but firmly.

Corlys held his breath. His eyes flashed with pain, and a line appeared at the corners of his mouth that she had never seen before. He wanted to answer, but he couldn’t find the words. He just nodded slowly. He stood up heavily, looked at her again, as if he were leaving her alone not only with the darkness of the cave, but also with the weight of the truth he had just placed on her shoulders. And he left without looking back. His footsteps died down the long corridor, and with each blow of his boot against the stone Rhaenys was getting colder. Finally, there was silence. Real, deep, the kind in which only one could hear one’s own breathing. The darkness of the cave enveloped her like a black shroud. The stone was cold behind her, and there was still a faint smell of smoke and ash in the air, as if Meleys’s shadow still lived here. Rhaenys clasped her knees in her hands and closed her eyes. She didn't know whether she was shivering more, from the cold or from the memories beginning to burst through the walls of her own heart.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys walked the streets of Spicetown with her head held high, though the storm still raged within. Her footsteps echoed on the cobblestones, and the city responded to her presence. People stopped in their business – fishermen with baskets, women with children, vendors at their stalls, and bowed their heads. She walked with a dignity that was as natural to her as breathing. Her path led to the docks. The familiar smell of tar, wind and sea, the shouts of sailors, and the creaking of wood surrounded her as if she had never left this place. She paused on the high stone steps that led down, and her gaze swept over the living picture. Ships that had just come out of repair were preparing to raise sails, porters carried barrels, sailors sang and twisted ropes. Other ships stood near the shore, still scarred by battles, carpenters worked on their decks, hammering fresh wood into the holes where they had been left. Hundreds of hands, dozens of voices, and all together it was a living force, the pulse of the Driftmark. Rhaenys's eyes suddenly caught sight of one ship among them all – the largest, proudest, with tall masts reaching into the sky. She couldn`t mistake it. Even from a distance, it radiated grandeur and power. It could only be the «Sea Snake». She moved down, step by step, each step seeming heavier than the last. Her heart beat faster, her hands involuntarily clenched into fists. She didn`t take her eyes off this giant. And then, as she drew closer, she saw... On the side, in the golden glare of the sun, large letters shone: «Queen Rhaenys». She stopped, as if she had crashed into a wall. The air suddenly left her chest. On the bow of the ship she saw a sculpture. A woman, her own image, carved from wood and gilded so that it seemed about to come to life. Her hair fluttered in the wind, in her hands she clutched a crown, as if challenging the sky and the sea at the same time. Rhaenys's breath caught. Her throat went dry, her eyes stung. It was like meeting her own ghost – majestic, immortal, who she had once been and who, perhaps, should always be. Her heart trembled with a mixture of feelings: pride, sadness, pain and some incomprehensible tenderness. A sudden cry broke Rhaenys from her stupor. She shuddered and turned, a familiar young man was running towards her in a hurry. His dark hair was sticky with sweat, his face was flushed, and his eyes were shining with joy.

– Myken, – she blurted out, and smiled faintly. He stopped awkwardly in front of her, shifting from foot to foot, and bowed uncertainly.

– Princess, – he muttered, but his voice wasn`t so much formal as sincere admiration.

– What are you doing here? – she asked, peering at him. Myken, as if waiting for this very question, blossomed into a smile.

– My parents agreed! – he said almost solemnly. – It was difficult to persuade them, very difficult, but… now I’m training to be a soldier! – he straightened his shoulders and even tried to show a new posture, even, taut, as befits a warrior. She didn't show it, but inside she felt sorry for this boy. Boys were so proud and in a hurry to become warriors, but they didn't think about the fact that warriors don't live long. His voice rang with pride, and this involuntarily made Rhaenys smile again, warmer. – And here I was visiting my father. He works here now, at the docks.

– And your mother? And brother? – she asked quietly. Myken smiled broadly, proud of his family.

– Mother works at the castle now. Didn’t you know, your grace? – he looked at her with a hint of surprise, even suspicion, and Rhaenys felt her cheeks heat up. Shame gripped her, but she quickly hid it behind a calm mask.

– I was on another island. For a long time, – the words came out too quickly, almost in a jerky manner, but Myken, fortunately, didn’t ask questions. Although his gaze slid over her, as if trying to understand something, his lips never opened to ask questions. He just nodded, as if keeping his thoughts to himself.

– My brother is helping mother, – he finally added, more gently. – And how is your memory, princess?

– It’s coming back little by little, – she said quietly, choosing her words carefully. – Not all at once. But step by step.

She forced herself to meet his gaze again. And saw sincere hope there.

– That’s good, – Myken exhaled with relief, and warmth flared in his eyes.

His simplicity and faith melted something in her. For a moment, she felt not a princess, not a wife, not a woman torn between memory and oblivion, but simply a person to whom a strange but sincere soul was drawn. And the feeling was almost unbearably sweet. Myken, so chirpy and enthusiastic a few minutes ago, suddenly seemed to remember something. He looked back at the noise of the docks and spoke quickly.

– You must be busy, your grace… and I’m just holding you up, – his voice had the shyness of a teenager who doesn’t know how to say goodbye to a noble lady. Rhaenys tilted her head slightly, trying to be gentler.

– I’m looking for my husband. Haven’t you seen him? – Myken nodded so quickly that strands of hair fell across his forehead.

– He’s on his ship, – the boy explained, bowing hastily again, almost awkwardly. – Excuse me, I must go.

And without waiting for an answer, he turned and almost ran back into the hustle and bustle of the docks. His figure quickly disappeared among the crowd of sailors, ropes and loaders. Rhaenys was left alone, staring at the huge body of the ship. She felt everything turning inside. She hadn`t seen him for a long time. After the conversation in the caves, he had to return to Driftmark, and she preferred to stay on Dragonstone. She needed to think. Days of silence, separation and a lingering emptiness that only irritated her own thoughts. And now... now she didn`t know what to say to him. Her chest rose and fell heavily, she took a deep breath, trying to find strength, and took a step forward. The ship rose above her like a mountain. The legendary «Sea Snake», or rather «Queen Rhaenys», as the inscription in gold letters on the side suggested, shone for her with something more than wood and sails. He was his will, his passion, his reflection. And now the path to him. She stepped onto the gangway. The planks swayed under her feet, but she walked firmly, as if pushed by some invisible force. Step by step she approached the deck, and her heart beat louder, more painfully. When she stepped onto the wooden planks of the deck, the smell of tar, sea, and wind immediately hit her nose. She stopped, looked around. The sailors were working, lifting loads, moving barrels, uncoiling ropes. They all stopped for a moment to pay her respects with a short bow, and then returned to their work. Her gaze slid forward and stopped. He was standing there. Their eyes met. And something, very quick and profound, flashed in his gaze. Like a flash of lightning in the dark sea. He froze for only a moment, then moved toward her. His posture, as always, confident and proud, but there was something more about it, a restrained tension, an expectation. Rhaenys couldn`t look away. It seemed to her that even the air between them was electrified, as if the sea itself had held its breath. He stopped just a few steps from her, and silence hung between them. It was so thick that it seemed like a little while longer, and you could feel it with your fingers. All the sounds around them – the cries of sailors, the roar of the waves, the creak of ropes, receded, became a dim background. Only this silence remained, tense, trembling. Rhaenys looked at him, and a thousand feelings struggled within her. Resentment, distrust, pain. But something else, just as strong, dangerous. Need. The need to know that he was near. Because in this strange world, he had become the most stable thing for her. Even though she didn't remember him, she had gotten used to him being around. He looked at her as if trying to read her thoughts, to open all the locks that memory, or the lack of it, had placed between them. His eyes darkened and soft shadows fell on his face, making it even deeper, even heavier for her. She didn’t know who would be the first to break this silence. Whether he would say something, or she. But now, in this moment, she wished the words would never come. That there would be only this, their gazes, their hearts, their history hanging between them, invisible, unspeakable. Corlys was the first to break the silence. His voice was low but steady, as if he had been thinking about these words for a long time.

– I didn’t think you would come, – the phrase hung between them like an anchor thrown into the sea that doesn’t immediately hit the bottom. Rhaenys pursed her lips, and something flickered in her eyes, wavering between resentment and flight.

– Then I guess I’d better go, – she said calmly, and started to move. But his hand reached out, stopping her. Not roughly, but almost carefully. His fingers rested on her wrist, warm and strong.

– Wait, – Corlys said quietly. – What happened?

Rhaenys turned slowly to him, a cold smile as thin as a dagger’s edge on her face.

– Does anything have to happen for me to want to see my husband? – his eyes narrowed. He stared at her intently, as if trying to find hidden meaning in every feature of her face, in the slightest movement of her lips. As if searching there for the answer to all the questions that tormented him more than wars and defeats.

– Did you… remember something? – he asked finally, and his voice was filled with impatient hope. Rhaenys shook her head.

– No.

– But your sharpness hasn’t gone away, – he said, allowing himself a smile. She hurried to change the subject. Her eyes slid over the curves of the deck, over the sails, and settled on the gleam of letters stamped on the side.

– I thought your ship was called the «Sea Snake», – she said evenly. He raised his eyebrows as if he had been expecting that.

– It used to be. But I decided it was time to change the name. The «Sea Snake» is in honor of my merits. And this ship deserves a worthier name, – Rhaenys was silent for a few seconds, staring at him. Something vague, painful and sweet at the same time, tightened in her chest. Finally, she turned away and said dryly, but with the same poisonous grace that had always been her weapon.

– You should have your head cut off for this, – he laughed.

– You still can't wait, can you?

She didn't answer. There was another pause between them. Their eyes met again, and in those few seemingly calm seconds there was a storm – old wounds that had not yet healed, and at the same time a thread that pulled them together, despite everything. It seemed that the whole world had narrowed down again to only two hearts that stubbornly refused to lose each other. Rhaenys turned her gaze into the distance so as not to catch his gaze, carefully broke the silence.

–  I met Myken. He looked... happy, – Corlys smiled faintly. His voice was softer than it had been a moment ago.

–  The boy has abilities, – Rhaenys turned her gaze to him, narrowed her eyes, and asked coldly.

–  And who did you set up his mother for?

–  She works in the kitchen, – they fell silent again, the waves seeming to be the only sound filling the silence. –  How are things on Dragonstone?

–  Rhaenyra has found herself three new riders, –  her voice was almost mocking. –  A blacksmith from the capital for Vermithor. A drunkard and a fool for Silverwing. And a girl from Driftmark for Sheepstealer, –  she pursed her lips and added with venom. –  Isn’t that your daughter by any chance?

Corliss met her gaze. His face was impenetrable, but there was something sharp, almost insulting in his eyes.

–  No. You know about all of them.

Her gaze didn’t move, she stared at him as if she wanted to read the lie, to force it out. But there was no wavering in his tone. He said it too firmly. Rhaenys tilted her head, her fingers gliding along the ship’s rail. Her voice was calm, but behind the evenness was tension.

–  I heard you're sailing towards the blockade, –  Corlys nodded, his hands resting on the shipboard.

–  The ship will be ready in four days, –  he said it almost casually, though his eyes lit up with the eager light they always had when it came to the sea.

–  Are you glad? –  she asked with a faint sneer. –  Glad to be back to being what you always were. A Sea Snake who can’t live on land.

He turned to her, and something deeper than a simple smile flickered in his eyes.

–  The sea will always call to me, – his voice boomed like low thunder. –  I thought the Step Stones would be my last war. I thought it would be enough. But…– he paused, leaning closer. – You`ll always call to me louder than the sea.

Her eyebrows shot up. A wry smile stretched her lips, though her chest tightened at the words.

– Really? – her voice was sharp. – A strange loyalty, for a man who had betrayed me.

Corlys flinched as if expecting a blow, but he held her gaze.

– It was a mistake, – he said dully, finding his words with difficulty. – A foolishness for which I paid every day. But there was no love in that, Rhaenys. You`re the only woman I have ever loved. And the only one I`ll love until my last breath.

Her smile faded, leaving only a cold mask.

– I don’t believe you, – she said quietly but firmly.

Silence stretched between them like a tight rope. Rhaenys felt two voices tearing at her inside: one screaming that he was a liar and a traitor, the other that his words were too desperate to be made up. She remembered nothing, but something incomprehensible, wild and painful, pulled her towards him. She turned away so he wouldn’t see the weakness glimmering in her eyes, and swallowed the lump in her throat. Rhaenys stood rooted to the spot, staring into the dark blue distance, where sea and sky merged into one endless line. The horizon swayed as if teasing her, promising something far and unattainable. She didn’t know what she had expected when she came here. It was foolish, but there was no answer. Only a weight pressing on her chest, and the taste of salt on her lips, whether from the wind or from her own thoughts. Corlys was silent too. Only his presence pressed on her, felt through every nerve, every vein. She could hear him breathing a few steps away, the creaking of the deck planks under her feet. This silence was worse than any words. Finally, she took a deep breath and clenched her fingers on the cold wood of the shipboard.

– I guess it’s time for me…– she said quietly, as if admitting defeat. But he stopped her. His voice, low and tired, cut through the silence, made her freeze.

– I don’t know when or with whom, – he said slowly, as if weighing each word. – But there will be a battle soon. I feel it in my old sailor’s bones, – she tensed. The words felt too much like goodbye. – And if anything happens…– he paused, and she felt her heart pounding louder. – I don’t want it to end like this.

Everything inside her tightened into a tight knot. She didn’t remember his love. She didn’t remember their years together, their memories. She only knew his betrayal, his bastards, the death of their children. But even with that baggage, the very thought that he might die and disappear from her life made her feel sick, as if the ground had been ripped out from under her feet. She braced herself against the side of the ship and kept her eyes on the sea, afraid that if she looked at him, she would betray her own fear. And he continued, quietly, almost pleadingly.

– If you don’t want this either… then give me another chance, – the words fell on her like a heavy burden. Did he really believe that the past could be fixed? That a few phrases and attempts would be enough to erase the betrayal and the pain? But she couldn't answer right away. Her heart was beating so loudly that it drowned out her own thoughts. – I'll wait for you at sunset, by the back steps of the Tide.

Rhaenys felt his gaze burn her back. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. The words stuck in her throat, and she remained silent, her face stone. Only her fingers gripped the side of the ship convulsively. She wanted to say, «No, don’t wait», and at the same time, «Yes, I’ll come». She wanted to run away, but she also wanted to stay. She was being torn in two. And she chose silence. Instead of answering, she straightened up and slowly walked toward the gangway, not looking at him. Each step echoed in her chest. The wind hit her face, tore at the hem of her cloak, and his words echoed inside. She got off the ship without looking back, and left him standing on the deck with the same look that kept her from breathing.

***

Rhaenys stood by the high window, leaning against the cold stone of the sill. Beyond the glass the sea burned golden-red, scattering long paths of light on the waves. The sun slowly tilted towards the horizon, and with each moment the sky grew darker, as if putting on a red veil. Below, under the walls of the Tide, Driftmark came alive with evening lights. Torches were lit by the docks, the streets of Spicetown were lit with the yellow flicker of lamps, and laughter and music came from distant taverns. Life flowed on, indifferent to her rupture, to the storm that tore her inside. Her thoughts returned to him again. She tried to weigh everything coldly, emotionlessly, as she always knew how to do. But her heart and mind wouldn`t obey. He said he loved her, and she saw something in his eyes that couldn't be faked – tenderness, pain, guilt. She remembered how he held her when she had nightmares, how his hand hid the tremors in her fingers, how he looked away when he talked about his mistakes, as if he were afraid of destroying her again. He was kind, reliable. He cared for her. But he was a stranger. Her memory stubbornly brought back only fragments. Children, coffins, burned bodies, the pain that had etched itself deeper in her than any words. Everything else was emptiness. No warmth. No story that should have connected them. And she didn't know what was worse: not remembering love or feeling that it didn't exist. She looked at the horizon and thought that somewhere out there, on the back steps of the Tide, he might already be waiting for her. Waiting just as he had before, only she didn’t remember it. She felt guilty for her own coldness. He looked at her with tenderness, he spoke to her as if she were still the woman he had loved all his life. And in that tenderness there wasn`t only pain but also hope. He seemed to believe that she would return to him. That memory and feelings would be reborn like fire from smoldering embers. But she couldn’t fool him. She didn’t love him. Not now. And she didn’t know if she ever would again. Her fingers mechanically touched the skin on her ring finger, where the wedding ring lay. A symbol of a promise she had once made, but now she couldn`t remember. And that made it even more painful. The sun was sinking lower and lower below the horizon. The lights of the city were growing brighter. And she stood, torn between the silence of her own chambers and the unknown that awaited her there, by the back stairs. She wanted to throw herself into that unknown. And at the same time, to escape from it forever. Rhaenys closed her eyes and for a moment allowed the memory to cover her completely.

The stones beneath them were still warm from the sun, the sea spread out like an endless canvas, and the clouds in the sky were faintly golden. The evening on Dragonstone was quiet, almost calm, despite the fact that the very earth there always breathed smoke and fire. Baela sat next to her, her knees drawn to her chest. Her dark eyes played with a stubbornness. The girl pulled a flask from her belt, as if it were something ordinary, and handed it to her. Rhaenys didn’t believe it at first. Her eyebrows shot up, she turned her head sharply and looked at the girl as if she had just suggested setting the castle on fire.

– You’re fourteen, – she said sternly. – And you dare offer me a drink?

Baela snorted, pushing a strand of hair from her forehead and raising her chin.

– Fourteen is enough to ride a dragon into war, – she said defiantly. – But not enough to take a sip?

There was bitterness in her voice, but also pride. She wanted to prove that she was an adult, that she was already one of those who made decisions, and not just followed orders. Rhaenys gently ran her fingers through her granddaughter’s hair, feeling the warmth of her head.

– If it were my will, – she said, more quietly than she intended. – You wouldn't fly off to any war. I would hide you in a high tower, away from all this hell.

Baela pursed her lips.

– We’ve talked about this before, – she said firmly. – I’m a dragon. Like my father. Like my mother. Like you. I can’t sit on the sidelines.

Her voice was filled with the same fire that burned in the Targaryen blood and in Rhaenys’s own heart. The princess sighed heavily. She took the flask from the girl’s hands and took a sip. The sharp liquid burned her throat, and she grimaced so hard that Baela couldn’t help but laugh.

– You’re just not used to it, – her granddaughter shrugged, and sipped from the same flask herself as if it were sweet milk. Rhaenys raised her eyebrows indignantly again.

– And you still dare to drink in front of me?

But Baela didn’t even glance back at her tone. She sat straight, staring out at the horizon, her profile reflecting the same indomitable strength that Daemon had, and at the same time the calm dignity that came from Rhaenys herself. Rhaenys snatched the flask from Baela’s hands with a swift movement, almost with irritation. The metal was warm, giving off the bitter smell of spiced rum to her palms.

– For that matter, – she said, her lips curling. – You look more like your grandfather than a Targaryen when you sip sailor’s rum.

Baela took up the subject instantly. A spark flashed in her eyes, and she straightened and leaned closer.

– So he’ll stop by before sailing? – Rhaenys froze for a moment. The words hung in the air like mist. Her fingers tightened their grip on the metal flask a little.

– Sailing? – she blurted out, and she knew immediately that she was burned. Baela narrowed her eyes, studying her closely, as if trying to read the truth from her face.

– So he didn’t tell you, – she said slowly.

– We…– Rhaenys waved her hand vaguely, pretending not to attach importance to it. – We haven’t spoken in days.

– Why? – Baela asked sharply. – Did you fight?

The girl’s voice sounded like a challenge, and Rhaenys felt herself falling into the same trap that every conversation with this stubborn girl set for her. Baela always wanted to know more than she was entitled to. The princess stared out into the horizon, clutching flask so tightly that the metal almost dug into her palm. The wind lifted strands of her hair, and she exhaled through clenched teeth.

– We didn’t fight, – at least that was partly true.

And, almost demonstratively, she took another sip of the burning rum to end the conversation. The hot liquid spilled over her chest, and she winced even more than the first time. Baela suddenly stopped, looking down at the dark water flowing beneath the rocky cliffs. Her usually lively voice now sounded quieter, almost hesitant.

– You know, grandma… I wish Jace and I could be like you and grandpa, – Rhaenys, who was about to take another sip of rum, almost choked. She quickly put down flask, narrowed her eyes, and asked incredulously.

– Why not like your parents? They… Did they love each other? – Baela sighed. Her hair fluttered in the wind like flames, and her face was serious, not at all childish.

– They did, – she answered quietly but confidently. – But… not like that– she paused, choosing words, and then continued, looking off into the distance, as if she saw their home before her, which was no longer there. – Father loved Rhaenyra all his life. It was always clear. He cared for mother, loved her in his own way, but not with the love she deserved. He was a good husband for her… but she was never the only one for him.

Rhaenys fell silent. Her fingers mechanically twisted the flask, and for a moment she felt the weight of those words.

– Then why not like Rhaenyra and Daemon? – she asked quietly. Baela shook her head.

– It’s not the same, – she said with a stubbornness so much like her own in her youth that Rhaenys almost smiled. – Their love is fierce, yes. But it’s more like a fire that can burn. They’re happy, but there’s always something destructive about their love. And I don’t want that. I want it like you and grandpa had it. You were always together. He always treated you as an equal. And he always did everything for you. Even when he left you for his wars. All his treasures were always for you.

Rhaenys turned away abruptly, hiding the tightness in her chest. She smiled bitterly, staring at the horizon where the sun still hung above the sea.

– You’re too young to see only bright colors, – she said coldly. – Believe me, it’s not as sweet as you think.

Baela pursed her lips but didn’t answer. There was so much childish stubbornness and faith in her eyes that Rhaenys felt a sudden tenderness. She ran her hand through her granddaughter’s hair. Rhaenys felt a strange unease rise in her soul, for if her granddaughter saw their life as perfect, then perhaps she had felt it too. Could this love, which she no longer remembered, really have been so strong that it was worth envying? She took another sip of rum to hide her own excitement. Baela, a little embarrassed, looked down at the dark waves crashing against the rocks. Her voice was quiet but firm.

– Grandfather will soon sail to the blockade.

The words hung between them like an icy breath of wind. Rhaenys didn’t answer. Her face remained impenetrable, but something inside her tightened sharply. A cold wave of anxiety rose: the thought of him going to sea again, perhaps for the last time, was unbearable. Why am I worried? Why is my heart trembling so much? Baela looked up and looked at her intently. There was something adult, penetrating in her gaze, completely uncharacteristic of a fourteen-year-old girl.

– He loves you, grandma, – she said simply, without hesitation, as if stating an obvious fact. – Believe me. You`ll remember everything. And then you`ll understand.

Rhaenys felt her throat catch and her eyes sting. She turned away, averting her gaze from her granddaughter, but Baela’s warm hand had already touched her shoulder, and then she was in her arms. The girl hugged him tightly, sincerely, with the kind of love that needed no words. Rhaenys pulled her close and leaned in, leaving a kiss in her thick hair, which smelled so much of the sea and smoke. Her heart ached with tenderness and the fear of losing it all again. And then she felt a slight movement, Baela's hand slyly crawling to her side, trying to get the bottle back. Rhaenys caught it instantly, gripping it tightly in her fingers.

– Yeah, – she breathed, and for the first time in a long time a real, genuine smile appeared on her face. Baela snorted, reached out again, but Rhaenys twisted her hand away, holding the rum like a trophy. They both laughed lightly, loudly, almost carelessly. For a moment, all the weight of war and memories and losses receded, leaving only them.

Rhaenys emerged from her thoughts as if from deep dark water and took a deep breath. The sun was already touching the horizon, golden-red reflections were breaking through the window panes, drawing long shadows on the floor. The sense of time suddenly hit her sharply: the moment was about to come, and everything could change. Her soul was torn in two. She remembered only the bitter and painful. Those memories lived in her like sharp fragments, and every movement inflicted new wounds. But at the same time, something new appeared in her, a strange, contradictory fear. What if there was something more behind all this? Suddenly there was something good in their life? Suddenly love, tenderness, years together that she didn`t remember? Her brain didn`t give an answer, but her heart beat as if it knew more than she did. She felt a sudden terror. What if I let him go today? What if he goes to sea and I never see him alive again? What if my memory comes back and I realize I’ve lost the most precious thing? And it`ll be too late. Her throat felt tight, her eyes stinging with tears she didn’t want to let out. Her own doubts were choking her more than any noose. Rhaenys shifted abruptly. Her heart was pounding so loudly it seemed to echo in the castle’s corridors. The wide halls of the Tide, which had seemed grand and bright during the day, now stretched into endless dark corridors. She walked quickly, almost running, as if she feared that if she stopped for even a second, she would lose her courage and turn back. The sun was slipping lower and lower. Her footsteps echoed off the stone walls, and she could barely feel the floor beneath her feet. Her dress was tangled around her legs, but she didn’t even notice – the only thing that mattered was to be in time. It seemed to her that every step was taking her further away from him, that the sun was rolling down too fast, and it would soon be too late. Finally, she went out onto the back steps. The sun was almost down, and she bit her lip. She was late.

– You missed the sunset…

Chapter Text

– You missed the sunset…

Rhaenys turned. Corlys was leaning his elbow on the cold railing, looking into the distance, where the sun had almost disappeared below the waterline. His figure seemed majestic and at the same time a little tired, the broad shoulders of a sailor, the gray in his hair, the silhouette of a man who had seen many storms, but still stood, unwavering as a rock. She froze for a moment, afraid to ruin this picture. His voice was calm, a little sad, but without reproach. As if he were talking about something ordinary, although behind these words lay the entire weight of their lives. Rhaenys gulped air, searching for a shot of strength so as not to seem weak. She shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

– You should have said you thought I wouldn’t come, – he turned to her, and the same warmth that made everything inside her contract and fall apart at the same time flared in his eyes.

– I hoped.

Those words, simple, almost tiny, struck her harder than the loudest oaths. He had indeed waited. He stood here not as an admiral, not as a lord, not as a sailor, but as a man simply hoping that the woman he loved would come to him. Rhaenys froze on the step above, looking at him, and a storm of feelings rose in her chest that had tormented her all since the scare. She didn’t know what to do with it all, and the doubts about coming here settled deep inside her again. She had no answer, but only this moment. And if she left now, he would never bring it back. Rhaenys froze like a stone statue, only her eyes alive, watching him intently. She waited, she didn’t know what: words, a gesture, an explanation? She felt that the moment was as fragile as thin ice, and that any careless movement could destroy her. Corlys was in no hurry. He stood, staring out to sea for a moment longer, as if giving her time to breathe, to decide. And then slowly, with that poised dignity that was always his, he turned to her and held out his hand.

– Your Grace, – he said seriously, almost solemnly. – Allow me to accompany you on the evening promenade.

His voice, official and at the same time warm, made her lips curve treacherously into a smile. She even rolled her eyes, but there was something pleasant, relieving in this game.

– How noble. And I thought admirals knew nothing but commanding ships and sea storms.

– We sailors are also wonderful companions, – he replied, a barely perceptible slyness in his eyes. – Sometimes even better than poets.

She smiled slightly and placed her hand in his. Her fingers touched his warm, dry skin, a firm grip. They slowly descended to the beach, down the narrow stone steps that led from the back gate of the castle. The breath of the sea greeted them with a fresh wind, full of the smell of salt and wet sand. The waves rolled, broke and retreated, leaving behind foam. The pebbles underfoot shone like scattered gems, and in the distance the seagulls rose and fell on the waves, calling to each other. The beach of Tide, wild and majestic, at this time seemed almost magical, where light and shadow intertwined into one whole. Rhaenys stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. She hadn`t felt so easy in a long time, as if the whole weight of the past had loosened its grip for a few seconds. She didn`t hide it, her face, usually reserved and stern, softened, and her gaze warmed. Corlys saw it. And, still pretending to be serious, he silently tilted his head to the side and asked.

– So what do you say, princess? Do you like this walk?

– Yes, – she answered shortly, but there was more in her voice than in her words. She felt it herself.

– Although I must say, you missed the best part. A moment ago the sun had been higher, the sea was completely different. A real picture, worth a brush. They say the truth, women always take a long time to gather. I must have miscalculated. Next time I’ll make an appointment for lunch so you can make it, – Rhaenys narrowed her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. Not too hard, but enough so that he felt and understood that not everything was up to him. He swayed, exaggeratedly wobbly, as if the touch might make him fall into the waves. Then he laughed deeply, sincerely. – Where are your manners, princess!

He said, turning to her and raising his hands in mock indignation. Her laughter broke out unexpectedly, quietly, almost a whisper. But it was real. And that sound, coming over the roar of the surf, was better than any words for Corlys. He looked at her longer than he usually allowed himself, and there was a tenderness in his gaze that he made no effort to hide. Rhaenys, feeling his gaze, wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. The sea before them was truly enchanting, but now she saw only him. She pressed her hand closer to his, allowing herself a small weakness, and they walked along the beach, listening to the waves lick the shore. The sand under their feet was still warm, but already absorbing the coolness of the evening.

– So this is how you courted me? – Rhaenys finally broke the silence, her voice sounding playful, but behind it was genuine curiosity.

– Oh no, – Corlys answered, her eyes narrowing slyly. – Everything was much more interesting. We hid in all the dark corners of King’s Landing, lest your many relatives should find us.

– And what were we doing, sir, that we had to hide? – she raised an eyebrow, mockingly, and a light flickered in her eyes. He laughed softly, low, warm, like thunder rolling far out over the sea.

– Princesses are better off not knowing about such things, – he said, with a mock mystery.

– So you were seducing innocent maidens, sir? – he laughed louder, turning to face her.

– We still don’t know who was seducing whom then.

Rhaenys snorted and turned back to the sea, but the smile remained on her lips. She tried to hide it, but Corlys’s laughter had a strange ability to break down all her protective walls. They walked in silence for a few more minutes, but the silence was no longer heavy or tense. On the contrary, it reminded her of an old intimacy, when you don’t have to constantly choose your words when you’re with someone, because your presence alone says more.

– I’ve always thought, – she began cautiously, her eyes fixed on the horizon. – That when men are courting, they do something romantic to impress a woman.

– And I did, – he said without a shadow of a doubt. – I gave you everything you could think of. I told you about the seas and the stars, – he tilted his head, peering into her profile, and the tenderness he had never hidden returned to his eyes. – And you, – he added, a slight mockery in his voice. – Almost fed me to your dragon.

Rhaenys snorted with laughter, turning sharply to him.

– Yes, I probably should have done it then. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.

– And deprived yourself of the best husband in the whole world, – he answered quickly, almost seriously, but a light of humor shone in his eyes.

She laughed again, this time without holding back. The wave rolled to their feet and retreated, her laughter blending with the sound of the sea. And for a moment, it seemed to her that all of this could really be easy. That life with him wasn’t always a burden, that there was something to it: jokes, touches, laughter under the sunset sky. They walked along the shore, and the waves receded, revealing a narrow strip of sand between the sea and the rocky outcrops. The rocks gradually closed in, forming a natural recess, protected from prying eyes. This place resembled a cozy secret, hidden from the world. As they entered this natural amphitheater, Rhaenys noticed the spread sheet and the wicker basket. Her steps slowed, and she raised an eyebrow in disbelief, looking at her husband.

– And what does this mean? – there was suspicion in her voice, mixed with a slight laugh. Corlys said nothing. He only smiled softly and led her on. When they stopped at the edge of the sheet, Rhaenys crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow even higher, expecting an explanation.

– I couldn’t deprive the princess of her dinner, – he finally said with feigned seriousness. – Besides, she herself complained that she lacked romance.

He sank down on the sheet and held out his hand to her, like a true knight inviting a lady to a ball. His gesture was both mocking and sincere. Rhaenys hesitated. A faint smile twitched her lips, but she still tried to maintain a cold expression. A second, two, and finally she gave in, placed her hand in his palm and sank down next to him. The rocks around her seemed to form the walls of an invisible room. Just them and the sea. The sand beneath the sheet kept them warm, and the wind brought more of the evening chill with every passing minute. The sky above them was darkening, and the first stars were already twinkling against the twilight. Corlys untied the basket and began to lay out the food: fresh bread, cheese, fruit, and a flask of wine.

– Where are the candles? – Rhaenys asked, her hands folded in her lap, like a true queen who had been served the wrong dish.

– Candles? – he looked up at her and waved his hand. – We have stars.

He said it with such confidence that she couldn’t help but smile, looked up at the sky, and indeed, with every minute the starlight grew brighter, and they scattered above them like diamonds on black velvet. Rhaenys exhaled and allowed herself to relax. The rocks separated them from the world, the sound of the sea drowned out all other sounds, and next to her sat a man who, despite everything, knew how to make her feel not a stranger, but wanted, at least for a moment.

Dinner went on as usual. Corlys told of islands she had never seen, of storms that turned ships upside down, of foreign shores where the sun rose differently than it did in Westeros. His voice was confident, calm, full of details that made the pictures come alive in her imagination. Rhaenys listened with undisguised interest, although her face was coldly detached. She nodded now and then, hiding a smile behind her glass of wine, and stuck pins in his story, about how he exaggerated the height of the waves, about how sailors always embellished his adventures. But these little pricks only fueled his excitement, and he began to describe the storm or the distant lands even more vividly, as if trying to prove to her that he wasn`t making it up. Finally, the meal came to an end. Only crumbs remained on the sheet and an empty bottle of wine, which the wind quietly rolled over. Rhaenys leaned back in her arms and laughed, looking him straight in the eye. Her laugh was loud, light, and slightly fueled by wine.

– I think you’ve got the romance down, my lord. What next? – his eyes glinted slyly, and he answered calmly.

– Next we go swimming, – Rhaenys froze. The laughter had vanished from her face, replaced by tense disbelief.

– I can’t swim.

– You can. Do you think the Lady of the Tides can't stay afloat? I taught you years ago, you just need to remember.

– But it's cold outside.

– The sea is warmest at sunset. Trust me.

And before she could find another excuse, he stood up. He calmly took off his boots, unbuttoned his shirt. His movements were leisurely, confident, like those of a man in no hurry but who knows what he wants. Rhaenys sat on the covers and watched him. She tried to remain indifferent, but a strange uneasiness was growing in her chest. The idea of ​​going to sea didn`t please her. When the shirt slipped from his shoulders, she involuntarily held her gaze on his body. Time hadn`t spared many, but he still remained fit, strong, as if the sea hadn`t allowed him to age completely. The muscular shoulders, the arms hardened by oars and sword, the chest darkened by scars, each one a reminder of battle, of danger, of his constant staring death in the face. Rhaenys swallowed the lump in her throat and quickly looked away. But it was too late. She knew, he had noticed. Corlys held out his hand. His gaze was calm, but beneath it Rhaenys felt like a girl being asked to jump into the deep for the first time. She hesitated. Her gaze slid from his face to his hand.

– Try it, – he said quietly, not forcefully, almost gently. – I won’t hold you in the water. You can come out any moment. I promise.

His voice was even, calm, but behind that calm there was something else, impatience, a hidden desire, an expectation. Rhaenys felt two feelings fighting inside her. One screamed, «No, stay here, on the warm sand, under the stars, where it’s safe», and the other whispered, «Go with him, take this step, let yourself believe». She took a deep breath, and it was as if she had surrendered to herself. Her fingers trembled slightly as she touched his hand. He took her hand firmly but carefully, so that she knew he was there but didn’t feel forced. She stood up, swaying slightly, and felt the cool wind brush her face. Her heart was beating faster than she wanted to show. She glanced out to sea, where the waves rolled softly, silver in the moonlight, and felt a creeping fear tighten in her chest. Rhaenys bent to remove her boots. They fell to the sand with a thud. Her fingers touched the laces of her dress and stopped mischievously. She tried to untie them, but the knots, as if mockingly, stubbornly refused to give in. Her breathing became more rapid as she became more nervous. Rhaenys began to tug at the laces more, and the corset dug into her mangled ribs, and she winced.

– Let me help, – his voice came from behind her, warm, low.

She froze, clenching her fingers. Then she nodded slightly. Corlys came closer, but stopped a step behind. She felt him trying to keep distance, to give her space. But still, his presence was almost physical. It seemed to her that even the air became heavier. He bent down and his hands appeared at her shoulders. The laces yielded easily to him, knot after knot loosening under his fingers. He worked quickly, almost indifferently, but she knew it wasn’t that simple. As his fingers slid over the fabric, sometimes they involuntarily touched her skin. Barely, accidentally, but it was enough for a wave of tremor to sweep through her body. She tried to hold herself in, but each such touch left a warm, pulsating imprint. She inhaled his scent – a mixture of salt, sea, and something that had always been only his, familiar and dangerous. Her heart pounded louder and louder. She could feel his breathing, not quite even, and it only increased her own excitement. He was restraining himself. She knew it. His hands moved confidently but cautiously, as if he was afraid of accidentally letting himself go too far. And this caution made it even harder for her to breathe. When the last knot gave way, it slowly backed away.

– Done.

Rhaenys nodded, not looking back, so as not to show how confused she was. She took off her dress in one motion, letting it slide down. The fabric fell to the sand, leaving her in only a thin petticoat that offered no protection from the chill wind or his gaze. She felt her cheeks heat up, and she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to cover herself somehow. But at the same time, there was something else inside her, a quiet, hidden pleasure in the way he looked at her. The wind played with her hair, pulled at the fabric of her shirt, and it seemed to her that the sea was calling to her. But she just stood there, feeling that everything between them now had narrowed to this moment, to this silence, to this look he had given her. She took his hand and they walked toward the sea. Rhaenys felt the wet sand beneath her feet soften and slip away treacherously every time the wave rolled back. She walked slowly, pausing each step as if to give herself a chance to retreat, but his hand was secure, strong, warm in hers. She squeezed it almost painfully, as if she were afraid she would lose her balance otherwise. The cold of the water burned her ankles, then rose to her calves. She shuddered, but didn`t stop. Fear and delight fought within her. The fear that the wave would carry her away like a small branch, and at the same time a strange, almost childish curiosity, what would happen if she went further? With each step, the sea hugged her tighter, rising higher, taking away the warmth of her body and returning the feeling of freedom in return. When the water touched her knees, she instinctively wanted to retreat, but he was there. Corlys walked calmly beside her, not rushing, not pulling, just holding her so that she knew he was there, he wouldn’t let go. His presence was her anchor in this unknown element. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the fresh, salty air. The wave rolled over her hips, leaving millions of cold kisses on her skin. She shivered all over, but still took another step. The cold wasn`t the one she had feared, it was sharp only for the first few seconds, and then gave way to the warmth of her own body. It was movement, life, nature itself, calling for its embrace. The water already reached above her waist, and she froze. Her body seemed not to want to go any further. A slight tremor spread from her chest down, as if her muscles refused to obey. She felt defenseless, exposed to the elements that had always been closer to him than to her. But, despite this, there was no panic in her. Only trembling, restrained fear and warmth. That strange warmth that was born not from water, not from air, but from his presence. She knew that he wouldn`t let the waves take her. His hand held her tightly, and in that grip there was more than confidence, there was an echo of all the years they had lived together. Rhaenys realized that today, for the first time, she was simply good. Without the burden of thoughts, without the bitterness of memories, without the fear of loss. She lived in the moment, here and now. In the noise of the surf, in the moonlight, in the salty wind that tangled her hair, in his hand that held her. It seemed to her that the waves were no longer an enemy. They no longer tried to push her away from the shore or force her to retreat. They played with her, touching her body gently and insistently at the same time, as if calling for her to trust them. She felt her heart slow down, something strange was pouring inside, almost peace, and at the same time trembling. Her shirt, getting wet, became heavy, encroaching on her body and pulling her down, but she no longer paid attention to it. The thoughts that always swarmed in her head now retreated, dissolved in the noise of the waves. She felt only his hand and the sea around her. For a moment it seemed to her that she had finally stopped fighting herself, with the past, with him. Corlys leaned towards her and said quietly.

– Take a dip. If you`re wet from head to toe at once, the cold recedes faster, – he explained, calm, confident as always. Rhaenys looked at him skeptically.

– You say that as if diving into this abyss were the most natural thing in the world.

– It`s to me, – he smiled softly. – Trust me, Rhaenys.

She exhaled, gathered her courage, and crouched down, letting the water cover her head. The instant and the cold wrapped around her like a hundred needles. She quickly pulled herself back up, cleared her throat, and wrapped her free arm around herself, but she didn’t let go of him.

– A stupid idea, – she whispered through her teeth. Corlys laughed, a low, warm chest laugh.

– See? It’s not so scary anymore.

The wind whipped through her wet hair and across her bare neck, making her shiver. But strangely, her body did feel warmer than when she’d entered the water. He led her on, step by step, and now the waves were chest-high. Salt water clung to her eyelashes, licked her lips, but Rhaenys didn’t stop. She looked at him, and there was not a single drop of doubt in his face.

– Now, lie down on the water, it`ll hold you.

– No, – Rhaenys replied sharply, and squeezed his hand even tighter. – I`ll drown.

– You won’t drown, – his voice was calm, even, as if he were explaining something completely obvious. – I’m here. I’m holding you? – he tried to pull his hand away, but she gripped so tightly that her fingers turned white. – Okay. Let's do it differently. Just stand. Let me show you.

She let go of his hand in disbelief, just for a moment, and he, making several circles around her, glided easily over the surface of the water. His movements were free and calm, like those of a man who has grown with the sea. When he stopped next to her again, his eyes shone with confidence.

– See? The sea isn`t an enemy. It breathes with you, – he placed his hand on her shoulder. – Lie down. I`ll support you.

– And if you let go? – she looked at him defiantly, but there was a hint of fear in her voice.

– I won’t let go, – he answered firmly. – I promise.

She swallowed, feeling her heart beat faster. Slowly, tensely, Rhaenys lay down on the water. The cold instantly gripped her body, but at the same time she felt his hand catch her under her stomach, holding her afloat. The water rose and fell beneath her, as if it were swaying itself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her body resisted at first, but then her muscles began to relax. He really was holding her, and the sea wasn’t drowning her, it was lifting her. A hint of a smile appeared on her lips.

– You see, – he whispered, leaning so close that she could feel his breath. – You just have to remember, – his voice sounded close by, and there was more warmth in it than in the waves that rocked her body. The water enveloped her, and her heart beat fast, like a bird that had dared to fly out of its nest for the first time. – Try rowing.

His voice sounded calm, convincing, and Rhaenys, gritting her teeth, yielded to him. She leaned forward a little, made the first uncertain movement of her arms, and a miracle happened, the water picked her up, carried her. She felt him near her. His hands slid under her sides, supporting her, but not as firmly as before. In these hands there was no longer that annoying force that kept her afloat, there was only a light safety net, like a thread that allows you not to fall completely. Step by step, movement by movement, she felt her body remember. She slid a few more times and suddenly realized that she was holding herself. Her arms and legs worked, the water yielded to her, and an unexpected pride welled up in her chest. And then she looked away and saw him. Corlys was moving beside her, in the water, his shoulders gliding over the waves, he was looking at her. His hands were no longer touching her. He swam alongside, free, strong, confident, as if he had always been there, watching over her. A wave of fear instantly washed away her newfound confidence. She stopped abruptly, her feet sinking to the bottom, gasping and splashing around. Her heart pounded in her temples.

– You let go! – she blurted out, her voice laced with anger and panic. Corlys raised his hands as if surrendering. His eyes were calm, but also warm with pride.

– Otherwise you would never have swum, – Rhaenys stared at him for a moment longer, gasping for air and trying to steady her heart. – You swum alone.

Doubt still flickered in her, but curiosity was rising with it. She turned to the sea, took a breath of salty air, and, gathering herself together, tried again. The water met her body with less hostility. Her movements came uncertainly, but they came. And Corlys swam beside her. Not touching, not supporting, but always by her side. Her fear no longer had such power, because he was there. Rhaenys felt a strange freedom, she wasn`t only walking on the waves arm in arm with the Lord of the Tides, she was overcoming them herself. The water swallowed her body, and every movement seemed both heavy and light. Rhaenys felt the saltiness on her lips, the smell of the sea penetrated her lungs, her hair stuck to her face. Somewhere inside, the fear still burned that if she stopped, the water would pull her to the bottom. But she caught his strong shoulders, rhythmic movements with her side vision, and it gave her a strange peace.

– How it`s? – Corlys replied, easily holding on to the waves next to her. – Not so scary anymore?

Rhaenys exhaled a laugh and, in order not to show how hard it was for her, she only threw a quick glance at him and smiled faintly. She wanted to say something in response, but she was out of breath. Her movements became slower, her shoulders became heavier, as if a stone were hanging from each of them. The water no longer lifted her so easily. Her chest began to tighten from the effort, her breathing came in short bursts.

– Corlys…– she finally exhaled. – I… I’m tired. Let’s go back.

– Okay, – they turned. Rhaenys tried to row straight as he showed her, but her arms were weakening treacherously. Panic began to stir in her chest. She took a sharp breath, too sharp, swallowed salt water and, croaking, began to gasp for air.

– Calm down! – his voice cut through the anxiety. He was there in an instant, grabbing her hand.

– I… – she gasped, her lips were salty. – I can’t…

– You can, – he said firmly. – Look, it’s shallow here.

She lowered her feet and indeed her toes touched the sand. Her heart was still beating wildly, but she was able to straighten up, to stand. The water slowly calmed around them, dispersing in soft circles. Rhaenys was still catching her breath after the strain, when suddenly something invisible slid down her leg. It was so unexpected that she reacted without thinking. Her heart raced, and before her brain could speak, her body did its thing. She leapt to Corlys and hugged him as if her life depended on it. Water sprayed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs pressed tightly against his torso. Her fingers gripped his shoulders. Corlys froze for only a moment, but his hands found their way, one resting on her waist, holding her firmly and cautiously at the same time, the other sliding lower, under her thigh, supporting her so she wouldn’t slip. His touch was firm and warm, and there was a strength about him that instantly dispelled some of her panic.

– There’s something there! – she gasped, staring at him with wide eyes. His shoulders shook with laughter. The voice was deep and warm, almost dissolving into the noise of the sea.

– Of course there is something. It’s the sea, Rhaenys. Fish, seaweed… we, – she, still nervous, but already feeling the absurdity of her panic, angrily slapped his shoulder with her palm. Not hard, more like a reproach than a real blow. Splashes scattered around again.

– Very funny, – she muttered, but the corners of her lips stubbornly refused to remain serious.

– I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not even a fish.

He said it with such confidence, as if he really was ready to throw himself at anything that touched her. And this absurd promise was both funny and strangely pleasant. Rhaenys couldn’t help but laugh. Her laughter sounded ringing and sincere, it bounced off the rocks and merged with the roar of the waves. It seemed that the sea was also singing along with her. Her hands, still tightly clutching his neck, involuntarily relaxed. Her fingers slid over his shoulders, over the warm, moist skin, over the muscles that moved springily under her touch. She felt how strong he was, how confidently he held her. Fear dissipated, receded into the background. His embrace was unexpectedly reliable. It was strange for her to admit this even to herself, but at that moment she didn`t want to let him go. The water cooled her body, and he seemed like a hot, living fire among the waves. She felt his breath touch her hair, how his chest rose and fell from his even breathing, which contrasted with hers, which was still a little beaten. Corlys was smiling. He looked at her with that gentleness that he rarely showed anyone, and at the same time with that pride, as if she had just accomplished something extraordinary. He loved seeing her laugh, feeling her warmth, and knowing she was with him, in his arms. She felt light, as if the waves had really been able to wash away at least a fraction of the weight from her, and he had kept her above the surface. Her breathing became more frequent, but not from fear. The waves gently rocked them, and she felt how each movement of the sea echoed the rhythm of his body, with his touch. She allowed herself to give in, sliding her fingers along his shoulders, feeling the strength of the muscles, along his neck, where a steady, confident beat pulsed under the skin. Her palms no longer trembled, they sought, studied, yearned for this contact. His hand on her thigh tightened slightly, as if he too couldn`t hold back. He slowly moved the other hand up her back, so carefully, as if he was afraid to break the magic of this moment, but with such desire that it took her breath away. It seemed to her that this warmth, this touch, was awakening something long forgotten in her.

– Aren’t you afraid? – his voice sounded different than before. Deafer, deeper, full of tension. It sounded as if behind this question lay not only waves, not only water, but something much deeper, more dangerous and sweeter at the same time.

Their eyes met. The darkness had already hidden the colors, but the stars and the silver glow of the moon gave enough light for her to see everything in him – the longing, the tenderness, the fear of losing her, the desire to have her by his side again. He looked at her as if this entire endless night had been created just for this moment. Her lips barely parted, and her body responded, she pressed herself closer to him, not even a breath between them.

– Not now.

The words dissolved in the sound of the waves, but he heard them, because his embrace had become even tighter, and she felt his chest tremble with restrained breathing. And in that moment, the fear truly receded. Of the sea. Of the past. Of everything. All that remained was the feeling that she was allowing herself to live again. Rhaenys wasn’t sure what she was doing when she leaned toward him. Her lips touched his for only a moment, lightly, like a test, like the first step into the unknown. But it was enough to ignite a heat in her chest. Corlys answered immediately, slowly, carefully, as if he were afraid to scare her, to break this fragile thread of trust that had once again stretched between them. She felt his breath, the salty taste of the sea and the tart wine on his lips, and quickly recoiled. She stared into his face, trying to read what he was feeling. His eyes were dark as the depths of the ocean, but there was a warmth in them that couldn`t be confused with anything else. There was no judgment, no pity, only patient tenderness and waiting. She reached for him again, more determinedly. This time her lips found his confidently, and he responded more passionately, deeper. The kiss flared up, and there was something so familiar, so dear, as if the body remembered what the mind had lost. She caught herself feeling it, her lips knew this softness, this taste, her heart knew this rhythm. Her hands slid over his shoulders, as if trying to make sure that he was real, that he was there. She moved slowly, studying him anew. Her palms slid down his back, feeling the hot skin, the tense muscles beneath her fingers. They rose again to his neck, sliding along his collarbones and shoulders. Then she allowed her hands to drop lower, to his chest, his torso. There, under her fingers, were the unevenness of old scars, the rough memory of battles. She traced every contour of his body, re-examining the map she had once known by heart, but which fate had torn from her memory. Her touches were thirsty, uncertain, and at the same time greedy, she wanted to remember everything, every line, every curved plane. Her fingers slid down, lingering on his stomach, and she felt him shudder at the contact. His hand, meanwhile, held her thigh tightly, his fingers digging into the skin through her wet shirt. The other hand first slid gently down her back, drawing arcs from her waist to her shoulder blades, and then dared to go lower, to the curve of her body. His fingers gently but firmly cupped her buttocks, and the touch made her shiver, exhale into his lips, feel the heat flare even more intensely. The waves gently rocked them, but now the sea was only a backdrop. It had no power over her. Her fear of the deep disappeared, because the depths she discovered within herself next to him were stronger. Their kiss grew deeper, bolder. She felt the lack of air, but she didn’t want to break away. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was afraid he would hear it. She felt every touch, every movement of his body, as an extension of her own. And when she finally had to pull away to gulp air, she pressed her forehead to his, still breathless, still thirsty, but with a strange sense of wholeness, as if she had found something she had lost long ago. Her lips remembered him. Her body remembered him. His lips burned her skin – hot, greedy, restless. They slid down her jaw, touched her ear, went down her thin neck and down to her collarbones. Every kiss of his made her shudder, every breath burned. Rhaenys closed her eyes and surrendered to this feeling completely, a long-forgotten tenderness mixed with a desire that made her weak and strong at the same time. She pressed herself closer to him, as if afraid of losing this heat, this feeling that she was loved, that she was desired. There was some primal need in it, confirmation that she was alive, that she wasn`t just a princess without memory, but a woman who could still be loved. Her body responded to his every movement, responded with treacherous pleasure, and she no longer wanted him to stop. But suddenly he pulled away. His chest heaved heavily, his breathing was hoarse, and there was fire in his eyes, but at the same time there was willpower. Her body yearned for more, every cell yearned for his hands to not let go, for his lips to touch her neck once again, to make her shiver with a flash of desire once again. Corlys took a deep breath, restraining himself, and finally said in a low voice, ringing with tension.

– If we continue, I won't be able to stop.

His words cut through the night, and Rhaenys froze. She didn’t know what she felt, disappointment or relief. Part of her wanted more, wanted him to stay, to burn them here, in the waves and the darkness. Another part was scared by the force of that desire, by how quickly she had lost control. But Corlys seemed to have decided everything for her. He didn’t give her time to think. His arms tightened around her, and he led them to the shore, breaking through the waves step by step. The water reluctantly let go, but with each step Rhaenys felt the cold of the night envelop her body more tightly, seeping into her bones. She shivered, and instinctively hugged him even tighter. His warmth was the only escape from the cold. Her cheek fell to his shoulder, her fingers gripping his skin tightly. She could feel his heart beating, how hot he was to the touch, and the contrast with the icy wind made her reach for him even more. As they stepped onto the damp sand, the cold enveloped her even more sharply. The waves left them behind, and the world seemed quiet and separate again. Only the sea rustled behind them, and the stars shone overhead. Corlys carefully set her on her feet, but she still clung to him, as if afraid to let go. He silently took his waistcoat and threw it over her. The fabric was heavy but warm. The waistcoat smelled of him – salt, shipwood, distant seas, and the very man she had just been unable to tear herself away from. Rhaenys lowered her head, taking in the smell, the warmth. Her lips were still burning from his kisses, her skin remembered every touch. His waistcoat was too big for her, but it only hugged her tighter. She looked up, he was standing very close, wet, with drops running down his temples, chest. His eyes still burned with desire, but over it now lay a steely will with which he controlled himself. She couldn't gather her thoughts: was she angry that he had stopped, or grateful for it. But one thing she knew for sure, that night had changed something in her.

Chapter Text

In the great hall of the Tide, where the walls were decorated with sea charts, ancient weapons, and works of art from distant lands, Rhaenys sat on a wide sofa covered in dark velvet. The evening light filtered through the tall windows, reflecting off the polished wood and gold trim, and the heavy waves of the sea beating against the rocks set the rhythm to their conversation. She watched her granddaughter silently. Baela paced back and forth like a caged tigress, nervously fidgeting with her hands, sometimes clenching her fists.

– This is unfair! – she finally cried, stopping in front of her grandmother. – Why should I stay here when everyone has gone to Gullet? Even Jace has flown away, and he`s the heir, his place is next to his mother. I`m a fighter too! I`m a grown! – her voice boomed with energy that couldn`t find an outlet. Baela turned sharply and paced the room again, her footsteps echoing off the high walls. – I`m a skilled rider, you taught me. My dragon obeys me, I`m not afraid of battle. Do they think I`m not strong enough just because I`m a girl? If that is the case, then why did Nettle fly away? She is a woman too!

She uttered the last words almost defiantly, as if she wanted her grandmother to answer immediately. But Rhaenys was in no hurry. She sat calmly, her hand resting on the back of her chair, a faint smile on her lips. Her calmness only irritated Baela even more, forcing her to pace the room even faster. Finally, when her granddaughter’s tirade had died down and Baela, tired of her own indignation, had stopped in the middle of the hall, Rhaenys looked up and spoke softly but firmly.

– Someone must stay here. Someone must guard Dragonstone and Driftmark, –  Baela reacted quickly, waving her hand as if dismissing these words.

– Rhaenyra can handle this herself! – Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, and something more serious than that soft smile flickered in her eyes.

– That’s why you’re here, – she said quietly. – Who will protect Driftmark from the enemy?

Baela pursed her lips, momentarily at a loss. Her eyes still burned with indignation, but now they were mixed with doubt.

– So I’m just a guard? – she asked, almost bitterly.

– Sometimes it’s a duty to hold the rear. It’s as difficult and responsible as flying a dragon into the midst of flames, – Baela turned away, took a few steps back to the window. She leaned against the stone sill and looked out at the sea, where the white-crested waves rolled one after another.

– But I could prove I’m worth more than just sitting here…– she whispered, but in a way that Rhaenys could still hear. The princess moved closer, placing a hand on granddaughter’s shoulder. Her touch was warm and firm at the same time.

– You’ve already proven that, girl. You’re brave, stubborn, and proud. Your dragon obeys you, and your heart knows no fear. But there are different kinds of battles. Sometimes the hardest ones are the ones you can’t see right away, – Baela took a deep breath, swallowing her own irritation. She knew her grandmother was right, but admitting it now would be almost as painful as being left out of the fight. Rhaenys smiled softly and added. – Believe me, your place is here. And it’s no less important than the place of those in the sky above Gullet right now.

Baela nodded silently, but her eyes still burned with fire. Rhaenys, looking at her, recognized herself as an eighteen-year-old who had also once rushed into battle, striving to prove her strength to the whole world. And it all ended in death. Gods, why does she remember only the bad? All that remained was to pray that this time Baela wouldn`t experience the same bitterness that she had once experienced. The door suddenly slammed shut, the sound echoing along the high vaults of the hall. Rhaenys, who had just been watching her irritated granddaughter, turned her head sharply towards the door.

– What happened? – her voice was even, but with that shrill timbre that always made soldiers stand straighter. The muffled voice of a guard was heard from behind the door.

– Princess, your granddaughter has arrived, – Rhaenys’s eyebrows shot up, and she let out an angry

– I know, Baela has been here for a long time.

– Another granddaughter, – the guard timidly straightened up. There was a pause in the hall. Baela stopped halfway, then turned sharply to grandmother. Their eyes flashed with the same surprise.

– Bring her here! – Rhaenys called, her voice filled with both impatience and anxious foreboding.

The door opened, and the girl entered the hall. Rhaenys held her gaze for a moment, trying to take in every detail. The resemblance to Baela was undeniable, the same light in her eyes, the same posture that concealed both pride and youthful stubbornness. And yet they were so different. The newcomer’s silver hair fell in long strands, braided into elegant braids that shimmered in the light of the lamps like reflections of moonlight. Her face was softer, with softer features and a faint blush on her cheeks, and her manner was calm and graceful, not at all like Baela’s explosive, impetuous nature. Her outfit emphasized this difference too: the girl was dressed in a delicate pink dress of sheer lace that fell in light waves to the floor. She looked as if she had stepped out of the banquet hall of the Eyrie, not from the storm ships of Driftmark or the gloomy halls of Dragonstone. Rhaenys felt something tighten at her heart. Her own blood, a combination of salt and fire, sea and sky.

– Rhaena! – Baela exclaimed, and all the indignation that had been burning in her eyes a few minutes earlier melted away in a single burst. Baela rushed forward, grabbing her sister in her arms so tightly that she almost staggered. The girls hugged each other, as if trying to make sure that this was a real meeting, and not a ghost born of longing and war. – You've arrived... – Baela whispered, leaning back a little to look into her face. – Finally!

Rhaena stood in the middle of the hall, as if afraid to move. Her gaze slid from her sister, who was still holding her hands, to grandmother. Rhaenys's face in the shadow of the lamps seemed unreal to her, as if she weren`t a living person, but a ghost from distant dreams.

– I got a letter from grandfather, – the girl’s voice broke, the tremor betraying the excitement she was trying to hide. – He wrote that you were alive. I… I couldn’t believe it, – her eyes shone, and she swallowed a tear to keep from crying immediately. – Rhaenyra will be furious, – Rhaena continued, clenching her fingers on the fabric of her sister’s camisole. – Because I was supposed to stay at the Eyrie… But how could I? How could I not come and see you when… when I thought you were dead.

Her voice broke, and tears flowed down her cheeks in an uncontrollable stream. Rhaenys looked at her as if she were a lost child who had finally found her way home. Her heart sank so much that she had to take a deep breath. She slowly reached out her hand, calm, confident, but with that tenderness that lived only in her when it came to her girls. This gesture was enough. Rhaena, as if freed from all doubts, rushed forward and fell into grandmother's arms. She grabbed Rhaenys by the waist, sobbed, losing all control over her tears. Her fragile body trembled, finally giving vent to all the fears and longing that she had carried within her in recent years. Rhaenys hugged her as tightly as she could, held her close to her, rocking her as if she were the same little girl she had once held in her arms. She kissed her hair, her temple, trying to calm her down. Her hands held granddaughter as if they were afraid to let go and lose her again. A storm was brewing inside Rhaenys. She remembered her when she was very small, with short tails, with big eyes that always looked at the world with curiosity and anxiety. But now a young girl stood before her, so tender, beautiful, graceful. And yet, in her tears and trembling fingers, the same echo of childhood was still audible.

– Grandma…– Rhaena finally whispered, pulling back a little to see her face. – Is it true? Is it true that you’ve lost your memory?

Her eyes, filled with tears, searched for the truth. Rhaenys nodded slowly, feeling how hard it was to say words that hurt her own pride.

– It’s true, my girl. But she’s coming back. Little by little, – her hand rose and gently rested on granddaughter’s cheek. She stroked it with her fingers, feeling the warmth. Her voice became firmer, but even more tender. – I remember my little girls. I remember how you laughed, how you ran through the halls of this castle like two sparks. I remember your faces when you touched Meleys for the first time.

Tears streamed down Rhaena’s face again, but this time they weren’t just pain, they were relief. She hugged grandmother again, and Rhaenys felt the weight on her soul lighten with every second.

Night had already covered Driftmark with velvet darkness. The winds had died down, only the faint sound of waves reached the castle, as if the sea also wanted to give rest to those who lived on its shores. In her large but lonely bedroom, Rhaenys didn`t feel alone for the first time. Her girls huddled around her on either side. Their heads merged with the pillows, their soft silver hair scattered on the sheets, and Rhaenys’s heart was filled with a quiet rush of tenderness. She lay still, afraid to disturb this peace granted by the night. Her hand from time to time touched the shoulder or cheek of one of them by itself, as if making sure that this wasn`t a dream, that they were really here, next to her. Their breathing was even, calm. Baela, strong and brave, even in her sleep, her fist clenched, as if ready to charge into battle. Rhaena slept as tenderly as she looked in her waking state, her cheeks slightly flushed, her lips slightly parted. Rhaenys listened to her breathing and felt her own eyelids grow heavy. Thoughts began to get confused, to blur in a soft fog of fatigue. She felt the warmth of their bodies, remembered how they had once slept together in her arms, still very small, lost in the big world. And then sleep finally won. It came not swiftly, but smoothly, like a wave covering the shore. And in it were memories. Not all clear, not all whole, fragments of the past that her consciousness had refused to share for so long. She saw them when they were small, how they laughed and stretched their little hands towards her. She heard their childish laughter echoing in the halls of Driftmark, saw how Baela first sat on the dragon's back and how Rhaena, with fear but with pride, touched its scaly neck. Some memories were vague, blurred, fragments of voices, pieces of paintings, scattered like shards of glass. She reached out to gather them together, but they slipped from her fingers. And just then, sleep was shattered by a sharp sound. A ringing. Loud, alarming. The bells of Driftmark tolled into the night, shattering the silence. Rhaenys opened her eyes, her heart pounding painfully against her chest. It was the alarm bell. From the street came the commotion, the shouts, the tramping, the distant clang of weapons. Carefully, so as not to wake the girls, Rhaenys untangled herself from their arms and stood up. Her feet barely touched the cold floor as she rushed to the window. She froze, pulling back the heavy curtains. Driftmark was burning. A black shadow loomed over them from the darkness of the sea. Enemy ships were entering the bay, their sails dark against the glare of the flames. Something tightened in Rhaenys’ chest. The night’s peace was gone, replaced by anxiety as heavy as stone.

– What happened? – Baela’s voice was hoarse, her breathing sleepy.

– Driftmark was attacked.

She spoke quickly, not wasting a second. Her fingers deftly tied the straps around her waist. The girls jumped up from the bed and began to dress hastily. Baela was already reaching for her pants, her eyes ablaze with determination. Rhaena was fidgeting more, her hands shaking, but she too was trying to button her dress. Rhaenys walked up to Baela, grabbed her by the shoulders, and leaned down so that she could look straight into her eyes.

– You`ll board the Moondancer and strike the ships. Burn them down before they land the people. But listen to me carefully. Watch out for the scorpions. They`ll be waiting for you, don’t get too close, – she squeezed her shoulders for a moment, as if conveying all her strength and love through touch, and added in a quieter, almost maternal tone. – Be careful.

Baela nodded briefly, her eyes shining. She leaned down and quickly kissed grandmother on the cheek.

– I can handle it, – she breathed, and the next moment she was already rushing for the door, almost running. When Baela’s footsteps died down the corridor, Rhaenys turned to her second granddaughter. Rhaena stood in the middle of the room, her face full of protest.

– And me? – her voice trembled with resentment. – You`re leaving me again? Because I don’t have a dragon?

She spoke quickly, with anger, and in every word there was an echo of how long she had carried this pain within her. Rhaenys walked over to her and, not letting her move, took her face in her hands. She looked straight into her eyes, her voice quiet but commanding.

– No one abandons you, my girl. I want you to be safe, – Rhaena trembled under her fingers, but her indignation didn`t let go. She clenched her fists, clutching the fabric of her dress.

– Safety…– she almost hissed. – Is that all I`m good for?

Rhaenys pressed her forehead to hers, and her voice became softer, warmer.

– I entrust you with the most precious thing, High Tide. Protect it. Today is your duty here.

Rhaena pursed her lips, looked away to hide her tears, but nodded. Rhaenys ran her fingers along her cheek, hugged her briefly, and turned to walk toward the door. Her gait was firm and determined. Rhaenys walked quickly, almost running, down the dark corridors of the Tide. The stone walls echoed her footsteps coldly, the corridors smelled of sea dampness and the scorching heat of torches. Alarmed cries could be heard from somewhere in the distance, and each ringing of bells rang in her temples like hammer blows. At the turn, a detachment of guards met her. They appeared suddenly, like shadows, blocking her path. One of the warriors, younger than the others, raised his hand and shouted loudly, almost pleadingly.

– My lady, you can't! It's dangerous there! – she stopped, tilting her head slightly, and slowly looked up at him. There was so much icy contempt in that look that the young man immediately disappeared, lowering his eyes.

– For you, maybe. But not for me, – her voice was firm, honed by years of power, and the warriors reflexively straightened up. – Report what is happening.

The senior guard took a step forward and bowed his head.

– The Triarchy is bringing its fleet closer, princess. They`re heading straight for our shores.

The word «Triarchy» cut into her brain like a sharp knife. She felt her heart stop for a moment, then quicken its pace. She had to know. She had always known who they were. She had heard about them from Corlys for years, seen the maps, discussed strategies, but now her mind was empty. Only a bitter taste on her tongue. Anger rose in a wave. At herself, at her weakness, at this damned fog that had once again covered her memory at the most crucial moment. She clenched her fists so that her nails dug into her palms, but she didn't show it.

– What can we do to protect the island? – she asked evenly, though her anger was flaring inside her. The guardsmen exchanged glances, and one of them, the oldest, spoke again.

– My lady… the forces on Driftmark are few. All our warships are concentrated together in the Gullet. Only a garrison and a small escort remain here. We can station scorpions on the bastions, but against a fleet…– he lowered his voice. – Against a fleet, that’s not enough.

Rhaenys pursed her lips to keep from crying out in indignation. She saw before her more clearly than ever: the arrogant, self-confident Corlys, who had always boasted of his intelligence, his foresight, his seamanship. And here he was, leaving his own home virtually defenseless. How could he haven`t foreseen it? How could he have thought that the enemy would bypass our shores? Her heart was pounding. She felt ready to tear the man apart with her own hands if he were here, but he wasn’t. She stared at the guard.

– Get all the scorpions out. Block the approaches to the docks.

– Yes, princess, – the elder nodded, but the doubt in his eyes remained. Rhaenys felt a familiar fire ignite within her. The fire of battle that had never died within her, even when she sat in the courtroom or embroidered golden robes for the holidays. She wasn`t just the wife of the Sea Snake. She was a princess, a dragon rider, a warrior. And now she had to prove it again. She swept the guards with a look that made them feel cramped even in the spacious corridor. – As long as I’m here, this island won`t fall. Are you ready to die with me?

The warriors squared their shoulders. Some nodded. Some exhaled through their teeth. The atmosphere changed: fear had receded, giving way to determination. Rhaenys took a deep breath. She didn’t know if they had the strength. She didn’t know how many ships would be coming at them. She didn’t even know if her memory would fail her in the next moment. But she knew one thing, she wouldn`t let Driftmark fall without a fight.

– Let some of the garrison remain in the castle, – she ordered firmly, stopping on the steps. – Their job is to hold the gates, to protect the Rhaena and the people inside. Concentrate the rest of your forces on the shore. We cannot allow the enemy to land.

Her voice was commanding, and even those who had hesitated a few moments ago now nodded, accepting her orders without hesitation. She descended into the courtyard, where the grooms and warriors were already bustling. It smelled of sweat, metal, and fresh straw. When the horse was led out, a large red stallion with a dark mane, Rhaenys’s heart skipped a beat. He neighed happily, his ears pricked up, and he tapped his hoof impatiently on the stone.

– Your horse is ready, princess, – the groom said, handing her the reins.

Rhaenys ran her hand along the animal’s warm neck, feeling the strength of the muscles beneath its skin. It was a living, solid support, and in that moment it seemed even closer to her than her own memories. She smiled slightly, at least he remembered me. She sat in the saddle, and several guards immediately gathered around her. Their faces were grim, but their eyes were stubborn, ready to follow her. Rhaenys led the stallion forward, and the pack moved after them. They galloped along the dam, water splashing from their hooves. The sea breeze blew in her face, smelling of salt and the smoke from burning torches. The sky was low and dark, broken only by flashes of flame, and among them she saw a dragon. Her granddaughter cut through the night, leaving long streaks of fire behind her, and Rhaenys suddenly felt a sense of pride mixed with anxiety. Her little girl was flying in the sky now, fighting, challenging the enemy fleet. They drove into Spicetown. The streets were buzzing like a hive of panic. Women hurriedly hid their children inside their homes, closing doors and shutters. Men with spears and axes ran to the harbor, joining the guards. The roar of alarm, the cries of children, the shouts of commands, and the sound of bells merged into one chaotic noise. Rhaenys watched it all from above. She had to admit, she didn’t know exactly why she was here. But she knew one thing, power bound her. And if her husband was at sea, she was now the sole ruler of Driftmark. The Lord must lead the battle. She raised her hand and shouted, to be heard above the noise and din.

– Prepare defenses! Don’t let them reach our shore!

Her voice, loud and commanding, cut through the chaos. People raised their heads, warriors hurried to carry out the order. They entered the harbor, and the noise of battle met her like a wave: the roar of distant explosions, the crackling of flames, human screams, the clatter of chains, and the creak of wooden masts. The guards tried to hold her back once more, grabbing the reins with their hands.

– You’re telling me to turn back? – she snapped coldly, looking them in the eye. – Then tell the ships that are already approaching.

One of the elders, accustomed to living under her command, stared and said in a trembling voice that conveyed both fear and respect.

– If anything happens to you, Lord Corlys will tear our heads off.

– If we don’t protect the island now, there will be no one to turn. When the lord is at sea, his house is my business.

The guard had faded, but his eyes were ablaze. She dismounted and stepped onto the wet cobblestones of the pier. The water sloshed beneath her feet, the air thick with hot smoke and the smell of tar. Ahead of her, close to the waves, several enemy ships burned, Baela threw a well-aimed flame, but it wasn’t enough. The fire devoured the fleet one by one, but the dark mass of canvas masts and dented sides still approached, not slowing down.

– Put out to sea everything that is even remotely capable of holding its course, – Rhaenys ordered. – Ready the ballistae! Cover the piers with nets, throw barbed beams on the approaches, – she was already listing possible measures as she went, honing her orders like weapons. – Concentrate the riflemen, let the archers occupy the towers. And close the floodgates to the dam so that the water won`t allow the enemy to attack right under the walls.

At her words, the people came to life: shouts of «yes, princess!» flared up in response, and the running changed to work. Some of the younger ones grabbed ropes and pulled the heavy loads on themselves, others ran to the ballistas, assessing the range and angle, the craftsmen to the warehouses to quickly load their weapons. Rhaenys looked around to see where everything was being done: seven archers on the watchtower, a pair of ballistas already aimed at the sails, several men sawing logs that would become a barrier in the water. She climbed to the high bastion and froze. From there, the view was even more terrifying, a cluster of sails blackening on the horizon, alien signatures on the sea, dark spots moving in sync, like flesh. Many. More than she had expected. Rhaenys felt the blood boiling in her temples, but peace came to her face, the peace that comes not from ignorance, but from knowing what to expect from people. Beside her stood the ballista commander, a fat man with thick fingers used to ropes. He reported quickly.

– We can hit their starboard rudder ships when they come within range inside, accurate enough, but it`ll take time to reload. The ballistas will take out the first three ships if we hit under the mast. The archers will hold off the landing party. But if they attack us from both north and south at the same time, there will be trouble.

Rhaenys listened and thought. Every plan had a weak spot, and her memory, like a treacherous fiddle, stubbornly silent on the details that had once come naturally to her. But she knew the men, she knew the city, she knew what it meant, and that was enough.

– Focus your fire on their masts and steering gear, – she ordered. – Let their ships lose their maneuverability.

Baela, with visible streaks of flame, was already doing what she could, but Rhaenys understood that girlish courage was only part of the answer. Strategy, that was what would decide fate. She gave the signal, and the ballistae began to load: the thunder of ropes, the heavy stone balls, the rolling of wheels, all of it sounded like preparation for a strike that would split the night. Someone on the dock shouted, pointing to the left flank. Rhaenys turned her head and saw that the enemy seemed to be dividing, some sails heading straight for the harbor, others trying to round the causeway, accelerating between the rocks. Their fleet wasn`t just larger, it was more cunning. And then, for a moment, fragments of other times flashed through her, maps, charts, but they were blurred. Her heart clenched again, she had to compensate for the memory with action.

– Cut off the approach to the northern pier, – she said to the guard commander. – Send two companies here, the rest north. If they can close the narrow entrance, we’ll break their flank. And keep a supply of fire barrels, tonight must be hell for them.

The warriors rushed to carry out the orders. The doubts in Rhaenys’s head subsided, her memory might have betrayed her, but her will didn`t. Something shone in her that amnesia couldn`t steal, the instinct of a ruler, the ability to see the human flow, the rhythm of battle. And now, as Baela’s fire devoured the enemy ranks and the first ballista stones were already racing, she felt the city at her feet come back to life as a defensive machine, pulsing and united. The ships were approaching. Her voice, a passionate cry above the noise, gathered the people into a single link. The night exploded with fire and metal. When the first ballistae hit the decks and masts of the enemy ships, the response wasn`t long in coming; the Triarchy fleet spread out into two lines, like the wings of a predator, and began to operate in two directions simultaneously. Some of them went straight for the high stone wall of the Tide, others maneuvered towards the low-lying docks of Driftmark, where boats and fishing huts crowded together. Baela spun in the sky over Moondancer, throwing flaming torches, flying boldly between the masts, trying to hit the most crowded clusters of sails. Her streak of flame burned one side after another, throwing people into the sea, but the enemy responded with speed, launching new raids, regrouping ships, changing sails. The earth trembled with the heavy steps of life. Rhaenys stood on a high bastion and looked down, at how the fire first tasted, and then began to devour them systematically. Masters and journeymen tightened their belts, pulled ropes, took aim. The first volley from the Scorpions flew low, clipped the mast of the nearest flagship, the mast creaked, split, and a man fell from the bow. The second volley hit the stern of another ship, the water roared from the impact. The enemy was calling back, but not as quickly as they would have liked. Meanwhile, another group of sails moved straight for the fishing pier. Baela's fire didn`t reach there, she hit the center of the fleet, where the density was greatest, the surrounding forces were taking advantage of the unprotected points in the meantime. Warehouses with supplies began to ignite on the piers, wood caught fire like grass. The fires rose into the sky in columns of yellow and red, the air was filled with smoke, and the smell of burning tar, human sweat, and salt became so thick that it was difficult to breathe.

– They're going to the dam! – someone shouted below. – Landing on the northern pier!

Rhaenys saw several boats already approaching the shore, soldiers and peasants lining up with pitchforks and hoes, hooks being thrown onto the piles and temporary ladders being pulled up. Old fishermen and young artisans who had been called to arms were jostling to prepare fire barrels.

– Focus on the ships! – she roared. – Let the archers fire their oars! No one must go ashore!

Archers drew their bows from the towers, arrows fell as fast as rain. The first line of boats screamed bitterly from the powerful volleys, several people fell into the water. The landing slowed down, but wave after wave the enemy tried to roll the following boats.

On the bastions everyone held stones, hot barrels, hot iron hooks, rolled logs into the sea in front of the approaches to complicate the maneuver. Incendiary mixtures were thrown onto the decks and although the wind often changed direction, every small spark was deadly. At the same time, teams with buckets ran through the streets of Spicetown, some houses were already burning, and the roar of burning roofs merged with the screams. Baela on the Moondancer was waging her own war, hurling flaming shells at the mass of sails, circling like a hawk, throwing up her dragonfire, but the Triarchy fleet was outnumbered. When one of her volleys hit the centerline, the ship caught fire, and flames spread across the deck. But while the Moondancer fought, other ships were already approaching the causeway on a roundabout course, trying to throw up rope barriers. On the bastion where Rhaenys stood, one of the ballistae hit the flagship's mast, but it tilted, and the ship became unmanageable. It was hastily set alight, and like a lamp it slowly sank beneath the water, dragging its enemies with it. But the response from the Triarchy line was swift and brutal.

Roofs began to fall, people thought of fire and death. Civil chaos began in the streets of Driftmark. Lights filled the sky. The smoke from the burned masts and houses cast bizarre shadows on the stone walls. The enemy held out, bringing up new boats. The screams of the wounded and the cries of the dead were nearby, but even louder were the orders and shouts, they tempered the people, stopped them in their tracks. Rhaenys stood on the wall, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling her heart tearing with pain for the people and with determination. She knew that if tonight didn`t become hell for the enemy, tomorrow there might be no one left to defend Driftmark. And she directed, urged, gave orders. But the fleet didn`t let up. The ships were approaching. And although several of them were already sailing in flames, others, like shadow squads, moved on, pushing forward the landing barges that were covering the approaches. The night, full of flame and smoke, was far from over and the battle for Driftmark was only gaining real strength. Suddenly a scream rang out nearby and Rhaenys felt someone pull her down. Debris fell from the wall, stone crumbled into dust as Rhaenys, cowering, raised her head.

– Princess, down!

She moved up the stairs, but her gaze had already fallen on the figure of a boy lying under a charred beam. Her heart sank, she recognized him immediately. Myken. Without thinking, she rushed towards him.

– Hold on! – she snapped, feeling anger and fear combine in one rush. One of the soldiers ran past, and Rhaenys grabbed his arm. – Put the beam away, quick!

The warrior jumped up without a word, and together they braced their shoulders, and the wood creaked with a terrible creak. Myken screamed in pain as the pressure was released from his leg. Rhaenys grabbed the boy under the armpits, helping him to his feet. He was barely standing, limping, his face contorted with pain, but his eyes were determined.

– Home, now! – she roared over the roar of the cannons. – You don’t belong here!

– No, princess, I… I must help! – he croaked, leaning on the spear lying nearby.

– Home, I said! – she roared, making even the nearest archers look around. Her voice was unquestionable, a command like a ballista volley.

Myken gasped. He began to limp away from the wall, looking back at it one last time. At that moment, a fireball exploded nearby. The air roared, the wood caught fire instantly, the flames leapt from the barrel to the ladder. The heat hit her face, and Rhaenys had to cover her mouth and nose with her sleeve, moving quickly on. She made her way down, through the smoke and soot, feeling each breath cutting her chest. Overhead, the Moondancer flew again, pouring fire into the heart of the fleet, but the Triarchy ships also struck mercilessly, the shells smashed into the walls, the fragments flew into the crowd. Soldiers pulled new shells, archers, coughing from the smoke, still pulled their bowstrings, shooting into the darkness. Women carried buckets of water, teenagers ran between the rows with spare arrows. The war dragged everyone. Rhaenys’s hands were covered in dust and soot, her heart pounding as if it would burst. The sky was already turning gray beyond the horizon, dawn creeping in, coloring the smoke and fire in shades of blood orange.

– Hold the line! – she shouted, raising her hand, her voice cutting through the air.

The smoke still hung over the sea, black clouds rising high into the sky, mingling with the morning mist. Flames smoldered on the water, where the wreckage of ships burned, and the sea carried charred beams and bodies. The Triarchy fleet, finally, began to retreat. The enemy sails turned west, disappearing into the mist, and the roar of battle gradually died down, leaving behind only the crackling of fires and the groans of the wounded. Rhaenys leaned against the cold stone. Her chest still raced with exertion, but she didn`t allow herself to rest for long. She only exhaled, long and hard, feeling the bitterness of fatigue and adrenaline rising from her stomach.

– Everyone, don’t relax yet, – she sharply threw to the nearest warriors, who had already lowered their weapons. – There’s a fire in the city, the injured are waiting for help, – her voice was hoarse, but remained authoritative. The guards hastily nodded and ran to carry out orders. – Report the losses, – she turned to the captain standing nearby. He wiped a sooty and bloody streak from his forehead, probably from a broken piece of stone.

– We repelled the attack, princess, but the losses are considerable, – he said, swallowing hard. – Several dozen dead, including among the townspeople, and even more wounded. The walls are damaged, some of the ballistae are destroyed. The city is on fire. The houses in Spicetown are burning.

Rhaenys closed her eyes for a moment. Every word cut like a knife. But when she opened them, there was no longer any room for despair in them.

– Send men to put out the flames, – she ordered. – Get the women and children who can help carry water or apply bandages.

She glanced out at the sea again, where the enemy was already disappearing over the horizon. Only the waves splashed against the piles and debris, reminding her that this wasn`t a victory, but only a postponement of the next strike. Rhaenys clenched her jaw. It was hard for her to breathe, but she didn`t allow herself to fall.

Chapter Text

The hot water enveloped her body, as if trying to wash away not only the soot, dust, and salty taste of the sea, but also the burden that had fallen on Rhaenys' shoulders after the night's battle. The water was hot, almost burning. Her skin was red with temperature, her muscles were relaxing, but in this relaxation there was an insidious danger, her eyelids were heavy, her consciousness was slowly floating somewhere into a sleep that she couldn`t allow herself. Her body was screaming for rest. Her head was pounding like hammers hitting an anvil: the noise of battle, the screams of people, the rumble of ballistae, the roar of a dragon. Everything was still before her eyes. She tried to hold on to this moment of silence, these minutes in the hot water, where she could allow herself to forget for a moment that the world beyond the walls wasn`t yet safe. And then there was a knock on the door. Rhaenys shuddered so that the water spilled over the edges of the bathtub. She gritted her teeth in irritation and, without opening her eyes, exhaled.

– What else is there? – the door opened cautiously, and her maid entered the room, her head bowed low.

– Your Grace… news from Dragonstone, – maid said quietly. Rhaenys’s heart sank, as if a premonition had already told her what the maid’s lips hadn’t yet uttered.

– Say, – she ordered sharply, opening her eyes.

– Prince Jacaerys is dead, – the words fell into the air like a stone into the depths, raising a wave that instantly washed away fatigue, drowsiness, and even irritation. Rhaenys sat up abruptly in the bath. The water splashed over the edge and hit the stone slabs with a noise.

– What?! – her voice was harsh, almost a scream. – How?!

The maid lowered her eyes.

– I don’t know the details, princess. Just… just a message. Nothing more, – it felt like a wave hitting a rock. Rhaenys clenched her hands convulsively, gripping the edge of the bathtub. Thoughts swirled in her head.

– Curse…– she gasped hoarsely. Her voice broke. She rose so abruptly that the water splashed onto the floor again. The maid was already holding her robe at the ready, but Rhaenys snatched it from her hands and, still wet, threw it over her shoulders. The water ran down her legs, pooling under her bare feet, but she didn’t care. Her voice was so loud that the maid flinched in fear. – Where are girls?

– In their chambers, princess, – she answered quickly.

Rhaenys nodded, breathing heavily. She stood in the center of the room, her hair wet, her robe unbuttoned, her body still burning from the hot water. But she was shaking with the cold, with the news that pierced her heart with ice. She had to go to them. They had to learn this from her, not from someone else’s mouth. Rhaenys adjusted her robe, put on her belt, and gave the maid her last order.

– Let the ship be prepared, – she left the room with a quick step. Her eyes shone with determination and grief, mixed together.

Rhaenys pushed the door sharply and entered, almost like a whirlwind. Her damp hair clung to her cheeks and neck, her robe still holding the reflections of the bath steam. It all seemed so meaningless, unimportant. A cozy silence reigned in the chambers. Rhaena sat on the edge of the bed, her head bowed, and Baela stood behind her, on her knees, intently braiding strand after strand, intercepting her sister’s thin silver braids. Both of them, hearing a loud knock on the door, froze and turned their heads to grandmother.

– Grandma? – Rhaena said softly.

– What happened? – Baela asked sharply. Rhaenys took a step forward, and the words came out hoarsely, as if a stone had slipped from a cliff.

– I got the news from Dragonstone… Jace is dead, – for a moment, the room was silent, more oppressive than the scream. The comb fell from Baela’s hands, hitting the floor with a thud. She recoiled as if she had been struck.

– No… no, this can’t be, – she shook her head, her eyes blazing wildly. – This is some kind of mistake. It’s not Jace. You can’t know for sure!

– Baela…– Rhaenys began, but she had already burst out.

– He couldn’t have died! – her voice broke off, turning into a hoarseness. – It’s not him!

Rhaena, meanwhile, sat motionless, with only slow drops of tears rolling down her cheeks. Rhaenys walked over to them, sank heavily beside them. Her heart was breaking at what she saw. She hugged them both, one arm holding Baela, who was still shaking with anger and despair, the other she placed on Rhaena’s shoulders, who was choking on tears.

– It’s true, my pearls, – she whispered hoarsely, squeezing them. Baela trembled in her arms, clenching her fists until her knuckles turned white. Rhaena, sobbing, leaned her head against grandmother’s hand, seeking support in it.

***

Rhaenys stood in the corridor of Dragonstone, her palm resting on the cold stone of the wall, as if it could give her even a drop of peace. Behind the heavy door behind her, the girls slept, hugging each other, curled up in a common ball of pain and exhaustion. But she couldn`t sleep. She couldn`t even force herself to leave this place. The corridor was dark, a draft walked along the tall lancet windows, carrying with it the smell of salt and storm. The night was deep, but over the ocean the darkness was lit with dim lights: somewhere far away, closer to the horizon, ship lights flickered. Her gaze glided over the waves that rose and fell in the darkness, like the breath of a giant. She searched for familiar silhouettes, but the sea was silent – great, cold, unpredictable. Anxiety curled in her chest, squeezing her ribs. It was as if something inside her was spinning, scratching, not letting her breathe out completely. Jace's death didn't fit in her head. She hadn't had time to recover from the attack on Driftmark when a new wave of grief hit her, another child, another loss to this war-torn family. The mention of her husband made her heart clench sharply. Somewhere in the darkness of the sea, under foreign sails, he too could have died. She stood, staring into the night, as if she wanted to use her gaze to disperse the fog and shadows, to find answers that only the gods could give right now. The morning episode surfaced in her memory.

Rhaenys followed granddaughters along the beach. Baela and Rhaena walked quickly ahead, running away from people, looks and sympathy. On the steps leading up to the castle sat Adam and Nettle. The girl, soot-covered, her eyes tear-stained, looked exhausted, but she held herself straight, as if she didn’t want to show weakness. There were clean trails of dried tears running down her cheeks. Adam sat next to her, dirty, with a broken lip, tired, but with the same silent determination in his eyes that Rhaenys had noticed more than once. They both stood up as soon as they saw who was coming. They bowed a little awkwardly. Baela and Rhaena just glanced at them and passed them, almost running, as if looking for a place where they could safely collapse. Rhaenys stopped.

– Please accept my condolences, princess…– Adam spoke, as thin as a broken string.

– Thank you. Are you unharmed? – a nod from both heads was her answer. Rhaenys turned to Adam. The next question sounded so casual, as if there was no rubble behind it, where life might lie beneath the rocks. – What losses among the fleet?

Adam swallowed.

– About a third of the ships, princess. Maybe a little more, – not what she wanted to hear. Her heart clenched briefly, a thin knot between her ribs.

– How is your brother? – she asked softly, though the question already had a name, a smell of salt, and a heavy shadow inside it. She knew which ship Allyn would be on. Adam had vanished.

– I didn’t see the ships in all that chaos. I don’t know what happened to the Sea Snake…– she didn’t know if he meant the ship or the man on it. He didn’t seem sure himself. Rhaenys shook her head slightly.

– Go and rest, – she moved on up the stairs, but anxiety slowly blossomed inside her, dark and heavy, like a black rose cutting through her chest.

The Sea Snake. Ship or man – now they were all one. And she didn’t know whether the waves would carry him to shore or take him back to the depths.

Her fingers gripped the stone sill, cold and hard, like what she was trying to feel inside herself. Emptiness. Indifference. Something simple and definite. But none of this came. Only anxiety, slowly but persistently rising in her chest, like water at high tide. She stared at the horizon for so long that the sea blurred before her eyes. It was hard to say how many times in her life she had stood like this, here or elsewhere, waiting for his ship. A hundred times? A thousand? It seemed to her that it was a separate reality, a separate life that she didn`t remember, but that her body did. An old habit of looking for the shadow of sails among the waves. Listening to see if the wind would carry the familiar cry of a seagull that always accompanied the fleet's return. Watching for the light, for the change in color of the horizon. As if her heart itself knew when it was due to appear. Although now she isn`t at all sure whether she wants to see him. This is the most absurd thing. Memory is silent. She remembered how her children and grandchildren ran around as children, how she herself argued with her cousins ​​in the halls of the Red Castle, she remembered how she received Meleys and how they fell from the sky, she remembered her grandmother's warm words, her father's instructions... but not his touches, not specific words, not the moments when she loved him, if she loved him. Only the shadows of their life together – death, loss and betrayal. Although the phrase engraved on the back of the wedding ring and Baela's warm words were a reminder of something good that was supposed to happen. Of promises that she doesn`t remember, but which, apparently, were made by her and accepted by him. The way he looks at her now, how he makes her laugh and relieves tension with a light touch. She covered her face with her hands, breathing through her fingers, trying to pull herself together. This strange dual existence: her mind says he betrayed her. Quite literally. Two bastards running around the castle, like two reminders that he had chosen the sea again, adventure, anyone and everything but her. One of them even with a dragon, her son's dragon – some senseless mockery of the order of the world that had once been simpler. He betrayed her. He couldn't be steady, couldn't be on the shore. His heart belonged to the waves. It was solid logic. Clear, distinct, and at the same time… her body doesn’t listen to this logic at all. Because she has only to close her eyes and she feels him touching her waist lightly, confidently. How the tension in her shoulders melts, even though she tries to hold on every time. His kisses… Gods, those kisses. She remembers feeling his hand on her neck, how cold fingers slid over her skin, how he reached for her, and how in that moment her entire world shrank to the point between the two of them. She remembers the warmth in her lower abdomen, the same warmth that appears now, just thinking about it. It’s ridiculous. He betrayed. He abandoned. He caused so much pain that it would be enough for two wars. And at the same time… somewhere out there, on the horizon, her heart counts the beats, listening to see if his ship will appear. Will he return alive? If he dies, what will she feel? Relief? Anger? Emptiness? Or that sudden, forbidden pain she fears most of all? She is afraid of herself. Afraid that she isn`t as cold and strong as she would like. Afraid that the wedding ring on her finger still matters to her. Afraid that even now, after everything, she is waiting. Although she doesn`t know what exactly. Somewhere deep in her chest, the anxiety no longer just grows, it squeezes, wraps, suffocates. Finally, ships appear on the horizon. Rhaenys stood for a while longer, watching them approach. Some of them were battle-scarred, charred in places or battered. Gathering her strength, she took a deep breath and started down the stairs.

The wind came suddenly, almost predatory, as if teasing her for daring to come ashore at such an hour. Cold gusts made their way under the light fabric of her blouse, licking her skin with sharp, icy tongues. Rhaenys shivered, but her legs continued to carry her further, to the very line of the surf, where the waves splashed against the rocks and left behind them a foam like torn silk. Her breath was drowned in the noise of the sea. She stopped, resting her shoulder on the cool surface of the boulder, trying to hide from the gusts, but the wind seemed to know her name and body better than she did herself. It made its way to every fold of her clothing, touched her cheek, tugged at her hair. This air was his air. Everything that had anything to do with him reminded her of him sharply, unbearably. The boats approached slowly, and every second of this approach dragged on unbearably long. Some ships were torn apart, others charred, torn, in some places broken masts stuck out like the bones of long-dead monsters. Traces of flames covered the planks with black scabs. She swallowed the air, feeling fear swallowing along with it. What if he wasn`t among those who had returned? What if this gaze would never find her again? Her shoulders trembled from the cold, nervous fatigue, a weight growing in her chest, as if someone were fanning the fire inside her. In the darkness, it was impossible to distinguish a single face. Only movements were slow, cautious, exhausted. The sailors were stumbling ashore, helping each other. Among them, she tried to find a single posture, a single gesture, a familiar manner of walking. Her gaze darted around, like a hunter searching for prey in a thick fog. And suddenly something flashed within her like a spark. A tall, broad figure with a posture she remembered physically, even if her memory refused to recall the details. Her heart skipped a few beats in her chest, then raced upward, hot, frantic, almost painful in its fervent hope. The air grew thicker, the world narrowed, reduced to a single silhouette moving confidently amidst the general chaos. He was alive. She didn’t know how her body had moved forward, it was just that her legs had suddenly stopped listening to her brain and obeyed something deeper, older than all her doubts. The fear that had stood like stone in her for the last few hours began to melt, but it didn’t disappear – it melted, mixed with relief, turned into a warm, quiet fever that drove her forward. It seemed that she was walking blindly, because she didn’t remember at all when she began to overcome the distance between them. She only felt something hot and heavy spinning somewhere near her solar plexus, pulling her towards him as if fate itself had launched a cable and wound it onto a winch. His pace quickened. The air held the scent of burning, blood, the sea, wet ropes, and tar. All of it mingled with his scent, familiar to pain and yet one she feared she would never experience again today. When they almost collided, their movements became instincts. She rose on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in the skin beneath his ear. Her fingers clenched convulsively on the tangled, damp strands of his hair. He was cold from the wind, but hot from life, from battle, from blood, from still being able to stand when he should have collapsed from exhaustion. His arms wrapped around her waist tightly, almost painfully. The embrace was hard, there was nothing gentle about it, just a raw need to hold, to feel, to press. He had taken off his armor, but his clothes were wet, reeking of smoke, sweat, and sea salt. But to her, the smell was proof that he hadn't been lost in the flames, gone down with one of the charred hulls. That he had returned to her. Rhaenys's breath caught. She wanted to fall apart and come back together at the same time, to fall to her knees and laugh, to cry and scream with relief. It all fit into one tight breath, as she inhaled the scent of his skin, the scorching wind and smoke. The wind blew at their backs, plucking a few strands from her forehead, but she didn't let go. She clung to him as if the sea would try to rip him from her arms if she loosened her grip for even a moment. Her shoulders trembled – she didn't know if it was from the cold or from the relief being too sudden. His heart beat fast, as fast as hers. He was her storm and her quiet harbor, her pain and weakness, her sleepless nights and wounds that never fully healed. He was the one she was supposed to hate, the one she was supposed to distrust, the one she was supposed to push away. But now, tonight, under the cold wind and the roar of the sea, her hands were gripping him as if her breath depended on it. And maybe it was. His fingers slid through her hair carefully, almost timidly, as if he were touching something fragile, sacred, something that might crumble with a sudden movement. Rhaenys froze for a moment, her cheek pressed against his skin. Her wind-tossed hair tangled between his fingers, and that light pressure, that almost intimate possessive tenderness, made her heart skip a beat. A warm current flowed through her stomach. His lips touched her forehead slowly, quietly, with a heavy tenderness, as if this kiss wasn`t a greeting but an apology for everything that had happened between them. Rhaenys felt the hot breath slide down the bridge of her nose. Something in her chest quivered, an old, almost forgotten sense of safety beside him. She inhaled his scent. It seemed to penetrate through her clothes, through her skin, bypassing her mind and hitting right into her heart. His hands tightened around her waist, as if he were afraid she would melt away with the evening mist. Her fingers trembled on his neck, and she didn’t know if it was from the cold or from how acutely her body was reacting to it. She wanted to stop time, bury her face in his collarbone, lock this moment between herself and him and not let go. But it wasn’t until the cold wind stabbed her side again under her thin blouse that she finally felt how cold she was. Corlys slid his hand to her shoulder, touching it as if he were trying to warm her a little with the warmth of his body. She felt his palm slide through the thin fabric, pressing her close to him, protecting her from the gusts of night wind.

– Come on, you're freezing.

He led her slowly toward the castle, and she allowed herself to lean against him, to rest her side against his chest. She could feel his side moving rhythmically with each step, his breath occasionally brushing her hair. Even with the wind whipping her face, it was a little easier to breathe next to him. The castle lights shone in the darkness, and with each step that brought them closer to the protected walls, she felt reality returning. Rhaenys only now realize how much her legs were shaking. She had never let it show on the way to the shore, while she had run and while she had wrapped her arms around him, pressing as if to make sure he was real, warm, alive. But here, in the silence of the corridor, where there was no wind to cut through her skin, her body gave away everything she had been holding back. Ahead, at the entrance to the great hall, torches burned, their light swaying from shadow to shadow. Lord Celtigar came out to meet them. His expression, though reserved, was one of visible relief. He bowed his head – a little lower than usual, no doubt, trying to catch the Sea Snake’s mood.

– Lord Corlys, congratulations on your victory! This… – Corlys slowed a little, his voice, low and broken with weariness, cutting through the air.

– If this is a victory, I pray it`s the last.

Celtigar paled, a faint tinge of shame touched his face, and he looked down. Her thoughts flew back to Jace like a dragon’s shadow. Her chest tightened, her throat went dry. She must ask Corlys what had happened. His touch snapped her out of her reverie, the hand on her shoulder tightening slightly. She felt the strength in his fingers, the familiar heaviness, the same quiet possession, and a strange, almost painful desire to hide under his arm. She inhaled deeply, catching the scent of smoke still lingering on his skin. They moved on down the corridor. The stone walls seemed cold even from a distance. The torches flickered, casting shadows on their faces. She could feel his heavy, slightly limping steps – a sign of exhaustion that he tried to hide, but which she saw from the very first second. And suddenly she felt a wave of anger rise in her, not at him, but at the war, at time, at the sea that kept taking him away from her and returning him like this, beaten, exhausted, but with the same stubborn fire in his eyes. She raised her head, her gaze sliding along his profile. His jaw was clenched, a fresh scratch was visible on his cheek, and a shadow of fatigue under his eyes. She gathered all her strength and finally exhaled what was gnawing at her from within.

– The Triarchy didn't stop at the Gullet. They attacked Driftmark.

Chapter Text

They moved along the corridor side by side, but between them hung the almost material weight of all the events that had happened in the last day. Their steps merged with the muffled thump of raindrops that hit the windows in dense waves, and this even sound only emphasized how deeply fatigue had penetrated Rhaenys' body. It seemed to her that a heavy stone had settled in her chest, that every breath was an effort. The scorched ships, the faces of the sailors, the smell of burning that had seeped into the fabric, into the hair, into the very skin still stood before her eyes. All this pressed upon her consciousness so insistently, as if the world was deliberately reminding her: the war wasn`t over yet, and peace was a tiny patch between the storms. But despite the fatigue, despite the heavy aftertaste of the battle, the loss of Jace, and the anxiety, something else was grinding her from within. In the morning, when she went up to granddaughters’ room and didn’t find them there, fear stirred in her chest like a cold blade. Thinking about it, she felt her jaws clench involuntarily. Corlys walked beside her, keeping his posture straight, although she knew he wasn`t feeling any better. His presence didn’t relieve her anxiety, but it gave her support: warm, like a stone that had retained its warmth after the sun. Her shoulders ached, her back ached, her legs felt as if they were turning to stone, but she kept moving forward, because she couldn’t afford to be weak right now. As they approached the Hall of the Painted Table, they were approached by a muffled noise of voices, and at first she thought it was an ordinary council and its next senseless argument. But the sharp intonations, the abrupt phrases, and the muffled but cold female fury in the timbre alerted her. Rhaenys quickened her pace, almost feeling her heart pounding harder, walking against all the fatigue that had been dragging her down. She froze for a moment as the door swung open before her. Corlys slowed behind her, but she only quickened her pace, as if the sounds had propelled her body forward. The scent of the hall mingled with the bitterness of her own anxiety. She paused, taking in the scene, not even taking a moment to breathe. Rhaenyra stood at the head of the table, her hands resting on the edge, her body tense as a sharpened blade. Her cheeks burned with a dark flush that betrayed anger, fatigue, fear and loss. Her eyes glowed with a fierce, almost quivering flame. She was breathing heavily, as if she had just run up a tall tower. In front of her, a few steps away, the girls froze. Rhaena was standing a little ahead. When she turned at the sound of the door opening, Rhaenys immediately saw the trembling of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes that she tried unsuccessfully to suppress. A trace of a swallowed sob throbbed on her pale cheeks. Her shoulders were hunched, her arms were lowered, her fingers were clasped convulsively in front of her, and Rhaenys's heart sank. Baela stood behind, slightly to the side, but never for a moment did she let her sister out of her sight. Her lips were tightly pressed, her chin emphatically raised, her arms crossed in front of her chest in a manner similar to grandmother's. Anger was burning in Baela's gaze. The kind that springs from powerlessness. Rhaenys felt something sharply pierce her from within. Her body tensed, as if she were preparing to step between them and bare her fangs, protecting granddaughter. The girls shook with emotion, a bitter tension filling the hall. When Rhaena saw grandfather, her eyes widened. Her face lit up for a moment with pure relief, childlike and so painful in its sincerity that Rhaenys felt her throat tighten. The little girl rushed forward, her steps quick, almost soundless.

– Rhaena! – Rhaenyra’s voice echoed off the stone walls. Sharp, cracked with emotion. – I didn’t let you…

Corlys opened his arms to meet her, and Rhaena crashed into them, as if into the pier she had been searching for so long. She buried her face in his shoulder, and the sound of a soft sob touched Rhaenys' ears, sharp, almost painful. At that moment, the air in the hall seemed to shrink. Something dangerous swept through everyone present, like thunder in a distant cloud. Corlys carefully, very slowly, as if afraid of hurting her, lowered his hands to her back and pressed her to him. Rhaenyra stood with her hands down, clenching her jaw as if she were suppressing a scream. She didn`t look angry, but rather broken, furious at the world. Rhaenys took another step forward. Her instincts guided her. Rhaenys covered both granddaughters with her gaze. She wanted to take them to her, to envelop them, to keep everyone in the peace that she herself hadn`t had. But there was no rush now. Not when something dangerous was glinting in Rhaenyra’s eyes. Corlys raised his head, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, a silent question passed between them.

– What happened? – Rhaenys’s voice cut through the silence after Rhaenyra’s scream, so cold and clear that even the torches seemed to crack louder.

Rhaena, who had just detached herself from grandfather, now froze between him and grandmother. Corlys turned slightly sideways to the girls, forming an instinctive protective gesture. Rhaenyra slowly raised her head. The heat of anger still burned in her cheeks, but now it echoed other notes – exhaustion, fear, pain she could no longer contain.

– She disobeyed my order, – every word a blow. – She was supposed to follow the boys. Aegon escaped by a miracle. By a miracle! – her voice broke. – I lost two sons, Rhaenys. Two.

The words hung in the air like a dark, poisonous cloud. Rhaena’s shoulders hunched, clenching. Baela sucked in a sharp breath. Corlys clenched his jaw so hard that a vein stood out in his temple. And something rumbled in Rhaenys’s chest. It was as if deep inside, in the place where only her heart had always lived, another organ had awakened – heavy, hot, bestial. The dragon opened his eyes. And when she raised her head, royal blood burned in her gaze. Fire and blood. Cold fury that needed no shouting. The torches swayed slightly as she stepped forward.

– She’s a child, – she said softly, but so decisively that the tips of the flames trembled. – A child, Rhaenyra. She shouldn’t be a nurse.

Rhaenyra shot back a look as sharp as a shard of glass.

– She’s grown up! – she cried, her voice shaking again. – My son was old enough to die in battle! And she had a simple job, to take care of her brothers.

Baela took a step forward.

– If that’s the case, – she hissed. – It was Jace’s idea to send the boys to Essos.

The silence that fell for a moment was deafening, almost physical. Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed brighter.

– Don’t you dare… – she began, but her voice trailed off into a half-breath. – Don’t you dare mention his name…

– Speaking of responsibility, – Corlys said, the depth of his voice rolling through the room like a wave. – The ship’s escort was mine, – he stepped forward, placing his hand on Rhaena’s shoulders. – Rhaena is innocent.

Rhaenys felt the dragon in her chest clench its wings, fanning the flames in her bones.

– That doesn’t absolve her of responsibility for disobeying orders, – her gaze flicked over Rhaenys, over the girls, and everyone present felt the electricity build in the air. Too much death, too much pain, too little strength left. Rhaenys raised her head sharply, and something deep in her chest roared.

– So what? – her voice is cold, icy. Rhaenys feels the words tearing from her, and they come out in a low, threatening roar. She herself hadn`t expected such a voice. She doesn`t scream, but this fury is stronger than any scream. Her eyes shine with a sharp, icy-red fury. She looks at Rhaenyra as if ready to tear apart anyone who touches her cubs. – Whip her now?

– She disobeyed the order! – Rhaenyra snaps. Her voice cracks, but the anger quickly hides the weakness. – Old enough to understand the order. Old enough to answer.

– I didn`t abandon them! – Rhaena says quietly, her voice trembling. – I was there… I…

– I called for Rhaena, – three pairs of eyes turned to him, knowing that this was only half-truth. Rhaena flinches slightly, but looks at grandfather with that mixture of love and aching gratitude that only children who really wanted to return home could have. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the entire room seems to close around him, like a storm approaching from the east. When he speaks, his voice is truly like the ocean on a stormy night: low, heavy, deep. One that leaves no room for doubt. Rhaenyra’s eyes widen. – I wrote her a letter, – Corlys continues, never taking her eyes off the queen. – That her grandmother survived. That she should come and see her. I called her to be with her family. She couldn’t have known that you didn’t know. That her presence was breaking someone’s orders. She had only come at the call of her miraculously revived grandmother.

The words hang in the air like smoke in a stormy sky. Rhaenyra takes a step toward him. She looks as if she wants to strike or cry. Maybe both. Her lips tremble. But before she can answer, voices and footsteps can be heard in the hallway. Rhaena hastily wipes away her tears. Baela puts a hand on her back, supporting her. Corlys levels himself like a ship taking on a wave. Rhaenys breathes in slowly and deeply, the flame in her dying but not extinguished. They take their places around the table, like warriors before battle. The tension between them stretches like a thin, invisible string that rings even as the doors open and more council members enter. When they finally gather around the Painted table, the heavy air in the hall seems thicker than sea mist. Rhaenyra rests her palms on the table. Her eyes burned dark, sparkling like two coals in a fireplace.

– I want King’s Landing, – Rhaenyra finally said. Her voice was even, but the air vibrated with something fragile, a dangerous mixture of grief and rage. The maester spread out a map of King’s Landing, propping it up with the figures on the table.

– Our ships have been damaged, Your Majesty, – Corlys breathed, carefully moving the figure of the ship. – We need a couple of weeks to repair. Anything less is impossible. A dozen and a half ships are barely keeping afloat. Six more have been sent back to port to repair their masts.

Rhaenyra blinked. She realized that without a fleet, they wouldn’t be able to reach the capital.

– That gives us time… a few weeks to prepare. So that the victory is quick and decisive.

– We can make a sortie here, here, and here, – Corlys took a step closer to the table, drawing directions with his fingers. – That will allow us to distribute our forces so that we can reach all the gates at once. We`ll encircle the capital.

– There should be no resistance. Daemon said the Goldcloaks would open the gates, – Lord Celtigar, who had been standing a little to the side all this time, tugged nervously at his beard and finally spoke.

– What about Daemon himself? –  he asked cautiously. Rhaenyra raised her head, as if gathering the last of her strength to keep herself balanced.

– He`ll join us above the capital, – the words hung in the air like a heavy, hot haze. Rhaenys felt Corlys shift his position next to her. His hand touched her shoulder again, almost imperceptibly, and this time there was more delicacy than force in his touch. A warmth she hadn`t had time to get used to again swept over her skin. – If the Cloaks do open the gates for us, the battle will be short.

Gerardys marked the places on the map again, making them clearer. Everyone looked closely, each seeing their own. Rhaenys slowly turned her gaze to granddaughter, too young for such plans, such loud words.

– We have a few weeks. We`ll prepare the fleet, the troops, the plan. And then… – Rhaenyra ran her finger across the map, stopping at the Red Keep. – We`ll take what should be ours, – Rhaenyra looked from the map to everyone present, her cheeks still holding an angry blush. – Vermithor, Silverwing, and Caraxes will descend on the city. Seasmoke will patrol from the air. I`ll sit in the courtyard so that everyone can see that I`ve returned for my own.

Baela raised her head sharply, like an arrow.

– And what about me? – the fire trembled in her eyes. The day had exhausted them all, but Baela’s stubbornness was now breaking through even more sharply. Rhaenyra didn’t even look up.

– You`ll stay here. You`ll protect Dragonstone.

Baela’s face lit up, her mouth already opens, but Rhaena had time to grab her sister’s elbow. The silence between them tightened like a bowstring. Baela didn’t even look at her sister, but the tension in her shoulders changed, the storm inside didn’t subside, but at least it didn’t explode here and now. Lord Massey, who had been silently sliding his fingers over the figurines on the table, finally spoke.

– A plan to capture the capital is good. But we need a plan to enter the Red Keep. If they don’t surrender it, we’ll have to…

– They will, – Rhaenyra interrupted.

– My queen, – Celtigar interrupted. – A plan for the castle is necessary. There are never any guarantees when it comes to fortresses, – he shifted his gaze to Rhaenys. – Princess, you must know the castle like the back of your hand. Perhaps you can tell us the best way to get there?

All eyes turned to her. Rhaenys's heart lurched. A wave of cold air rose in her chest, like smoke. She slowly approached the table, hiding the trembling in her fingers, as if it were simply the importance of the task, not the fact that before her eyes wasn`t a map, but shattered fragments of memory. She bent over the parchment. The lines wandered, multiplied, intertwined in an alien labyrinth that had no beginning and no end. She knew several places – grandmother's old garden, the shadowy gallery where she played with her brothers, the library where father lectured to her, even that little passage behind the tapestry where she and Daemon hid from the nannies. But it wasn't enough. Not enough for a war plan. She held her breath and leaned her head closer, to appear thoughtful. The silence that fell into the hall was unbearable. Suddenly Corlys stepped closer, his hand resting on her waist, not possessively, but reassuringly. He placed the other hand on the edge of the table, his fingers gliding over the parchment.

– These corridors are worth avoiding, – he said evenly, never taking his eyes off the map. – There’s a spiral staircase there. Any ambush would turn them into a trap. And… these passages are too old, some of them might collapse.

He spoke with the confidence of someone who had seen or at least remembered better than she did. Those present leaned over the map, catching every word, certain they were discussing tactics. Rhaenys’s gaze slipped imperceptibly to him. Their shoulders touched, his warmth penetrating through the layers of clothing, through her own armor. She felt grateful. He was covering her. He was distracting her from what she couldn’t do. Rhaenys met her husband’s gaze, conveying all her gratitude to him. Suddenly the door creaked open again. One of Rhaenyra’s knights stood in the doorway, clutching the parchment as if it might crumble to dust. His gaze swept over the faces of the council members, finally settling on Rhaenyra.

– A message from Lord Mooton, your majesty, – he said, taking a step forward. – His men have joined forces with the Crabb`s, Brunn`s, and Celtigar`s and have retaken Rook’s Rest, – Lord Celtigar straightened his back immediately, as if lifted by an invisible surge of pride. – But there is bad news. The dragon Sunfire was there. They tried to kill him, but he burned sixty of ours. Along with Lord Mooton. After that, the dragon fled.

There was silence. The kind of silence in which even the beating of her heart seemed too loud. Rhaenys felt every muscle in her body tense. As if someone had suddenly torn off a bandage, and all the scars hardened again. She stood still, like a statue, and only the fluttering of her eyelashes gave her away. The voices of advisors hummed behind her. The noise merged into one heavy, shapeless roar that penetrated her head and bumped into the cold emptiness there. Sunfire is alive. The knight's words, spoken only a few seconds ago, were tearing her apart. They seemed to echo in her chest, beating against her bones like waves against a rock: dull, merciless, over and over. The cold spread through her body like an ink stain on parchment. If the dragon was alive, then the one who was on it could survive too. Then... Then everything she had experienced at Rook`s Rest had been in vain. She hadn`t accomplished what she had set out to do. She hadn`t been able to destroy the usurper, she hadn`t been able to save Rhaenyra's crown, she hadn`t been able to... even protect Meleys. My poor girl... The image of the red scales, the golden eye, cut like a knife to her heart. I led her to her death… Her fingers barely noticeable clenched into a fist. Her shoulders shook. Everything inside her was boiling: shame, guilt, despair, anger, fear, a sense of her own failure that had haunted her all her life, ever since her father had smiled and said he had given birth to a future queen. She had overcome it for years, step by step, gaining authority, power, respect, and yet it kept coming back, painful like an old scar. Pictures flashed through her mind – the glint of armor on her arms as she flew down, the red light of the flames, the hiss of air around Meleys’s neck, the taste of burning, the cry of the dragon. And now what? Had it all turned out to be pointless? Incomplete? An unfinished blow? Her melancholy was abruptly halted by a warm, almost imperceptible touch. A hand slid to the back of her palm. The touch was unobtrusive, more a sign than a gesture. Rhaenys slowly looked up. Corlys looked at her as if he were trying to penetrate her very soul. There was something heavy in his eyes. He had always hidden his emotions behind an iron certainty, behind the legend of the Sea Snake, which never wavered, never weakened, never broke. But when he looked at her, the mask cracked. She tried to breathe, but the air froze in her chest. Then she gathered herself, stilled the trembling of her lips and forced herself to smile. Barely visible, almost imperceptible, not sincere enough to deceive him. He tilted his head as if he caught something in her eyes. No one else noticed. Everyone was busy arguing. Her heart pounded in her chest, each blow echoing with a dull ache in the back of her head. She imagined red fire consuming her dragon, screams tearing the sky, bones burning. She felt that second of absolute loneliness before the blow. The dragon fire inside her, now gone. The tears didn`t come. She had long since learned not to cry. But inside her was a black emptiness, like the weight of sea silt dragging her to the bottom. She was seared by the thought that perhaps she hadn`t completed what she was supposed to complete. That her death would be more useful than defeat. Corlys's fingers slid to her wrist, squeezing as if to bring her back from the world of thoughts to reality. She looked up at him again. For a moment, it seemed to her that he wanted to say something, quietly, just for her. But they were in the middle of the hall, among the people, in the middle of war. The words got stuck. Rhaenys nodded very slowly, almost imperceptibly. Corlys released her as imperceptibly as he had touched her. The council's hum suddenly became sharper. In a moment, the maester began to lay out new calculations. Everyone returned to business, plans, actions.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys didn’t notice the teeth making a small, quivering sound until the fabric of the robe covered her so sharply that her body jerked in fright. She looked around.

– I knocked, – he said quietly, as if afraid of scaring her with his voice. – Twice. You didn’t hear… Standing in the cold in your shirt isn’t the best idea.

His tone was soft, but there was tension in it, almost a plea. She smiled at the corner of her mouth, though she didn’t feel the movement herself. She just nodded mechanically and walked past him, holding on to her robe as if she were afraid the wind would rip the warmth out of her again.

– Thank you.

A low fire smoldered in the fireplace. The heat crackled faintly, casting a soft light that slid across her palms. She sank into the chair, feeling the wooden bars cool to the touch, and pulled her robe closer. The air that had been cutting her skin a moment ago was now a thick warmth. Corlys walked over to the table, pouring them wine. His movements were slow and sure, with those subtle gestures of a seasoned sailor that sometimes made him seem like a man living in a different rhythm, in his own sea time.

– How are you? – he asked, turning to her. She looked up at him from under her eyebrows. Her eyes were dark as the sea at night, deep enough to hide any storm. She opened her mouth, but he raised a hand slightly, stopping her. – Don’t lie to me. I know what you were thinking.

She snorted, almost defiantly, though there was no strength in her face.

– About lemon tarts, – she said dryly. His lips parted in that smile that had a strange effect on her, as if her ribs were softening a little and the air in her chest stopped cutting from within.

– I didn’t know tarts could upset you so much, – he muttered, and handed her the glass.

Their fingers touched, a light, almost imperceptible touch, but it went through her in a wave, as if someone had pressed a long-familiar but forgotten note in her body. She took the glass, took a small sip, feeling the tart dryness on her tongue. Corlys sat down next to her. They were silent, and the silence wasn`t cold, but calm, like the sea after a storm, when the waves are still agitated but not ready to rush to the shore. Rhaenys stared into the fire, feeling her fingers warming, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing. But there was still a lump in her chest. Corlys sat, leaning forward slightly, holding the glass between his fingers. He wasn`t looking at her directly, and that was why she felt his attention all the more keenly.

– I…– she began, but the words suddenly became lumps stuck in her throat. She stopped, swallowing. The wine left a warm bitterness.

Her head was flickering. Her fingers tightened on the glass. Corlys slowly, carefully moved his hand closer on the armrest. Not touching, just transferring warmth, like a lighthouse in the night, showing direction without forcing one to go. Rhaenys held her breath before saying it. Before letting the words escape her throat and hang in the silence of the room like a sharp knife over her own heart.

– Can you…– her voice was almost invisible, crumpled like the wing of a wounded bird. – Take me there?

Corlys looked up, and something unsettling flashed in his eyes, heavy as the shadow of a storm over the ocean.

– For what?

She didn’t answer for a long time. Her fingers gripped the heavy fabric of her robe around her shoulders, as if she were holding on to it as she held on to her last shred of strength. Her thoughts pounded in her head like waves against a reef: painful and continuous. Finally, she exhaled, long and broken.

– I…– she swallowed. – I need to see her.

The words didn’t come easily. They rose from the depths, to where fear and guilt and love and pain hid. Corlys frowned. Too noticeably. Too quickly. He knew something. She felt it immediately, in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers gripped the glass harder. He lowered his eyes, as if searching the wine for the right words.

– You don’t need to go there, – he said finally. Too softly, for him. Alarmingly softly. Rhaenys lifted her head. Her gaze sharpened.

– I must, – she said quietly but firmly. He shrugged, as if to deny something, but he stopped himself. She could see him swallowing words that were better left unsaid. – She died there, Corlys. My Meleys. My girl. She lies there… alone…– her voice trembled, breaking into a soft, almost imperceptible sound. – And I must see her.

Corlys stood up. His gaze was full of anxiety, almost despair. He knew something. He was hiding something. He wanted to protect her, but from what? She didn’t have time to think about it, because in the next moment he was on his knees in front of her. He carefully took the glass from her hand and set it on the table. His fingers wrapped around her arms as if he were afraid she would fall and shatter on the stones if he let go for even a moment. Her tears seem to him not just pain, but wounds that he sees too well, too close. He touches her cheek with the back of his fingers, carefully, as if she were made of crystal. He runs his fingers along the tear, wiping it away. She squeezes his fingers almost convulsively, as if holding herself afloat on the surface of a storm rising inside. Her chest heaves. Her breath is in short bursts.

– You shouldn’t, – he whispered. – You shouldn’t see her like this.

She sighed. It was quiet, but the sound echoed through the room.

– I should. I led her into battle. I laid her on the altar of war. And for what? – tears welled up in her eyes. Hot, uncontrollable. She blinked, trying to hold them back, but they burst out anyway, sliding down her cheeks, one after the other, like molten metal. Corlys gently wiped them away with the pad of his finger. Her lips trembled. – Meleys died because of me, – her voice broke. – I led her there, I… I knew Vhagar was there. I had to protect her. I had to bring her home… I was sure… I thought I could… that it made sense… – her voice broke into a hoarseness. – And it turned out… nothing, – she shook her head, as if the gesture could cast off the burden of guilt. – But I lost her. I killed her, – Corlys sighed. – For what did she die? – Rhaenys whispered, and there was so much pain in her voice that it seemed like a separate living being. – Why? Sunfire is alive. Vhagar is alive. Aemond is alive. And Aegon… probably alive too. So why did she die?

The tears were already flowing shamelessly, hot and salty, and Corlys wiped one cheek, then the other. He traced each of them with his fingers, as if taking away the heat that burned her skin. A large, warm palm, as if he were touching the most precious thing in the world. He pulled her close. Her forehead fell to his shoulder. Her body falls forward gently, and he catches her, his arms around her back, holding her close with a force. The warmth of his chest, the movement of his breath beneath her cheek, like a lighthouse rising in a stormy sea: steady, firm, unwavering. She sobbed softly, deeply, the way one only sobs when pain has long since become part of the flesh. Her body shuddered in his arms, and each time he stroked her back, her shoulders, ran his fingers through her hair, soothing her in a way no one ever could. His lips touched her hair.

– I have to see her… – she whispers, her voice breaking. – I have to… I have to know… I have to… say goodbye…– each word sounds like it’s cutting her throat from the inside.

Corlys smooths her hair, his fingers sliding from root to tip, repeating the same motion until her breathing becomes a little more even. He knows she’s right. And at the same time, he knows that the sight that awaits her there could break her completely. He falls silent, pressing her closer to him, hiding his own shadow of fear in his eyes. He would take away her pain if he could. He would take away all her losses. She doesn’t see his jaw clench. As if he’s making a decision inside that he doesn’t dare to voice yet.

When Rhaenys had calmed down a bit, she straightened up in her chair, leaning her back against the soft upholstery. Her eyes were still wet with tears, her shoulders shaking with residual tension. Corlys sat next to her, his presence warm, but he took his time, giving her a chance to gather her thoughts. His voice was quiet, calm, but filled with confidence.

– There are things that are better remembered in something good, – Rhaenys shook her head, clenching her fists in her lap.

– I won`t run from my guilt. I`m a fool… I believed I could win that battle. I`m a fool and a loser… and Meleys paid for it, – Corlys leaned toward her slowly. His hands rested on her face, firm but gentle.

– Don’t you dare say that, – his voice grew firmer. – You`re the smartest woman I know. You`re the best dragon rider. And no one could win a battle alone against two dragons, one of which is the greatest living, – Rhaenys lowered her head, trying to argue, but she remained silent. She still felt the coldness of guilt pressing against her chest. He felt her tense and relaxed his hands on her face to support her, keeping her from drowning in the darkness of her own thoughts. – It's not your fault. No one could have predicted what happened.

She took a deep breath, trying to gather her wits, but tears still rolled down her cheeks. Corlys ran his hand gently through her hair again. She wanted to throw herself into a wave of anger at herself, at the world. But Corlys’s hands, his quiet hardness, stopped her.

– You must remember the good, – he continued, looking into her eyes. – Remember Meleys as she was.

Rhaenys pulled away a little, sliding her shoulder against his chest, allowing herself to feel a little more support. She couldn’t believe it was true at first. Her guilt and pain were so real that it was hard to accept the words, even if they came from him. But in his gaze, in his calm confidence, she sensed a glimmer of hope. She shakes her head, still silent. Corlys doesn’t press. He just sits there, his hands gently holding her shoulders, ready to steady her. In the silence that fills the room, she feels some of her burden gradually lift. And though the pain doesn’t go away, the guilt doesn’t go away either. Rhaenys stares into his face, and finally a faint determination appears in her eyes.

– And yet, I must go there.

Corlys stares at her for a long time, weighing something within himself. His shoulders slowly sag, his gaze darkening. He seems to have aged an entire war in one short breath. In the silence, the fireplace crackled, and the flames reflected in dark flashes in his eyes. He still knelt before her, so strong, so stubborn a man who had never knelt before kings or sea gods, but only for her. His fingers still held her hands, as if he were afraid that if he let go, she would disappear in another wave of pain. Rhaenys could barely breathe. Her chest rose and fell slowly, holding her breath as if each breath was a struggle. She knew something in his eyes had changed.

– There’s something…– his voice cracked. – There’s something you need to know, – she stared at him, unblinking. The silence stretched like a sharp string between them. Corlys swallowed hard, the knot in his throat twitching. His arms dropped to his sides, his fingers clenched into fists. – They cut her off, – Rhaenys’s lips parted slightly, but there was no sound. Only silence, heavy, black, the kind that squeezed the ribs. – They wanted to show that a dragon could be defeated. That there was a trophy to be made fun of. They carried her through King’s Landing in front of the crowd.

The words fell into the room like something heavy, stony, merciless. And for a moment even the fire in the fireplace seemed to go out, drawn in by the horror. Rhaenys’s eyes widened. Her breathing stopped, as if someone had thrown an invisible noose around her. She didn’t immediately understand what she heard. Her lips parted, but there was no sound. Only a muffled, broken squeak escaped from the depths of her throat, more like the sob of an animal that had received a mortal wound. Something inside her collapsed. She convulsively sucked in air, but her lungs wouldn’t obey. It was as if cold water had suddenly filled them and she was drowning, choking on her own pain. Corlys grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him, so abruptly that he was afraid she would break if she fell to the stone floor. Rhaenys hit her forehead against his chest, her body went dead. He hugged her tighter, almost suffocating, one hand pressing her to him, the other covering the back of her head, his fingers trembling in her silver hair. Rhaenys let out a short, ragged breath. His arms closed around her back, strong, warm, but the warmth wasn’t enough to stop the icy pain that shot through her. Rhaenys could hear her heart pounding erratically, too fast, as if trying to catch up with something that no longer existed. The world had shrunk to a single moment, and that moment was unbearable. She couldn’t breathe. Her throat tightened, her lungs seemed to forget how to breathe. The pain rose from her chest to her throat, swallowing her, squeezing her inside so hard that she instinctively clung to Corlys, as if he were the only solid surface in a world that had suddenly shattered into pieces. He almost lifted her from the chair, holding her close. She didn’t realize she was crying right away, the tears were falling slowly, almost silently, but when they reached her. Her whole body shuddered as if she had been struck by a spear. Her chest was squeezed so tightly that it felt as if her ribs would crack.

– Hush…hush, – Corlys whispered somewhere above her, but his voice was hoarse, weak.

He stroked her shoulders, her hair, her back, softly, carefully, as if she were fragile, like porcelain. And though she didn’t want it, these touches saved her from simply falling to her knees and breaking. His scent enveloped her. His chest rose unevenly, and for the first time in a long time she felt that he was afraid too. Afraid for her. Afraid of what he had said. Afraid of what else might happen. Rhaenys clenched her fingers inside his shirt so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her tears soaked the fabric, and now she could feel that cold, wet place against her cheek, but she couldn’t tear herself away. She needed this, to hold him, to feel something real, something alive, something that hadn’t fallen apart. Something inside her was breaking – slowly, painfully, piece by piece. Corlys held her even tighter, tilting his head so that his forehead touched her hair.

– I didn’t want you to know like this, – he said softly. She shook her head, her nose pressed against his chest.

Rhaenys shuddered again at the flash of hatred, so strong, so hot, that it licked her from the inside just as Meleys’s fire had once. Rhaenys was finally able to take a full breath, though a shaky one. She pulled away a little, not leaving his embrace, just lifting her head enough to see his face. Corlys looked at her with such sadness that she wanted to close her eyes. He knew he was telling the truth. He knew his words hurt. He knew that what lay between them now wasn`t just the loss of Meleys, but something much heavier.

– Take me, – she said, weakly but stubbornly. – I… I need to see, – he started to say something, but she placed her fingers on his chest, stopping him. – Please.

Those two words were enough to break his resistance. Corlys closed his eyes, lowering his head so that his forehead touched hers. A long, heavy silence filled the room.

– If I don’t do this, you’ll go yourself, won’t you? – Rhaenys nodded. – Okay.

And his arms wrapped around her again.

***

Rhaenys stood on the bow of the ship, motionless as a statue, the cold sea wind whipping her face, as if trying to force its way through the thoughts that swarmed in her head. The air smelled of salt and winter. Every day the smell grew sharper, heavier, almost metallic. Winter is coming. She kept her eyes on the thin, dark line of land that was slowly emerging from the dawn mist. A rocky cliff rose above the sea like a giant’s broken tooth, and on its summit were the scorched, twisted, shattered remains of towers. They jutted out of the gray sky like the bones of a dead animal – charred evidence of the battle that had taken Meleys from her. She gripped the railing so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The fabric of her black dress – heavy velvet embroidered with red dragons, fluttered behind her, but she felt no cold. Only longing. Only the pain that had been scratching her inside since she opened her eyes after her death, returned with no memory, no past, but with a scar in her chest that reminded her of the flame every night. She was alive. Meleys wasn`t. And Rhaenys still didn’t know why exactly she had been allowed to return. For what sin or what virtue had fate decided that she should still walk these lands. They had sailed away immediately after Jace’s funeral.

Rhaenys sighed. They had sailed away immediately after Jace’s funeral. She still felt a twinge of guilt in her chest for abandoning granddaughter. They were broken by grief. They held on to each other, but they needed her, and yet she had gone. The wave rose, hitting the side of the ship lightly. Rhaenys didn’t even flinch. She felt sadness for Jace, but it was sadness for a young soldier who had fallen in battle, not for her own blood. Her chest didn’t ache with despair, her heart didn’t burn with loss, her body didn’t remember his childish laughter or the warmth of his embrace – nothing. She knew he wasn’t her grandson, no matter what they told her. You couldn’t grieve for something you never had: memories that didn’t exist, a love that was never born. She had learned to love him since her return, tried to build something between them, but they were strangers. Two people connected only by the threads of war. But the fact that he was a stranger didn`t make his death any less tragic. Her gaze locked again on the outlines of the cliffs. The closer they came, the clearer the black spots of charred stone became, the dark cracks, the places where dragonfire had licked the earth, leaving only death in its wake. Rhaenys closed her eyes. Shapes emerged from beneath her eyelids – a burning sky, a painful light, a roar so loud it tore through her lungs. And then the fall. Cold darkness. She took a deep breath, holding on to reality. After she woke, they had told her different things. They had said that she had killed the usurper. That she had killed Sunfire. That her heroism had changed the course of the war. Now she knew: they were fables. So what did Meleys die for? For whose salvation? For what victory? The wind blew harder, as if wanting to tear that thin, piercing pain from her heart. The ship rocked. Someone called her name – quietly, carefully, as if afraid to touch her thoughts. She didn't turn around. The rocks were very close. And every meter that brought her closer to them squeezed her chest, as if cold fingers were touching her very heart. Today she would return to the one who had been by her side all her life. To the one who had died because of her order. To the one she had failed to save. Today Rhaenys would meet her Meleys. Even if all that remained of her was a black mark on the stone.

Rhaenys walked cautiously, as if each step might break the silence that hung over the plateau like a shroud. The wind lifted the gray ash, whirled it in small whirlwinds, and dropped it back onto the scorched earth, which felt dry, cracked, so dead underfoot that even the stones looked burned to brittleness. The castle before her seemed a small stone island, once a refuge, but now a ruin. Its size was striking in its simplicity. It wasn`t a fortress, not the majestic walls of Dragonstone or King's Landing – just a rectangular structure with a small courtyard, without separate wings or halls. An ordinary, even modest stronghold, built on the edge of a high cliff. Rhaenys realized: such a castle had no chance. Not against an army, and even less against a dragon. And her heart beat, perhaps too lightly, with a strange emptiness. That's what happens when you see a battle that someone had fought to the end, but it was still lost. The ruins looked as if they had been swallowed by a fire and spat back out into the world – charred stones, torn masonry, collapsed towers. The barbican, though it held, was cracked in several places, like a shell from the impact. One face of the keep had disappeared entirely, as if carved by a huge claw. The domed tower at the back of the castle had collapsed inward, and its remains now lay in a heap of stones, where black soot could be seen between the cracks. And there was something deafening in this silence. The smell was the worst. It hit her nostrils even before she stepped closer. Rot, burning fat, blood mixed with smoke. The wind occasionally shifted, bringing waves of stench, and Rhaenys had to fight the urge to turn away or cover her nose. Corpses lay around the castle. Hundreds. Some dried, charred to the point where it was hard to tell whether they were human remains or piles of armor. Others were newer, with footprints still warm on the ground. Mooton's people. They had died here without a chance, without glory, for none of them could compete with what settled in these ruins. Her boots crunched on the ash. The stone beneath her crunched, as if the entire plateau were covered in a thin shell that might collapse underfoot. Further, closer to the wall, the ground was torn and crushed. Fire stains eating away at the stone, black streaks where dragonfire burned. The wall where Sunfire had hidden, or rather where he lay, exhausted, broken, and yet so deadly that even in his agony he had become a doom for those who tried to finish him off.

The breach in the wall itself was gigantic. From the impact of the mass, from the weight of the huge body that had pierced the stone. The stones flew in all directions, leaving behind a chaotic crust of broken stone, ash, and debris. Rhaenys stopped before this place. Her heart was pounding, but she could only move on slowly, with restraint. She knew what was there. She hadn’t seen it yet, but she knew it. The air suddenly felt heavier, thicker. She felt something squeeze her chest. She stood at the edge of the shadow that fell from the breach in the wall. The wind was different here – cold, dry, almost dead. There was no sound around except the soft rustle of her cloak. And among the ruins of the castle… among the rubble… where the heart of this small fortress had once risen… she lay. Rhaenys froze, as if her own body had stopped obeying. Her breath came in short, ragged, almost clicking breaths as she stood before her. Gigantic, once majestic, proud as the sun itself at dawn, Meleys now lay sprawled among the ruins, like a broken sacrificial god. Her red scales, always so bright, glowing in flight, were now dull, stained with soot, blood, ash. In places they were simply burned black, in places they were torn away, exposing dead, torn muscle fibers. Where there had once been great muscles, bite marks were visible. Sunfire wondered at her flesh. The wind stirred the drooping edges of her wings, torn like dirty banners forgotten on the battlefield. The smell… Gods, that smell. Rot, char, old ash, blood long frozen on the stones. And something else sweet, sickening, that made her want to rip her insides out. Where once her proud, spiky neck had risen, now the charred edge of a huge bite darkened. As if death itself had opened its jaws and ripped the life out of her creature one by one. And then emptiness. A smooth, even fracture, charred and frozen. Her head was being sawed off. Stolen. Taken as a trophy, like some kind of thing. Rhaenys’s fingers twitched. She took a step. One. Two. The ground beneath her feet shook, the cold seeped into her boots, but she walked, never taking her eyes off what was left of her dragon. Tears began to flow as if someone had broken a dam inside her. They were hot, hellish, and cooled even before they fell from her cheek, because the wind was piercing.

– Meleys… – she blurted out soundlessly.

Her lips trembled, the words didn`t obey, her throat tightened so much that she could not breathe. She came closer, touched the red scales with her palm. Once warm, alive, the one that responded to every touch, to every change in her voice. How many flights, how many nights, how many battles… How many times they had soared together over the whole world, where no one could touch them. And now… cold. Dead stillness. Not a shred of living spark. Rhaenys fell to her knees so hard that she hit the stone, but she didn’t even feel the pain. Her fingers slid over the carcass, as if she could feel somewhere there, under that cold shell, even the slightest sign, the slightest breath.

– I’m sorry… – she breathed out. The tears became so abundant that the world before her eyes blurred. – Forgive me… My girl… Meleys…

She leaned her forehead against the cold, lifeless scales, and the world split. As if something inside her had finally broken, cracked, shattered into a million sharp fragments that now slowly, methodically cut her from the inside. Her shoulders shook. She was choking on sobs – deaf, cruel, ugly, wild. She squeezed Meleys as if she could turn her back, pull her from the place where dragons no longer fly.

– You shouldn’t have… It was me… I brought you there… – her voice came from her chest, brittle, hoarse, as if she were speaking through glass. – I was such a fool…

The pain grew with each word. It grew, stung, drained her until there was nothing left of Rhaenys but raw, naked, searing grief. She remembered Meleys growling as she parried Vhagar’s blow. How her strong, huge spine had trembled beneath her as the dragon fought for her. Her faithful, wise, old queen who had never… never turned away. And she had led her to her death. Rhaenys slammed her forehead against the scales a second time, not knowingly, but in despair, and clenched her fingers so that her nails broke against the scales. The blood mingled with the ashes, but she didn’t even feel it.

– Meleys… my… Forgive me… forgive me…

Her sobs curled in the air, merging with the whistle of the cold wind, and it seemed as if the ruins themselves were listening, absorbing her cries. The pain that tore through her chest wasn`t human. It was as if she had lost not an ally, not a weapon, not a beast, but her own heart, her own soul, the thing that made her alive. A part of herself. She winced as the wind pushed the scorched edge of wing, and it sank slowly, heavily, closer to the ground. Rhaenys balled her fingers into fists and pressed her cheek to the dragon’s cold side, never taking her eyes off where her head should have been. Her beautiful Meleys… Her Red Queen… Her living flame… And now she was just a body without a face. It made Rhaenys want to scream. Howl. Tear her own flesh. But she only sobbed, gasping for air silently, as if drowning in a sea of ​​her own guilt. Time had disappeared, melted away. There were only ruins, cold, and the dead body of the one she had loved the longest and most faithfully in her life.

Corlys found her as night nearly fell on the plateau. He walked a long way toward the ruins, each step heavier than the last. The smell hit his chest so hard he had to stop. She sat under Meleys's wing, pressed against the cold side as tenderly as she had once pressed against a living dragon. Her dress was stained with ash and ground, her hair disheveled by wind and tears. She didn`t move, and in the darkness she seemed as still as the dragon's carcass. Something pierced him inside. This sight... he would have preferred anything else. Any wound on himself, any danger, but this: to see his wife broken so that she seemed to dissolve in the death of her beast. He had never been on good terms with this beast, they had rather tolerated each other for her sake. But she was never to be like this. A torn, rotting carcass with its head severed. Lying here in ruins. But what frightened him even more was the thought: she could lie here just like that. Just as torn, just as left to rot in oblivion. He found it hard to breathe. Something animalistic stirred in his chest, merging with the panic he had long suppressed. He gritted his teeth and moved forward. As he approached, he called her name softly, but she didn`t hear. She was beyond the boundary. In his trance of grief, in the darkness he couldn`t enter. He knelt beside her, reaching for her face, ashes stuck to her wet cheeks, traces of tears standing out in pale trails. She looked as if all her life had drained from her with them. He touched her shoulder. She didn`t move. Then he carefully slipped his hand under her knees, the other under her back, pulling her close to him. She struggled weakly, her fingers clinging to Meleys's cold skin, as if she could still hold onto something that was gone forever. Corlys lifted her slowly, as if afraid of breaking her. She was cold to the touch, like the ruin itself that lay beneath them, soaked with ash and tears and death. Her hands still clung convulsively to the dead carcass, her fingers digging into the cracked red scales, as if searching there for the warmth that had once resided in those giant muscles. She felt as if she let go, she would let go of the last link that had any meaning. Her body arched back toward Meleys, as if she weren`t a woman but a part of the beast itself, torn by force from their common flesh. Her lips trembled, but there was no sound. She only gasped for air in short, ragged gasps, as if she were choking on her own feelings. The silence of this place – the silence of death and burning and loneliness, pressed down on her, squeezing her ribs so that they seemed about to crack. Corlys held her, and each step he took was careful but heavy, as if his feet were sinking into the earth that remembered battle. She was shaking, so hard that his hands could barely hold her. Not long ago, she had thought she had known the limits of suffering, but this… This was different. Her dragon wasn`t just a beast. She was a part of Rhaenys. Together they had experienced their first flights, their first falls, their first fear. All the victories. All the losses. They were one story. Two halves of one heart. And now the half was gone. He leaned down, pressed his forehead to her temple. He carried her aside, taking her away from this place, from this death, from this horror. He didn`t know how to heal her wounds. Rhaenys felt that with each step something inside her was breaking, tearing, but still pulling back. She sobbed soundlessly, because her voice broke like a string. It seemed to her that the world around her had become darker, that her light had been taken from it. The only light that had never betrayed. Corlys' boot crunched on a fragment of the wall, and this sound cut through the silence, sharp, foreign, painful. She shuddered, then suddenly lost strength and went limp in his arms. Her head leaned against his shoulder, heavy, listless, and only tears continued to fall onto his waistcoat, mingling with the ashes on her cheeks. Corlys felt her fingers convulsively squeeze the edges of his jacket one last time. He silently pressed her closer, as if he could protect her from what no longer existed, from what had already happened. But what frightened him most of all was the emptiness. The emptiness in her eyes when she finally blinked, as if she had returned to the world after a long fall into the abyss. An emptiness that was deeper than fear and pain. The border beyond which a person never returns to who he was. An evening wind rose over the ruins, cold as a knife blade. He touched her frozen cheeks, and she shivered again, but less so. She was exhausted, parched from tears and horror. The wind carried the scent of death.

Chapter Text

The ship entered King's Landing slowly, as if weighing every move, settling down carefully, like a wounded beast returning to its lair. The waves lapped the sides, hitting the wooden pilings of the pier with a dull thud. Above it all was a familiar rumble – the creak of rigging, the shouts of sailors, the smell of salt and tar and wind, now mixed with something heavier, the musty smell of the city. Rhaenys stood on the upper deck, breathing in the air, and smiled faintly. She had been a guest on ships too often lately. But perhaps that was to the advantage of the Lady of the Tides.

When the gangway was finally lowered, she stepped lightly onto it. Corlys was already waiting below, on the dock, accompanied by several Velaryon`s guards in silver armor, with the symbol of a seahorse on their chests. The wind blew the ends of their cloaks, but Corlys himself was as still as a piece of the pier. When he saw her, he smiled that rare smile that made his face look ten years younger, stepped forward, and held out his hand. Rhaenys took it.

– My lady, – he said as she stepped onto the ground. – Welcome to the capital.

Then, very regal, but with that warmth, he leaned down and touched her hand with his lips. Rhaenys allowed herself a small smile in return. They walked along the pier toward the carriage. It smelled of fish, of stale water, of smoke, and of sweat. The smells stung her nose. The water near the piers was darker than she remembered: slimy, dirty, with floating debris, bits of wood, even torn cloth. The capital wasn`t the same. Once, in the time of Queen Alysanne, King's Landing shone with purity, life, and human voices. The streets were narrow but washed, the white stones of the road catching the sun. It smelled of bread from the bakeries, hot wax from the temples, fresh fruit from the markets. People lived densely, but children ran between the market rows, women hung out their laundry on their porches, monks walked with their flat-bottomed baskets, collecting alms. And now... Now the city was almost empty. There were no voices or bustle on the streets. Only a few figures, fleeing from view, hiding in the shadows of the houses. Some doors were broken. The windows were boarded up or broken. Where once stood the colorful rows of spontaneous markets, now lay upturned wooden canvas, pieces of burlap, torn ropes, as if the city itself had lost the will to live. The guards surrounded them, stepping in sync. The planks of the pier creaked underfoot, some of them rotted, and they had to go around places where the wood was almost falling apart. At the foot of one of the columns lay abandoned fishing nets, tangled, as if by someone’s evil fate, and pushed into one big dirty heap. The carriage waited a little further. Corlys offered her his hand again. Rhaenys, before standing on the step, took another long look at the capital. Her imagination was drawing a picture of the past.

– Do you remember what it was like? – Rhaenys asked quietly. Corlys sat down opposite her, the carriage moved off. He nodded softly.

– I fell in love with you here, Rhaenys. The city was bright then. Now it smells of death.

Rhaenys rolled her eyes and smiled wryly. The carriage jolted over the first pothole, and there were many of them now. Ruined houses passed by. Rhaenys pressed her fingers to the window, watching the neighborhoods float by.

– And this must be the heart of the Seven Kingdoms…

– The heart can ache. But it can be healed.

– Does anyone want to heal? – she smiled bitterly.

They rode in silence. The carriage rocked gently on the cobblestones, and the only sound was the horses’ hooves and the muffled creak of the wheels. Rhaenys sat closer to the window and stared intently at the capital floating past the glass. King’s Landing had always been noisy, she remembered it that way. Now the city was different. Silent. Empty. Too quiet for the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Only a few people hurried across the street, their heads down and not looking up at the carriage. Corlys sat opposite her, leaning his elbow on the carved wall of the carriage. He was silent, but from time to time his gaze would slide over Rhaenys – quickly, unobtrusively, as if making sure she was okay. She pretended not to notice, and stared intently at the city, though her chest felt tight.

– So many changes… – she said quietly, more to herself than to him. Corlys nodded softly.

The carriage turned onto a wider, busier street. There were rows of houses with tightly closed shutters. The shops were mostly closed. Only one old barber was cleaning the threshold in front of the door, and he stopped moving as the carriage slowly passed. As they approached the courtyards where the tents of merchants from all over the world usually stood, Rhaenys almost sighed in disappointment. No colorful fabrics. No shouting. Just empty spaces. Rhaenys pressed her shoulder against the wall and stared out at the distant castle compound. It looked harsher than she remembered – high towers like sentries who had lost their patience. No flags fluttered from the spires. The carriage was already turning towards the foot of the Red Keep when Corlys suddenly leaned forward and, with a quick, almost imperceptible movement, lowered his blind. Rhaenys turned slowly to him, raising an eyebrow.

– What is it? – she asked calmly, though her tone was sharp as a sword’s point. He sat back, not looking at her, as if nothing had happened.

– Nothing important.

– As if I believed it, – she said dryly, reaching for the curtain. But before her fingers touched the fabric, Corlys gently but firmly caught her wrist. His fingers were warm. Too warm, or her skin had reacted too quickly. Rhaenys held her breath. So did he.

– Corlys, – she whispered, her voice a mixture of curiosity and warning. – What are you hiding?

He held her hand, his fingers slowly sliding down to her palm. His knees brushed hers. The carriage shuddered on the stone, and Rhaenys almost fell forward. Corlys caught her, pulling her closer to him, closer than was comfortable.

– Nothing, my lady, – he replied quietly, his voice treacherously hoarse. – Nothing worth your attention.

– You’re deciding for me? – her smile was sharp, teasing. She leaned forward, her eyes meeting his. – Are you just afraid of what I’ll see?

The tension between them grew sharply. Their noses almost touched. He leaned closer, she didn’t move away. Their lips were a breath away. And just then the carriage came to a screeching halt. They both flinched. Corlys let go of her hand in an instant, leaning back as if he’d been caught doing something illegal. The guard’s voice came from outside.

– We’ve arrived, my lord, princess.

Rhaenys stepped out of the carriage, leaning on her husband's arm, and the first thing that hit her was the smell. Not the rot and soot that stood on the streets of the King`s Landing, but a sharp, metallic smell mixed with smoke. The air was heavy, as if the castle hadn`t yet had time to exhale after the battle. She stepped forward, and her gaze immediately caught the discarded banners. Green banners with a golden dragon lay on the stone floor, in places smeared with swamp slurry. Some were torn, others were simply torn, crumpled, thrown like garbage. New banners were already fluttering in their place. They swayed slightly, and seemed to bring a breath of Targaryen`s glory back to this stifling place... although the castle itself had long since lost its fire. Rhaenys slowly looked up at the towers. The stone seemed clean, more well-groomed than the streets of the city, but someone had attached seven-pointed stars to the windows. They contrasted sharply with the red and black banners, as if they reminded her of the foreign power that had just been here. Rhaenys grimaced as if ashes had suddenly appeared in her mouth. She looked around. Just above the gate hung a row of fresh heads. Strung on iron stakes, they stood out with sharp patches of dirty hair, gray skin, and frozen eyes. There was a faint smell of blood in the air that even the cold couldn`t hide. She recognized one of them immediately. Older, more wrinkled than in her memories, but with the same hideous curve of her lips. Otto Hightower. A boy’s head hung nearby. Younger, with an expression that was more frozen in surprise than horror. Similar, very similar to Otto.

– His son? – Rhaenys said softly, not looking away. Corlys leaned down, his lips almost touching her ear. His voice was low, muffled, so that no one but her would hear.

– Gwayne Hightower. And on the other side was Jasper Wylde, – Corlys offered her his hand, and they walked toward the main door of the castle.

– It doesn’t look very welcoming, – Rhaenys said, chuckling slightly.

– It was a warning to those who haven’t decided whose side he’s on yet, – Corlys replied calmly. She glanced at him sideways, squinting.

– And how is that any different from a usurper? – she glanced sharply ahead, toward the heavy doors of the castle. The flames in the torches flickered, caught in the wind off the sea. The stone of the walls seemed cold. Rhaenys exhaled. Then she raised her head sharply, regaining her regal bearing. – Come on, Corlys. I want to see what’s left of the Westeros of my childhood.

They entered the castle, and the door closed behind them with a low, heavy groan, as if the fortress had also begun a new chapter with them.

***

Rhaenys stood in front of the mirror longer than she had intended. The candlelight fell in a way that emphasized every line, every scar, every shadow on her body. She slowly ran her fingers over the scar on her eyebrow – still pink, stubborn in its reminder of a recent battle. It cut into the once perfectly even line of her face. She pursed her lips. Scars cut her arms in several places, and one, long, ran along her shin. Her gaze slid down her body. Her ribs no longer ached, but the memory of their tenderness still lingered in her body. But her body was also covered with scars from other battles – stretch marks covered her thighs and stomach, thin, light, almost invisible in the daylight, now seemed deep, rough. She touched them timidly, as if they were the marks of defeat. Although in her mind she knew they were the marks of life. But her heart saw only something else. It was obvious why he had betrayed her. Because she was no longer the girl who had laughed at royal councils, who had run around the Red Keep with a sword in her hand, and who had believed that the world was ahead of her. Now the world was mostly behind her. She stood closer to the mirror, studying the fine lines around her eyes. Once her gaze had been sharp as a sword and bright as the sun over the sea. Now it was deeper, heavier, but did he appreciate it? Did he see it? Did he care? And every time he told her she was beautiful, she found herself not believing it. Because how could a woman be beautiful when her body told a story of loss, years, battles, and childbirth? Did he want to touch those lines? Those scars? It hurt her to think that about herself, but it hurt even more to assume it was true. And although she was wiser than all the courtiers put together, this wisdom didn`t save her from simple female fear. That he no longer wanted her. That he no longer loved her. That she had lost the most precious thing not in battle, but in time. Rhaenys took a deep breath, but a heavy, dull feeling still remained in her chest. She raised her head, tried to meet her gaze in the mirror, but met only a woman who no longer believed in her beauty. A woman whom time had mercilessly touched where her husband had once touched. Suddenly the door opened. The wooden hinges creaked softly, but in the silence of the room it sounded almost like a crack. Rhaenys shuddered sharply, instinctively grabbing the towel and pressing it to her chest. When she turned around, Corlys stood in the doorway. Standing sideways, his gaze averted, as if afraid of violating her boundaries.

– Sorry, – he said quietly, not even trying to make excuses. – I… didn’t think.

Rhaenys straightened the towel, tugging at the edge, though her hands were shaking just a little. She took a deep breath and said in a steady voice.

– You can turn around. It’s okay.

Corlys turned his head carefully, holding his gaze to the side for a moment longer, as if checking to see if he really could look. Then he looked at her. His eyes slid down her bare legs. Rhaenys tensed. Could it mean anything? Was he just looking out of politeness, out of habit? The fear of disappointment burned in her throat. Corlys looked up and saw immediately that shadow of hesitation.

– What happened? – his voice became quiet, cautious.

– Nothing, – she answered too quickly. Too easily. Corlys took a step toward her. Then another, reaching out and lightly taking her chin in his fingers. His touch was warm, familiar yet foreign, lost in the fog of her memory. He lifted her face to meet his, their eyes meeting.

– Don’t lie to me, Rhaenys, – he whispered. – What’s wrong with you?

– I… don’t enjoy this celebration. This is no time for balls and feasts.

– I agree, – he nodded, not letting go of her chin. – But we both know that’s not what’s bothering you.

Rhaenys lowered her gaze, letting his fingers slide off her skin. It was hard for her to hold that gaze – too intent, too warm, too dangerous for the truth she didn’t want to speak. Her shoulders slumped, and she felt all those wrinkles, scars, stretch marks… all the weight of time she feared more than any battle. Corlys waited for her answer in silence, but the silence was oppressive, pulsating between them like a taut string. Rhaenys still held her chin high, but her eyes were already trembling, darting downward, as if afraid to meet his gaze. Finally, she sighed, like a person who surrenders not to an enemy but to her own truth.

– I… – her voice broke. She swallowed. – I understand why you did that, – a look of genuine incomprehension, even concern, appeared on Corlys’s face. He tilted his head slightly to the side. Rhaenys bit her lip. She hated saying it out loud, but it was worse to keep it to herself. – I’m talking about your betrayal, Corlys.

Now he seemed to be frozen. The muscles in his jaw tightened.

– Rhaenys…

– I understand, – she interrupted quietly, not giving him time to make excuses. – Why did you choose someone else. She was younger. More beautiful. Fresh. And I… – her voice trembled, though she tried to keep it even. – Men always…

She didn’t finish, the words stuck in her throat like splinters. Corlys cut her off sharply.

– This is nonsense. Complete nonsense, Rhaenys, – she grimaced in disbelief. – There is no excuse for my actions, but one thing I know for sure. There is no woman more beautiful than you.

Rhaenys snorted.

– No need... I may not remember half my life, but I`m not that stupid. I see myself in the mirror. I see wrinkles. I see scars. I see... – she touched the edge of her own thigh with the edge of her palm, where a long white scar stretched. – Men need a pretty face and... – she waved her hand in the air, carelessly but bitterly. – Perky tits.

Corlys not only didn't take offense, he smiled. He leaned towards her slowly, carefully, as if afraid of scaring her. First he touched her split eyebrow with his lips, then kissed the crease at the outer corner of her eye. Rhaenys froze. She didn`t flinch, but she didn`t move either. Her heart did something strange – it skipped a beat, or, conversely, it beat twice. A warmth spread over her skin, uncontrollable, almost forgotten. And with that warmth came something else – the fear of believing he was telling the truth. Corlys slid his lips to her temple and whispered, so softly, so close that the whisper became part of her breathing.

– As far as I can remember… your tits are still pretty good.

Rhaenys shuddered, half from laughter, half from the way it came out of his mouth. She froze while his fingers still held her chin, the warmth of his lips still alive on her skin. Corlys took her wrist so carefully, as if he were holding something fragile and precious, that Rhaenys involuntarily held her breath. His lips touched her skin lightly at first, then the kiss moved lower, to the first pale pink scar, and she felt a warm, attentive touch where it had once hurt. Another scar. More. His lips slid along the line of her forearm, disappearing into the depths of the wounds as if he were trying to drink all the past pain out of them. Their eyes met, and for that brief moment he was as naked to her as she was to him. There was nothing in his eyes but naked, undisguised tenderness.

– Rhaenys, I don't care how many scars or wrinkles you have.

She wants to believe. She wants to allow herself to believe that she is still desired, still alive in someone's heart, not just a memory of youth. His hand slides up to her neck, wide, warm, confident. His thumb touches the ridge of a vertebra. Rhaenys throws her head back almost instinctively. Her skin trembles where his fingers leave warm arcs. When he leans in, her body meets his before his lips touch hers. The first kiss, in the hollow of her ear, tickles, the second, lower, promises more. Corlys moves slowly but noticeably, changing from gentleness to deeper, more demanding passion. His breath is hot, and she feels each kiss throbbing inside her somewhere beneath her ribs. Her fingers have long since found their way to his shoulder. The fabric of the camisole rustles under her hand as she squeezes him tighter. Her other hand moves to the back of his neck, sliding through his hair. Corlys lifts his lips higher, to the edge of her jaw. His breath glides along her skin, and Rhaenys exhales hard, sharply. Their lips meet without hesitation, in a clash that flares between them like flint on stone. Her hand slips from his shoulder, resting on his cheek, feeling the prickles of his beard, now scratching her skin so sweetly and so vividly. He pulls her closer, and all her doubts dissolve on his lips, at least for this moment. For a moment, when she feels wanted again, needed, the only one. His kisses are warm, hungry, and in each one there is the confidence she so lacked. Rhaenys gives in to the pressure, rising slightly on tiptoe to respond. Her fingers slide along the back of his neck, gripping his hair. His hands drop to her waist, confidently tracing her line. For a moment he pauses, as if giving her a chance to step back, to change her mind. But Rhaenys only tightens her grip on his shoulders.

– If you’re old, – he runs his lips over her cheekbone, slowly, with a tenderness that breaks down her protective walls. – Then I’m afraid I’ve been lying in the ground for a long time.

Rhaenys feels something tighten and loosen in her chest. His lips cover her with a new wave of warmth. As he sits her on the counter, the wooden surface coolly touches her thighs, and it only emphasizes how hot his body is next to her. Corlys moves slowly, almost reverently, as if he’s afraid to miss even an inch of her skin. His hand holds her thigh firmly, the warmth of his fingers seeping under the skin and spreading in waves that cover her with an ever-thickening heat. His lips return to her neck, but no longer cautiously, now with every movement there’s a need, an urgency he’s held back for years. He touched her as if he were hungry, yet gently enough not to frighten her, not to push her away. His breath glided over her skin in hot waves, and Rhaenys felt the tension slowly dissolve inside her. Her body found its own response to him, without hesitation, without any ratio. She gave in to the impulse, one hand sliding into the fabric of his camisole, finding the hardness of the muscles beneath it. The other slid down his neck, over the warm skin under the short bristles, and stopped at the back of his neck. She felt him exhale barely audibly at her touch, and it sent a shiver down her stomach. Corlys moved down her skin slowly, tactfully, until he reached her shoulders. He showered them with kisses, as if regaining every inch, he had lost. His lips touched her collarbones, lingered there, feeling the pulsation beneath the thin skin. She felt her back lean forward toward him of its own accord, seeking more. When his lips reached the line of the towel, Rhaenys’s heart jumped, and she gasped for air more often. He paused for a moment, as if savoring the warmth radiating from her, and slowly ran his lips along the upper line of her bust. Barely, as if testing whether she would let him in further. The skin beneath his kisses trembled, her bust rose and fell in an uneven rhythm. Her fingers slid down his neck, then his shoulders, along the line of his back. She felt the movement of his muscles under her palm. The other hand didn’t let go of his head, pressing closer, inviting without words, allowing him to sink deeper into her. His touches became bolder. Hot lips moved along the hollow between her bust, and his palm still slid along her leg, slowing down and rising higher again. His every movement was both gentle and confident, and the combination intoxicated her, softened her, erased from her memory all her doubts about scars, age, wrinkles. In that moment, she felt desired so sincerely, so painfully real, that something inside finally stirred, a long-forgotten faith, fragile but real. She exhaled, almost silently, and pressed herself closer to him, letting in the heat he brought. Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and the voice of the maid who had brought her a dress. Rhaenys and Corlys froze, breathing the same air and looking at each other. A dark, rich purple depth appeared in his eyes, the pupils dilated, and the gaze became intense, almost pulsating. Rhaenys swallowed, feeling a slight excitement and arousal, and slipped away from the dressing table until he imperceptibly stepped back a step, giving her space. She quickly adjusted her hair and towel, trying to get herself in order, and then felt a little confused by how close they had just been and how much they had turned each other on. After a moment, she gathered the remains of a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and headed for the door, realizing that their intimate moment of closeness had left a warm, trembling mark on her body and in her thoughts. Her palms trembled slightly, but her face remained calm, with a restrained royal dignity, hiding an internal storm of emotions. She felt the pulse in ears accelerate from the residual warmth of his touch, and her back still remembered his hand sliding over her skin.

– Come in.

The girl entered, carefully holding the blue fabric in her hands, trying not to wrinkle it. She fainted a little when she saw the lord and lady. Every movement of the maid was careful, every breath barely noticeable, as if she was afraid to violate the invisible space of intimacy.

– See you before the banquet.

Rhaenys felt relieved, but her heart still fluttered, the feeling lingering deep inside, as if they were still echoing each other in the air of the room. Her gaze, turned to the maid, was calm and composed, but a storm raged inside – the warmth of his hands, his smell, even the presence of his energy still kept her tense. Rhaenys watched as the maid carefully unrolled the cloth and held it up to her. The maid slowly lifted the cloth, displaying its full volume, and Rhaenys watched the fluidity of the movements, the care with which the girl did it. It was all like a small ritual that allowed her to prepare for the outside world, but her thoughts still remained with Corlys, with that quiet, passionate moment when they were each other’s entire universe. Rhaenys felt her heart calm down a little, but the heat inside her still smoldered, reminding her of the dangerous and sweet intimacy she had just experienced.

Rhaenys stared into the mirror for a long time, examining herself from the crown of her head to her feet. The dress shone in the soft light of the lamps, as if it were alive – the fabric curved over her body, repeating every contour, tightening the waist with a corset that lifted and emphasized her bust, giving them lushness and shape. The sleeves were long and thin, ending at the wrists, tapering slightly, their folds neatly framing her arms, moving with her, like waves playing on the surface of the water. The neckline from the shoulders descended along the chest line, bordered by folds of fabric. The silver threads of the corset shone, weaving a wavy ornament that resembled the movement of sea waves. Sapphires embedded in the fabric caught the light and shimmered with a blue fire. The lush skirt fell in waves, its fabric gently touched the floor, creating the impression of a wave in the middle of the sea, hugging her legs. Each step was accompanied by a soft rustle of fabric, and the feeling of her own majesty and strength was mixed with a slight vulnerability, which was enhanced by a look in the mirror. Her hair was gathered high, emphasizing the line of her neck, woven into waves and braids, descending in soft curls to her shoulders. On her chest lay a heavy silver necklace, inlaid with sapphires that reflected the light, coinciding with the earrings and rings on her fingers. Every stone and thread seemed to create an aura of grandeur around her. Despite all the luxury and grandeur, Rhaenys couldn’t shake the small doubt that she was wearing something too bright and unrestrained. Her eyes skimmed over the reflection, lingering on the lines of the neck, the shoulders, the waist, the glittering details, all of which evoked a feeling of simultaneous pride and uncertainty.

– You`re incredible, princess.

Rhaenys felt a slight warmth from the praise, but at the same time, that small voice of doubt remained in her thoughts. The thin line between strength and vulnerability made her look even more alive, real and attractive than any jewels or fabrics that framed her body.

– Thank you, Cecil.

Rhaenys walked slowly, carefully placing one step after another, feeling the stone give way softly under her heels. The corridors of the Red Keep greeted her in semi-darkness – the torches, though they shone, but their flames were sluggish, as if tired from the war, turmoil and blood that had long since penetrated even the pores of this stone. She touched her fingers to the smooth walls, as if searching among them for echoes of her childhood, those long-ago days when she had run here in the dresses of Alysanne's seamstresses, when the palace was full of music, laughter, the smell of honeyed gingerbread. Now everything seemed different – gloomier, colder, as if the very air itself had become thicker. Her memory was like an old carpet: here and there whole pieces had rotted away, others remained almost intact. But the direction of the corridors, the angle of the stairs, the smell of stone – it was so deeply ingrained in her that even the blow to her memory couldn`t erase it. A figure appeared in front of her at the turn. Tall, leaning slightly forward, in a black doublet. A few steps and the shadows gave way to light. A sharp flash of recognition ran down her back like a chill. He had changed, of course. He had become broader in the shoulders, his gaze sharpened, his cheekbones were more distinct. But the cheeky crooked smile, the same one that had irritated her when she was a girl and he was a boy who defiantly violated all the rules of decency. She would have recognized him anywhere. He stopped in front of her, his head cocked slightly to the side, as if examining an interesting exhibit. His smile slowly lifted one corner.

– Daemon, – he chuckled briefly, quietly, but in that chuckle was all his contemptuous pleasure at his very presence in the world.

– Cousin. People say you’re tenacious, – Rhaenys held his gaze. There was neither warmth nor hostility in her eyes, only cold assessment. She glanced up and down slowly, almost lazily, as if examining a horse that had entered the ring uninvited.

– I can say the same about you, for once in so many years no one has killed you with your vile nature, – his laugh rolled down the corridor, light, defiant, completely Daemon`s. There was no malice in it. He had always loved her tongue, and the fact that even after everything that had happened, she could still bite just as sharply, it seemed to please him pleasantly.

– Your sarcasm, it certainly hasn’t hurt, – he narrowed his eyes for a moment, studying her carefully. She stood straight, majestic, as befits a princess, but something had changed in her gaze. It had become deeper, heavier. – They say you’ve lost your memory.

There was no pity in his voice. It was as if he were talking about some rare creature found in the market of Essos. Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, and a slight shadow of contempt flashed across her gaze.

– As you can see, I still recognize you. Although I probably would have preferred to forget.

He smiled again, that same sly, almost boyish smile that always challenged everyone around him. He took a step closer, the way those who know no boundaries or don`t recognize them do. And quietly, almost trustingly, like a person who knows how to impress with one sentence, he said.

– If you were dead, I would miss your tongue.

Daemon took a step forward, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body, and it wasn’t the warmth she wanted to feel. They stood face to face, dangerously close, so close that if someone leaned in, their foreheads would touch. His gaze was cold, dark, like a ripe plum. Hers was sharp and reserved, until the thin thread of patience began to break. Daemon spoke evenly, but there was a threat in his voice, hidden, taut like a string: something he never hid, he was used to taking what he wanted and not used to anyone contradicting him.

– My daughters are on Driftmark for some reason. Although one is supposed to guard Dragonstone, and the other should be in the Eyrie, – his words fell between them, heavy and stinging. Rhaenys didn`t retreat. Her chin rose slightly.

– Rhaena was called by Corlys, it’s not her fault, – a shadow flashed across his face. He was displeased, and he made no secret of it.

– She could have turned back already, – Rhaenys sighed irritably. She didn’t like the tone, she didn’t like the manner, this arrogance that had always been in him, since his youth, but had only intensified with age.

– She never interested you, don’t start being the father of the year now, – she took a step to the side, trying to get past him. His hand shot out like an arrow and gripped her wrist tightly, painfully. Pain shot down the nerves to her shoulder. Rhaenys took a sharp breath, anger burning in her chest, expanding in a hot wave. Daemon leaned closer, his voice a low, dangerous roar.

– These are my daughters, – the words came from him like a dragon's roar, and the scent of anger, old and familiar, hung between them. Rhaenys looked up at him, cold as the Darkness at dawn. Her voice was quiet, but there was a metallic ring in it.

– Then don't forget it.

She jerked her hand away. His fingers pressed harder. Anger erupted within her. She jerked again, using all the strength of her shoulder, and wrenched her hand from his grasp. The skin on her wrist was burning, the pale line that would later become a bruise was already showing. She gave him one last, piercing look, and walked forward quickly, proudly, without looking back. His gaze drilled into her back, she could feel it literally between her shoulder blades, like a sharp knife. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, confident, sharp, alive. Rhaenys picked up her pace quickly. Each step was loud, dry, echoing in the empty corridors, as if the castle itself were repeating her anxiety. She didn`t stop until she reached the wide marble staircase that wound down to the Throne room. At the very bottom of the stairs stood a small group of men in expensive doublets, with coats of arms she recognized only in fragments. Their faces were hazy in memory, blurred, as if painted on a damp wall. But she saw one silhouette immediately – a confident, strong posture, a dark blue camisole. The men turned their heads almost in unison, like a pack of predators who had noticed something valuable. Their gazes slid over her: assessing, wondering, some too long, too greedily. Rhaenys felt her dress grow heavier, how their gazes undressed her no less noticeably than hands. Corlys turned. His gaze fell on her, and everything else disappeared. He looked differently – openly, shamelessly, with that hungry tenderness. His gaze slid along the line of her shoulders, slowly descended to her waist, lingered on the waves of her skirt. Rhaenys felt something in her contract, bloom, and tremble at the same time. He stepped forward as if the other men didn`t exist, holding out his hand to her. She placed her hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin, and descended the last steps. As soon as her foot touched the floor, he leaned down and kissed her hand, his eyes never leaving her, sending a chill down her spine. She could feel the lords behind her watching, but this time she didn't care what they saw. Corlys was looking only at her.

– You`re stunning.

Someone greeted her, someone bowed. She smiled politely, nodded to several lords, allowing herself a short breath. Her hand rested on his elbow, and they moved into the throne room together. Under the high walls stood long tables of guests, some silent, others looking at each other, searching for meaning in every movement. At the end, on a rise, stood the table of the royal family. And behind it the Iron Throne of a thousand blades, cast in fear and ambition. It lay black in the penumbra, like a predator sleeping, but ready to sting at any moment. And at that moment, when her gaze touched the throne, something inside her shuddered. A memory flashed suddenly, brightly, like a flame.

She sat on the Iron Throne as a little girl, her feet barely touching the ground, so she rocked them back and forth. The grandmother leaned forward, her hands smelling of laurel oil and rosewater, and the crown fell on Rhaenys’s head. Alysanne’s voice was as soft as the rustle of wings.

– One day you`ll be queen, my dear. A dragon doesn`t listen to the thoughts of sheep… but remember: without sheep a dragon cannot rule.

Little Rhaenys hadn`t understood those words then. The grown-up understood all too well. The memory burned her. And suddenly her feet seemed to lose their support, the world swayed, the hall swam before her eyes. She automatically squeezed Corlys’s elbow harder, much harder than she had intended. He felt it, slowing his pace. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled the air that smelled of wax, metal, and danger. When she looked ahead again, the Iron Throne no longer seemed like a memory, just a cold piece of metal, a symbol of war, pain, and betrayal.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys felt alienated from all this bright action, as if she were looking through water. It seemed that everyone around her was laughing, rejoicing at the opportunity to relax for the first time in a long time, but something inside her was squeezing, growing heavier with each passing minute. She sat next to Corlys at the royal family table. Before them shone gilded plates, glasses, candlesticks. Everything glittered, shimmered in the light of hundreds of candles, but it wasn`t warm. Musicians on the platform played a light melody, sometimes switching to something more joyful. The lords around her were having fun, shifting glasses from place to place, exchanging jokes and promises. Rhaenyra spoke beautifully, confidently. The words fell on the guests like carefully selected pebbles: thoughtful, correct, appropriate. Rhaenys heard it, but not a single word touched her. She could see Rhaenyra’s hands moving smoothly, the light and shadow playing on her black dress. And yet Rhaenys couldn`t help feeling that what hung over it all was the same as over the capital – ash. Ashes of people dying of hunger, ashes of destroyed homes, ashes of unspoken grievances. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see people dancing at the far end of the hall. Some laughed loudly, as if trying to shout over their own fears. Others looked closely at the royal family – assessing, weighing, searching for weaknesses. Corlys would occasionally squeeze her fingers under the table. She could feel his warmth, but inside she was still cold. Rhaenys sipped her wine. The warmth passed through her for only a moment. She could feel a shadow growing somewhere deep in her chest: something old, instinctive. The celebration seemed almost carefree, but she could see in the eyes of many, in the corners of their lips, in the tense shoulders, that there was no peace yet. This was only a respite. Only thin ice underfoot. Rhaenys listened to the music, the laughter, the drunken shouts, and thought only of the fact that it would be harder ahead. That they hadn`t paid all their debts. That death hadn`t yet stopped following them. Something in her chest tightened so painfully that she almost took a sharp breath. Corlys leaned closer, touched her hand. She barely turned her head, letting it be known that everything was fine. Although it wasn`t true.

– You`ll dance with me, my lady? – he said softly, leaning close enough for his breath to trail along her neck. Rhaenys narrowed her eyes.

– You`re too old to dance, Corlys, – she said, her voice so soft it was almost a caress. His smile widened, almost youthful.

– Perhaps. But I`ll have to suffer. For someone, – he ran a finger along the lace fold on her shoulder. – Has put on a dress so sumptuous it would be a sin not to walk in it.

He stood and she followed him. His hand rested firmly on her waist.

– The dress is too much.

– Nothing can be too much for you, – he replied, clearly savoring every word. – You look like a goddess.

– Your tongue is too sweet, Corlys Velaryon.

They moved to where the musicians were already warming up the hall. Corlys took her hand, turning it into the first step. She whirled with him, her dress billowing around her like a dark blue sea under the moon. The dance required them to part and come together again, to exchange brief touches, to feel each other at arm’s length. And every time he touched her waist again, squeezing just enough to keep her in rhythm, something in her quivered, something alive, long forgotten. He leaned toward her as the music picked up speed and wrapped her around him. She whirled, her hair flowing in silver threads around her, and the large sapphires at her neck flashed almost defiantly. His hand slid higher. She met his gaze, deep, attentive, hungry. She held her breath for a moment. Corlys held her gently in his arms, their movements becoming smoother as the music slowed. They circled among the colorful silks, the flickering torches, and the whispers of the guests. She still held her anxiety and irritation, but his touch softened her, forcing her to let go of her thoughts for a moment. Corlys leaned closer.

– What is troubling you, my star? – his voice was soft, warm, like the rustle of waves on the side of a ship. Rhaenys took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment. Then, almost without thinking, she switched to Valyrian.

– The people won`t be happy that we feast here while they starve there.

– My ships brought them food.

– It’s a pittance in the sea, the people have been starving for months. And because of you, by the way, – he didn’t argue. He looked down for just a moment – a brief, almost inaudible admission of guilt. They took a few more steps. Rhaenys licked her dry lips.

– Daemon met me in the hallway. He’s unhappy about the girls on Driftmark.

– One of them will be the heir to Driftmark.

– One. Not both, – he smiled faintly.

– I didn’t say which one, – she exhaled sharply, pulling away a little to meet his eyes.

– That’s not enough for Daemon. And I… I’m not giving them away. Not now, – her fingers on his shoulder involuntarily tightened on the fabric of his camisole. – I want to be with them while I can. Maybe I don’t remember everything… But right now, when everything hangs in the balance… I want to have them by my side. I want to see that they’re okay. Even if it’s minimally okay.

Corlys slowly pulled her closer until her bust were touching his. His hand on her waist became firmer, more secure.

– We won’t give them away.

Rhaenys closed her eyes. She allowed herself to lean on him for real. Not as a lady, not as a warrior, not as someone who always keeps her balance, but as a woman, tired, anxious, but still alive. Rhaenys’s gaze glided smoothly around the hall, over the faces of the lords, over the movements of the dancers, trying to read the hidden moods in everything. But her thoughts collided with each other.

– I’ve heard of Tyland Lannister, – Corlys raised an eyebrow, even smiling for a moment with that old, sly corner of his mouth that meant he didn’t even think of pretending not to know.

– Daemon was noticeably amused, – the smile was too calm. Too even. Rhaenys looked into his eyes, watching, searching. How much cold cruelty was in him? How much pure politics? How much of that darkness that makes people’s hands tremble? Corlys sees her doubt as clearly as he sees a storm at sea. He leans closer, his cheek almost brushing her hair. – There are things that are disgusting but necessary. Although Daemon, I must admit, has gone a little overboard, as usual.

And before she can think of an answer, he leans in with a light, quick movement and leaves a kiss on her bare shoulder where the fabric of her dress ends. He straightens up, looking perfectly innocent, as if nothing has happened. Rhaenys smiles. This brat knows how to take her breath away. But the music dies down. The couple dancing next to her steps aside. And a lord approaches them – tall, with a dark chestnut beard, something familiar about his features, but she can’t recall his name or family.

– Princess Rhaenys, – he says with a graceful tilt of his head. – It would be an honor for me...

He holds out his hand to her. Rhaenys knows that if he speaks, if he drags her into a dance, if he starts reminiscing about old stories or mutual acquaintances, she won’t be able to get out of it. She doesn’t know this man. She doesn’t remember anything. And then everyone will see her weakness. She only has a second. She bows her head, hiding the slight tremor in her voice.

– My lord, I beg your pardon. I haven’t fully recovered from the battle yet. Let me some rest, – the lord steps back immediately, polite, understanding, even a little guilty.

– I understand, princess. I wish you a speedy recovery.

Corlys is already standing nearby, almost imperceptibly intruding into the space between her and the lord. He places his hand on her waist and leads her away from the dance circle, toward their table. Their steps are in sync. He holds her as if she were something fragile, but at the same time something extremely valuable.

They spend the rest of the evening in as much quiet as possible amidst the noisy reception. Rhaenys slowly plucks grapes from a bunch, giving herself time to adjust to the faces around her. Corlys sits next to her, half-turned, one elbow carelessly resting on the back of her chair. He leans closer now and then, barely audible, explaining who is who, what alliances lie beneath the smiles, who has fallen out with whom, who depends on whom, and who is best kept a close eye on. Some names emerge slowly in Rhaenys’s memory, others are still lost in the fog of the battle, but she absorbs every detail – the way they laugh, the way the two lords avoid each other with their eyes, the way the lady in green changes her expression every time her husband passes by. Corlys shares his observations with a slight haughtiness, and Rhaenys smiles at the process. Their shared space, where they mince other people's secrets, feels familiar again. Almost intimate. And while they certainly look like a couple who think they’re superior to everyone else, they don’t care. It’s a small island of their old world. Rhaenys finds herself thinking that she enjoys this silent complicity more than she’s willing to admit out loud. With each passing minute, his fingers wander more boldly through Rhaenys’s locks, touching them as if by accident, but there’s a quiet, familiar tenderness to it. Rhaenys turns her head ever so slightly, but it’s enough to bring her dangerously close to him. His gaze meets hers, dark, attentive, almost warm. The distance between them is so small that he could whisper something and she’ll feel it.

– We look like two old gossips, – Rhaenys smiled softly.

– If they weren’t so predictable…

– Aren’t you predictable?

– Me? I…

She didn’t let him finish, lifting the grape and pressing it gently to his lips. He complied with a smile, taking the grape, but never taking his eyes off her. And just then, a sharp sound tore the air. Rhaenys hadn’t had time to understand what had happened when the next sound filled the hall. Something was falling from above: small, tinkling, like ice shards. His hand instantly clasped her shoulder, and she didn’t even have time to breathe when she found herself squeezed in his arms. He covered her completely with his body, lowering his head so that not even the smallest shard of glass would touch her. In a second, chaos was brewing around them. Screams, the rattling of chairs, the irritated roar of a frightened crowd. The guard rushed to the royal table.

– Corlys…

He slowly let go of her just enough for her to stand. Broken, dislocated, multi-colored glass sparkled on the floor as if someone had scattered precious stones. A cold gust of wind blew into the hall through the great gaps, shaking the flames so that they trembled and threw sharp spots of light. The crowd rushed for the exits, pushing each other. Corlys stood before her, his broad back blocking out the world around her. He raised his hand, stopping her, as if someone might touch her. Another pebble rolled across the floor, and Rhaenys felt him move closer again, as if there could be no gap between her and danger.

– What happened? – Rhaenyra pushed forward, protected by guards on either side. Her hair was lifted slightly by the draft that was already moving through the hall.

– The townspeople, your majesty. There’s a riot. They’re moving toward the castle, – Rhaenyra grimaced.

– Syrax is standing in the courtyard. They won’t get through.

– That’s impossible, – Corlys said quietly but firmly. Rhaenyra turned sharply to him.

– You suggest opening the gates for them?

– I suggest we settle this before it’s too late. Fear drives men mad. If they’re stopped by dragons, it’ll be blood on the doorstep of your rule.

– They’ll bring their own blood, – Daemon said, his dangerous smile on his face. – I’ll talk to them…

– Your «negotiations», – Rhaenyra said. – Will end in corpses in the streets.

Daemon snorted, as if her words had merely amused him.

– They’ve been given food. What more do they need?

– Respect, idiot, – Rhaenys snapped, almost growling. – People aren`t dogs to be thrown a bone at and expected gratitude.

– We must go out to negotiate. The people must see you, Rhaenyra. A queen who doesn`t hide behind walls, – Corlys said confidently. Ser Lorent stepped forward immediately.

– It`s too dangerous, my queen. The crowd is unpredictable. If anything happens…

– I`ll go with her, – Corlys interrupted.

Rhaenyra looked at him with a long, heavy gaze. She hesitated. Rhaenys remained silent, though everything inside her was becoming a tight, cold knot. She didn`t like the idea of ​​Corlys walking into a courtyard full of rebels, but she didn`t say a word. She only stepped closer to the husband, and her fingers barely touched his hand. Corlys, though he didn`t look at her, squeezed her fingers lightly in return. Rhaenyra nodded. She quickly turned back to the guard, giving orders, and Corlys took the moment to lean toward Rhaenys.

– Go back to the Hand Tower, – he said quietly but authoritatively. Rhaenys pursed her lips. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t stand arguing in front of strangers.

– Be careful, Corlys.

His fingers slid over her arm for a moment. Then he turned to the queen and the guard, now the Sea Snake again. Rhaenys, accompanied by several guardsmen, set off down the halls of the castle. The sound of footsteps and shouts still shook the stone. Lords and ladies scattered through the halls, servants darted here and there, some falling, some crying – the Red Keep gasped in panic. In the narrow passage, where the torchlights wavered as if in sheer fear, there was a sudden rush of footsteps. A boy, thin and curly, came flying out from around the corner. When he saw her, he braked sharply, then shouted.

– Grandma! – he slammed into her with all his might, wrapping his arms around her waist. Rhaenys froze in surprise. She instinctively put her hands on his shoulders.

– Joffrey! Prince Joffrey! – the nurse’s voice boomed from behind her. The sound of her footsteps cut through the air as she darted around the corner and stopped abruptly at the sight of the princess. – Your Grace, I’m sorry, he… slipped away…

Rhaenys lowered her fingers to the boy’s chin and lifted his face to get a better look. Now at least she knew his name. And that face… Gods… there really was something of Laenor in its features.

– Where are you going, little prince? – she asked softly but sternly.

– I’m going to Syrax! – he blurted out, as if it were obvious. – I’ll sit on her and end the rebellion!

There was so much confidence in him that Rhaenys almost smiled.

– Syrax isn`t your dragon, Joffrey, – the boy’s lips pursed for a moment.

– But I’ve ridden it before!

– You rode it with your mother, – she corrected firmly. – That’s different. And you can’t use a dragon to solve every problem, do you hear me?

He looked at her with such indignant stubbornness that she could see Laenor in every feature, in the arch of his brow, in stubborn eyes, in the way he looked away and muttered.

– But it works… – Rhaenys couldn’t help but exhale softly, a mixture of irritation and a sudden gentle warmth she hadn’t expected from herself.

– Will you show me your room? And I’ll tell you why dragons can’t be used for every problem.

The boy hesitates for a moment, his gaze drifting to the side, to where the crowd is roaring beyond the walls. But finally he takes her hand and reluctantly pulls her forward. The nurse follows behind, silent as a shadow.

– You can’t always answer with force, – she tells the boy softly as they round the bend. – Force is feared, but fear doesn`t keep loyalty. And it never gives you peace.

Joffrey purses his lips, but listens intently. He looks down at his feet, as if every word Rhaenys says is a rock to be carefully stepped around.

– But Syrax is so… big. She can scatter everyone.

– Maybe, but when a dragon appears in the sky, so does hatred. A dragon doesn’t know who is guilty and who isn`t. It can burn those your mother is trying to protect. Force can win a battle, but lose affection. And without the favor of the people, the king and queen stand on the sand, – the boy bites his lip thoughtfully.

– And if they break down the gate? – he says, louder, faster. – If they enter the castle? I heard the servants say the riot could reach the chambers.

– Your mother and grandfather will deal with this, I promise.

The boy nods, though he’s not entirely reassured. He leads her to the door of his room and quickly opens it. The room is warm. The air smells of fresh sheets and candle wax. Wooden figures of dragons, ships, knights are scattered on the floor, in a chaos that only a boy who hastily decided to save the kingdom could leave.

– You look so beautiful today, – he says suddenly, and there’s no childishness in his voice, only sincerity. Rhaenys freezes for a moment, then smiles.

– Thank you, little prince, – he pulls her to the bed, sits her down on the soft pillows. His hands are nervous, his fingers rolling over each other.

– I have a surprise, – he says, his eyes shining.

– Okay, – Rhaenys closes her eyes.

She hears him rustling something in a chest or a cabinet. A step or two… Suddenly, something cold, heavy, metallic appears in her palms. She opens her eyes. On her hands lies a chain with a small seahorse, glinting shakily in the candlelight. Rhaenys raises her head in surprise. Her chest tightens.

– Father gave it to me, – Joffrey says proudly. – But… – he blushes a little. – I think it suits you better. You’re such a… real sea queen.

She has to take a deep breath to keep her words from breaking.

– Joffrey… I can’t take this, – the boy frowns.

– Why? I want it to be yours.

– Because it’s a gift from your father. He gave it to you.

– But… – he clenches his fists. – I want you to be safe. If you have this seahorse… the sea will protect you. That’s what dad said.

Rhaenys swallows. Warmth fills her chest, along with the pain that always comes with Laenor. Rhaenys touches his cheek with her fingers.

– I won’t take this chain. But… – she takes the boy’s small hand and places the seahorse back in his palm. – I`ll take your promise that you`ll be wiser than those who think strength is everything. And that you`ll be a worthy son to your father.

The boy clasps the chain.

– I promise.

Rhaenys leans in and kisses his hair, timidly, carefully, as she would with her own children… The boy sits down next to her and moves closer, touching her side, his thin arms wrapping around her waist again, as tight and trusting as if she had always been there. The warmth of the child’s body suddenly breaks her balance more than the explosion of glass in the throne room.

– Do you miss my father? – he asks quietly, almost in a whisper, like a child afraid of his own question. Rhaenys swallows. The air in the room seems to thicken, the ceiling lowers.

– Of course I do, – she says, just as quietly, so that the words don’t ring too loudly in her own chest. Joffrey nods, his lips trembling. He curls up against her, like a child, even though he’s almost a teenager.

– Me too, – he says into her shoulder. – I… don’t remember him well. But I remember… – he pauses, as if pulling something heavy and precious from his memory. – I remember that he was kind. And that he always laughed. And he loved the sea like grandfather. And the sky… like you, – Rhaenys closes eyes. Something tightens in his chest, cold and painful, as if someone has touched an old scar. The boy continues, very quietly, as if he`s afraid of scaring the memories. – And he also sang us sailor songs and taught us how to fish.

Rhaenys takes a shaky breath. She feels a tear roll down her cheek – quiet, hot, invisible in the light of a few candles. She doesn’t wipe it away. She just places her hand on the back of his head and presses him closer to her. Joffrey presses even harder. There’s a faint humming sound behind the walls, but the hum is getting quieter… as if the crowd is gradually dispersing, as if the wind that was rushing through the city a moment ago has finally grown tired and fallen asleep. Rhaenys closes her eyes for a moment longer, allowing herself hope. Please, Corlys… Let everything work out for you. She wraps both arms around the boy, putting all the warmth left in her tired, exhausted heart into his embrace. He breathes softly next to her, his cheek pressed against her shoulder, and whispers.

– You don’t go, okay? Until… until it’s over, – Rhaenys nods, stroking his hair.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys entered her chambers well past midnight. The corridors behind her still breathed the cold of stone and the shadows of night torches, but here, beyond the door, everything was too quiet. She suddenly realized how exhausted she was. Rhaenys slowly walked to the dressing table, leaned slightly on the edge of the table, and began to remove one piece of jewelry after another. Suddenly, a door creaked softly in the silence. She looked into the mirror. Corlys appeared in the frame of the reflection. Rhaenys didn`t turn around, only looked at him in the reflection.

– You don’t knock again, – she tiredly scolded. Corlys entered, quietly closing the door behind him.

– I thought you`re sleeping, – he said, his voice a little hoarse in the night air– I didn’t want to wake you.

– I was sitting with Joffrey, – she answered, untangling her braid, releasing strand by strand.

She could feel his gaze without even looking back. In the mirror she saw him pull his shirt over his head. The fabric slid down his chest, exposing his body, with more scratches from the capture of the capital. Rhaenys held her breath, catching in the mirror the muscles under his skin moving as he threw his shirt back onto the chair. She hadn't intended to look like that, but her gaze slid down his shoulders, his chest, the line of his stomach... Memory instantly gave away the feeling of being at sea, when he held her in the waves, his hot hand on her back, when she was sinking in it more than in the water. And how it had been this morning on this very table, where she was now arranging the pins, his breath on her neck, her fingers in his hair, his hands on her hips… A wave of heat ran down her spine so suddenly that she almost dropped the pin.

– You’re not listening to me, – Corlys said suddenly, and there was a barely concealed smile in his voice. He had seen it. He had seen everything perfectly.

– I’m sorry, – she whispered. – What did you say?

– I was telling you about the terms we agreed to give the townspeople. But it seems… – he took a step closer. – Your thoughts are much further than my speeches.

She cleared her throat, straightened up, searching for at least some sober topic.

– Help me with my dress, – she said evenly, though her voice trembled slightly.

Corlys took his time. He approached slowly, enjoying her every move, every sigh. He stood behind her, and she felt his warmth even before he touched her. With one hand, he brushed her hair back over her shoulder and took hold of the laces of her corset. His fingers aren`t as careful as they had been on the beach. Then he had been gentle, as if he were afraid to break her after all the wounds. Now his movements are harder, almost teasing. Each touch slid down her bare back not just by chance, but as if he was deliberately running his fingers along her nerve endings. Rhaenys exhaled a faint breath.

– Cold? – he leaned softly into her ear.

It wasn’t about the cold at all. She didn’t answer. She just put her hands on the edge of the dressing table to keep her balance. Corlys slowly untied the last knot, and the corset almost slipped off. He held it with his palms, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t touching her anymore. His hands lay a little lower, on her waist. Not pressing, but enough for her to feel every millimeter of his touch.

– You’re… dopey to me today, – he whispered into her neck. Rhaenys felt her knees almost buckle. She saw his predatory gaze in the mirror. He leaned down, his lips barely touching her shoulder. Barely, almost like a breath. But it was enough to cause a quiet, uncontrollable exhalation to escape her chest.

– Corlys… – she whispered. He lifted his head, caught her gaze in the mirror.

The corset slowly slid down to the floor. The silence in the room was so thick that she could hear her heart beating. He touched her shoulders with his fingers, stroking the skin that had finally been freed from the heavy fabric, and leaned closer, this time not to her shoulder, but to her cheek, barely touching. Her breath hitched. She rested her hands on the dressing table, and only then did she notice how much her fingers were shaking. Corlys put his arm around her waist. His touch was provocative enough that it was more inciting than soothing, but he seemed patient. She closed her eyes, leaning her back against his chest.

– I was afraid for you, – she whispered.

– I always come back to you, – he whispered, putting every word almost into her skin. Rhaenys raised her hand, gently touching his fingers at her waist.

– You can’t guarantee that, – she said quietly.

He smiled so softly, as if his heart was tired of arguing with her fears. She turned to him slowly, barely stepping back from the table. He didn’t let go of her, only shifted his arms, allowing her to look him straight in the eyes. Close. Dangerously close. Her hands rested on his chest, on the same skin she had just, a moment ago, so greedily examined in the mirror. Her fingers slid over his chest, and Corlys held his breath, feeling in her movement a familiar yet entirely new desire. Rhaenys raised her face to his, and their lips met at first in a quiet, uncertain touch, as if they were learning each other again. Then her hands tightened around his shoulders, and the kiss deepened. Corlys pulled her close, his hands sliding confidently around her waist, and she felt the world sway slightly beneath her feet. He lifted her so lightly, as if she weighed nothing, and Rhaenys wrapped her legs around him, feeling his strength and warmth. Her laughter, soft and sudden, touched his neck with a ringing sound, and Corlys, melting at the sound, leaned into her skin. His lips found her neck, and she arched gently toward him, closing her eyes, letting herself forget everything. Laying her down on the soft featherbeds, Corlys lingered over her for so long that she could almost hear his thoughts racing. But then he leaned down again, and his hand found her thigh, the other slid up her body, touching so gently that it sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. Rhaenys reached for him, trusting her own body, which remembered more than her mind. It remembered his warmth, it remembered his strength, it remembered how he knew how to hold her as if protecting her from the whole world. She didn’t need memories – everything that had been between them lived now, in this touch, in his breath above her lips. His hands continued to caress her body, sliding down her sides, her hips, gently squeezing the skin where it was most sensitive. Rhaenys felt the heat spreading inside, melting away fatigue and thoughts. Her touch followed Corlys's every move, exploring his shoulders, chest, back, weaving their bodies into a single wave of desire. His lips from her neck descended to her chest, and Rhaenys couldn`t hold back a moan, every kiss and touch burning her from the inside. Their movements became synchronous, like waves rolling one on top of the other. He pulled the combination off her and his lips returned to her neck, sliding down to her collarbones and shoulders, covering every inch of skin with kisses. Each of it sent shivers down her spine, mixing warmth and trepidation. She felt his hands gently squeeze her bust, touch her sides and hips. Rhaenys trembled from every touch, every movement of Corlys's lips and hands. Her breathing became rapid, interspersed with quiet moans. Every part of her body responded to his presence, to his warmth, to his touch. She began to push him closer, begging for more closeness, more intensity. He slid his hand lower, causing her to feel even more intense sensations as his lips left traces on her bust. Rhaenys couldn`t contain the feeling of bliss, her body remembering every movement, every kiss, every touch. Corlys lingers between her thighs, slowly sliding his hands up her legs, rising higher and higher, and Rhaenys feels each touch trigger something long forgotten in her, something that had existed in them before. Her hips instinctively rise to meet him. His lips move lower and lower, slower, as if he savors every breath that escapes her lips, every quivering curve of her body. It was a strange sensation, but so pleasant. He covers every inch of her stomach with his lips, every stretch. Her world narrows to his hands that hold her tightly, to his mouth that touches her as if he wants to make up for every lost moment between them. When he moves away for a moment, she feels an emptiness, almost painful, and a discontented moan escapes her lips.

– I miss you, – his lips descend to her thigh, covering her leg with kisses, his beard tickling her delicate skin.

Her fingers slide into his hair, along the line of his shoulders, along the scars on his back. The heat between them builds like a wave rising before a storm, and Rhaenys feels this wave covering her – big, sweet, inevitable. She doesn't know what she's doing, he's leading her, holding her, supporting her with every touch. He throws her leg over his shoulder, and as he leans towards her, Rhaenys lets out a quiet breath. This isn`t at all what the sept once said, not what she'd been prepared for. But what Corlys is doing is taking her away from the world with every moment and immersing her in a new, unknown sensation that covers her with warmth and spreads in waves throughout her body. His hands hold her, one firmly around her thigh, the other pressing her against the soft feathers, not letting her escape. She hears her own ragged sounds, feels her fingers digging into his shoulders, demanding that he not stop. The world shrinks to touch, to breath, to him. And as a wave, stronger than she could have imagined, covers her, she suddenly realizes that she has cried out louder than she intended. Her face flushes hotly. She buries its in the pillows, barely catching her breath. His kisses rise higher, resting on her stomach, her chest, her collarbone, as if he is bringing her back to him slowly, carefully, respectfully. His touches are as soothing as they have just been inciting. The world gradually falls back into place. Her breathing evens out. Corlys leaned closer, and for a moment there was only hot breath between them. Rhaenys could still feel a pleasant thrill running down her body. She smiled at him as if she couldn’t contain the heat inside, and he returned it with a look that held so much tenderness and hunger at the same time that it took her breath away.

– Are you okay?

Instead of answering, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him slowly, deeply, as if she wanted to get to know every facet of this man anew. Her fingers slid down his back, then down to his hip, and finally stopped at his belt. Corlys exhaled quietly, but he didn’t hide how much he was losing control. When he stepped back to remove his boots and pants, Rhaenys looked at him without a shadow of shyness. Her gaze made him smile rather self-confidently, even playfully. And when she unconsciously touched her lips with tongue, Corlys smiled briefly, as if it were the sweetest thing he had seen all evening. Rhaenys reached out and ran her hand over him. He flinched at her touch, and she repeated the movement, more boldly. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. The size confused her a little, but they had done this before. Corlys lowered himself between her legs, slowly, as if giving her time to get used to every inch of their proximity. He ran over her, a light movement that made her hold her breath. Then again, moistening herself.

– Are you sure? – his voice was low, husky, almost a whisper.

Rhaenys nodded. Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, her gaze aglow with open, burning desire. Her whole body trembled with anticipation. Corlys leaned down, covering her neck with a brief kiss. Her leg slid up his thigh, pressing him against her. His fingers found her hand, intertwined with hers, and the world around them slowly melted away, drowning in the warmth, touch, and darkness that gently enveloped them both, allowing the rest to happen without words. Corlys entered slowly, and their bodies came together in a familiar yet completely new movement. His lips slid down her neck, whispering warmth where her skin was most sensitive. Rhaenys's breathing was ragged, her fingers digging hard into his shoulders and back, trying to hold on to the wave that was rising higher and higher inside her. He moved deeper and more confidently. When he gently took her hips and turned her over, Rhaenys froze for a moment in surprise. Corlys smiled and with a slight movement of hips he pushed her into action. She exhaled, the tension subsiding, giving way to a wave of trust. She sat above him, her hands resting on his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath her fingers. The movements were uneven at first, timid, cautious, confused, but Corlys’s hands, sliding down her sides and hips, straightening her. Rhaenys relaxed. Something warm and light rose deep inside, like a memory of something her body had always known, even if she had forgotten. Her movements became more confident, smoother, desire driving them both forward, and the world around her blurred, shrinking to the feel of his hands on her waist and his gaze, dark, utterly consuming.

As her body trembled, a wave that swept from her spine to her fingertips, Corlys held her tighter, pressing her to him. His lips slid down her neck, warm, hot, eager. He sped up, and everything mixed together – his strength, her breath, their shared rhythm, a low moan she didn’t even recognize as her own. The world shrank to sensations. His movements became shorter, sharper. He leaned his lips to the spot between her neck and shoulder, leaving a hot, pent-up breath there, and lingered for a moment, drowning in her, in this warmth, in this closeness that had been taken from them both for too long. She felt him squeeze her tighter, his body tense beneath her, the warmth spilling inside. Corlys growled into her collarbone, low, throaty, and made a few more short movements before he froze. Rhaenys fell on top of him. Her fingers slid down his chest, slowly, barely touching. His hands slid lazily down her back. His lips brushed against her neck. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to melt into the sensation of his warmth, his strength, their intertwined breaths. When he left her body, she felt a slight emptiness, and then warmth slowly seeping down her thigh. She slid off him, feeling a pleasant heaviness in her entire body, but Corlys immediately pulled her back, covering her with the sheet. His hand slid down her back, slowly, soothingly, and Rhaenys rested her head on his shoulder, inhaling the now familiar smell of salt and warmth. Her fingers wandered over his chest, tracing invisible patterns.

– Are you okay? – his voice was low, a little hoarse.

– Yes, – she answered quietly, not opening her eyes, allowing herself to savor the moment. – Very much, – she thought for a moment, tracing a finger along the line of his collarbone. – Can this be considered our second first night?

Her voice was playful, barely audible. Corlys laughed softly, and the sound of that laugh vibrated through her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

– We can list a few more if you want, – he grumbled, and Rhaenys couldn’t help but smile.

– Septs don’t talk about that, – she muttered, teasing him.

– Believe me, if your septs knew everything you did in bed, – he slid his fingers along her side, drawing a soft, shuddering breath. – They’d turn over in their tombs.

Rhaenys chuckled, looking up at him lazily.

– And now I`m a pious maiden. I know nothing, I remember nothing, – Corlys raised himself on his elbows, leaning over her so close that her breath burned his lips.

– Then, – his smile grew dangerously warm. – I`ll have to remind you.

He kissed her softly, slowly, unhurriedly, but with that old, familiar passion that had never faded between them, even as the world crumbled around them. Rhaenys laughed through the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, and the world narrowed again to the warmth of his body, the dim candlelight, and the gentle rustle of the sheets.

Rhaenys woke, floating out of a warm, deep sleep. The first was the feeling of warmth next to her, steady breathing, the weight of a hand on her waist. Her muscles ached softly with a pleasant fatigue, reminding her of the night. She stretched lazily and involuntarily slid closer to the source of warmth. Corlys grunted softly in response, mumbled something discontentedly through his sleep and hugged her tighter, as if he was afraid she might disappear along with the morning haze. His hand rested confidently on her back, pressing her to him. Rhaenys smiled. She opened her eyes. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, softly outlining the features of his face. In his dream, Corlys looked different – less stern, without that usual tension in his jaw, without his commanding posture. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, his beard was a little disheveled, and there was something touchingly human about that imperfection. Rhaenys simply stared at him for a long time, as if trying to remember every detail. Then, unable to resist, she playfully ran her nails along his beard. Corlys winced, stirred, and finally opened his eyes. He stared at her silently for a few seconds, not yet fully awake. His hand slid down her bare back slowly and confidently. He pressed her closer, and Rhaenys felt his warmth envelop her completely. She laid her head on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart, and her fingers began to trace invisible patterns on his skin.

– Good morning, – he said quietly, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

– Morning, – she replied with a smile. He leaned down and kissed her briefly, almost lazily. Rhaenys smiled wider.

– You know, I’m starting to like this kind of married life, – Corlys laughed softly, and the vibration of his chest resonated with a warm wave in her.

– And the memory? – he asked, studying her face carefully. – Remember anything?

Rhaenys raised herself on elbows and looked at him with sly suspicion in her eyes.

– Do you really think this is so incredible that it should bring back memories? – she laughed, nudging him lightly on the shoulder.

– I had hope, – he replied innocently. She felt something stir inside her. Rhaenys tilted her head, squinting.

– So you slept with me just for that? – Corlys immediately looked at her seriously and shook his head.

– Don’t talk nonsense.

This didn`t reassure her. On the contrary, something inside flared up sharply, like a spark falling into dry grass. Rhaenys pulled away from him, more sharply than she had intended, clutching the sheet to her chest as if it could protect her from the whole world, including from him. The warmth that had seemed safe a moment ago suddenly began to suffocate. Corlys sat up slowly, leaning his elbow on the mattress. His face instantly lost its morning softness.

– I want it better, Rhaenys

– Better for who? For you? – he ran his hand over his face, as if wiping away the fatigue that had accumulated over the course of more than one night.

– You think it’s easy for me? – a crack appeared in his voice. – To see the woman I’ve spent my life with look at me as if I were a stranger. The way you flinch when I touch you. The way you look away, as if my presence were a burden, – he swallowed, clenching his jaw. – It hurts me, Rhaenys. It hurts every time I realize I’m nothing to you.

She laughed, short and sharp, without a trace of joy.

– Do you think I feel like someone? – she threw back the blanket and sat up straight. – I woke up after the battle, Corlys. All in wounds, with an emptiness in my head. Without any memory of who I was, – her voice broke, but she didn`t fall silent. – The world I knew is gone. People look at me with love, with pain, with expectation… and I don’t know them. I don’t remember why they love me. And why they hate me, –  he made a move toward her, but she raised her hand sharply. – Don’t dare. I have to pick up my own life piece by piece. From other people’s words. From half-hints. From looks, – her fingers gripped the sheet. – And to go through it all again. To lose my children again. Meleys… – the name escaped in a whisper. Corlys was silent. His chest heaved heavily. – You say it’s hard for you to see me run from you? – Rhaenys smiled bitterly. – How can I live with the fact that I’m nothing in the middle of a war? Without a dragon, I’m not a warrior. Without a memory, I’m not a strategist. I’m just… a body that everyone remembers as strong, but it’s not that strong anymore, – she looked at him, and there was something naked and painful in her gaze. – I feel worthless.

Corlys got up abruptly from the bed, walked across the room, then turned to her.

– Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.

– That’s easy to say to someone who still knows who he is! – she raised her voice too. – You’re a Sea Snake. You have a fleet. A name. Fear and respect. And me? I don’t even know what decisions I made yesterday to avoid making mistakes today!

He came closer, stopped a step away.

– You’re Rhaenys Targaryen, – he said firmly. – Even without the memories. Even without Meleys. You're not weak.

– You want it, – she said quietly. – You want me to be the way I was before.

– I want any kind of you. Even angry. Even confused. Even the one who yells at me in the morning, – she flinched, her gaze shaking.

– But I don’t know what it’s like to be your wife, – she whispered. – I don’t even remember what it’s like to love you.

Rhaenys closed her eyes. A tear rolled slowly down her cheek. Corlys looked at her with the same expression he had when he looked at a storm on the high seas, knowing he couldn’t stop it but not having the strength to leave. They were both hurt. Both lost. And if they didn’t learn to talk about it together, they risked losing each other a second time.

– You say it like it’s easy, – she said quietly. Corlys sighed.

– I say it because I can’t do it any other way. I’m a sailor, not a sept. But I’m not going to lose you again, – she opened her eyes and looked him straight in the eye.

– What if I’m already lost? What if the woman you loved died with Meleys?” – his face twitched.

– Don’t say that.

– Why? – her voice became harder. – Because you’re scared to hear it? I live with that thought every day. You want me to be your wife right away. The same. Familiar. Comfortable. To smile when you need to, to be silent when it’s uncomfortable, and to trust you because that’s how it’s always been.

– I didn’t say that! – he objected sharply.

– But you expect it, – she jabbed a finger into his chest. – You expect me to come back. What if I don’t, Corlys? You have no right to demand of me what I cannot give.

– You want me to leave you alone? – his voice turned icy.

Rhaenys was silent. She didn’t know what she really wanted. He stared at her for a few more seconds, as if trying to memorize her face, then he threw on a robe and hid behind the door of the adjacent room, slamming the door sharply. Rhaenys was left standing in the middle of the room, alone, angry, devastated. What had begun with warmth and hope had crumbled to pieces.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys entered the room almost silently. By the fire, on a thick rug with nautical patterns, sat Rhaena. She crossed her legs, leaning forward, as if trying to cover what she was holding. In her hands lay an egg – pink, delicate in appearance, with pearly veins that caught the light of the flame and reflected it in soft glare. The fire licked the air very close, but the girl carefully watched, from time to time changing the position of the egg slightly, as if listening to it. Rhaena shuddered at the sight of grandmother and was momentarily confused. Her shoulders tensed, and her fingers tightened their grip on the warm shell.

– I... – she hesitated, looking down. – I must be doing something stupid.

Rhaenys didn`t answer immediately. She slowly sank down on the carpet, feeling her old bones protest a little against the movement, but not allowing herself to stop. She sat so close that the warmth from the fire and granddaughter's body merged into one. Her hand rose and gently touched Rhaena's silver strands that fell to her shoulder.

– No, child. What you just said is stupid. And what you`re doing, – she nodded at the egg. – Isn`t stupid.

Rhaena smiled timidly and pressed herself against grandmother. Rhaena felt the girl lean carefully against her, and put one arm around her, holding her close. Once, a long time ago, she had sat with her mother in Pentos. Then she too had had an egg. And it hadn`t come to life. Rhaena slowly ran her fingers along the pearly veins, feeling the smooth, warm surface beneath her fingertips.

– Not all eggs wake up at once. And not all wake up the way we expect them to, – she looked at granddaughter carefully. In the firelight, Rhaena’s features seemed softer, but there was something stubborn about them, something very familiar. – You have Targaryen blood in you. That doesn’t go away with one silent egg or a hundred other people’s words. You`ll still have your dragon.

Rhaena’s eyes looked up at her – large, attentive, full of hope she was afraid to say out loud.

– And if not? – she asked quietly. – If it… never comes?

– Then it won’t change anything. You won’t be any less of a Targaryen. A dragon is a gift. But it’s not the only measure of strength, – she held Rhaena a little tighter, feeling the girl slowly relax in her arms. – There are those who carry the flame in their hearts, even if they never rise to the sky. And sometimes such a flame is more dangerous than any fire.

Rhaena nodded thoughtfully and looked back at the egg. Rhaenys smiled and tilted her head, touching granddaughter’s silver hair with her forehead. The flame in the hearth crackles softly, reflecting in the pearly veins of the pink shell, and the light slides over the girl’s face, still young, but already too serious for her years.

– He doesn’t love me, – she finally says quietly, not looking at Rhaenys. – Dad. If he did, he wouldn’t look at me like that… as if I were a mistake.

Rhaenys breathes in the smell of smoke and old stone and the sea that has always been present in the Tide. She remembers that look from Daemon – sharp, piercing, demanding of the whole world and of himself. She remembers how he looked at others and how hard it was to bear his silent disappointment.

– Daemon doesn't know how to love easily. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love you, – Rhaena snorts, not hiding her bitterness.

– He loves Baela. Because she has a dragon. Because she’s… right. And I don’t, – Rhaenys turns to face her fully, so that Rhaena can’t hide behind an egg or a flame. She places her hand on her chin and gently forces her head up.

– Listen to me. Your father sees only force in the world. Dragons, blades, fire. He himself is like that – made of sharp edges and scars. And he reacts painfully to anything that doesn’t fit into that picture. But you’re not a mistake. You’re his daughter. His blood. You remind him that not everything in this world can be conquered by force. That not everything is decided by a dragon. And he hates such reminders the most. He can be cruel. He can be silent when he should speak. But if the world ever turns against you, he`ll be the first to stand between you and this world. Even if he screams that he’s not doing it for you.

Rhaena is silent for a long moment, listening to the crackling of the fire.

– Do you really believe that? – she asks quietly. Rhaenys nods.

– I’ve seen him love. It always feels like war. But his love is real. Just… dangerous.

Rhaena presses herself closer to her, the egg pressed between them, warm from the fire and their hands. The flame reflects off the pearl, and for a moment it seems to tremble faintly.

– He’s even angrier at me for staying here, – she mutters. – He wanted me to go back to the Eyrie. So that I… wouldn’t be in the way.

– He wanted you to be safe. Even if he doesn’t admit it to himself.

– I liked it there, – Rhaena suddenly says quickly, as if defending herself. – It’s like it’s hanging in the sky. And there are halls like that… and balls… and knights…

On the last word, she stops and blushes, staring at the egg. Rhaenys looks at her in surprise at first, and then she can’t help but laugh quietly.

– Oh, that’s it, – she draws out. – Knights. That’s where the real tragedy lies.

Rhaena’s face sinks even more.

– Grandma…

– What? – Rhaenys raises an eyebrow slyly. – Don’t I have the right to tease my own granddaughter? Especially when she dreams of balls and handsome knights.

Rhaena muttered something under her breath, but the corners of her lips twitched treacherously. She clasped the egg with both hands again, as if it could protect her from further teasing.

– It’s… just beautiful there, – she added, now more quietly. – Different. As if the world wasn’t so heavy. Everything here… presses. Stone, sea, expectation, –  Rhaenys nodded. She knew that feeling well, when the walls seemed to be looking at you, remembering more than you yourself, and waiting to see who you would become. – The Eyrie seemed to be created to make people look up and forget how close the ground was.

Rhaenys smiled at the corners of her mouth and, as if in passing, moved her shoulder, teasing granddaughter once more.

– Of course you forget, – there was a soft mockery in her voice. – The handsome knights must have made eyes widen.

Rhaena glowed like that same egg with pearly veins. Rhaenys laughed with her, low and warm. In those brief moments of giggling there was something very homely, almost forgotten: the feeling that the world beyond the walls could wait, that wars and dragons and names as heavy as crowns had no power over them now. They sat side by side on the carpet, shoulder to shoulder, and Rhaenys felt the tension in her chest ease a little. But the laughter died down as suddenly as it had come. Rhaenys exhaled slowly and shifted her position, straightening up. Her hand, which had been lightly resting on granddaughter’s shoulder, became heavier, more serious.

– I want you to be careful, Rhaena. Beautiful boys with beautiful words… – the girl stopped laughing.

– I know, – she answered quickly. – I’m not stupid. I understand where the boundaries of decency are.

Rhaenys looked at her carefully. There was no arrogance in the words, only genuine confidence and a desire to be taken seriously. It hurt a little, to realize how quickly children grow up in a world where they aren`t allowed to be children.

– I have no doubt, – she said softly. – I`m simply concerned. It`s my duty. And my right.

Rhaena nodded, but for a moment her lips pursed as if struggling with something inside. Then she sighed and, without looking at grandmother, she left.

– You better tell Baela about prudence… – she froze. The air between them thickened. The fire in the fireplace crackled louder than usual. Rhaena slowly turned her head and raised an eyebrow.

– And what was that supposed to mean? – Rhaena flinched. Her fingers clenched the edge of her sleeve nervously, she stared at the carpet as if she had suddenly seen something extremely interesting there.

– Nothing, – she said quickly. – Forget it. It’s… never mind.

Rhaenys stared at her for a moment longer, considering whether to press further. She saw this stubbornness, this ability to shut down – familiar, painfully familiar. In the end, she decided not to press. Not now. Rhaena, sensing the tension easing, hastened to change the subject.

– And you? – she looked up and looked at grandmother with a sly glint. – Were you careful with grandpa?

Rhaenys snorted.

– Oh, look at the sore that’s grown, – she said, lightly touching the girl’s forehead. – Don’t forget who you’re talking to.

Rhaena smiled bolder now and moved closer.

– Are you here because you had a fight with grandpa? – she asked, as if in passing, but with too much attention. Rhaenys was silent for a moment. Her gaze drifted to the window, beyond which the sea was black.

– I’m here because someone has to run Driftmark while your grandfather is in the capital, – Rhaena leaned against her, resting her head on her shoulder. Rhaenys hugged her, feeling how in this silence, among the fire and the sea, she found meaning in holding on again.

– I’m glad you’re here, – she whispered. Rhaenys hugged her tighter, staring into the fire.

– Me too, my little.

They sat in front of the fireplace for a long time, letting the warmth and crackling of the wood fill the pauses between words. The flames reflected in the pearly veins of the egg, which Rhaena carefully turned from time to time. Rhaena watched silently, feeling something slowly calm down inside in this silence. The door opened abruptly, without a knock, and the peace crumbled like ashes from a gust of wind. Baela flew into the room like a hurricane – with disheveled hair, a sparkle in her eyes and such energy that it seemed that she brought with her the cold from the sea and the cries of seagulls. Rhaena jumped first. Her movements were sharp, a little nervous: she quickly lifted the egg and carefully placed it in the roasting pan, covering it with a metal grate. The flames again covered the shell with a soft glow. Rhaenys stood up after her, feeling her legs go numb from sitting on the floor for so long. She leaned against the edge of the table, straightening her back, and looked at granddaughter.

– Grandma, – Baela breathed. – I saw him, – Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. She knew that tone, the same one that came from Baela whenever she was sure she had touched something important and dangerous. – The Gray Ghost. There’s almost nothing left of him. Scales… bones… and claw marks on the rocks.

Baela added quickly, as if afraid she would be interrupted. Rhaenys slowly turned her whole body towards her. The name hung in the air like a heavy shadow.

– Explain.

– The fishermen said they saw two dragons fighting near the cliffs of Dragonstone, – Baela continued, already dispersing. – One large, the other smaller. Everyone blamed the Cannibal, because who else could? But something about those rumors didn’t add up, – Rhaenys took a slow breath. Something cold clenched inside her. The Gray Ghost had never been aggressive. If he had been killed, then there was someone new in the sky. Or someone who had been hiding for a long time. – I flew there, checked the coast. There’s no sign of him there. A Cannibal would have left behind scorched earth, bones… But it’s different there. A smaller dragon.

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow again, higher this time. Her gaze slid from Baela’s face to her boots, still damp with salt.

– How do you know what the fishermen are talking about? – Baela was momentarily lost. Her shoulders tensed, her gaze drifting to the window, where the sea was darkening. She trailed off, but didn’t answer immediately, as if hoping the intensity of the story would allow her to sidestep the question.

– I just…– she began, then changed direction, diving back into the details.

– Baela, – Rhaenys repeated softly but insistently. – Where from?

– I was checking ships in the docks, – she finally said, lowering her eyes. – I wanted to be useful.

The words came too quickly, too rehearsed. Rhaenys caught the false note immediately. She knew the intonation. That’s what people say when they’re only telling part of the truth. Rhaena remained silent, standing a little to the side. She looked at sister with wide eyes, somewhere between admiration and anxiety. Her fingers unconsciously touched the edge of the brazier, as if seeking support. Rhaenys didn’t press. The fire in the fireplace crackled as if in agreement. She looked at her granddaughters, so different and yet so stubborn, and felt a familiar weight of responsibility.

– We’ll talk about this later. All three of us. But no more unplanned departures, – Baela opened her mouth to protest, but met grandmother’s gaze and fell silent. Rhaenys didn’t smile, but she wasn’t stern either, there was something deeper in her eyes, older than any order. She didn’t believe Baela. Not completely. But she kept it to herself for now, allowing the fire and shadow to converge in the room again, facing the new decisions that lay ahead. – But remember one thing, – Rhaenys added, looking her straight in the eye. – If a new predator has appeared in the sky, it’s not an adventure. It’s a threat. To the dragons, and to us. There’s a difference between benefit and recklessness.

– I wasn’t reckless, – Baela snapped. – I just can’t sit around and wait for everyone around me to decide my fate.

The words hung in the air. Rhaenys felt them echoing inside her. She saw herself in Baela – young, hot, stubborn, certain that the world must either give in or burn.

– You must be careful, – she said quietly, but her voice carried more weight than her scream. – This is no time for courage for the sake of courage, – Baela sighed impatiently, but she didn’t look away. She stood tall, her chin up, just as Layna had once stood, as if the world should adjust to her pace, not the other way around. – Vhagar, who knows where, – Rhaenys continued, her words slowly, as if each one might be etched into granddaughter’s memory.  Greens have gone mad since Maelor died. Besides, they’ve lost almost half their army, and such losses don’t make mind clearer. They make it crueler, – Rhaena, who was still standing by the brazier, involuntarily clenched her fingers. Her gaze darted to Baela, anxious, almost pleading. – Aemond has repeatedly unleashed his anger on the villages, – Rhaenys glanced briefly towards the window, as if the shadow of the one-eyed prince might be hiding behind the thick stone walls. – He doesn’t need permission to burn a fishing village or set up an ambush. And nothing prevents him from targeting you.

Baela’s lips curled, but something alive flashed in her eyes.

– He wouldn’t dare fly to Dragonstone or Driftmark, – she replied sharply. – That would be madness. And, – she hesitated a little, but still added. – I’m careful.

Rhaenys stared at her for longer than it would have taken for a normal response. She saw more than just a girl. She saw familiar features, forming an achingly familiar image: Daemon’s dark, almost predatory stubbornness, who didn’t know the word «back off», and Laena’s fiery courage, who had always considered heaven her right, not a privilege. The combination was beautiful. And deadly.

– I don’t want to sit and wait.

– I know, – Rhaenys reached out and touched granddaughter’s shoulder lightly. – And that’s why I ask you to be careful. Not so that your wings won’t break. But so that they don’t burn out too soon.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, as if in agreement. Baela nodded reluctantly but sincerely.

– I’ll try.

– That’s all I ask. Just stay alive. The world has already taken too much from our family.

***

Rhaenys sat in her husband’s solarium, clutching the letter so tightly that the parchment crumpled under her fingers. The blue distance beyond the tall windows seemed too calm – the sea was flat, the sky clear, the winds gentle, as if the world mocked her anxiety. She tapped her fingers on the table, unaware of the movement, rereading the lines that were already etched in her memory over and over. Aegon had slaughtered the garrison, killed the castellan, and captured the castle that was the heart of their power. A castle that should have been unreachable. A castle where children had laughed so recently. Baela could be there. The thought cut sharper than any blade. Rhaenys stood and walked to the window, resting her palms on the cold mantelpiece. Far below, beneath the cliffs, the waves were beating – eternal, indifferent to the wars of men. Driftmark stood as it always had, but for the first time in years she felt the island vulnerable. The enemy is close now. Too close. She ran through her mind all the orders she had given that morning: to strengthen the harbor guard, to put part of the fleet out to sea to prevent ships from approaching by surprise, to check the signal lights, to double the guards on the towers if something went wrong. She had sent riders to the villages, ordered shelters to be prepared, food stores, even old caves that only the local fishermen knew about. And yet it wasn`t enough. Because orders don`t stop dragons. Because orders don`t stop war when it`s already on the threshold. Rhaenys closed her eyes for a moment, and the faces of granddaughters appeared before her inner vision. She clenched her fists even tighter. She had once had Meleys. Once she could have mounted the dragon and stood alone between danger and those she loved. Now the sky was closed to her, and the loss hurt even physically. A knock on the door made her start.

– Your Grace, – the guard said carefully. – Ser Adam requests an audience.

Rhaenys exhaled slowly, gathering herself. Her fingers smoothed the crumpled parchment, and she placed the letter on the table as if to hide her own weakness. She felt a brief twinge of surprise. What had brought him here now?

– Let him in, – she said flatly.

The door opened, and Adam appeared in the doorway. He paused, bowing his head with due respect, but Rhaenys immediately noticed the tension in his posture. She glanced out the window again, as if checking to see if the sea was still there, if Driftmark still held its rocks.

– Speak, – she said finally, turning to him. Adam stood in the middle of the room, as if in court.

– I’m sorry to bother you, princess, – he began quietly. – But something happened in the capital. There was the Battle of Tumbleton. Ulf and Hugh betrayed us. They went over to the green side, – anger rose in a wave. She exhaled slowly through her nose, forcing herself not to interrupt. She had never trusted those who had suddenly received dragons and decided that honor had also appeared along with the fire in their veins. A dragon doesn`t make a person better, it only enhances what is already there. She said nothing, only slightly raised her chin, allowing him to continue. – Queen ... – he hesitated. – The Queen accused Nettle and me of treason. Because of our origin. Lord Corlys learned that they wanted to execute us and decided to warn me, – for a moment her face softened. Of course he would have done so. Even in the shackles of his own politics, Corlys remained Corlys. – Nettle wasn`t in the capital. She flew away with prince Daemon. Lord Corlys had time to warn me, – Adam lowered his eyes. – I offered my lord to fly with me. But he refused.

The corner of her lips twitched in a weak, almost painful smile. She remembered how Corlys had stood in the cave of Dragonstone, tense, focused, like a young man before his first battle, trying not to show fear. How he had been embarrassed then, stepping on the stone where dragons once lived... He, the lord of the seas, was afraid of the sky. Corlys, who had walked into the storm without hesitation, but couldn`t bring himself to mount a dragon. Adam raised his head, but there was no relief on his face.

– Lord Corlys has been captured.

A hot, sharp anger rose in Rhaenys' chest against Rhaenyra. To the point of blindness, to the fear that always makes one seek enemies among one's own. This path always ends in blood. She took a slow breath, so deep that the air in the room suddenly became thin.

– Thank you, – she said after a pause. Her voice was even, almost icy. – You did the right thing by coming. Now go. Rest. You’ll need your strength.

Adam nodded hesitantly.

– I… I’m sorry, princess.

– I know, – she replied, and waved her hand, letting him go.

The door closed softly, but the sound seemed too loud. When she was alone, Rhaenys finally allowed herself to breathe out. Heavy, trembling, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen on her chest.

– That’s all I need, – she whispered into the void. Rhaenys slowly rose and walked to the window. The blue distance no longer seemed calm. The sea held a storm within it as much as she did.

***

Rhaenys stood on the beach, where the dark sea merged with the night sky, and the line between them disappeared, as if erased by someone's careless hand. The waves rolled in one after another, heavy and dull, and in each of their blows she could hear something threatening, inevitable. The wind tugged at the hems of her cloak, tangled her hair, poured salt into her eyes, but she didn't care. The elements, at least, were more honest than people, the sea didn`t hide its anger. Her husband was in prison. The thought beat in her head like a seagull against a rock. Corlys was now locked in stone and darkness. She imagined him there, among the damp and iron, and it squeezed her chest so tightly that it became difficult to breathe. He said that the sea was his prison and his freedom at the same time. But this... this wasn`t the kind of prison that could be escaped by willpower or cunning. Granddaughters. They were so close to the enemy. Too close. And Rhaenys knew that no walls, no guards could fully protect those born with wings in their souls. She looked down at her hands. She was no longer Meleys, that sense of power that had once been so natural she didn’t notice it. Without the dragon, she felt naked before the world. Only a woman who had lost too much and now had to watch helplessly as the threat crept closer. Rhaenys bent down, picked up a stone from the sand. She swung and threw it into the sea. The stone disappeared into the waves without a trace, only a brief splash breaking the surface of the water.

– Curse…– she blurted out.

A second stone followed, then a third. Each throw was filled with anger, fear, and helplessness. She screamed, releasing all the pain she had built up over the days and weeks. The wind picked up her scream and carried it over the water, as if the sea was meant to hear and respond. There was no answer. Rhaenys knelt down in the sand. The cold crept under her skin, but she didn’t care. She felt like a driven animal, a dragon without wings or fire, pinned to a rock. Once she had soared into the sky, and the world below had seemed small and manageable. Now the world was bearing down on her with all its weight. She didn’t know what to do. Too many fronts for one person, especially one whose main weapon had been taken away. She inhaled the salty air slowly and exhaled just as slowly. Tears came suddenly, treacherously, but she didn’t hold them back. They rolled down her cheeks and got lost in her hair, mingling with the sea's moisture. The sea couldn`t tell her tears from its own salt, and there was a strange, cruel comfort in that. She had no dragon. No weapons. But she had the fury of a woman with something to lose. Rhaenys stood slowly, wiping her face with the back of her hand. The night didn`t grow lighter, the danger didn`t disappear, but somewhere deep inside, beneath the layer of fear and despair, a stubborn, almost forgotten feeling stirred. A dragon may lose its wings, but even when cornered, it`s still a dragon.

– Grandma...

She turned sharply, before she could wipe the traces of anger and despair from her face. On the path that led down from the Tide to the dark beach, stood the two girls. Their silhouettes were barely outlined in the moonlight, their hair swaying in the wind from the sea. They looked too fragile for this night, for these thoughts, for this war. Rhaena moved towards her first, quickly, almost at a run. Rhaenys opened her arms before the girl could get close, and Rhaena crashed into her with her whole body, pressing her cheek to her chest. There was so much trust in that movement, so much childish need for protection, that Rhaenys’s heart clenched painfully.

– How long have you been here? – she asked softly, stroking granddaughter’s hair.

– We heard you scream, – Rhaenys closed her eyes for a moment. So they saw her weakness. They could hear her desperation. She didn’t want this.

– It’s okay, – she said softly, more convincing herself than the girl.

She kissed the top of Rhaena’s head, inhaling the familiar scent of salt, fire and childhood. She reached out her other hand to Baela. She hesitated. It was only a second, but Rhaenys noticed it. The same stubbornness, the same restraint inherited from her father. Finally, the girl took a step forward and allowed herself to be hugged, though not as willingly as her sister. But when Rhaenys pressed her to her, Baela still leaned her forehead against her shoulder, just as she had in childhood, when she hadn’t yet learned to hide her fear behind her audacity. Rhaenys hugged them both tighter, as if she could block the whole world with her own hands. She kissed Rhaena, then Baela, holding her lips on her temple a little longer. The sea roared ahead, dark, indifferent, eternal. It has seen much loss and will see more.

– Grandma, – Rhaena said quietly. – Will grandpa be okay?

The question hung between them, heavier than any stone Rhaenys had thrown into the sea a few moments before. She was silent. Two truths struggled within her. One, the one she wanted to say, sweet and soothing. The other, the one she knew all too well. She had no answer. Rhaenys lowered her head and kissed Rhaena again, pressing her close to her.

– I hope so, – she said finally. It was the truth. The only one she could give them. Baela snorted, pulling away just enough to look grandmother in the face.

– He’s the Sea Snake, – she said stubbornly, with the same defiant confidence that had so irritated and so fascinated her at the same time. – He’ll slip out of any trap.

Rhaenys couldn’t help but smile.

– You’re all his, – she said, touching granddaughter’s chin with her fingers. Baela smiled at grandmother and buried her face in granddaughter’s chest.

Rhaenys stood in silence for a moment longer, feeling the salty wind from the sea cling to her hair and cloak, the cold seeping through the fabric to her skin. Baela was the first to break the silence. She raised her head, her dark eyes glinting in the dim light.

– Grandmother, what do you plan to do?

Rhaenys exhaled slowly. She wanted to lie. To say that she already had a plan, that she knew where to go and what to say, how to snatch Corlys from the clutches of enemies and at the same time keep these two girls from war. But she couldn’t lie to them.

– I don’t know, – she said honestly. Her voice was hollow, as if it didn’t belong to her. – And that’s what scares me the most, – Rhaena hugged her tighter. – I can’t leave you here, Aegon too close. If he decides to strike the island… I won’t be able to forgive myself if something happens to you.

– You have to go, – Baela said suddenly. Rhaenys looked at her in surprise and shook her head. – Because if you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself. And neither will we.

– We’ll be okay, grandma. The island is safe. The people here are loyal to you and grandfather. We`ll be careful. I promise.

– And we have Moondancer, – Baela added with a slight smile that Rhaenys saw so clearly in Laena. – She won`t let us be harmed.

Rhaenys pursed her lips. The doubts didn`t disappear, they stirred inside her like a ball of snakes. She knew that no walls were impregnable, no dragon invulnerable. She knew that war asks no permission and doesn`t consider promises. Rhaena leaned closer to Rhaenys again, and this time Baela came closer too, hugging grandmother on the other side. They pressed against her so tightly that for a moment Rhaenys felt as if she were holding her children again.

– You always said we were fire and sea, – Rhaena whispered. – The sea lets ships go, but always waits for them to come back.

The words struck her heart with a painful and tender touch. Rhaenys closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment of weakness. She held the girls close to her, inhaled their scent, and nodded.

– Okay, but you promise me one more time. That you’ll be careful.

– We promise, – they both said in unison.

They walked slowly back toward the castle. The stone path was cold underfoot, but there was warmth between them. Rhaenys walked between granddaughters, letting them lead the way. The doubts didn`t go away. They walked side by side, like shadows.

Chapter Text

– Princess, with all due respect, it`s dangerous for you to go there alone.

The sea wind ruffled her hair, tugged at her cloak, as if it were trying to keep her here, on the deck, among the familiar wood and ropes, where she still had some illusion of control. The captain’s face was worn with sleepless nights and anxiety, he was truly worried. All the ships that had crowded the harbor yesterday had disappeared as soon as the whispers of the Sea Snake’s arrest spread through the city. Now the only people who remained loyal to her stood here, on this deck, looking at her as if she were their only anchor. And she had just ordered them not to leave the ship.

– I know, – Rhaenys said calmly. Her voice was even, but inside everything was tightening. – But there is nothing you can do there.

The captain clenched his jaw.

– We could at least…

– No, – she interrupted softly but firmly. – Rhaenyra’s garrison is in the capital. Even if you came down with me, it would be useless. You`ll wait for me at the appointed place.

The captain nodded slowly, displeasedly. He knew that look. When Lady Velaryon made up her mind, neither storms nor men could stop her.

– May the seas protect you, princess, – he muttered.

– And you.

Rhaenys stepped onto the pier. The wooden planks groaned dully under her steps, the sound piercing her ears after the rustle of the waves. The air here was thicker, heavier, saturated with smoke, sweat and tension. She felt the eyes on her even before she saw the soldiers. Rhaenyra’s soldiers stood in an even line along the pier. Rhaenys didn`t lower her gaze. She walked straight, without quickening her pace, without showing either fear or hesitation. Inside, however, everything was different. Every step away from the ship felt like a step away from safety, from home, from the granddaughters who had been left waiting on Driftmark. The carriage waited nearby. The horse snorted, feeling the tension as she approached. The soldier opened the door without saying a word. Before she sat down, Rhaenys turned around once more. The ship already seemed distant, almost unreal, like a dream about to be shattered. There were no people left there who could protect her with their bodies. Here began a journey where only name, mind, and cold determination would be the only protection. She climbed into the carriage. The door closed with a dull thud, cutting off the sound of the sea. The wheels moved, and Rhaenys closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself a short breath.

The door before her opened wide and solemnly, and Rhaenys stepped into the Throne room as if she were entering not to ask but to demand. The stone beneath her feet was cold, the air heavy with whispers, the smell of wax, and tension. Everything here was painfully familiar and yet foreign, as if the castle had grown sharper in angles, harder in shadows. On the Iron Throne sat Rhaenyra, wearing Jaehaerys’ crown, as if the weight of past kings pressed down on her temples. She held herself even, but Rhaenys, who had known her since childhood, could see that this wasn`t calm, this was a state of concentration before a storm. At the foot of the throne stood Joffrey and little Aegon. Between them and the world was the line of Goldcloaks, like a living wall. The lords and ladies gathered in the hall. Problems were being resolved one after another – lands, oaths, provisions, punishments. But with Rhaenys’s appearance, the conversation was cut short as if someone had pulled a string. She lifted her chin and moved forward slowly, with a nobility that needed no words. The courtiers parted on their own. She stopped before the line of guards. The Goldcloaks stiffened but didn`t move. Joffrey’s face lit up instantly with a smile, and he waved happily. Rhaenys smiled faintly in return. Rhaenyra leaned sharply toward the boy and said something quietly but sternly. Joffrey disappeared, his hand lowered. The queen looked up. Her eyes slid over Rhaenys, lingering a moment longer than they should, as if she were trying to guess who this woman was to her.

– Princess Rhaenys, – Rhaenyra said formally, her voice even, polished. – What do I owe you for your visit? I received no word of your arrival in the capital.

Someone in the hall sighed softly. Rhaenys didn`t bow.

– I received no word of my husband’s arrest either, – the words fell into silence like a stone into water. The wave was gone in an instant: whispers, movement, tense backs. Rhaenyra was momentarily confused. She clearly hadn`t expected such directness.

– Lord Corlys Velaryon, – she said, her voice harsher now. – Accused of treason. By the laws of the realm, he must be held accountable. He`s currently under arrest.

– Under arrest, – Rhaenys repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. Rhaenyra clenched her fingers on the armrests of her throne.

– War doesn`t allow luxury to delay. When it comes to treason, the crown must act quickly.

– Treason, – Rhaenys repeated again. She took a step closer to the guard. – My husband gave this kingdom everything: his fleet, his gold, his men. He built your war while others were still hesitating whose side to take. He held the blockade for you, he captured this cursed capital for you. If that is treason, then the word has lost its meaning.

Someone in the hall coughed. Someone lowered their eyes. Rhaenyra leaned forward.

– This isn`t about past merit, – she said sharply. – It’s about present actions. Your husband helped a traitor escape.

– He saved an innocent man who served you loyally and gave no reason to be suspected of treason, – Rhaenyra’s eyes lit up.

– You’re crossing the line, princess, – they stared into each other’s eyes for several heartbeats. Aunt and niece. Two women who had lost too much to allow themselves to be weak. – What do you want?

– I want to see my husband.

Silence fell over the hall again. Joffrey stared intently from mother to grandmother. The Goldcloaks stood still. Rhaenyra sat up abruptly in her throne, as if her aunt’s words had stung. Jaehaerys' crown glinted in the torchlight. It was as if the crown tolerated her, but didn`t belong to her until the end.

– That is impossible, – the queen said coldly, and silence fell over the hall. – You`ll see your husband in court, if you wish. That is where the fate of traitors to the crown is decided.

The word «traitors» came out louder than it needed to. Several lords looked at each other tensely. Some held their breath, some smiled faintly, smelling the scent of blood. Rhaenys didn`t answer immediately. She took a slow breath, straightening her shoulders. Now it wasn`t the speed that mattered, but the weight of each word. When she spoke, it was no longer a common language.

– Blood remembers Valyria, even when people forget. If you kill your own, the throne won`t stand, – several of those present shuddered. Valyrian always sounded older than kingdoms, older than intrigue, a reminder that power didn`t begin on this throne. Rhaenyra leaned forward, her fingers gripping the armrests. Rhaenys took a step forward, just one, but it was enough to make the guard tense. – You can play with power, you can throw out big words and cover yourself with a crown. But if you start cutting your own roots, it won’t last long. A queen who executes her most loyal is left alone. And lonely dragons don’t live long.

Rhaenyra stood up abruptly from her throne.

– Is that a threat? – her voice cracked, and she was instantly angry with herself for it. – You threaten me in my hall?

Rhaenys didn`t raise her voice. She only bowed her head slightly, a gesture that was more regretful than submissive.

– This is a warning. You aren`t the only dragoness. A dragon bows to no one.

Rhaenyra stared at her aunt longer than she had allowed herself to with anyone else. Rhaenys no longer had a dragon, no army here and now, but her presence still pressed. Like an old bone in her throat.

– Enough, – Rhaenyra finally said, steel in her voice. – Guards, show princess Rhaenys her chambers. A traitor’s wife will be locked up for trial.

– Mother! – Joffrey jumped from his seat, his face pale. – She…

– Sit down, – Rhaenyra snapped, not even looking at him. Her hand came down on his shoulder with excessive force, forcing him to fall back. The guard took a step toward Rhaenys. She turned slowly, her cloak barely rustling against the stone.

– No need, – she said calmly. – I know the way.

Her gaze swept the hall once more. Her steps were slow, dignified, each a reminder that even without wings, a dragoness was still a dragoness. She heard the guard move behind her. She heard it, but she didn’t look back. And Rhaenyra watched her, her fingers clenched so that her nails dug into her palms, she felt afraid of her.

Rhaenys lay on her bed, on top of the sheets, looking out the window, where the night trembled over the Red Keep like a dark sea before a storm. The fireplace had long since gone out, the rooms were cool, and only the faint moonlight lay in pale streaks on the stone floor. These weren`t the chambers of the Hand, where she had spent her last night in the capital, but her childhood room. The same one where she had once learned to sit straight and to hold her back proudly. The room was a little neglected, devoid of warmth, as if someone had taken life from it long ago, leaving only a shell. Empty shelves, a worn carpet on which she had once played with dolls and dragons. There was too much silence here. Rhaenys's thoughts were confused, layered one on top of the other, trying to find a way out of the trap, but each time they slipped into emptiness. Corlys in the dungeon. Granddaughters on an island that could become a target. Rhaenyra whom she no longer recognized. She went through the options, and each one seemed either impossible or too bloody. Finally, fatigue took its toll. Thoughts snapped like a thread, and she didn`t notice how she fell asleep.

When Rhaenys opened her eyes, the night still held the castle in its cold palms. But something was different. The air wasn`t oppressive as before. She listened to the sounds outside the door. Quiet. No footsteps, no clanking of weapons, no whispering of guards. Just the distant breathing of the castle. She stood and walked to the door. She placed her palm against the wood. Silence again. Rhaenys smiled faintly. She turned to the mirror, wanting to straighten her locks, to put herself in order. And just then something snapped in her mind. The room was different. The air was fresher, saturated with the smell of flowers and something sweet, alive, not the mustiness of stone, but morning dew and perfume. The light was warmer, as if the moon shone differently. On the dressing table, there were bottles of thin glass, boxes of jewelry, silver combs, arranged with meticulous care. There was life here, a presence, warmth, someone's care. And in the mirror, it wasn`t the same Rhaenys who had gone through war, loss, and betrayal. A fifteen-year-old girl looked at her. She was wearing a red dress, light as a breath of wind, with an open neck and thin sleeves. Her face was the same, painfully familiar, but smooth, without wrinkles, traces of time or scars. Her purple eyes shone with confidence, but the burden of loss hadn`t yet settled in them, there wasn`t yet that deep, bitter shadow that the death of children and a dragon leaves. Rhaenys held her breath. She remembered what it had been like: sharp, proud, certain that the world had to reckon with her blood. The reflection repeated her movement, she smoothed her hair again, a little impatiently, with youthful confidence. She moved to the wall, her fingers tugged on the candlestick without hesitation. The mechanism clicked softly. The stone shifted, and the wall slowly parted, revealing a dark passage. Rhaenys took a step forward, feeling her heart beat faster. She didn’t know if it was a dream or a memory, a vision or a memory trap. But somewhere deep down, beneath the layers of pain and fatigue, something old and strong spoke, something that had always driven her forward. Blood and fire. And memory.

A dark corridor led her into a small courtyard, hidden between the old castle walls, like a secret known only to those who were allowed to know. The air here was cooler, saturated with the smell of salt and night flowers. Overhead, a scattering of stars, close and bright, as if they could be touched with a hand. In the center of the courtyard grew a tree, old, with a thick trunk and branches that spread out in all directions. Under it stood a bench. Along the fence, bushes and flowers huddled, which no one had pruned here, they grew as they wanted, freely. None of the castle windows looked out here. Only stairs: some up, some down, to the rocky shore, where the sea beat against the stones. Rhaenys stopped, looked around. Empty. Just her, the night, and the quiet rustle of leaves. And it was at that moment that she felt a presence behind her. Someone's hands were firmly on her hips, pressing against broad chest. She threw her head back, someone else's lips finding hers, briefly but sweetly.

– Late, captain, – she said, without even turning around, in the same self-confident tone that drove him crazy. He laughed.

– The princess herself just arrived, – Rhaenys turned sharply, taking a step back, as if to get a better look at him. He was younger: fewer wrinkles, no fatigue in his eyes, his smile a little cheeky.

– I`m a princess, –  she said, lifting her chin. – I have the right to be late.

She took a step toward the tree, ran her fingers along the rough bark, then turned to him with a smile that was more playful than serious. She beckoned him with a gesture, but as soon as he took a step, she slipped easily to the side, almost dancing, and laughed loudly, like a child.

– You’re always so slow, – she said over her shoulder.

– I’m too old for your games, – he replied, taking his time but never taking his eyes off her.

They circled the yard, not touching, like two people who enjoyed the process itself – the words, the looks, the tension between their steps. There was something pure and light about it, without the weight of future wars, losses, and decisions yet to be made. In an instant, Corlys had closed the distance between them. His movement was confident, sailor-like. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close so quickly that Rhaenys didn’t even have time to dodge. She laughed. Her arms closed around his neck of their own accord, her fingers tangled in his hair, and she reached for him, leaving a laugh between their lips. His lips were warm, a little salty from the sea air, hers were impudent and smiling. She pulled his hand, with that sly smile that promised more adventure than safety.

– Let’s go to the sea, – she said, as if it were the most obvious decision in the world. Corlys snorted.

– I knew it. Sirens are always drawn to the water.

She laughed again, and that laugh echoed down the steps that led down to the dark, rocky strip of shore. The wind was getting stronger, saltier, and Rhaenys’s hair was blowing out of her hairstyle, brushing her cheeks and neck. As they descended, she stopped suddenly and spun around, pulling him back to her. This time the kiss was deeper, unhurried. Her lips sought his more confidently, more boldly, as if she wanted to remember the feel, the taste, the warmth. He pulled away first, taking a deep breath, and nodded his head to the side.

– What is this? – not far away, a narrow opening in the rock was black – a small cave, almost invisible among the stones. Rhaenys followed his gaze and shrugged.

– Another secret passage. It leads to the dungeons somewhere. Maybe to a prison, I never checked.

– Then I should be more careful, so that thieves don’t steal the princess, – she took a step closer, looked up at him with feigned seriousness.

– Too late, captain. I’ve already been stolen by a pirate, – she reached for him again.

Rhaenys sat up abruptly on the bed. Her heart beat faster, and the heat from the kisses still burned in her chest. She stiffened several times, recovering from the dream, whether it was a vision or a memory of waking up on time. For a few moments she simply sat, staring into the darkness, allowing reality to slowly return. The stone of the walls was cold, heavy, real. She listened to the door, just as she had in a dream. She held her breath. The night answered with silence. No footsteps, no clanking of armor, no whispering of the guard. Only the distant noise of the city that never truly sleeps. Rhaenys slowly rose to her feet. Her movements were quiet, collected, precise. She walked over to the table where fruit and a jug of wine were waiting, like a worry that was supposed to soothe. Her fingers stopped on a small knife. The blade caught the moonlight dimly. She weighed it in her hand and slipped it into the sole of her boot. She turned back to the wall, where she had just seen herself as fifteen. Rhaenys reached out and grabbed the candlestick. Not as confidently as she had remembered. Not as easily. For a moment it seemed to her that nothing would happen, that the mechanism had rusted along with her past, but she pulled anyway. The stone sighed softly. Barely audible, but enough to make her heart sink. The wall slowly parted, revealing a dark passage filled with the smell of damp and old stone. Rhaenys froze in the doorway.

Rhaenys walked carefully down the dark corridor, her fingers sliding along the cold stone of the wall. Each step gave off a barely noticeable tension of expectation in her body. Here the air was heavier, damper, saturated with the smell of old age and secrets. These steps remembered her steps from the times when she hadn`t yet known how precious memory was. Ahead appeared a faint glimmer of moonlight. She quickened her pace, and the corridor suddenly opened, letting her outside. Rhaenys stopped. It was the same courtyard, hidden from the whole world, now looked different, but recognizably painful. The tree in the center had grown, become more massive, its branches stretched towards the sky, as if trying to hold the stars. The leaves slowly fell, rustling under the breath of the autumn wind, covering the ground with a thin layer of memories. Once everything here had been green, alive, filled with laughter and whispers. Now it was quiet, tired, almost resigned. The bench under the tree was neglected. The wood had darkened, cracks had appeared on the back, and the stone at the base was overgrown with moss. The bushes along the fence had lost their neatness. Everything here breathed of time, which spares nothing. Rhaenys smiled bitterly.

– As do we, – she said quietly, although no one could hear her.

She couldn't help but approach the bench. Slowly, almost cautiously, as if she were afraid of scaring off whatever might still live here. Her fingers slid along the back. And the memory, stubborn as the sea, finally gave in. At first, fragments. Not whole pictures, but sensations. His laugh, low, a little hoarse. The smell of salt and wood that always followed him. The way he stood, leaning against the tree trunk, looking at her as if she were the only star in the sky. Her irritation, her audacity, his patience. She closed her eyes and sat down on the bench. Slowly, cautiously, as if she was afraid that she would crumble under the weight of years and memories. She remembered how angry she had been with him for leaving. How she had called his sea her chief rival. How he had smiled and said that the sea was his destiny, but she was his home. That she was the only one who could take him from the sea. Rhaenys looked up at the tree. It had survived their youth, the years they had been together, and the years when they had been silent. Like this place, their relationship hadn`t disappeared. It had simply… withered. But even a withered tree sends down roots deeper. She sighed heavily, feeling something tighten in her chest. Rhaenys stood up from the bench. The wind shook the branches, and the leaves rustled again, as if seeing her off. She took one last look at the courtyard and quickly moved down, she had little time.

Rhaenys approached the cave uncertainly. The waves rustled at her feet, rolling in and out, as if they were wavering with her. The stones were cold, slippery with salt, and every step demanded attention. The wind from the sea brushed her cheeks, pulled at her hair, as if trying to hold her back. She had walked to this place almost without hesitation, guided by her own shadow, by the echo of memory, by that fifteen-year-old girl in the mirror who knew these moves. Then there was darkness. She stood at the entrance to the cave and felt confidence slowly settling somewhere in her chest, replaced by wariness. There were no options. Rhaenys stepped inside. The corridor swallowed her up at once. The sounds of the sea faded, the moonlight disappeared behind her. Only the steady sound of her footsteps and breathing. Time stretched. She could see nothing, only sense direction, slope, the air growing thicker. It began to seem to her that this darkness was endless. That the corridor had no end, that it simply led nowhere. The thoughts she had so diligently avoided crept in again. Finally, her fingers touched the flat surface. A dead end. Rhaenys stopped, breathing heavily. Exasperation flared up faster than fear. She slammed her palm against the wall, sharply, angrily, as if she wanted to knock an answer out of the stone.

– Great, – she hissed. – Just great.

And at that very moment, the stone creaked softly under her hand. Rhaenys froze. She felt the wall give way, just a little. The stone shifted, revealing a narrow crack. A different smell wafted from within – dryer, older, but not dead. A short laugh escaped her. Rhaenys paused for a moment, peering down the dark passage. Her heart beat steadily, but faster. She felt a strange, almost forgotten sense of possibility. She stepped onto the first step. She climbed slowly, carefully, holding onto the wall with one hand. The stairs were narrow, worn with time, as if they had been used for centuries. With each step the air changed. It became lighter, warmer. Rhaenys reached the top of the stairs in a narrow, dark alcove, almost blending into the wall. She froze, her back pressed against the cold masonry, and cautiously peered out. The corridor stretched in both directions, lit by the dim light of torches. Empty at first glance, but this castle was never truly quiet. She listened, holding her breath, and a moment later she heard footsteps. Two guards were walking towards her.

– Come on, – the first one grumbled. – A mug, and then back. My throat is dry.

– You can’t, – the second one answered, more firmly. Rhaenys pressed herself even closer to the wall, feeling her heart start to beat faster.

– But what will happen to them, – the first one persisted. – The prisoners won’t go anywhere. Especially if Bill stays here.

– And if the Snake escapes? The Queen will feed us both to the dragon, – Rhaenys clenched her jaws.

– But stop, the old man is barely breathing. He won’t be able to take a leak himself, not like escape from here, – her fingers involuntarily clenched into a fist. Her nails dug painfully into the skin of her palm. A wave of anger rose in her chest, but she remained motionless.

– Just quickly, – the second one finally gave in, after a short pause.

– That’s another matter.

Their voices grew distant, their footsteps gradually died down, dissolving into the stone bowels of the castle. Rhaenys stood still for a long time, not trusting the silence. The castle knew how to deceive. Rhaenys slipped out of hiding like a shadow, moving along the wall. In another corridor she stopped abruptly. The light of the torch snatched the figure of a guard from the darkness. So this is Bill. She stepped back a step into the shadows, her heart thudded against her ribs. Physically she certainly wouldn’t have been able to overcome him, so she would have to be cunning. Rhaenys closed her eyes for a moment, forcing her thoughts to gather. Her fingers found the loose boot of their own accord. She took a deep breath and, changing her voice, made it foreign, almost unreal, quiet and drawn out, as if it were pouring from the walls.

– Bill…

The guard flinched and glanced over his shoulder. His figure stiffened, but a moment later he was back in his place, muttering something under his breath.

– Biiiill…

The voice dragged on longer, sliding down the corridor, getting tangled in the stones. This time the man turned completely. He stood for a few seconds, listening, then moved forward uncertainly, but without the former confidence. Rhaenys slid into the alcove, pressing against the cold stone. She felt the blood pulsing in her temples, the muscles tensing, ready for one single movement. Bill's footsteps sounded closer and closer. He stopped just a few steps away from her, his back to the alcove. Time stretched. She hesitated only for a moment, but that moment could cost everything.

Chapter Text

The movement was sharp, precise, without any thought. She struck him in the neck, putting all her strength and determination into the blow. The guard flinched, made a muffled sound, and sank down, before she could scream or look back. Rhaenys picked him up, preventing his body from falling deafly onto the stone, and carefully lowered him into the shadow of the alcove. She stood over him for several seconds, listening to the corridor, the castle, herself. Her hands trembled, but her gaze remained clear. She hid the knife back in her boot and searched the body quickly and intently. Her fingers felt for a heavy bunch of keys, the metal clinked softly, and the sound made her freeze, holding her breath. There was silence for several seconds. She hesitated to take the sword, but finally she drew it from its sheath. The weapon lay heavy in her palm, unwelcoming, foreign. Once, as a child, her father had placed her hands correctly, laughed when the blade trembled in her fingers, said that it wasn`t a shame for a princess to know a sword, but a privilege. Then the sword had seemed an extension of her hand. Now it was almost an unbearable burden. Rhaenys grabbed the hilt more comfortably and moved on, forcing herself not to think about how long ago it had been. The corridor stretched like a long stone belly. Torches burned rarely, the light was scarce and uneven, and each step sounded too loud. She approached the chambers one by one, peering into the narrow windows, darkness answering darkness. The smell of dampness, old straw, and human fear hung in the air, settled on her skin.

– Corlys… – she called softly, leaning toward the door. – Corlys.

There was no answer. One cell was empty, in another someone had rushed to the bars, slammed the door with such force that Rhaenys recoiled, raising her sword instinctively.

– Let me go! – a man’s voice cried hoarsely. – Let me go, bitch!

She didn’t answer. She walked on, her heart beating faster. In the next cell sat someone else, a thin silhouette in the corner. When Rhaenys called the husband’s name, a dry, broken laugh came from the darkness.

– If he’s here, he’s rat food.

Rhaenys gritted her teeth until her jaw ached, but she didn't let herself stop. She had no right to waste time. Cell after cell. Some begged, some cursed, some laughed as if they had long since crossed the line of fear. The prisoners reached out to her through the bars, promising gold, swearing allegiance, threatening curses. Rhaenys walked as if through a storm, keeping her course on one name only. And the further she walked, the more anxiety tightened in her chest. She chased away thoughts like one would chase away annoying flies. At the end of the corridor, the torchlight was dimmer, almost extinguished. Rhaenys stopped, placed her palm on the cold stone and listened. From the darkness came heavy, uneven breathing. Rhaenys fingered the keys with trembling fingers, pressing them against the lock again and again. The metal slid, refused to budge, clanged too loudly, every sound a scream in the stone silence. She held her breath, listened, then tried again. Another key. More. Her hands were already aching from the strain, her heart pounding so hard it seemed to be heard throughout the dungeon. Finally, the lock clicked softly, as if reluctantly admitting defeat. Rhaenys froze for a moment and carefully pushed the door open. A faint path of light fell inside, carving the uneven contours of the chamber out of the darkness. The smell was heavy – blood, dampness, sweat, and something else, bitter, prison-like. Her gaze locked instantly on the figure on the straw. At first she thought he was dead. The world faltered for a moment. Everything inside curled into a tight, aching knot, so familiar to her from years of loss. She lunged forward, feeling neither the weight of the sword that slipped from her fingers and clattered against the stone, nor the pain in her knees as she fell beside him.

– Corlys… – her voice trailed off, becoming a whisper, almost soundless.

He lay, curled up slightly, one hand pressed to his stomach. His chest heaved slightly. Relief washed over her in a wave so sharp that tears welled up in her eyes. She exhaled shudderingly, almost a sob, and only then did she allow herself to touch him. Blood had congealed on the dark skin near his nose and lips, and was drawn in cracks along his cheek. His cheekbone was broken, swollen, blue, almost black. His lips were cracked, one corner was split. She ran her fingers carefully near his temple, afraid to hurt.

– It’s me… – she whispered, leaning closer. – I’m here.

His breathing was heavy, ragged, as if each breath was forced. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling the familiar warmth beneath her fingers, the uneven rhythm of his heart. Alive. Rhaenys slid her hand lower and froze. Her fingers encountered damp fabric, a hardness that shouldn’t have been there. She carefully lifted the hem of her shirt and her heart clenched again. His stomach was bruised, dark, crawling, here and there with blood stains. He had clearly been hit more than once. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to breathe evenly. Panic would be a betrayal now. She had to be firm.

– Look at me, – she asked softly, leaning down so that her face would be in his line of sight if he opened his eyes. – Please.

She thought his eyelids twitched slightly. She held her breath, staring at him like the sea before a storm. She was ready for anything but silence. Her fingers gripped his hand gently but firmly, as if transferring her strength. Rhaenys touched his face gently, almost pleadingly. Her fingers trembled as they slid over his swollen cheek, his skin rough with baked blood. She was afraid to press harder, afraid even to breathe too loudly.

– Corlys… – she whispered, leaning so close that her forehead was almost touching his. – Look at me. Please. Wake up.

Her only answer was a low, hoarse moan. His body twitched subtly, the fingers on his stomach tensing as if the pain had swept through him. Rhaenys shuddered with him, as if the pain had passed through her as well. Tears trickled treacherously down her cheeks, falling onto the stone floor and his blood-stained shirt. She quickly brushed them away with the back of her hand, but it was no use, they poured again, hot, uncontrollable. She tried for a moment to pick him up, to put her hand under his shoulders, but Corlys’s body was heavy, unnaturally heavy. He barely reacted, only breathing heavily. She couldn’t bear it by force. Her chest tightened with helplessness. Rhaenys leaned down and, trembling, carefully kissed the remaining part of his temple, then his forehead, then the edge of his cheek where there was no blood. Her lips touched him as if with these kisses she could bring him back to life, to consciousness, to her.

– Please… – she burst out. – Don’t you dare leave me now.

She kissed him again and again, between tears, between whispers. His eyelids trembled. Rhaenys froze. Slowly, as if it cost him an incredible effort, he opened his eyes. His gaze was murky, blurred with pain and fatigue. He blinked several times, trying to concentrate, and finally saw her. His lips moved slightly.

– Rhaenys… – he exhaled hoarsely. – Is this the end?

She smiled nervously through her tears.

– No, my fool, – she whispered, leaning closer to him. He stared at her for a long time, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. There was surprise in his gaze, then something soft, almost relief.

– I thought… – his voice trailed off, he swallowed. – I thought you were coming to take me to the other world.

– Just home, – she answered quietly but firmly. – I came to take you home.

Corlys mustered his last strength and slowly raised his hand. The movement was awkward, painful. Rhaenys didn’t move, only leaned closer, letting him reach. His fingers touched her cheek. He held them there, cautiously, as if afraid she would disappear. She covered his hand with hers, pressed it to her face, closed her eyes for a moment.

– Get up. Corlys, please. We have to go.

He moved his shoulder and groaned immediately, hoarse, gritted his teeth. The pain swept through him so clearly that Rhaenys involuntarily pressed her hand to his chest. He slowly turned his gaze to her, heavy, focused.

– You have to go.

– No, – she answered immediately, sharply, almost angrily. – I won’t go without you.

He smiled weakly, the corners of his lips twitching in pain.

– Rhaenys… – he paused, staring into her face. Longer than before. As if he were weighing something, as if he were looking for an answer not in words but in her. His eyes, despite their fatigue and blood, suddenly became strangely clear. – Did you remember something?

She froze. Then she nodded slowly.

– How did you know? – she added almost in a whisper, not looking away. He let out a laugh, short and painful, but still a laugh.

– I can see it in your eyes, – he whispered. His breathing hitched, but he didn’t look away. – And now…– he swallowed. – You have to go. I won’t make it. And you mustn’t be caught.

– I won’t leave you here, – he shook his head slightly.

– You’re worse than any storm. I’m a Snake. I’ll get out of here somehow, – Rhaenys didn’t smile. She just ran her hand slowly, very carefully through his hair, tangled and damp with sweat and blood. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, as if gathering his strength. When he looked at her again, there was something unusually serious, almost calm in his eyes. – Forgive me. For everything.

Her fingers tightened in his hair.

– Not now, – she whispered. – We’ll talk later. You owe me this.

He smiled faintly.

– Baela should become the Lady of the Tides, – Rhaenys leaned closer, her forehead touching his.

– You’ll tell her that yourself, – she said firmly. – Don’t you dare blame me. I came for you, Corlys. And I won’t go empty-handed.

Rhaenys put her arms around Corlys’s shoulders and strained to lift him. His body was heavy, almost motionless, and as she pulled, a hoarse groan escaped his chest. He gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the straw. And it was at that moment that she felt cold. The thin, distinct touch of steel against her back. Rhaenys froze. Her hands released Corlys of their own accord, and he sank helplessly back onto the straw. She straightened up slowly, without making any sudden movements. Her breathing evened out with an effort of will. A dozen options flashed through her mind, and none of them were good.

– Don’t move, – came a voice from behind her. The voice was old, hoarse, but firm.

Rhaenys smiled faintly at the corner of her mouth and slowly turned her head. The knight stood half a pace behind her, his sword still touching her back. His gray hair peeked out from under his helmet, his face was lined, and his eyes were sharp and attentive. He stared at her and suddenly froze. His hand trembled. The sword dropped slightly. He took a step back, then another, finally lowering the blade.

– Princess? – he said uncertainly. Rhaenys slowly turned fully to face him. Her back no longer felt the cold of steel, but the tension didn`t disappear.

– Ser Clement, – she said evenly.

– You shouldn`t be here, princess.

– Strange, I was just thinking the same thing about you, – the old knight chuckled, the corners of his mouth twitching in a tired smile. His gaze slid to Corlys, who lay on the floor, then back to her.

– I have been waiting for the time to finally serve the queen, – he looked at her more closely, as if for the first time in real life. Something akin to pity flickered in his gaze. – Though not to the one who ran through the halls, driving me crazy.

Rhaenys sighed slowly and looked up at the knight.

– Will you hand over me? – she asked quietly but directly, just as she had once asked as a child if he would tell the king about her escape from lessons. Ser Clement froze for a moment, then laughed hollowly, old-fashioned, with warmth.

– The seven hells… – he shook his head. – You haven’t changed at all, princess. Fifty years have passed, and you still look the same. As if the world owes you an explanation.

Rhaenys smiled faintly in return. Wearily, but sincerely.

– The world still owes me, – she said. The knight sighed, and his smile disappeared. He was back to what he was now – a watchman, a soldier, a man between orders and conscience.

– I’ll let you go, – he said finally. – But only you.

Rhaenys shook her head sharply.

– You always knew I would disobey, – Crabb was silent for a long moment. Then he drew in a slow breath, as if making a decision that weighed more than duty, more than fear.

– You were always a dangerous child, princess. And now you have become an even more dangerous woman.

– Rhaenys… – Corlys said hoarsely.

– Don’t even think about it. I won`t leave you here, – he glanced at the knight.

– Take her.

– No! – Rhaenys stood up abruptly, but Corlys suddenly summoned all the strength he had left and pulled her towards him lightly, almost tenderly. She was so close she could feel his breath.

– Kiss me, – he whispered.

– You`ll hurt…

– I`ll suffer, – her hands trembled as she gently touched his face. She leaned down and kissed him lightly, very gently. – I love you, – Corlys whispered against her lips. – Now go. Please.

His hand slid down her thigh and slowly fell to the straw. His strength had left him.

– Corlys… – she gasped, but her voice broke. Ser Clement stepped forward and took her elbow firmly.

– Come on, princess.

***

Rhaenys closed the door behind her softly, as if afraid the sharp sound would shatter the fragile balance she still held. Only when the bolt clicked did she allow herself to exhale. The air escaped her chest in ragged, hissing breaths, as if she had been hit in the ribs. She leaned her back against the door, closed her eyes, and broke down. At first it was just a sob. A single, angry, strangled sob. She pursed her lips, trying to hold back the rest. The second sob was louder. Her knees buckled, and Rhaenys slowly slid down the door, leaving a faint rustle of fabric on the cold wood. She sat on the floor, pulled her legs up to her chest, and buried her face in them, clutching her knees. The tears flowed unceasingly – hot, salty, uncontrollable. She sobbed softly, almost soundlessly, but each breath cut through her chest like a blade. Her shoulders shook, her back shuddered, and soft, broken sounds escaped her throat. Rhaenys slammed her fist down on the floor. She was angry at herself, at Rhaenyra, at the war, at the gods who had been silent when she had pleaded with all her heart. At the years, at time, at her power, which had now proved to be nothing. The sobs came in a new wave, stronger. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from screaming, but the sound broke through anyway. Suddenly, something painfully stabbed her in the side. Rhaenys flinched, not immediately understanding what had happened. She slowly lowered her hand into pocket, her fingers still trembling. She pulled out the ring. Through the tears, everything before her eyes was blurry, the world floated, as if she were looking through water. Rhaenys ran her hand forcefully across her cheeks, wiping away the tears, sucked in air, trying to calm her breathing, and looked up at the ring in her palm again. She blinked slowly several times. Corlys's hand, which finally slid down her thigh, was too light, too casual, as if by chance. She didn't pay attention to it then. Rhaenys sucked in air sharply. Her fingers clenched around the ring so hard that the metal dug into her skin, but she needed the pain. Her husband was a player – careful, farsighted, able to think several moves ahead. Corlys wore several rings, but it was the seal that had thrown her way. Rhaenys closed her eyes, and a short, hoarse laugh escaped her chest. Greens could torture him, they could keep him in chains, they could threaten him with death, but without that seal no order, no letter, no «will of the Sea Snake» would have any power. They wouldn’t make him sign. And even if they tried to forge it, the world would know the difference. Corlys had seen to that. Her lips twitched, and Rhaenys smiled. For a brief moment, pride flared in her chest, and then the smile broke. And then the sobs burst from her again. It burst from her chest like a wave crashing against a rock. She curled up even tighter, pressing her fist to heart as if she could hold everything she was losing there. Her shoulders shook, her breath hitched, every breath a struggle. How pitiful she was. All those minutes in the throne room, her proud words, her Valyrian warnings, her raised chin – it all was a farce. A nice show for a court that craved spectacle. What had she expected? That Rhaenyra would just listen to her? That she would wave her hand and Corlys would be brought in? Rhaenys smiled bitterly through her tears. Because who was she? An aunt, a princess, The Queen, who never was. Without her dragon, she was nothing. Just an old woman with empty hands who had begged the queen and left with nothing. Rhaenys leaned the back of her head against the door, staring at the ceiling, and clutched her ring as if it were the only thing holding her in this world.

– I’m sorry… – she whispered, not knowing for whom exactly.

The tears flowed slowly, like heavy salt water after a storm. Without opening her eyes, Rhaenys slowly ran her finger over the cold metal. The familiar relief suddenly resonated with her with something more than a touch. The world swayed.

First the smell of incense and wax. The heavy, stuffy air of the Great Sept. The light of hundreds of candles trembles in the stained glass windows, scattering colored spots on the stone floor. Rhaenys stands straight, chin raised, in a lush dress so generously embroidered with gold and rubies. On her shoulders is the heavy red and black Targaryen` cloak. Before her stood her husband, future husband, to be exact. Younger, his eyes attentive, with the same irony that always irritated and attracted at the same time. He looks not at her title, but at her, as if no one else existed around him. He takes a step forward. His hands are careful but sure as he removes her cloak from her shoulders. For a moment, the cold air touches her bare neck. And then another one covers her, blue as the sea before a storm. His cloak. Rhaenys swallows the air, feeling the fabric settle on her shoulders, the weight shifting. Their fingers find each other, entwining. She hears her own voice, even and ringing as she speaks her vows. She hears his answer. Words that ring solemn and irreversible. Corlys leans toward her. The kiss is short, too reserved, but there is promise in it. As they part a half step, Rhaenys feels something in the air shift. As if the world takes a breath. And the vision breaks again. She`s no longer in the sept. She`s standing on the docks of Driftmark. The stones beneath her feet are cold, wet with spray. Ships sway at the docks, ropes creak, the cries of sailors mingle with the sound of the waves. His arm is tightly around her waist, holding her close as if he fears she`ll disappear with the fog. He smells of ash, sweat and blood. The smell of battle. The smell of a recent death. Rhaenys presses her forehead against his chest, feeling how fast and heavy his breathing is.

– I won`t let you go again, – she says hoarsely, almost angrily, as if it were an order, not a request. He smiles briefly.

– There is no need. The Stepstones are ours.

His voice is low, hollow, but there is the confidence of a man who has just challenged the world and survived. Rhaenys raises her head, looks into his face, and sees there not only triumph, but also fatigue, pain, the shadows of those who didn`t return. She squeezes him tighter. And then the memory begins to melt away like sea foam, leaving behind only the coldness of the metal under your fingers.

Rhaenys didn’t want to let go of that feeling. She clenched the ring so hard that the edge of the metal dug into her skin, but the pain kept the memories from scattering like smoke. She concentrated, tensed, as if pulling on a thin, almost invisible thread that led deep inside her. The memory shuddered and yielded.

Corlys lies before her, emaciated, exhausted beyond recognition. His skin is pale, almost gray, his lips are dry. His eyes are closed, eyelids twitching from time to time, as if he were fighting nightmares. His breathing is ragged, hot. There is a bandage on his throat, soaked in dark red. She`s angry with him. He has left her. Again. He went to war, left her with empty halls, expectation, silence that screamed louder than any battle. And now he has returned half-alive. Part of her wants to clamp her fingers around his throat. She wants to shake him, to force him to open eyes and look at her. She wants to scream, to throw out all the pain he’s left her with for years. But she doesn’t. She takes the cloth, dips it in a bowl of cool water, wrings it out slowly, intently, as if each movement is keeping her afloat. Then she sits down next to him and carefully, almost reverently, touches his face. She wipes the sweat from his forehead. She runs the cloth over his cheeks, temples, along jawline, where the familiar shadow of beard shows. He groans faintly, frowns, but doesn’t wake up. Her hand trembles as she wipes him again. She avoids the bandage, but she still sees the blood, smells its metallic, sharp smell. But the truth is that she loves him. And it’s a truth that there’s no escaping. She loves him the way that not for something, but in spite of everything. Despite betrayals, wars, distance, silence. So much so that she finds the strength to forgive again and again. Even when it breaks her inside. Hot tears slowly roll down her cheeks. She doesn’t wipe them away. She sits next to him, leaning over him like a sentry by a fire, and continues to gently wipe his face, as if this can keep him here, between life and death. The memory shudders and breaks, like a wave that crashes against a rock and retreats, revealing another shore. The tears still sting her cheeks. The metallic taste of blood in her mouth, heavy and bitter. But now Rhaenys is no longer in the cave of Dragonstone or over a wounded body. She`s in the High Tide, in their bed. The pain pierces her whole body, tearing her from the inside, rolling in waves that darken her eyes. She screams without restraint, without thinking about dignity or titles. Her fingers clench convulsively, digging into someone's hand so hard that nails tear the skin.

– Breathe, princess... – the voices merge into a roar, but she can barely hear them.

The pain covers her again, and she screams again, hoarse, in despair. The world narrows to this bed, to this hell in her body, to the hand she holds on to as if it were a last anchor. Someone's lips touch her fingers. Carefully, almost pleadingly, then the back of her hand, her hair. Someone pushes the sticky strands away from her forehead, strokes, kisses, whispers something quiet and soothing. She screams again. A child's cry cuts through the air like dawn after a long night. Rhaenys freezes, her breathing hitches, her heart beats so loudly that it seems everyone can hear it.

– A girl, – says the maester. – You`ve a girl, princess, my lord.

Rhaenys smiles. Weakly, tiredly, but sincerely. The smile lasts only a moment and fades. Somewhere deep down, beneath the fatigue and relief, a shadow of fear rises. The girl… She thinks about the world she has come into. About the expectations, about the life in which she`ll be measured again and again not by strength, but by what she was born to be. She wouldn`t want the same fate for her child. Corlys’s lips touch her hair again.

– Thank you, – Rhaenys swallows, gathering the last of her strength.

– I’m sorry… – she whispers. – For the girl.

The words come out of her mouth, she doesn’t even have time to think about how they sound. Corlys immediately leans closer.

– Don’t be silly. Boy or girl, what’s the difference? – he kisses her hair again, her temple, forehead. His hand squeezes her fingers, no longer as an anchor, but as a promise. – Thank you.

She emerges from her memories as if from cold water. The air feels thicker, heavier, and her body feels foreign and tired. Her heart beats fast, fingers tremble, gripping the metal. It would be easier not to remember. Letting go of a stranger is easy. Bowing her head, accepting the loss, not letting the pain take root. But worrying about someone who is dear to her blood, to every year they have lived together, is different. It kills slowly. Especially when you can’t do anything about it. Rhaenys looks down at the ring. It lies heavy in her palm. She tries mechanically to put it on her finger. The metal, twice as wide, slides without stopping, and falls back into her palm. She slowly clenches her fingers, closing the ring in a fist. As if the pain can block the emptiness inside. As if it can change anything. Rhaenys lowers her head. Everything she has been – dragon rider, queen without a crown, wife of the Sea Snake – is reduced to this moment of powerlessness. Without a dragon. Without a weapon. Without a man by her side. Worthless. The word hurts more than any wound. She has never allowed herself to think that way about herself. But now it grows inside, bitter and true. She clenches her fist even tighter, clutching the ring to her heart, as if she fears losing it as she has almost lost everything else. And for the first time in a long time, Rhaenys doesn’t know where to direct her anger. For the enemy isn`t just beyond the walls, it`s within her.

Chapter Text

The bolt whistled through the air, cutting through it with a sharp, dry sound, and crashed into a log a few inches from her. Baela lowered her crossbow. Her hands were shaking so badly that she could barely hold the weapon. The girl looked up at grandmother, her eyes large, dark, and full of pain. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, leaving crooked, shiny trails.

– Grandma… – she said hoarsely, almost soundlessly.

Rhaenys reached out her hand. In one step, Baela closed the distance between them and literally crashed into her, throwing the weapon as if it were burning her hands. She pressed her cheek to Rhaenys’s chest, wrapping her arms around her waist so tightly that if she loosened her grip the world would fall apart. Rhaenys held granddaughter close to her with one hand, feeling her body shake from sobs, and with the other she buried in the thick curls, stroking them softly, soothingly, and kissed the top of Baela's head. Just as she had done long ago. Baela pressed even harder. Her shoulders trembled, her breathing was labored, tears soaked the fabric of Rhaenys's dress. She simply held her in silence. Rhaenys looked up, not letting go of granddaughter, and looked at the sea behind her. Dark, indifferent, it slowly rolled over the waves, as if nothing had happened. As if human deaths meant no more to it than the foam on the crest. She hadn`t thought that the death of this annoying boy would affect her so much. He was annoying. Always. With his self-confidence, sharp words, desire to prove that he was worth something in a world where he had been given a role by foot. She often found herself irritated, hearing about his antics, anger, foolish actions. But after all… he was her cousin. Blood is a strange thing. It can be foreign, distant, almost abstract, until it`s spilled. And then it becomes heavy, like lead. The realization comes late, but mercilessly: another life has ended, another branch of the family tree has broken with a dry crack. Rhaenys didn`t cry. Her eyes were dry, her gaze calm, but somewhere deep inside something settled – dark, bitter, inevitable. Like a stone thrown into the water, which went to the bottom and would lie there forever. She hugged Baela tighter, lowering her head so that her chin touched granddaughter's hair.

Rhaenys remembered Daemon. She remembered him as small, too thin, too alive, with scraped knees and hair that was always messy. He would grab her skirts, tug at her hand, demanding attention as if she belonged to him as much as the world around him. She would laugh then, pretend to be angry, but in reality she would always allow a little more than she should have. She remembered how he would pester her – with words, pranks, an insolence that knew no bounds. How they would run together through the halls of the Red Keep, laughing beneath the vaults, sliding on the cold stones, hiding from the septa behind columns and tapestries. She remembered how he would get angry at her for Meleys, so fiercely and childishly. And how she had been angry with him for marrying her daughter, for being careless, for even thinking he had the right to stand by her. And then, even more so, when she had blamed him for her death. She remembered how they had tested each other over the years: with challenging glances, implied phrases, a cold politeness that hid an old grudge. They knew where to hit, and they hit exactly. He had been annoying, reckless, hot as a flame that knew no bounds. But he was her blood. And now those memories hurt differently. Baela stirred a little in her arms. Rhaenys looked down at granddaughter, loosening her grip just enough to let the girl pull away just enough to breathe. Rhaenys placed her hands on Baela's cheeks, careful, as if she were holding something fragile and priceless. With her thumbs she wiped away the tears that still ran down her face, leaving salty trails on her young face. Then she leaned down and kissed her forehead.

– It’s not fair, – Baela said hoarsely, swallowing the words as she sobbed. Rhaenys looked into those tear-filled eyes and saw in them echoes of her own, the ones she had seen the world through decades ago.

– Gods are cruel, – she finally said quietly. – But death in battle is a good death, – their eyes met for a moment. Deeper than words could convey. Something they had both kept silent about flashed between them. Rhaenys would have preferred to die in that battle. Baela was infinitely grateful that it hadn’t happened. There was too much guilt, relief, fear in that brief silence. Rhaenys was the first to look away. – Daemon would have wanted it, – she said more firmly. – A death worthy of a Targaryen.

Baela smiled faintly. She leaned against grandmother again, her forehead against her collarbone, seeking the familiar warmth the world so lacked.

– And you… How did you get through it? The death of your father. Great-grandfather died in battle, too, – Rhaenys closed her eyes. Her chest heaved in a heavy sigh, as if the air had suddenly become thicker.

– Yes, – she said slowly. – Although… not exactly in battle. I don’t remember that for sure yet, – Rhaenys admitted. – But I’ve lost too many loved ones. More than I’d like to remember, – she lowered her chin to the top of Baela’s head, pressing her a little closer. – It’s hard. And it doesn’t get easier with time, as they promise you. But we have to live with it.

Baela suddenly straightened in her arms, as if she had finally decided something. She straightened her shoulders, wiped the remnants of tears with her sleeve, and without looking away, she said quickly, almost sharply.

– I’ll fly to the capital, – Rhaenys immediately tensed.

– For what? – she asked calmly, but there was already a warning in the calm.

– I have a dragon, – Baela lifted her chin. – I`ll release grandfather. I won`t let anyone take my loved ones again.

The words were hot, raw, not yet matured, like the determination itself. Rhaenys shook her head slowly.

– The queen has a dragon too, – she reminded her quietly. – And it`s much bigger, – Baela opened her mouth to protest, her eyes blazing with a familiar, dangerous fire. But Rhaenys didn’t let her finish. She took the girl’s cheeks again, forcing her to look straight at herself. – Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, – Baela tensed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She nodded reluctantly. Rhaenys smiled faintly. – You always bite your lip when you lie. Laena did the same.

Baela shuddered, then smiled. She sighed and nodded in a different way, without resistance.

– Okay. I won’t fly to King’s Landing. I promise, – Rhaenys slowly released her, allowing her to take a step to the side. But her gaze immediately caught the girl’s eyes sliding to the side, in the direction of Dragonstone.

– And you shouldn’t go there either, – Rhaenys added, without raising her voice. Baela sighed again, long, wearily, like a person who has just had all possible escapes taken away.

– I’ll walk to Spicetown, – she grumbled. – On foot. No feats.

Rhaenys nodded and touched her shoulder.

– Be careful, – she said quietly, kissing granddaughter on the forehead.

***

Rhaenys stopped at the turn of the gallery, noticing a lone, slender figure between the columns. Rhaenys slowly approached, stood next to her, and placed her hand on granddaughter’s shoulder. Then she leaned down and placed a light kiss on her temple. Rhaena immediately pressed her temple to grandmother’s cheek, as if waiting for this touch.

– I don’t know what I feel. When we lost mother… we were little. I don’t remember everything clearly. But I remember how it hurt. It really hurt, – she swallowed. – And now… I feel something. But not like this. Not like it should be.

Rhaenys looked ahead, at the horizon line, where the sea merged with the sky.

– And who said how it should be? Grief doesn’t ask permission and doesn’t follow rules. Sometimes it screams. Sometimes it’s silent. Sometimes it comes right away. And sometimes, years later, when you think you’ve been through it all, – she squeezed Rhaena’s shoulder a little tighter. Rhaena exhaled slowly, as if an invisible weight had been lifted from her chest. She leaned closer to grandmother, watching the waves roll.

– What about Baela? She disappeared as soon as we got the news.

– She went for a walk around town, – Rhaena mumbled softly in response – a sound more like a mixture of disbelief and understanding. She knew Baela too well to believe a simple «walk», but she was in no hurry to tell grandmother the truth. – She’s been going to town a lot lately, – Rhaenys added, as if in passing. Rhaena lowered her gaze. – Why don’t you go together?

Rhaenys asked, not looking at granddaughter, but feeling her tense up. Rhaena paused for a moment, then shrugged.

– We have… different interests, – she said reluctantly. The words sounded familiar, as if she had answered this question many times before. Rhaenys turned her head to her.

– The island is big. You could find something you both like, – Rhaena sighed and looked away, to where the gallery was sinking into shadow.

– We… are no longer as close as we were before the war, – she admitted quietly. – It’s like we live side by side, but each in our own world.

There was no anger in these words. Only weariness and sadness for what had once been simple and natural. Rhaenys nodded slowly.

– It’s never too late to make things right. Especially now, when every day can bring something bad. When we don’t know how many more peaceful moments we`ll have. Hold on to each other. This is more important than any differences, – Rhaena nodded silently. And there was more determination in that nod than in all her words that evening.

– I heard a letter came from Dragonstone.

– There were a dozen of them, – she shook her head, and there was more irony than irritation in this small action. – They’re all carbon copies. Quite funny if you don’t read them too seriously. You can go to the solarium if you want, – Rhaena looked up at her, a little surprised. – Aegon demands that I bow my knee. And then, by his great grace, we`ll all be pardoned. True, with each subsequent letter there are more threats.

Rhaena frowned.

– What if greens act? – she asked, her fingers clenched. Rhaenys glanced at the horizon. The sea was darkening, but it remained calm.

– Greens have no war dragons, – she said confidently. – Tessarion is too small to stand up to Moondancer. And for now, we have enough ships and men to defend the island. The Tides aren`t defenseless.

Rhaena exhaled slowly, as if the words had lifted a little weight from her chest.

– So we aren`t in danger? – she asked cautiously.

– There is always a threat, but fear shouldn`t guide us. As long as we stick together and don`t do anything stupid, we have time. And sometimes time is the most precious weapon, – Rhaena nodded, staring out at the sea with grandmother. – Do you want to go to the city? – Rhaenys suggested almost casually, as if it were a simple walk, and not a conscious decision to tear granddaughter out of the narrow circle of worries and thoughts. – Shall we find some entertainment to your liking?

Rhaena nodded without hesitation. She seemed to care where, as long as she didn`t stand still, staring at the horizon, which carried only bad news.

They left the castle without a retinue, with only a minimal guard who kept their distance. Rhaena stayed close to grandmother, carefully examining the familiar and at the same time foreign streets. Spicetown spread out before them gradually, as if it didn`t want to open all its wounds at once. It was no longer the city Rhaena remembered from her childhood. Then it had seemed boundless and noisy, full of laughter, the smells of spices and fish, the jingle of coins and children's voices. Now there was a weariness in it – a quiet, stubborn one, settled in the stone, wood and people's eyes. The houses along the streets were patched, the new boards contrasting sharply with the old, the light patches standing out against the salt-darkened wood. People no longer stopped for idle chatter, they no longer laughed out loud for no reason. Everyone carried a tense expectation, as if the city had stopped between inhales and exhales, not knowing whether they would be allowed to breathe again. The children were no longer so carefree. Their games seemed more like habit than real joy. But when the inhabitants noticed Rhaenys, they straightened up. Some bowed their heads, some bowed deeper than simple politeness required. In these bows there wasn`t only recognition of authority, but also hope. The Tides are still standing, the city isn`t alone. Rhaenys turned her horse towards the market, and Rhaena followed her. The harbor greeted them with a noise that was like a heartbeat. Here the war hadn`t yet had time to stifle life. The ships stood side by side, their masts rising into the sky like a forest of spears. The sailors unloaded bales, boxes, barrels, their movements were honed to automatism, but in their eyes there was a wariness. Every ship could be the last, every sea voyage fatal. The stalls were bursting with goods: dried fish, sacks of grain, ropes, fabrics brought from distant shores, fruits that still retained the warmth of the southern sun. The women loudly called out to passersby, and in their voices there was the same stubbornness that kept the city afloat. The smells mixed: salty sea air, smoke from the braziers, spices, fish, fresh bread. Children ran with ladles of seafood and hot bread. Rhaena looked around slowly, taking it all in – intense, alive, real. The war was here. She could feel it in every quick glance, in every nervous movement. But the city wasn`t dying. Rhaenys dismounted at the edge of the market, passing the rains to one of the guards. The horse snorted calmly, as if it was indifferent to human anxieties. Rhaenys lightly pushed granddaughter forward with her hand between her shoulder blades. Rhaena moved slowly, without hurrying, her gaze sliding between the rows. Rhaenys followed, not intrusively, giving her space, but not letting her out of sight. It seemed that here you could really find everything. There was a little less food than in the years of peace. Fewer baskets of fruit, fewer expensive delicacies brought from the south. But the counters weren`t empty. The bread lay warm, the fish fresh, the grain dry and clean, the barrels of corned beef stood in neat rows. Driftmark wasn`t starving, and it was clearly not in decline. The Lord and Lady of the Tides had seen to that long before the war reached their shores. Rhaenys felt a quiet, bitter pride. Rhaena walked past the rows of food without stopping. Her pace slowed only when they reached the fabrics. It was colorful here, almost defiantly colorful against the gray days. Furs and coarse wool hung next to fine linens. Silk shimmered in the sunlight, dyed deep blues, wine, and emerald. The linen fabrics were stacked in neat piles, smelling of cleanliness and the sea breeze. Rhaena touched the materials carefully, paused, peering into the patterns. Rhaenys watched her from a few steps away. She saw something alive, real, appear in granddaughter's gaze, and was about to allow herself a short exhalation when she caught a silver glint out of the corner of her eye. It was fleeting, like the flash of a blade in the sun. Rhaenys turned sharply, straining her gaze. Silver curls, a red cloak. The figure slid between the people, disappeared behind the rows, dissolved into the crowd, as if it aren`t real.

– Grandma? – Rhaena looked back, noticing the change in her expression. – What is it?

Rhaenys stared for a moment in the direction where the cloak had disappeared.

– It seems like Baela was there. Let’s go to her, – Rhaena frowned and shook her head quickly.

– It’s unlikely to be her, – she answered too hastily. – Spicetown is full of people with silver hair, – and before grandmother could answer, she turned back to the counter. – Look, – Rhaenys narrowed her eyes. She knew that tone. She looked back in the direction where the red cloak had disappeared and was about to follow when suddenly Rhaena grabbed her hand sharply. – Let’s go, – she said more quietly, but insistently, pulling her between the rows. – There’s more here.

Granddaughter’s fingers were warm but tense. Rhaenys allowed herself to be pulled, but the feeling that Rhaena was hiding something only grew stronger, tightening in her chest like a knot that was about to be cut. Rhaena dragged her further through the rows, quickly and enthusiastically talking about fabrics, clasps, pearl jewelry, and thin chains. Rhaenys listened with half an ear. Her steps were even, her face calm, but her attention no longer belonged to granddaughter. She began to hear something else. The market was bustling as usual. Voices overlapped each other, got lost, and reappeared again. But between the bargaining and the jokes, an alarming thread emerged, stretching through the entire city. Rhaenys caught individual words, fragments of phrases, and, like a sailor following the stars, put them together into a single map.

– …I tell you, the capital is already boiling, – muttered a fisherman, shifting boxes of fish. – The taxes have been raised again. The people have gritted their teeth, but it won’t be like that for long.

– What does she care about people, – another replied.

Rhaenys took a slow breath. Rhaenyra doesn’t learn from her mistakes. The townspeople were already rioting. They even reached the castle, until Corlys dragged Rhaenyra out for negotiations.

– Yesterday they took someone to the square again, – whispered a woman selling bread. – They say for treason. And who isn’t a traitor now?

– King Maegor with the tits, – the man next to her chuckled softly, looking back over his shoulder. The woman flinched.

– Hush, you fool. Do you want to be left without a tongue?

Rhaena said something about silver buttons. Rhaenys nodded, even smiled at the corner of her lips, but the rumor was already further away.

– Greens… – they started talking somewhere near the barrels of herring. – They say people are afraid of their dragons.

– Blacks, greens – what difference does it make when the fire is the same?

– And what about the usurper queen? – someone asked cautiously.

– She died, – they answered from several sides at once. Rhaenys slowed her pace, as if examining a jewelry counter.

– They say the new queen stabbed her, – one voice whispered, conspiratorially.

– No, – interrupted another. – She threw herself out of the window. When she found out about her brother.

– Nonsense, – the third snorted. – She’s out of her mind. She’s crazy.

The stories were confused, overlapping each other like dirty waves. None of them was completely true and all of them together were more dangerous than the truth. Rhaenys felt a chill creep up her spine. Poor girl.

– Did you hear? – someone spoke again, this time with a hint of mockery. – There’s a new king in town.

– What else?

– Some crazy preacher. A Shepherd, or something like that.

– But there are now like rats, – laughed the fisherman. – Yesterday there was one king, today there are three. There have been too many kings lately, don’t you think?

The laughter was nervous, sharp.

– There’s another one, – someone added. – The son of some whore. Another Dragonborn.

– And a squire boy. Truefire.

Rhaenys clenched her fingers. She walked faster again, letting Rhaena drag her further between the rows. She smiled at the vendors, nodded in response to greetings, but inside her a heavy feeling wouldn`t leave. The capital was seething. People were losing their fear or losing everything with it. When dragons become commonplace, when kings outnumber bread, the world is coming to an end. Rhaenys looked at granddaughter. The counter in front of them stood out sharply from the fabrics and decorations: dark wood, scratched by time, a rough canvas spread over it, and the cold shine of metal. Knives, short swords, daggers, spearheads. Rhaenys paused for a moment to look at the blades, then gently placed her hand on granddaughter’s head, running her fingers through her silver hair.

– Since when have you been interested in blades? – she asked softly, almost with a smile. Rhaena chuckled, her eyes still on the counter, and shrugged a little.

– Since when the world has become more dangerous. In times like these, it’s better to have something to protect yourself. Even if you don’t like it.

Rhaenys felt something tighten in her chest. Her little girls – the ones who had once hid behind her skirts, laughed at the sand on the shore, and argued over whose shell was prettier, now had to choose a weapon. She smiled, but the smile was thin, a little sad.

– I’ll talk to your grandfather’s armorer.

– Thank you, grandma.

She moved on, sinking back into the market ranks, and Rhaenys followed. Her steps were calm, her posture even, but her thoughts were no longer on Spicetown. When they returned to the castle, she would order her men to learn more.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys sat on the throne as if the tree beneath her had been made for her posture, the line of her back, the stillness of her hands. The Driftwood Throne is too large, but it doesn`t seem alien. It obeyed her. Light from the high windows fell sideways, sliding across the silver of her hair. Rhaenys’s face was calm, chiseled by years of loss and silent decisions. She didn`t move. Even her breathing was even, slow. In this hall, among the trophies and carved columns, she seemed more than a lord’s wife or a temporary mistress. A calm sea that remembers storms and isn`t afraid of their return. The door creaked. The sound was sharp in the silence of the hall, and footsteps sounded from behind the curl of the wall. Heavy, hurried, uncoordinated. Three figures appeared in the passage. She lifted her chin just a little higher.

– Grandma! – Joffrey cried.

His voice cut through the silence, childlike, sincere, too loud for this hall. He moved forward, almost at a run, without thinking, without hesitation, as one always runs to someone they think is safe. But after a few steps he stopped. Something in her gaze – even, dark, impenetrable, made him freeze. He stood, slightly hunched over, his hands at a loss. Rhaenys looked him over slowly. The dirty clothes, the dusty hem, the dried blood on his cut cheek. She felt something inside her twitch, sharp and painful, and she mustered all her strength to keep a muscle in her face from betraying it. This boy wasn`t her grandson. She knew it. She had known it since he was born, with dark hair and eyes that had nothing to do with the Velaryon`s sea. And even if he reached out to her, sought her warmth, she didn’t hold onto those memories. But he was a child. And a sweet boy, too. He wasn’t to blame for any of the adults’ decisions. For the lies, the war, the blood that now haunted him. Rhaenys stared at him longer than she should have, then slowly looked away. Rhaenyra was disheveled and exhausted. Without her former showy brilliance, without the confidence that once radiated strength and right. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair was sticking out of her hair, her face frozen with tension. Little Aegon hid behind her skirts, clenching the fabric in his fists. He peered out cautiously, frightened, like a small animal that didn’t yet know who was protection or threat before it. Rhaenys looked at them all and said not a word.

– Rhaenys… – Rhaenyra began uncertainly. Her voice was hoarse, as if she had been crying or screaming for a long time.

– What do I owe you for your visit? – Rhaenys interrupted her, flat, cold. She didn`t raise her voice, made no sudden movement. She only turned her head slightly to look directly at Rhaenyra. – I`ve received no word of your arrival, – she returned her own words with a faint smile. – Princess.

Rhaenys added clearly, separating the word from the rest of the phrase as if putting a period. Rhaenyra lifted her chin sharply. Rhaenys noticed how her jaw tightened, how the words, ready to burst from her tongue, were swallowed with the air. She was holding back. Something had gone wrong. Very wrong.

– I`m queen, – Rhaenyra replied, emphasizing each syllable, as if she feared the title might dissolve if it weren`t held firmly. – And every house in the Seven Kingdoms is honored to receive me.

The words came out louder than they needed to. Defensively. Almost pleadingly. Rhaenys snorted faintly. It was a low sound, almost contemptuous, uncourtly, but entirely appropriate.

– Then it`s strange that you have come here. There are many houses that, I`m sure, would be much more delighted by such an honor.

The hint was as clear as water on a calm day. Rhaenyra took a breath, straightened her shoulders, trying to gather herself. She spoke with the ostentatious poise she would have expected at court, slowly, with pauses, as if each word was weighed.

– Your words are on the verge, princess. You…

But Rhaenys didn’t let her finish.

– And where is your crown, queen? – she asked, almost casually.

The question fell like a stone into water. Rhaenys stared at Rhaenyra intently, unblinking. She didn’t know the details yet. She didn’t know exactly what had happened in the capital. But she had seen enough. Queens don’t act like that when they’re on solid ground. Rhaenys slowly put the picture together in her mind, piece by piece. Rhaenyra froze. Her back straight, her chin high, her silence proud, almost defiant. She wasn’t going to let Rhaenys tear her apart. Not so fast. But she never got the word. Joffrey took another step forward.

– We… – he began, and paused for a moment, gasping for air. – We had to sell the crown, – the hall seemed to grow colder. Rhaenys tensed, but not a muscle on her face showed it. Only her gaze became a little more attentive, a little sharper. Rhaenyra jerked sharply, trying to grab her son by the shoulder. But he had already taken another step closer to the throne. – We wanted to go home, – he continued quickly, almost hurriedly, as if he were afraid he would be stopped. – But no one would take us. And… – his voice trembled treacherously, but he forced himself to continue. – And no one would give us shelter, – Rhaenys felt something unpleasant tighten under her ribs. – We found the sailors. They agreed to take us aboard… in exchange for the crown. They said they were sailing to Spicetown. To the market.

The silence that followed was thick, almost palpable. Rhaenys slowly looked from the boy to Rhaenyra. Her face remained impassive, but inside the chains were already closing.

– Isn’t it the duty of the Royal Navy to transport a queen? – she asked calmly. Her voice was even, almost polite. Too polite.

She knew how quickly the sailors of Driftmark had broken anchors once their lord had been chained. She knew that without Corlys, Rhaenyra had lost not only her ships, she had lost the sea. A faint hint of pleasure flickered on Rhaenys’s lips. So subtle it could have been a play of light. But Rhaenyra had seen it. It was driving her mad. Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed, but she held herself together again. She straightened even more, as if her armor had held her upright.

– My fleet, – she said sarcastically. – Had to do other things. Not everyone has the luxury of sitting on an island and counting the tides while the kingdom burns.

She glanced at the throne, at Rhaenys’s tall form, at the massive armrests that seemed too small for the woman. Rhaenys raised an eyebrow slowly.

– So you sold the crown of our ancestors, – she said evenly, almost indifferently. –In order to discuss tides and duties with me?

Rhaenyra’s jaws clenched.

– I need an escort to Dragonstone, – she snapped. No frills. No curtseys. As an order.

The hall fell silent for a moment. Rhaenys smiled. The way people smile when they haven’t decided whether to save or finish. She really didn’t know. One half of her yearned for revenge. For Corlys. For the chains, for the blood on his face, for the pain she had seen with her own eyes. She could have just led her niece to Dragonstone, waved her handkerchief from the shore, and watched in peace as two children burned the world, competing for a shiny thing called a throne. Let fire consume fire. But there was another part. The part that wasn’t looking at Rhaenyra. At Joffrey, his cheek cut open, still standing too straight for a child, and at little Aegon, hiding behind mother’s skirts, clutching the fabric as if it were the only thing holding the world together. Rhaenys couldn’t let them be consumed by the fire of their kin’s follies. Rhaenyra spoke again, stepping forward.

– You are obliged… – she began. Rhaenys looked up. The gesture alone was enough to silence Rhaenyra.

– Our people will gladly see the queen off, – Rhaenyra’s face changed in an instant. She blossomed like a flower suddenly receiving water. Relief, triumph – all of it flashed across her features. But Rhaenys didn`t finish. – They`ll gladly avenge the harm done to their lord, – she continued, her voice soft as velvet. – And deliver his offender straight into the hands of the enemy, – the smile fell from Rhaenyra’s face as if it had been erased with a knife. At first she didn`t understand. The words seemed familiar, but they didn`t make sense. She looked at Rhaenys as if she had spoken a foreign language. Then Rhaenys slowly, almost condescendingly, explained. – Dragonstone is no longer yours, princess.

She used the word again on purpose. The hall fell eerily quiet. For a moment Rhaenyra didn’t know what to do. Her shoulders tensed, her gaze darted, as if she were searching for a crack, a way out, a word that would restore her balance. And then something inside her snapped.

– You should have expected no less! – she exploded. – A traitor’s wife is also a traitor! – her voice echoed through the hall, echoing off the stone vaults. – I took pity on you! – Rhaenyra took a step forward, almost shouting. – I gave you comfortable apartments, respect, safety! When you should have been chained with your lover in the dark dungeons! – Rhaenyra didn’t move. – You sided with Aegon! – Rhaenyra continued, growing heated. – You conspired with the enemy! You sold your blood! You sold your oath!

The door swung open. Several guards in Driftmark` colors appeared in the passage. They stopped dead in their tracks, their gaze shifting from the angry queen to their mistress. Rhaenys slowly turned her head.

– All is good, – she said calmly. One quick nod and the tension lifted from the guards’ shoulders, but they didn’t leave. – Please escort our guests to their comfortable apartments, – she emphasized the word deliberately, looking directly at Rhaenyra. – And provide them with adequate security.

The last word came out clearly, unequivocally. Rhaenyra flinched, instinctively pulling Aegon closer to her. The boy flinched, clinging to mother even tighter. In that moment, she understood. She hadn’t come to visit. She had come into a trap. And the door had already closed behind her. Rhaenys slowly rose from her throne. The giant chair made for Corlys creaked, as if reluctantly letting her go. She descended the steps slowly, gracefully, with the confidence that only those who know there’s no escape has. Like a predatory cat taking its time because its prey is cornered. She stopped very close. So close that Rhaenyra could smell the flowers and the cold sea on her clothes. Rhaenys smiled. Her voice was velvety, almost gentle.

– What about my husband?

Rhaenyra raised her eyes sharply. Rhaenys caught the change in them, quick as a cloud’s shadow across water. At first, there had been a desire to stab. To hurt. To throw a word that would cut deeper than a sword. But she stopped. Rhaenyra was unsure of her position. Not now. And not with two children by her side. Perhaps if she had been alone, she would have snapped. She would have thrown venom in her smile, in her voice, in every syllable. But her children depended on her. The only ones who survived. So her voice, when she spoke, was dry and reserved.

– He`s where he belongs, – Rhaenys’ expression didn`t change.

– I don`t see him in this hall, – she answered calmly. Rhaenyra straightened slightly, as if finding support in her anger.

– The Sea Snake has done what he wanted for too long, – she said more sharply. – He despised the crown. He betrayed me. He deserved his place in the dungeon.

Rhaenys raised her eyebrows for a moment. Only a cold acceptance of the information. She turned her head to the guards and nodded faintly. They moved quickly, surrounding Rhaenyra. As one surrounds not an enemy but a man who has been left with no choice.

– If it pleases, your grace, – one of them said, bowing his head. – Please follow us.

Joffrey tensed. For a moment, the boy inside him woke up, ready to rush forward, to stand between mother and the swords, even if it was senseless. His fingers clenched, his stride almost faltering. But he stopped. He saw the blades. He saw the faces of the men who knew how to use them. And he knew who he was here – nothing. Rhaenys came to him before he could decide. It was a surprise even to her. She stopped very close and gently, almost weightlessly, placed her hand on his cheek. Her fingers touched the cut, examining it carefully, motherly.

– I need to show you to the maester, – she said quietly. – The wound isn`t serious, but it is dirty, – her thumb lingered on his cheek for a moment, wiping away a trace of dried blood. – I don’t want it to fester.

Joffrey froze.

***

Rhaenys walked slowly around the room, examining the tapestries. She hadn`t been here before. At least, she didn`t remember. She knew this room belonged to Luke, but her memory refused to conjure up images. The tapestries were old. Sea scenes – ships with full sails, waves higher than the masts, monsters with mouths full of teeth. Now, on the bed where Luke should have been, sat his younger brother. He had his hands on his knees, his feet barely touching the floor. The maester bent over him, finishing dressing the wound. The smell of herbs and alcohol stung nose, mixing with the salty air that filtered through the window.

– Done, – the maester finally said. He stepped back and bowed to Rhaenys. – The wound is superficial, princess.

Rhaenys nodded. The maester left, closing the door softly behind him. The silence in the room grew thick. Rhaenys took a chair, moved it, and placed it across from the boy. She sat straight, her hands folded in her lap, as befits a princess. Joffrey didn`t look at her. His gaze moved across the floor, along the edge of the bed, along his own fingers. He was silent. Nor did Rhaenys. She knew how to wait, the sea had taught her that better than any maester or sept. Several long heartbeats passed.

– What happens next? – he finally asked. His voice was quiet but even. Too even for a child. – We… – he swallowed. – Are we going to be executed?

Rhaenys laughed softly. Her laugh was short, almost surprised.

– Do you really expect me to do that? – she asked, her head bowed slightly. Joffrey shook his head.

– No, – he answered honestly. And then he added, after a pause. – But I don’t know what to expect anymore. There’s war all around. Those who were allies become enemies. Those who were trusted betray. And… you’re angry at mother because of grandpa.

Rhaenys took a slow breath.

– You think badly of me if you think I’d kill children for this, – she said calmly. – My blood.

Joffrey looked at her carefully.

– We both know the truth, – he said quietly. And for a moment his eyes became too adult. There was no childish naivety in them, only weariness and an understanding that shouldn’t live in such a young gaze. Rhaenys felt something tighten in her chest.

– We`re both of dragon blood. And that’s all that matters, – she leaned forward a little, her voice lowering. – Fire and blood.

Silence fell again between them, heavy as the damp after a storm. Only breathing, muffled by the sea outside the window, and the soft crackling of candles. Joff was the first to give in.

– I… – he hesitated, clenching his fingers. – I survived again because of you. Once again, – Rhaenys frowned, her eyebrows barely moving. – You and grandpa stopped me when Luke died. You stopped me when there was the first riot in the capital. And you stopped me now. Even if you didn’t realize it yourself.

Rhaenys exhaled slowly.

– What happened in the capital? – she asked quietly. Joffrey lowered his eyes.

– It’s been restless for a long time. But lately it’s gotten worse. Taxes. Executions. Fear. The townspeople have rebelled again. They’ve attacked the castle. And the Dragonpit.

– They’ve attacked the dragons? – he paused for a moment, as if gathering his strength.

– They… – he took a sharp breath. – They stopped fearing dragons after greens carried Meleys’s head through the streets, – Rhaenys paled. She knew they had done it. And even though Corlys wouldn't let her see it in the capital, it didn't make it any easier. Her girl was on display as a trophy like some wild pig. – They killed dragons.

The boy cried. Rhaenys froze. They were Targaryens. Blood and fire, living proof of the divine grace that the house had carried for centuries. The gods had allowed them to touch the impossible. To ride the sky. To breathe flame. And what did they do? They destroyed them. If not by their own hands, then by their own greed, cruelty and stupidity. Step by step. Decision by decision. The house of the dragons fell. Not by the swords of their enemies. By their own hands. Joffrey’s sobs tore her from these thoughts. Rhaenys stood up and moved to the bed. She hugged the boy, pressing him to her. His head rested on her shoulder, tears soaking the fabric of her dress. She knew what it was like to lose a dragon. To know that a creature that was a part of you, that responded to your breath, your anger, your love, was gone. That the sky had become empty. That the world had suddenly become smaller and colder. Rhaenys stroked his back slowly. Fire could be extinguished. But pain couldn`t.

Joffrey stood back, calming himself a little. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, in an unroyal way, and took a deep breath.

– I wanted to save them, – he said quietly. His voice was no longer trembling, but there was a hollow emptiness in it. – I was trying to get to the Pit. Then I thought… – he closed his eyes for a moment. – I thought I could ride Syrax in the yard. But then I remembered what you said, – Joffrey reached into his bosom and pulled out a thin chain. A small seahorse dangled on it. He clenched the chain in his fist. – And then… Syrax was killed. And they would have killed me. I know that.

Rhaenys nodded slowly.

– You did the right thing, – she said firmly. He looked up at her, as if in disbelief. – The right things don’t always feel right, – she added, more softly. – Especially when they hurt, – she reached out and covered his clenched fist with her own. – I feel sorry for Tyraxes. I know how it feels.

Her voice trembled for a moment, but she didn’t let it escape. She squeezed his hand a little tighter.