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Chapter Text

Continent

The night falls like a blade over the Continent.
Ciri runs.
The ground is mud, melted snow, and blood - none of it hers, though sooner or later it would be.
Bonhart is close enough that she can hear him smile.
That disgusting, predatory sound of pleasure.

The Rats were dead. Their freedom, erased.
And now it was her turn.

Every breath is a knife sliding between her ribs.
And still, Ciri finds the strength to think:

“I won’t die here. I won’t die like this.”

A kick of her spurs.
Her horse stumbling.
A flash of pain shooting through her side.

And then the thing inside her awakens.

The wild magic, ancient, unstable, beating like a traumatized heart, erupts from her chest.
It isn’t a spell.
It isn’t training.
It’s pure survival from someone who never had the luxury of belonging anywhere.

The air bends.
The ground splits.
The world tears like soaked fabric.

And the portal opens.

Ciri doesn’t choose to go through it.
She simply falls.

Falls like someone who never had a choice in her own life.
Falls into fear, into despair, into pain.
Falls without knowing if she will ever stand again.

Westeros

The sky above Dragonstone is painted in soft violet.
Syrax glides with that arrogant elegance only a golden dragon possesses, while Rhaenyra, grown, mature, finally at peace, breathes the salty air with a quiet smile.

She is not at war.
She is not trying to prove anything.
She is not being devoured by the throne.
She is simply living.

And in this calm, rebuilt world, she sees the impossible.

A bright tear opens in the sky, a glowing wound in reality.
Syrax growls, uneasy.
And then, in the middle of that light, a small body falls like a broken star.

“Catch her, my girl,” Rhaenyra murmurs, leaning Syrax into a controlled dive.

The dragon dives.
And before the body can shatter on the ground, Syrax’s claw grabs it.

It isn’t gentle but it is life.

The figure dropped onto the earth is a girl.
Blonde, dirty, pale as wax.
She looks as if she has gone through hell and returned without a guide.
Rhaenyra dismounts before her feet even touch the ground, knees hitting the soil.

The girl breathes — faintly, but she breathes.

Rhaenyra touches her face.
Her skin is hot. Feverish. Exhausted. Afraid, even while unconscious.

And something inside the princess, something maternal that never found its way out, now simply blooms.

“You will be all right,” she whispers, not knowing who this child fallen from the sky is.

Syrax lowers her head, sniffs the girl, and exhales warm smoke in a gesture… curious.
Rhaenyra recognizes the sign: approval.

She lifts the girl into her arms.

And for the first time in years, she feels that fate is finally moving in the right direction.

Dragonstone

Alicent is on the balcony when she sees Rhaenyra returning, Syrax landing, a small figure in her wife’s arms.
She runs, her dress fluttering, her eyes full of worry.

“Rhaenyra, what happened?”

“She fell from the sky,” the blonde says with the sincerity of someone who has seen too much magic to doubt anything.

Alicent opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Opens it again.
Looks at the sky, at Rhaenyra, at the child and finds no words.
Her, of all people, the queen of words.

She follows Rhaenyra to the guest chamber, where they lay the girl on a soft bed for the first time in a long, long while.

Both women stand still, watching the fragile body breathe.

“She fell from the sky?”

“From the sky. One moment everything was calm, and then… poof.”
Rhaenyra gestures in a way that only makes everything more absurd.

“Should we call the maester?”

“And say she fell from the sky?”

Alicent raises her eyebrows. Both women smile, disbelieving their own words.

“Let’s clean her up first, lower the fever… When she wakes, we call him. And then… we invent something less literal.”

They begin caring for the girl.

Rhaenyra brings cool water, clean clothes, and blankets.
Alicent removes Ciri’s clothes gently, respectfully.

The body they reveal is thin, marked, full of bruises and scars.
The list of questions only grows.
No answers.

Cold cloth on her forehead.
Heavy blanket for warmth.
A silence full of concern.

Hours later, Ciri wakes.

First she senses the smell: dried flowers, incense, seawater.
Then the texture: soft sheets, heavy blanket.
Then the voices: feminine, gentle, speaking softly.

She opens her eyes.

Rhaenyra sits at the edge of the bed.
Alicent holds a wet cloth, her expression kind.

“What… who are you?”

Ciri’s voice holds no fear — only alertness.
They don’t look like threats. Don’t look like monsters. Don’t look like hunters.

They look like… something Ciri has never had.

“Hey. It’s all right. You’re safe,” Alicent says, with a small smile, the kind of smile that knows safety is sacred and shouldn’t be announced harshly.

Ciri feels something hot burn in her throat.
She doesn’t know if she should run or cry.

“Where am I…?” she asks, voice breaking.

Rhaenyra exchanges a glance with her wife before answering:

“In Dragonstone. I’m Rhaenyra Targaryen, and this is my wife, Alicent. Whats your name?” 

“Cirilla…Ciri.”

“Well, Ciri, my dragon rescued you when you were falling from the sky. Do you remember?”

“Dra… dragon?”
Ciri tries to sit up, looking around.

The room is clean, warm, orderly. The bed is soft. And these two… are unlike anyone she’s ever seen.

“I’ve never heard of Dragonstone. Which part of the Continent is this?”

“Continent?” Rhaenyra frowns. “Is that a place?”

Alicent inhales slowly.
She knows that name.
She has read secret, ancient stories about Valyrian witches, magic, other worlds.
Portals.
Realms that shouldn’t exist.
Stories she kept to herself.

“You are a special person,” she says, watching Ciri flinch. “Hey… not like that. I just… I’ve read about your place. I didn’t know it was real.”

“Why am I not surprised you know all this?” Rhaenyra smiles, clearly proud. “Any question you ask, my wife has the answer.”

“The dragon caught me… falling?” Ciri repeats, incredulous. “It was a portal. I… I’m not in the Continent anymore.”

“No. This is Westeros,” Alicent says softly.

Ciri swallows hard.

“You said I’m special. Do you know who I am?”

Alicent smiles tenderly.

“Ciri. That’s what you told us, at least. And you fell from the sky, dear. And here, the only things that fall from the sky are rain and dragonriders. You don’t look like either… which means you are special.”

“Terrible dragonriders,” Rhaenyra murmurs.

Ciri widens her eyes.

“Do you… feed the dragon with people? Does it eat humans?”

“WHAT?” both wives say at once.

Rhaenyra starts laughing. Actually laughing out loud.

“Do you want Syrax to get indigestion? She’d be furious with me if I gave her spoiled food!”

“Nyra…” Alicent sighs, but smiles. “No, dear. Nothing like that happens here.”

“We’re a little crazy in Westeros, but not that crazy,” Rhaenyra adds.

Ciri smiles.
A small, timid smile.
A smile with fear, with uncertainty — but still a smile.

The world has never been kind to her. Never offered shelter without cost.

And now, before her, stand two women who seem to be the complete opposite of everything she has ever known.

And that is terrifying.

Chapter Text

The morning rose lazily over Dragonstone, with that salty mist that clings to the black stones like an ancient veil. The wind blew warm, carrying the smell of the sea and the distant beat of Syrax’s wings as she circled the island in slow arcs—watchful, as if she sensed something important had changed the day before.

Ciri woke peacefully.

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the soft light slipping through the heavy curtains. The bed she lay in didn’t resemble anything from the Continent: it was large, solid, carved from dark wood, and adorned with dragons etched in the frame. The blankets were absurdly soft.

For a moment, she forgot she had fled from Bonhart.
Forgot the smell of blood, the fear pulsing behind her ribs.

But then the memory came—slow and inevitable, like a punch landing late.

The portal.
The fall.
The heat of wings that didn’t belong to any monster she knew.
And the silver-haired woman who caught her before she hit the stones.

Ciri pushed herself up slowly. She wore clean, simple, but comfortable clothes. Someone had tended to her- someone with patient hands.

When she stepped down from the bed, she heard voices just beyond the door.

Rhaenyra spoke low, but with a warm firmness in her voice:

— She had so many nightmares I feared she’d never wake. The wounds she carries go beyond the physical. There is something… something in her I can’t name. Magic, perhaps. Not like ours.

Alicent answered with that practiced calm that hid tension underneath:

— She’s a child, Nyra. She shouldn’t have scars beyond scraped knees. The redhead shook her head, sighing. — We need to know more about her. She fell from the sky. Literally. We don’t know who hurt her this badly, or why she’s so frightened.

Ciri opened the door before fear could freeze her.

Rhaenyra turned immediately, posture of a warrior, but her expression softened the moment she saw her awake. Syrax roared in the distance—a greeting that echoed through the fortress.

— Good morning, — the princess said, stepping forward. — I’m Rhaenyra, and this is my wife, Alicent. You fell through a portal yesterday. You’re safe here.

Alicent’s eyes were sharp—observant—but unexpectedly gentle.

— How do you feel? — She asked.

Ciri took a moment to find her voice. It was strange… those two women, so opposite and yet so connected, standing together. Cooperating and caring for her. Nothing about it made sense.

— Right. We talked yesterday, I remember.  — She said, looking at them both.

Rhaenyra nodded, almost amused.

— I know. But I like saying ‘this is my wife, Alicent’ to avoid any confusion.

Nyra smiled.
Alicent rolled her eyes.
Ciri let out a small smile of her own.

— No doubts about that. About other things… — She murmured with quiet humor.

— We have questions too, — Alicent said, curious but not intrusive

— But first… breakfast. — Rhaenyra extended her hand toward Ciri, while her other reached, by pure instinct, for Alicent’s. — You need a proper meal. You’re too thin.

Ciri looked at the outstretched hand for a long second.

It seemed like a simple offer.
But it wasn’t.

It was, perhaps, the first free choice she had been given in a long time.

And she accepted it.

She placed her hand in Rhaenyra’s.

Alicent watched the scene with her heart tightening—hope, tenderness, and something she thought she had lost over the years. Seeing Rhaenyra care, protect, soften… rekindled an old longing.

That dormant maternal impulse that rose when they married, but faded with time and the absence of what they wanted most: a child.

Guided between the two women, Ciri walked to the breakfast hall. The table was set, warm, welcoming. Despite the wide room, the table was small; they had no choice but to sit close.

— Well, Ciri, — Rhaenyra began, placing bread into the girl’s bowl. — Let’s start from the beginning. I imagine there are princesses and kings in your Continent, yes?

Ciri reached for a piece of fruit, but her hand froze halfway.
Her breath caught.

Rhaenyra didn’t push. She continued gently:

— I am a princess. My father is the king. And that means you’re under my protection here in Westeros. No one will come near you without my permission.

Ciri breathed again. Nodded.

— Good, — Rhaenyra said, calm, steady, comforting. — You’re hurt. Beyond the fall. Someone harmed you, and I want to know who.

Ciri waited for the next question.
The “why”.

But it didn’t come.

Rhaenyra didn’t want justification.
She didn’t ask for explanations Ciri couldn’t give.
She only wanted who.

So Ciri breathed in slowly.

Memories burned: Kaer Morhen. Geralt. Yennefer.
And Bonhart—always Bonhart—like a devouring shadow.

— My name is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, — she said, voice barely trembling. — And there is a man… a hunter… who won’t stop until he finds me.

Silence fell—heavy, dense.

Syrax roared again—closer—as if sensing the threat in the air.

Alicent looked at Rhaenyra, then at the girl.

Rhaenyra inhaled deeply.

— Not all men…— she murmured, with old bitterness. — But always a man.

Alicent smiled faintly, agreeing with her wife.

Then Rhaenyra said, with a resolve that never broke:

— He won’t set foot here. No enemy of yours will reach Dragonstone. Not while I live.

Alicent added softly, but solid as tempered steel:

— And if he’s foolish enough to try… he’ll find more than he expects.

Rhaenyra smiled with a mischievous glint:

— Syrax loves making roasted men.

(And the silent thought lingered between them: RIP Daemon Targaryen.)

Ciri felt her chest loosen for the first time in months.

She looked at the food, felt hunger, felt want—
and began to eat.

Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged a look full of quiet understanding.

They still had more questions than answers.
But the answers they had?
They liked them.

The day settled softly over Dragonstone, tinting the sky with a pale gold that slid down the battlements like warm honey. After breakfast, Rhaenyra left to deal with castle matters—something about reinforcing patrols, ensuring no strange ship dared approach the island. Nothing Ciri needed to hear, but enough to keep the princess away from her for a while.

Alicent, on the other hand, stayed close. Watching. Noticing.

Ciri hadn’t fallen apart… but she hadn’t relaxed either. She moved like someone who was never fully turning her back to a door.

So when Alicent saw her leaning against the balcony, staring at the sea with an expression half longing, half survival, she did what she always did when she wanted someone to breathe better:

She took her to where answers lived in silence.

— Come with me — she said, voice low and steady. It wasn’t a request; it was an invitation to a safe place.

Ciri hesitated… but followed.

Dragonstone’s corridors were lit by torches and narrow windows, smelling of old stone and smoke. But when they reached the library, the air changed completely. It was warmer there. More alive. As if the books themselves breathed.

Alicent pushed open the tall door.

The world’s noise stayed behind.

The room was vast, with shelves reaching the ceiling, scrolls tied with red ribbons, and reading tables lit by oil lamps. A place made for restless minds — and tired spirits.

Ciri stepped inside slowly, almost whispering:

— I… didn’t expect you to have so many books.

— Rhaenyra has no patience for them — Alicent said, approaching the shelves. — But I have enough for both of us.

Ciri’s smile was small, but real.

Alicent pulled out a thick scroll, already prepared since the night before.

— I kept thinking about what you said about your Continent. — She unrolled it over the main table. — We don’t have much about your world. But we have some stories brought by the Old Navigators. Fragments. Legends. Myths.

Ciri approached instinctively, curiosity defeating fear.

The first illustration was crude, but unmistakable:

A proud white horse.

— They speak of these animals — Alicent said, touching the image. — Corcemeres. They say they choose only one rider for their entire lives.

Ciri took a slow breath and murmured without thinking:

— Scyllis is bigger. And more stubborn. — A faint smile crossed her lips. — And she steals apples when she thinks no one’s looking.

Alicent looked up at her, gently surprised.

— Scyllis is yours?

Ciri nodded.

And only then did she realize she had spoken in the present tense, not the past. As if Scyllis were there, alive, waiting.

Alicent saw that.

And didn’t comment.

She simply stored the information with care.

They moved to the next illustration.

A man in heavy armor, a broad sword, a stern expression.

— Some navigators speak of warriors trained since childhood… witchers, in the old tongue — Alicent said. — But we were never sure if they were real or just drunken sailor exaggerations.

Ciri traced the drawing with her fingertips.

— They’re real — she said, voice low but steady. — Trained. Modified. Made to hunt monsters.

Alicent tilted her head.

— What kind of monsters? Human or creature?

— Creatures. Humans are the easier monsters to recognize.

Alicent, though she had never seen a monstrous creature, agreed.

— You know a witcher?

Ciri didn’t answer immediately, but her eyes softened in a way Alicent recognized.

It was like watching a thin beam of light slip through a curtain of shadows.

— Geralt — she said at last. — He… he found me when no one else cared to look. He’s not my blood. But he is my… — She swallowed. — My destiny.

Alicent felt her chest tighten.

— In Westeros, we usually say destiny is just the elegant excuse of those who have power to tell us what to do. But… love is always a choice. Stronger than destiny. More powerful than any magic.

Ciri fell silent, but didn’t close herself off.

And for Alicent, that was more than enough.

They kept going.

Scroll after scroll, Ciri filled in the empty spaces:

The elven race, which looked like a mere myth on paper.
The creatures Alicent assumed were exaggerations.
The kingdoms that existed on no Westerosi map.

The girl spoke without realizing how much she revealed.
Without noticing, she no longer measured each word out of fear.
Without realizing it, she was trusting.

Not because someone demanded it.

But because, for the first time in a long time, someone listened.

While Ciri explained a creature called a leshy, Alicent watched her, not with a scholar’s curiosity, but with the tenderness of someone who had noticed something precious:

That girl was remembering who she was.

Not just who had hunted her.

At some point, Ciri stopped before an unfinished map, sketched with unknown lands.

— This is wrong — she murmured. — There shouldn’t be mountains here. This is a swamp. And here… — she touched a faint dot — …there’s a tower.

Alicent smiled, surprised and delighted.

— You speak like someone who’s crossed half her world.

— I have — Ciri replied simply. — Running.

Alicent rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.

No questions.
No pity.
Only presence.

— Here… — she said, voice soft, almost maternal — you won’t need to run.

Only then did Ciri realize where she was.

How much she had said.

How much she had… trusted.

Her eyes widened for a moment, but panic didn’t follow.
Not the way it used to.

Alicent noticed and added, with calm certainty:

— Nothing you say here leaves these walls without your permission. I promise.

Ciri believed her.

Maybe not by logic.

But because, for the first time, the world didn’t feel ready to rip everything away from her.

And because Alicent Hightower was the first adult, in a very long time, who spoke to her as someone worthy of care — not a weapon, a secret, or a danger.

— Thank you, — Ciri murmured, barely audible.

Alicent smiled, that small smile that still had faith in details.

— You don’t need to thank me, my dear. You only need to exist. The rest… We’ll handle.

Ciri inhaled deeply.

For the first time in months, breathing didn’t hurt.

Rhaenyra entered the library with a gentleness that wasn’t usual for her. Quiet as a shadow. She stopped a few steps away, watching Alicent and Ciri. Talking, smiling, building something stronger than stone walls.

— So this is where my two girls were hiding? Betrayed by books… again.

Despite the suddenness, both smiled.

— Don’t talk about my books like that. And stop appearing from the shadows, Seven save me… one day I’ll throw a whole tome at your head just from the fright.

Alicent spoke playfully as she wrapped Rhaenyra in her arms and stole a brief kiss from her lips.

— Ciri told me incredible things.

— And may I know what they are?

— Of course not, she told me, not you! — Alicent teased, shrinking away as Rhaenyra’s hands moved in for tickles. — Nyra!

Ciri laughed. Truly laughed. Laughed with safety. Laughed without fear.
The lightness of the moment hit her like a distant echo.
Geralt and Yennefer…

They tried. They really tried.
But stability had never come.

Here, though… it was different.

Rhaenyra and Alicent had steadiness. Kindness. Roots.

And for the first time, Ciri felt she could lean without falling.

— Ciri? — The redhead called, placing a hand on her shoulder and pulling her from her thoughts. — All good? Shall we go to dinner?

The girl looked from Alicent to the princess and smiled.

— I think… everything feels a little lighter now.

Chapter Text

Days later, the sun was setting low over the beach of Dragonstone, painting the sand in shades of gold and orange. The wind carried the salty scent of the sea, and the distant roar of the waves blended with the soft, rumbling sounds of Syrax, who moved with regal grace along the shore.

Rhaenyra walked beside Ciri, one hand resting gently on the girl’s shoulder so she would not startle at the massive creature approaching them.

— Do not be afraid — the princess said, her voice calm yet firm. — Syrax only wishes to play… and perhaps test if you are brave enough to be her friend.

Ciri swallowed hard, though her green eyes gleamed with curiosity. The dragon lowered her massive head and released a warm puff of steam that didn’t burn, but sent Ciri’s hair fluttering in the wind.

— Hi… Syrax — she murmured, almost as if addressing a cat far too large for the world.

— You remember Ciri, don’t you, girl? You saved her from being turned into mush — Rhaenyra said with a mischievous smile, winking at the girl, who instantly mirrored the smile.

The great dragon circled them, observing each small gesture the girl made, and then released a deep, resonant sound that rippled through the entire beach. Ciri took a hesitant step forward and, guided by instinct, stretched out her hand. When Syrax’s eyes locked with hers, a faint green spark flickered through the air between them, and an involuntary smile spread across Ciri’s face.

— Wow — was all she managed.

Rhaenyra watched in silence, pride and satisfaction warming her expression.

— I told you. I know a dragonrider when I meet one.

— I’ve never been this close to a dragon, and… in my land, we’re not exactly dragonriders. I don’t even know if that’s possible.

— Then my land is far more interesting — Rhaenyra replied, stepping close to stroke Syrax’s scales. — What do you think about bringing a few friends here?

— Friends?

— There are dragons without riders in King’s Landing. They should not be there — the princess explained, her gaze steady on Ciri. — They are kept in tight spaces because people fear them, but dragons were made to be free. Here on Dragonstone, there are fewer souls, and it is safer for everyone.

Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder at Ciri with a sly, knowing smile.

— And a dragonrider needs a dragon.

— You want me to mount one of these creatures? — Ciri’s voice cracked so sharply that even the waves seemed to hesitate.

— And you do not wish to?

Ciri opened her mouth, ready to deliver a loud and resounding no, but stopped halfway.

Who was she trying to fool?

Riding a dragon? Having a creature that magnificent answer to her command would be…

She still didn’t have the words for it.

Her silence was enough. Rhaenyra smiled, victorious.

Now she only needed to convince Alicent to let her bring the other dragons home.

--------

Later, when the daylight began to fade, and the tide brought a sharper scent of salt across the shore, Rhaenyra and Alicent sat atop a rocky outcrop by the beach, watching the sky shift into shades of gold and rose.

— I have been thinking… — Rhaenyra began, eyes fixed on the horizon. — There are dragons in the court without riders. If we bring them to Dragonstone, perhaps Ciri could bond with one of them. It would help her… and it would certainly surprise anyone who still believes we can be underestimated.

— Who could possibly underestimate you now? And for what reason, when the greatest problem of our lives was left behind in King’s Landing? — Alicent countered.

Rhaenyra gave a faint, crooked smile, turning toward her wife.

— You know we cannot ignore Laena forever. One day, my father will die, and she will come for us.

— Laena is an old dog chasing after a shoe. She is not coming for us, my love. No one would stand behind her.

— I cannot believe that — Rhaenyra sighed. — But you missed the point about bringing the dragons here.

— The point of bringing the dragons here is that you want excuses to keep Ciri with us.

— It is not only that — the princess tried to defend herself. — Though… it is an excellent reason. You do want her to stay, don’t you?

— Of course I do, Rhaenyra. I have grown more attached to that girl than to all my nieces and nephews combined. And I have a dozen of them — Alicent replied with a faint smile. — I only want her to stay because she chooses to — not out of obligation, not because she thinks she owes us something…

— We give her the love we have. I am certain that will be enough for her to want to stay.

Alicent studied Rhaenyra for a moment. Love. From the beginning of their friendship, Rhaenyra had always been able to distinguish what she felt for Alicent — and now for Ciri — as true love. Love for a lost child, wounded and without a home.

— Do you think she can truly bond with a dragon?

— You should have seen her with Syrax. It was natural. As if she were a true Targaryen.

Alicent’s lips curved into a proud, steady smile.

— You know Laena will go mad the moment she hears about this.

Rhaenyra let out a quick, almost imperceptible smile.

— Yes… and likely the entire court as well.

The wind carried Syrax’s distant roar, and for a fleeting moment, all the tensions seemed to dissolve into the salty breeze.

But Rhaenyra knew — this was only the beginning.

---------

The sky over Dragonstone was painted gold when Alicent and Ciri reached the edge of the cliff overlooking the beach. A reverent silence settled over the air, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the distant beat of wings.

— What is happening? — Ciri murmured, eyes wide.

Alicent only smiled, her fingers intertwined with Ciri’s, feeling the same mix of apprehension and anticipation the girl did.

Then, on the horizon, a shadow rose over the shimmering waves. A distant roar made the ground tremble faintly beneath their feet. And as if the sea itself were pulling back to make way, Rhaenyra appeared, seated on Syrax’s steady back — but this time accompanied by three more dragons: Sunfire, Dreamfire, and Moondancer, each larger and more imposing than the last, their scales gleaming like flames and liquid silver beneath the setting sun.

Ciri’s heart pounded. Alicent lost her breath.

The quartet of dragons advanced with precision and majesty, wings slicing the air in synchronized movements, while Rhaenyra guided every descent, every curve, with authority and grace. She had told no one — not even the King. Every detail, every roar, every spark of flame was part of her secret and her plan.

— This is… — Ciri whispered, unable to look away.

— Rhaenyra — Alicent murmured, giving the girl’s hand a gentle squeeze.

The dragons landed on the sand, sending clouds of sand and sea spray into the air. Sunfire stepped forward first, its blazing golden back shimmering, followed by Dreamfire and Moondancer, their scales glinting in blue and silver. Rhaenyra dismounted Syrax last, confident, each step measured and firm, radiating the kind of authority only a Targaryen could possess.

Alicent and Ciri did not need to speak; they simply watched Rhaenyra’s presence, the pride and certainty radiating from her like heat. The princess’s smile was subtle, but carried the confidence of someone who knew she had achieved the impossible.

— My ladies, did you enjoy the show?

— That was incredible… I think I might cry — Ciri breathed, overwhelmed.

Alicent only smiled, sharing a silent, knowing look with her wife.

— Let them settle. Syrax will take the lead. Later, you may try to approach them.

Ciri’s smile grew even wider, if that were possible. Her eyes were glassy, shining with wonder. She didn’t notice her hand still holding Alicent’s — the way a child clings to a mother.

Later, Ciri headed toward the clearing, wanting to see Syrax. But on the way, Sunfire intercepted her, its great golden eyes fixed on hers. She hesitated only for a heartbeat, remembering Rhaenyra’s instructions: remain calm, present yourself with confidence, extend your hand and—

— Dohaerās!

The dragon lowered its head, studying her intently, and then, with a deep, rumbling sound, brought its snout close to the small hand she held out. The bond sparked to life there, silent and powerful, a flicker of green light shimmering between them. Ciri felt Sunfire’s energy pulsing under her fingertips, and an involuntary smile bloomed across her face.

From a distance, Alicent watched, pride filling her chest. Rhaenyra had succeeded once again — not only in bringing the dragons, but in allowing the next generation of riders to rise upon the vastness of Dragonstone, by the sea, under the golden sky of the fading afternoon.

The wind carried Syrax’s distant roar, mingling with the mighty beat of Sunfire’s wings. For a brief moment, everything felt perfect, and all the tensions of the court — all the intrigues and threats — seemed nothing but distant shadows before that moment of pure greatness.

--------

— I told you, I felt it. — Rhaenyra hugged Alicent with a wide smile. The dinner had been a long celebration of the bond formed between Ciri and Sunfire. Now, the couple celebrated alone.

— I am so proud of you. Of both of you. — Alicent kissed her wife’s lips. — I’m as proud as if she were ours to be proud of.

— She’s in our home, with our family. She is ours. — Rhaenyra pressed her forehead to Alicent’s. — She’s our girl, our pride. Gods, little lioness, nothing — she’s a dragon!

They laughed, shared more passionate kisses, and let themselves fall onto the bed still wrapped in each other’s arms. Their touch lingered, their smiles softened, and the conversation faded into silences filled with affection. The night closed around them like a warm veil, and love happened in the soft spaces between one laugh and the next — unhurried, unseen, just the peaceful intimacy of two people who already belong to each other.

Later, still entwined, Alicent asked quietly:
— How did things go at court? — nestled against Rhaenyra’s chest.

— My father didn’t really believe I wanted to bring the dragons here purely for their sake, but he didn’t oppose it at any moment. Now, your queen…

Alicent burst into laughter when she heard Rhaenyra calling Laena your queen.

— Laena tried to argue, tried to make my father change his mind, but as always, in vain.

— Of course, because when daddy’s princess asks for something, she gets it. — Alicent teased.

— Dragons like to spoil their offspring, what can I say? — Rhaenyra joked and stole another kiss. — Do you think Ciri was happy?

— She cried, Rhaenyra!

— That was my concern.

— With joy, my love. She cried with joy. — Alicent smiled. — You gave her a dragon.

— I didn’t give her anything. I just brought the options. The bond happened because she has the power, not me.

— Of course. — Alicent smiled again, resting her head on the princess’s chest. — Now I have two women to worry about when they’re on top of a dragon.

Rhaenyra let out a warm laugh and kissed the top of her wife’s head. The two kept talking until they fell asleep.

Chapter Text

The morn had scarcely awakened o’er Dragonstone when the chamber door flew open with such force it smote the wall like a thunderclap.

— Mo— Rhaenyra, Alicent! — Ciri burst inside as though half the realm were at her heels. — There is someone upon a dragon approaching! ’Tis vast as a mountain! And it descendeth unto the shore!

Silence. Utter and complete.

Rhaenyra blinked, still dazed with sleep. Alicent simply… perished within. Both were tangled in the linens, yet only enough to preserve a shred of dignity and avert a domestic war ere sunrise.

— Ciri… — Alicent began, her tone a desperate plea for peace across all kingdoms. — My sweet… thou canst not simply enter…

And then the girl understood.
The two of them. Bare.
Her face turned to the hue of a ripe summer apple; her whole body froze, and she whirled around at once, stumbling over her own tongue as she begged forgiveness as though imploring pardon from the Seven and a half dozen more besides, fleeing the chamber in disgrace.

Rhaenyra buried her face in the pillow.
Alicent longed to vanish into thin air.
Syrax roared outside — and verily, it sounded like laughter.
Rhaenyra turned her head, meeting her wife’s gaze.

— We are such mothers… we have already scarred our daughter for life.

— Silence, Rhaenyra! — Alicent muttered, though her lips betrayed her with a defeated smile.

A few minutes later, the two emerged into the corridor, properly clothed and striving to appear functional. They found Ciri pressed against the wall, looking much like a pup who knew it had felled the household’s most cherished vase.

— I'm most sorry… — she murmured for the thousandth time.

Rhaenyra laid a hand upon her shoulder, laughing.

— Was this the first time thou hast seen a couple in a… compromising state? We ought to have The Conversa—

— Please, no. I shall strike thee. I swear it.

— Ciri, we were but sleeping! ’Tis not as though aught happened last eve! — Rhaenyra teased, earning a shove from Alicent.

— All is well, sweetling, truly. — Alicent assured her.

— I think thou shouldst see more women bare. ’Tis good for the soul — and will cool those red cheeks of thine.

By the time they descended toward the shore, Ciri was already laughing at the princess’s provocations.

The shore was a chaos most controlled: fierce winds, sand cast to turmoil, Syrax restless upon the high stone.
And then the dragon descended.
Meleys.
Red as freshly-spilled blood. Vast. Proud. Ancient.

Upon her back, the rider who seemed sculpted to intimidate half a continent:
Rhaenys Targaryen.

She dismounted with cutting elegance, her gaze sharp as any forged blade.

— Princess — she began, her voice unwavering. — In the name of the Seven and of those who came before… what, precisely, dost thou deem thyself to be doing?

Alicent touched Rhaenyra’s arm in silent support, yet remained behind with Ciri.
Rhaenyra drew a deep breath.

— Please, be more exact, Queen Mother… what is it you wish to know?

— Do not play the clever girl with me, Rhaenyra. Dragons on Dragonstone?

— I am still trying to understand your complaint.

— You have taken the dragons from the king’s side and brought them to your own keep.

— I brought the dragons home, — Rhaenyra said firmly. — So they might live free, not caged, waiting for the king’s fleeting mercy.

— You took the unbound dragons from King’s Landing. You denied your brothers the chance to bond.

— If they have not bonded yet, they never will, — she said plainly. — Your grandsons have no bond with dragons; it is time you accept this.

Meleys growled.
Syrax roared in answer upon the stone above.
Sunfire, behind them, raised his head and echoed them both.

Rhaenys widened her eyes at the sight of Sunfire and fixed her gaze upon Ciri, shielded by Rhaenyra and Alicent.

— Her? Who is she? How?

The very question Rhaenyra had not prepared to meet.

She would reveal nothing — no portal, no other world, no strange magicks. Westeros would turn Ciri into a weapon. She deserved a simple life. A safe one. With a pet dragon, if fate allowed.

Rhaenyra parted her lips to improvise.
But Alicent…
Ah, Alicent.
Alicent smiled. That smile. The one fit to spark fires, wars, and royal fainting spells.

— Well… since we are being wholly honest here…

— Are we? — Rhaenyra whispered, horrified.

— We can hide the truth no longer. — Alicent drew breath. — This is Cirilla. Rhaenyra’s true-born daughter.

Silence.
The sort of silence that topples kingdoms.

Rhaenys blinked.
Rhaenyra froze.
Ciri’s eyes flew wide.

— I… am. — Ciri confirmed, breathless. — Ciri.

Alicent kept smiling like the very cause of all future wars.

— ’Twas our secret for many years. But with Sunfire… we can hide it no more.

— She has been with you all her life?!

The three nodded at once. It was near comical.

Rhaenys looked as though struck by an unseen hand.

— WHAT?! — She cried. — Rhaenyra, thou had a daughter hidden from the entire realm and thought it irrelevant?!

— I protected her. I knew the danger such truth would bring.

Alicent positively glowed.
Rhaenyra strove not to laugh.
Ciri merely existed, utterly lost.

— The secret is revealed… and I am famished. — Rhaenyra declared. — Shall we break our fast?

Without waiting for a reply, she pulled them all along with her.

— Come, Rhaenys! — She called, not slowing her stride.

Inside the castle, far from the Queen-Mother, the three of them stopped.
Rhaenyra turned to Alicent.

— What was that?!

— The most plausible explanation. Were you going to say Ciri came from another world through a magical portal?!

— Of course not! But biological daughter?! Did I sleep with a man, Alicent?! My reputation?!

— That’s your concern? — Ciri widened her eyes. — They could kill you!

— Kill me? Why? Because I had a daughter without a father?

The couple looked at Ciri.

— Because of me. You could get hurt. I… I should leave…

— You’re not going anywhere. — Alicent held her shoulders.

Rhaenyra threw her hands up.

— That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard, and I lived with Daemon!

Alicent’s voice softened, but the strength beneath it gleamed like polished steel.

— You’re not the one who brings death, Ciri. People choose to carry that themselves. Here, you only bring what you choose. If you don’t want to hurt us, then you won’t.

Rhaenyra took a breath, making sure Rhaenys was nowhere near.

— Kid… the lie is ours to maintain. But the choice to stay is yours.

Footsteps.
Rhaenys was approaching.

— What? — The Queen-Mother demanded.

Rhaenyra didn’t even turn.

— You walk like a dying turtle. Come on, I’m starving.

This time, she didn’t tug Ciri along.
She laced her fingers with Alicent’s instead.
And a few steps later, Ciri hurried to catch up… and grabbed Rhaenyra’s free hand.

Kings Landing

The Throne Room simmered like a nest of vipers. Nobles, lords, septons, and every variety of political parasite whispered among themselves as they waited for the king to arrive. The rumor had spread like wildfire since dawn:

The Princess Rhaenyra had returned to Dragonstone with dragons that did not belong to her.

No one knew exactly what that meant, but everyone could smell scandal — and scandal was highly nutritious food for bored courtiers.

When the doors opened, the expectation snapped into silence.

Viserys, tired but still proud in his golden robes, entered the hall accompanied by
Criston Cole. The king had barely sat on the Throne when a messenger rushed in, breathless, falling to his knees at the center of the hall.

— Your Grace… urgent news from Dragonstone.
Viserys frowned.

— Speak.

The messenger swallowed hard, glancing sideways at Laena, seated near the royal dais with her children.

Laena stared at him like someone sensing something very, very bad was about to happen.

— The Princess… Rhaenyra… — he hesitated, and the entire hall leaned forward — …presented the dragon Sunfire with a girl. A girl who… who the dragon accepted.

The hall burst into murmurs.

— Accepted? — Viserys raised his voice. — What do you mean by accepted? Sunfire has never tolerated even my own children.

The messenger closed his eyes for a moment, gathering courage.

— Because, Your Grace… the girl is…

— What girl?! — Laena rose to her feet, her face turning as red as Meleys’ scales.

The messenger looked at her, pale.

— Cirilla, they say that is her name. They say she is the Princess’s daughter.

The court froze. Literally froze. Whispers died. The hall grew so silent that one could hear the royal robes shifting when Viserys stood.

— I… pardon? — The king murmured, incredulous.

Laena, however, did not have a second of shock. She exploded.

— Daughter?! — Her voice echoed through the pillars. — That is RIDICULOUS! That is IMPOSSIBLE! The king would have been informed!

— Your Grace — the messenger added weakly — it was… Princess Alicent, who confirmed it. Publicly. On the shore. Queen-Mother Rhaenys was present when it happened.

Shock turned to panic.
All eyes went to Laena.
All eyes went to the king.
And then… to Aegon, who was supposed to be the ideal heir, but who had no dragon. No bond. Nothing.

The lords began whispering again — louder now, like a hive of furious bees.

— A hidden daughter…

— A bond with Sunfire…

— This changes everything…

— Rhaenyra securing her lineage with dangerous blood…

— What else has she hidden?

— If the girl is truly her firstborn, she is the heir…

Viserys raised his hand, demanding silence, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Laena stepped forward.

— Your Grace, I demand that the Princess be summoned immediately!

— Laena… — Viserys breathed, too weary to restrain her.

— She stole the dragons from King’s Landing! And now we discover she had a daughter hidden her entire life? — Laena was beside herself. — This is treason, Viserys! Or what do you expect me to say when the comparisons begin? My children… — she glanced at Aegon, who shrank — my children were never accepted. And now a miraculous child appears?

Viserys closed his eyes. And breathed. Heavy. Pained.

— Rhaenyra… hid a daughter from me…?

The tension became a living beast.

Criston Cole stepped forward.

— Your Grace, may I suggest we send knights to Dragonstone at once? To demand… explanations.

A cutting silence filled the hall.

Until a soft, sweet… deadly voice echoed.

— Or — said Helaena, lifting her gaze from her lap for the first time — we can simply ask the dragon.

And she smiled that distant smile that made even the bravest man shudder.

The hall descended again into a whirlwind of murmurs.
Laena stormed out, shouting for her mount.
Viserys sank into the throne, pale.
And the entire court understood:

Princess Rhaenyra had just thrown the board onto the floor.
Alicent had struck the match.
And Westeros… watched, mesmerized.

Chapter Text

The gates of Dragonstone creak open with dramatic strain as Queen Laena Velaryon and Prince Aemond Targaryen enter the castle. Both tense. Both dressed in pretension. Both convinced they are here to ‘restore order’ to Dragonstone.

In the great hall, Rhaenyra sits like a storm on the brink of breaking.

Alicent, beside her on the displaced chair — the one that very clearly does not belong to the queen, yet she occupies it as if it does — turns the ring on her finger with a smile that promises war.

Aemond steps forward.

Laena draws a slow breath.

The air grows heavy.

This is the beginning of the end.

— First the marriage, then the dragons, and now a daughter. What else do you intend to do to humiliate your father, Rhaenyra?

Rhaenyra lifts her chin, eyes half-lidded.

— You came to my home to insult me, Laena?

Before Laena can answer, Alicent leans forward slightly, resting her elbow on the arm of the chair. She is far too calm for someone who has just dropped the greatest bomb Westeros has seen.

The two exchange barbs with nothing but their gazes.

— It is Your Majesty to you, princess.

Rhaenyra does not blink.

— Laena, as quickly as I placed the crown upon your head, I can remove it. So remain in your place as second consort queen, a stopgap, and find something useful to do.

Laena goes pale. Then red. Then purple.

— You dare threaten the Queen?

— I dare threaten an idle woman who came to my home to harass me out of spite. And if any queen feels offended, inform her that I do not care in the slightest.

Laena chokes on her own pride.

— My patience with you two has ended. You are hereby summoned to appear before the King and answer for your crimes.

Rhaenyra rises slowly. Every movement carries the weight of a dragon unfurling its wings. She faces Laena with the calm certainty of someone who knows exactly when to strike.

— I will go. But when I arrive, and no crime is proven, heads will roll.

— Threatening the Queen, bearing a child outside of wedlock—

— A,h yes, those crimes. Of course. Go on, try to punish me for being free, and I will burn every last one of you! — She nearly snarls the final words.

Alicent, sweet as poison:

— We will see you in King’s Landing, Your Majesty. Until then, you may return the way you came, and do not forget to offer your son a ride. The prince without a dragon.

The chill in her voice renders Laena speechless.

Across the hall, Aemond struggles to maintain his posture.

But Ciri is already watching him, leaning against a column, arms crossed, wearing a lazy smile.

— Your existence was hidden from all of Westeros. That is… unacceptable.

— And are you the inspector of other people’s children?

— Prince Aemond Targaryen, my father…

— Is the King, yes. I understand how royal hierarchies work. — Ciri’s gaze returns to Alicent and Rhaenyra. — Tell me, little prince, is the eyepatch an attempt at relevance, or did the dragon that rejected you do that?

Aemond blinks.

For the first time, he hesitates.

Ciri steps forward.

— Did the dragon eat your tongue as well, little prince?

— Your insolence will not go unanswered. You are nothing but a bastard.

She smiles.

And it is dangerous.

— Bastard… I assume Your Lordship has proof to support such an accusation.

— Rhaenyra only ever had one marriage…

— Rhaenyra also had no children, yet here I am. — Ciri smiles, victorious. — You know nothing.

Laena is emotionally imploding.

Aemond is sweating.

Then, the doors open once more.

Rhaenys enters with the unmistakable look of someone who already knows something has gone terribly wrong — again.

She surveys the scene in silence:

Laena in tatters.

Aemond frozen.

Rhaenyra irritated.

Alicent triumphant.

Ciri is wearing the look of a predator after the hunt.

Rhaenys sighs deeply, the sound of someone profoundly disappointed by the lack of other people’s judgment.

— Your Majesty Laena. Aemond. We are going home.

Laena attempts to protest.

Rhaenys raises ONE eyebrow.

It is over.

She drags them out with the authority of someone who knows that if they remain one more minute, nothing will be left but dust and pride ground into the castle floor.

As they leave, Ciri tilts her head and murmurs softly, meant only for Aemond:

— See you soon, uncle.

His jaw locks.

He has no answer.

—--------

Dragonstone Library

— Come now, once more. — Alicent paces the library like a general strategizing before the final battle.

Ciri and Rhaenyra sit on the sofa… or as close to sitting as one can be after hours of crafting the greatest lie ever told.

Rhaenyra releases a long, dramatic huff.

Alicent spins on her heel at once.

— I am sorry, is closing loopholes boring you?

— No, closing loopholes is not the problem. — Rhaenyra grumbles. — The problem is saying I fell in love with a man. Can’t we blame the wine?

Alicent nearly loses her patience — nearly.

— Oh, of course! A secret marriage, a hidden child, a dead husband… all the fault of one poorly planned night!

She claps her hands, sharp and dry.

— Wake up, Rhaenyra. We must seal the timeline. No gaps can remain.

— My reputation is ruined… — the princess buries her face in her hands.

Alicent raises a finger, as though threatening to summon Syrax herself.

— I swear, if you complain about your reputation one more time — the one that exists only in your head because you slept with a man — I will personally send you to sleep with Syrax in the dragon pit.

— Gods! — Rhaenyra turns to Ciri. — Care to help me here?

Ciri simply laughs. Truly.

Not at the lie itself, but at the ease with which those two stepped into the most absurd plan in history as though it were merely another ordinary day.

They were constructing a narrative so cohesive, so carefully articulated, that not even Cintra’s army in its days of glory would appear as prepared as Alicent was in that moment.

— Ciri! — Alicent snaps her back from her thoughts.

The girl responds at once:

— Mother Ginger protected me, kept me as her ward, and brought me safely to my muña when it was safe.

Alicent lifts an eyebrow, satisfied.

— Perfect. With your supposed husband dead and the child’s protector gone as well, only our words remain.

She paces again, biting her nail — the only proof she is human.

— They will not have the time to contest anything. And when the King forgives her — because it is Rhaenyra and he will forgive her — everything becomes irrelevant.

Ciri and Rhaenyra exchange a smile: terror and pride intertwined.

Alicent is at her peak.

She is the Queen of Words — with or without a crown.

—-----------

Throne Room

The throne room is full.

The elite of Westeros packed like golden sardines, whispering:

— Princess Rhaenyra had a hidden daughter.

— The King will never forgive her.

— The throne is threatened.

Viserys, pale and sweating, attempts to look like a king in the midst of an earthquake.

The doors open.

And she enters first.

Rhaenyra.

Red and black gown.

A queen’s posture.

Immediate silence.

Behind her: Alicent.

Deep green gown, immaculate, wearing the expression of someone who smiles while sharpening knives.

At the center: Ciri.

Hair loose, garments black and red like the princess.

Walking with the insolent calm of someone who knows exactly who she is.

The court holds its breath.

Rhaenyra stops.

Alicent at her side.

Ciri between them — alive, radiant, undeniable.

Viserys struggles to preserve his dignity:

— Rhaenyra… you were summoned to answer accusations of treason, concealment of an heir, and… illegal motherhood.

The hall erupts into murmurs.

Rhaenyra arches a brow, infuriatingly sovereign.

Laena steps forward, far too eager:

— Your Grace, she ridiculed the Queen, defied the law and…

Alicent takes ONE step forward.

One.

Enough to make Laena pale.

— Your Majesty, — she begins, smooth as poison — I beg pardon for how the secret came to light. But I assure you, no crime was committed. — She turns her ring like a symbolic blade. — My wife has granted me the floor. Do I have your leave, my King?

Viserys, defeated, merely nods.

Aemond attempts to interject:

— This bastard cannot…

Ciri’s laugh slices through the air.

The hall turns toward her.

— Bastard again? For the second son of the second wife, you’re rather confident, uncle.

Rhaenyra nearly lets out a laugh.

Alicent shoots them both a not now glance.

Viserys exhales slowly.

— Lady Alicent, speak.

The red-haired becomes the very definition of lethal elegance.

— Thank you, my King. — She begins. — Before our marriage, in an act of youthful rebellion, Princess Rhaenyra flew Syrax to the Septones.

Truth.

— There she met a young soldier named Killian. Simple. Good. Honorable. Carried by impulse, she married him. In secret.

Lie.

The court explodes.

Cries.

Someone faints.

Viserys, aghast:

— Rhaenyra… is this true?

The princess steps forward.

— Yes.

Alicent continues:

— The marriage was consummated. Even before returning home, Rhaenyra was already with child. Killian died in battle, and she came to me — her friend — seeking help. I, young and foolish, advised her to keep the child and shield her from the vultures of the court.

The hall falls into horrified silence, as though the collective breath has been torn away.

Alicent does not falter; she glides seamlessly into the final blow of credibility:

— We sought the help of Mother Ginger, a woman of very ancient knowledge, whom many ladies here have surely consulted as well. She assisted in concealing the pregnancy, in the birth, and even in protecting Ciri for much of her life.

Viserys seems to wilt upon the throne.

Alicent concludes flawlessly:

— When we departed for Dragonstone, we were able to bring her with us. And she has lived safely ever since.

It is Ciri’s turn.

The girl steps forward, composed and respectful. Her voice changes. She speaks in flawless Valyrian:

— I am sorry to cause you trouble, grandfather. Muña always spoke of your kindness and of how deeply she loves you. I do not wish to bring dishonor, but… Sunfire called to me. It was stronger than anything I have ever felt. I am a dragonrider. I am Targaryen. That is enough.

The court recoils instinctively — like animals sensing a predator.

Viserys sinks into the throne, defeated by his own bloodline.

Alicent inclines her head.

— There is nothing to judge here, my King. There is no crime. There is no treason.

Rhaenyra wraps an arm around Alicent’s waist and rests her hand on Ciri’s shoulder.

— Shall we have dinner so you may know your granddaughter better, Kepa?

Soft mockery.

Delicate humiliation.

Total victory.

Viserys merely agrees.

There is no man or woman present capable of contesting a single word spoken by Alicent or Rhaenyra.

Not the Queen Consort.

And certainly not the weakened heir.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall of King’s Landing was filled with the light of candelabras, and the golden glow reflected off the chandeliers and the ornate details of the walls. The entire royal family occupied their seats, and the imposing table seemed to compress the space with its grandeur and heavy etiquette.
The near trial still lingered like an invisible shadow over everyone. Rhaenyra maintained an elegant, firm posture, but her eyes betrayed the exhaustion of carrying so much weight. Alicent, seated nearby, watched every gesture and every expression attentively, as if mapping a territory of hidden intentions.
Ciri stood among those present, trying to remain discreet, but she could not help noticing the looks, the subtle signs of tension, and the interactions unfolding around her. Every movement seemed laden with meaning: a slight tilt of the head, a restrained smile, a carefully chosen word.
The food arrived, but eating felt almost secondary in the face of the silent game of observation and interpretation. Whispers and careful remarks broke the silence, yet every sound seemed measured, every sentence heavy with meaning.

— Cirila. — Viserys finally spoke, silencing the whispers in the hall. — I always thought that, if I had a daughter, I would name her Visenya. Where did Cirila come from, Rhaenyra?

Rhaenyra lifted her eyes to her father. The man was right: a girl, her daughter, should bear a Targaryen name. This time, she could not wait for Alicent to throw her a miracle of salvation; it would have to be her. To buy time, she took a sip of wine and smiled lightly.

— It was the name of Killian’s sister. She died very young, and that marked him deeply. I remember we talked about siblings who had died. — Rhaenyra met her father’s gaze. — And I liked the name. I thought it was special, like my daughter.

— You hid your feelings well. — Viserys concluded.

— I hid many things very well, my father, not only my feelings.

— Ciri, what do you like? What have you learned about our family? — Once again, the king ignored Rhaenyra’s subtext and turned his attention back to the girl.

— I really enjoy reading; the library at Dragonstone is fantastic. I’ve read thousands of the books there. — Ciri replied, trying to show that she knew the place where she had grown up very well. — I also like visiting the beach to train with the dragons. Munã taught me everything about dragons, and now I have Sunfire to practice with.

— And you speak Valyrian. — Viserys added enthusiastically.

— Still learning. — Ciri smiled, searching for a way to run away before Viserys asked her to say something in the language.

— Ciri is an excellent warrior. — Rhaenyra stepped in to rescue her. She knew exactly what she needed to say to take the girl out of the spotlight. — I confess she’s better than I am.

— What do you mean, a warrior? — Viserys barked. He hated that Rhaenyra knew how to fight with swords. — Are you telling me you gave your daughter a sword?

— Not one, several! All sizes, all weights. Daggers as well. Ciri is very skilled with them. — Rhaenyra smiled and winked at Ciri as the king began to rage, taken by the princess’s shame and shock.

The murmurs returned to the hall, and Ciri was finally able to breathe. Alicent discreetly squeezed her hand.

— My king, has your model of Westeros been finished? It would be marvelous if Ciri could see it. — Alicent practically interrupted the king. And only she could do so without consequences. Once again, the redhead distracted the man from his point of stress and led him to speak for countless hours about the model of Westeros.

—--------------

Later.

While Rhaenyra introduced Ciri to some acquaintances, Alicent observed the entire hall alone, feeling the weight of her own presence and evaluating every gesture and every expression around her. There was tension in the air, a mixture of formality, politics, and old unresolved grievances.

— I must say, you never cease to surprise me, Alicent. — Otto sat down in the empty chair beside his daughter. — Another dragon eating out of your hand.

Alicent forced a restrained smile, feeling a chill as she remembered the fragility that scene represented for anyone who knew her past.

— The feeling is mutual, father. I’m surprised by how much the king ignores your counsel and how the queen turns this court into a true horror show. — Alicent looked at the man, measuring every word so as not to lose control. — I always thought you mastered dragons.

— Watch your tongue. I am still your father.

— No, you are not. And you know very well why. — Alicent felt the anger rise, but she kept her gaze steady, a shield against the provocation.

— Stop this childish nonsense. — Otto glanced at Rhaenyra and Ciri, trying to deflect the tension. — Is she really Rhaenyra’s daughter?

— Of course she is. Surprised you didn’t know that too?

— She could be yours, with Daemon.

Alicent clenched her fist discreetly, fighting the urge to attack her own father right there. Every muscle in her body tensed; she knew that if she acted, Rhaenyra would not allow Otto to leave that hall alive.

— You know, father. Every time we speak, I feel more inclined to tell Rhaenyra that you helped Daemon rape me. — Alicent spoke slowly, the coldness in her voice cutting through the air. — Do you know what human flesh smells like when it’s being burned alive?

Otto swallowed hard, and for a moment, the arrogance vanished from his face.

— Stop talking nonsense. If you had done as I told you, you would have gotten pregnant by Daemon and secured the Iron Throne, but—

— Otto Hightower. — Ciri’s voice cut through the air, as lethal as her gaze. — Munã has said terrible things about you, including asking me to inform you that her patience grows shorter with each spring, and you insist on provoking her. — Ciri’s smile was cold, almost sharp. She extended her hand to Alicent. — Mother, let’s go before munã decides to make roast meat before bedtime.

The redhead looked at her father once more before stepping away, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude for the girl’s protective instinct.

— Thank you. — Alicent whispered, recognizing Ciri’s action as an act of courage and intelligence. Rhaenyra, had she noticed, would certainly have attacked Otto without mercy, delivering him to Syrax as dessert.

The two of them approached where the princess was animatedly talking with two old friends: Harwin Strong and Laenor (the only Velaryon who wasn’t an idiot). Alicent felt a small sense of relief as she left the direct tension with Otto behind, allowing her body to relax just a little.

— There she is, the Queen of Words. — Laenor said loudly upon seeing Alicent approach, with a smile that tried to disarm the formality of the setting.

— Quiet, Laenor, do you want the queen to have an attack? — Alicent replied with a smile, though inside she felt a slight pride at being recognized.

She stood beside Rhaenyra, who promptly welcomed her into an embrace. The simple exchange of glances conveyed everything: protection, complicity, and silent affection.

— I’m just saying no one beats you with words.

— And it’s true, Alicent is the best. — The princess agreed fondly, her eyes shining with affection. — What was your father doing? Tormenting you?

— Please, my love, not now. — Alicent asked, and when Rhaenyra snorted while glaring at Otto, she held her wife’s face with both hands, seeking her gaze and silent approval. — He’s not worth it.

The whispered words could be heard by those nearby, but they were enough for Rhaenyra to refocus on the conversation with her friends.

— Did you know Harwin had another child? — the princess told her wife, with a smile that mixed curiosity and lightness.

— By the Seven, Harwin, how many is that now? Five?

— Four. And another boy. For now, only Illy is a girl. By the way, she would make a great friend for Ciri. — Harwin pointed toward someone in the distance, but she was turned away, and no one got a good look at the girl.

— And who said my daughter doesn’t have friends? — Rhaenyra said in a tone that was almost offended, a faint laugh on her lips.

— She’s your daughter; the answer is already implied, isn’t it? — Laenor joked, drawing a genuine smile from Ciri.

She had no friends anywhere. No one, besides Alicent and Rhaenyra — but they were more than simple friends. The care, the attention, the protection, and the entire history of motherhood made it clear to Ciri that if she chose Westeros as her home, those women would not be merely friends — they would be her family, her safe harbor.

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