The Pilgrim
An unbeliever as Baela was in prophecies, portents and dreams, she had struck out of King's Landing with five hundred men at her back on account of her sister's. She would ride leagues to the west, on a quest to claim the largest of the four remaining dragons in the world, a dragon she did not truly desire, and use her power to free his supposedly alive brother from the impending shackles he would be bound in, in a future they were working to prevent. How strange did that all sound?
Father, grim as he was, more so as the war wore on, would have laughed. Hope is a sweet poison, he oft used to say. Grandfather would have tried to shake some sense into her, in that wise, old voice of his. Hope is a fool's ally, he'd said once. Now, there was truly nothing lighting her dark path but hope. After such a long time of being made a shadow of herself because of grief and hurt and captivity, she had allowed hope back into her heart again; hope that she could rescue her little brother and ensure his safety, hope that she could stitch together something out of the tattered remains of her broken family.
A chuckle escaped her. Mayhaps she had finally gone mad. Grief was known to do that; twist people into shapes they could not comprehend, contort them into forms they were not meant to hold. She'd seen what grief and debilitating loss had done to Cousin Rhaenyra; fashion her into an unliving wraith, filled with suspicion, paranoia and sometimes even malice. She'd witnessed what grief did to Father; how weary it had made him, too drained to go on fighting, to go on living, even for them.
If her grief made her delusional with hope of seeing her remaining family as whole as could be, she could not ask for better, she supposed. Cousin Rhaenyra succumbed to the flames of a dragon she had failed to kill. Father died at the hands of a dragon she had failed to claim. Because of her failure, they died cruel, unspeakable deaths, amid blood and fire. If her little brother turned out to be alive, as Rhaena claimed, she could not fail him too. Baela could not live with herself if she did.
Of the remaining dragons, Silverwing was the ideal choice. Twice bound and twice ridden, she was already used to the presence of men, and known to be rather docile and friendly, for a dragon. It why she had to claim her, before another thought the same and succeeded, casting the fate of her family in further peril.
The ease of claiming the Silver Queen was in sharp contrast to the others. The Sheepstealer was taken by her rider to the wild mountains in the Vale. Finding him, let alone dispatching his current rider, would be impossible, had been impossible in her sister's dreams, without using another dragon. The Cannibal required a long and drawn-out scheme to tame, a scheme too dangerous to attempt without the safety offered by another dragon. Truly, the bleak circumstances they currently faced made Silverwing her only choice. It was fortunate that she was the oldest and largest of the remaining dragons. More than that, her travels to seek her out gave them a unique opportunity.
On her journey to the other side of the realm, she'd agreed with Rhaena to fulfil other tasks. The first was almost upon her, she mused, as Tumbleton came into view. It had taken six days of hard riding southwest, in the gloom of the fallen winter, to cover the sixty leagues that separated King's Landing from the modest market town. Fortunately for them, there had been no encounters with bandits that whole way, and thus the numbers of her company remained at the original five hundred.
A sea of carrion birds dispersed with some urgency at the rapid beating of two thousand hooves headed in their direction. Let them go, Baela thought as she pulled on the reigns of her courser, bringing him to a walk as they passed the gates of the town to enter them. Usually, she would ride in the middle of the pack as they trotted through the countryside to keep her safe if attacked, but today, she was at the vanguard, dressed in Targaryen red and black, to be seen by any remaining nobility in the town.
Corwyn Corbray, Rhaena's friend, was right beside her, with their standard-bearers right alongside them. The banner they had chosen was the true Targaryen banner, not the quartered standard that supporters of Cousin Rhaenyra's cause had chosen to differentiate themselves from the usurper's golden dragon. The war had ended, the crown had been restored, and the two factions of would be joined by Aegon marrying the usurper's daughter, much to her chagrin.
It did not seem that the banners were necessary. There were more bones and corpses than there were people in the town. The war had taught her the smell of death, and it hung thick in the air. Two battles had taken place here; the first where the two betrayers turned their cloaks and fought with those they were meant to slaughter. The second, when Cousin Addam brought the wrath of Seasmoke upon the town to show his loyalty to the queen that spurned him. All three were dead now, two of the dragons her beloved had granted them dead with them.
The sight of the three dead dragons was somehow more disquieting than the remains of the people being devoured by the carrion birds. The dragons seemed frozen in time, untouched by any of the vermin that had consumed all other corpses, their blood paving the streets in black, their flesh still preserved and unrotten even now, a year after the battle that killed them. Even the blood flies present everywhere else seemed repelled by dragon's flesh.
The Bronze Fury, once the mount of a king, lay dead with his great tan wings tattered, Seasmoke's silver-grey head still in his maw. The rest of Seasmoke's body was under Vermithor, the place where his head had once joined his neck caked over with black blood. Tessarion was some distance away, the bronze swirls in her beautiful cobalt scales glinting in the daylight, gloomy as the winter's day was. There were three shafts of arrows buried deep in his left eye, and she could not help but turn her nose up at that.
It was perversion for a dragon, the most hallowed of creatures, to be put down as if a common dog or a horse in too much pain to continue living. Alas, dead she was, and there was nothing she could do concerning that. All she could do was fight to preserve the dragons left in the world and ensure they were under her family's control.
Baela had one of the two Dragonkeepers she travelled with summoned, "Have the remains of the dragons cut up, to be taken to Dragonstone."
Rhaena's plans with the remains and flesh of the dragons once they got to Dragonstone filled her with uneasiness. Though reticent of the dangers, she could not deny that having them returned to the island was a better fate than them serving as a source of coin for the lady of these lands. At least that was what had happened in Rhaena's dreams. Gods, she sounded so neglectful in what Rhaena had told her of the dreams thus far.
Almost the entirety of the company dismounted their horses to help with the work, with about a score of the men remaining ringed around her, assuring her safety. Half a hundred of them would accompany the dragons' remains and see them returned to Dragonstone, and the Dragonkeepers there had already been instructed of what to do with them as she went to rescue Viserys.
It was about an hour into the task that they were interrupted by a score of men, though calling them men would be a gross overstatement, armed, armoured and brandishing swords. At the head of that meagre host was a lady, who Baela assumed at once was Sharis Footly, regent for her bastard son born of Bold Jon Roxton. The lady had more sense than those she led, it seemed, and had her guards lower their swords and slow their horses at the sight of the prominent three-headed red dragon flying on their banners.
The lady must have seen her head of silver hair and eyes like lilac, for she dismounted her horse and bowed deeply.
"Princess," she said, "I am Sharis Footly, Lady Regent of Tumbleton, and I welcome you to these lands."
"My lady," she replied, with a false smile on her face, "Thank you for your warm welcome. My brother, King Aegon Targaryen, sent me here to see to the return of these dragons back to their rightful resting place on Dragonstone."
The lady was more daring than Baela thought, "The dragons died on Tumbleton, after devastating it, twice. Nothing remains here, apart from corpses and bones. I was to use them to bring coin that I could use to restore the town. It is only right that they do so after all the destruction they caused."
"My lady, I believe you misunderstand me," Baela replied through gritted teeth, "These are Targaryen dragons, owned by the king, and it is up to the king to decide what is to happen to their remains."
Lady Footly's fury was thinly-veiled, and she looked about to say more, but she had a look at her, the men surrounding her and the ones busy with the dragons. She decided otherwise.
"Of course, princess."
"You have my thanks, my lady. I do apologise for the devastation that the usurper's war wrought upon your lands and people. My brother is the king now, and he will bring peace to all in the realm, I promise you that."
Lady Sharis said nothing more, instead remounting her horse and trotting back to her castle at the top of the hill, her escort behind her.
Corwyn was beside her, with eyes full of admiration. He would learn soon enough that she was not Rhaena, "We could take her tongue for sedition, princess."
"That is unnecessary," Baela replied, "The dragons are what we need. Nothing more."
The next two days and nights were spent cutting up the remains of the dragons, having said pieces placed on wagons they found in the town itself or got from the nearby villages. They set up camp at the outskirts of the town, but Baela did not to sleep, for her slumber these days was filled with golden fire raining down upon her, choosing instead to watch as the men finished their task and the hundred and fifty that were to sail to Dragonstone alongside the Dragonkeeper were chosen.
If she made good time, Baela could arrive on Dragonstone with Viserys before they did, for they had to travel sixty leagues with fifty wagons full of the remains of the three dragons that died here, and, together with the remains of those dragons that died in the Dragonpit, load them aboard the waiting ships in King's Landing before they sailed on.
By Corwyn's advice, they chose to follow the Mander River down to Bitterbridge after a day of rest for her men, though she'd wished to sully forth through the countryside heading westwards, straight to Red Lake. Fortunately, her normal bullheadedness gave way to sense, for there was no need of chancing bandits or getting lost on the confusing trails, making her take a much longer time than she would have if they followed the river nonetheless.
It took five days at a swift canter following the Mander for Bitterbridge to come into view. The destruction that took place here was not as devastating as Tumbleton's, but there was destruction nonetheless. Results of Tessarion's wrath at her rider's youngest nephew being torn apart by a mob here.
Not caring for the potential displeasure of the town's lord, she commanded her host to cross the bridge itself and continue due westwards towards Castle Goldengrove. She had no appetite to feast her eyes upon further destruction. That night, they camped right beside the wide road that joined the two castles, a few leagues away from the ruined town that was named for the blood that stained the bridge in some battle during Maegor the Cruel's reign.
That night, in her dreams, she was flying in the skies upon Moondancer, happy as could be, only for golden fires to suddenly burn her and her dragon out of the sky. She felt the searing heat upon her skin of her stomach, and the immense pain as it began to mottle and char… only, for it to heal, as the scorching golden heat turned into a cleansing silver warmth and the pain turned into the same wonderful sensation she got from taking her baths piping hot. Looking down at her skin, she was naked, though healed. No wounds on her stomach, no pain. Nothing. She felt cleansed…whole.
There was determination coursing through her as she saddled her rested courser and mounted him, bound westwards once more. Again, like the previous days, they set off in a canter, riding hard for hours, only stopping when Corwyn urged her to.
"We'll be only slower if your horse breaks his leg or dies of exhaustion, princess," he told her once she complained of the frequent breaks he was having them take for the horses to be watered and fed. There were multiple inns on the road between the two castles, and thus Baela did not have to make camp with the men for the eight days that it took to reach Goldengrove. Even better, she was able to get the little clothes she brought with her washed and dried.
It was the morning of the eighth day after passing Bitterbridge that Lord Rowan's castle finally came into view, sitting astride the branch of the Lesser Mander that flowed from Silverhill. Again, Baela did not wish to waste precious time she could have instead spent reunited with her brother, courting the attention of the lord of the castle, but alas, there were men astride their own horses, carrying the banners of House Rowan, a golden tree on a silver field, waiting for them some distance from the castle. How had they got word of her coming?
"Princess," one of them, with the same sigil sown onto his left breast, addressed her when they neared the castle, seated atop his horse, "I am Ser Robert Rowan, son and heir to Lord Thaddeus rowan. On his behalf, I welcome you to Goldengrove."
"Thank you for the warm welcome, Ser Robert," Baela replied, trying not to let her annoyance leak through to her voice, "Though I fear that visiting your father's castle was not my intention. I was merely passing through."
The man's voice was too bright and bluff for his own good, "I must insist. Stay, even if it is only to have a meal. I am sure you've come to find the taste of wild game utterly tiresome. Our scouts brought reports of you and your host camping in the wild, as if in battle."
Ah, that is how the Rowans came to know of her travels. There were murmurs behind her, the men encouraging her to accept the offer. A smirk graced her features, "As long as you feed all three hundred and fifty of us, and our horses."
She swore she saw Ser Robert's face dim a tiny bit, but his smile remained nonetheless, "Very well, princess. It would be remiss for us to not show hospitality to all our visitors."
They were on their way the next dawn, after they and their horses were feasted to their hearts content, and they were given fresh food to take with them. There would be no more distractions, Baela decided as she put her spurs into her horse, Corwyn, as ever, riding beside her, these days a quiet presence. The adoration he had of her, no doubt thanks to sharing the same face with her twin, seemed to have faded. That was how it had always been with the two of them. Rhaena was always the one adored, admired and beloved, not Baela.
There was a thrumming deep in her chest by the second day of travel after leaving Goldengrove, getting louder and louder, filling her mind. Taking care to ensure at least a tacit obedience to Corwyn's requirements for the feeding and resting of their horses, Baela rode her stallion as hard as she could, while she shortened the breaks as much as she could to get more time for riding. Until now, they had been stopping at sunset to hunt game and make camp for the night, but this time, by her command, she had her host riding long after the moon had ascended the sky, only stopping when forced to by most of her men.
Thanks to her stubbornness and their resulting speed, the Red Lake itself came into view on the noon of the fourth day after setting off from Goldengrove. The thrumming in her chest had grown louder and more constant, taking over her entire being. An earth-shattering roar split the skies right as they reached the edge of the lake. They were covered by the shadow of leathern wings momentarily, and Baela looked up to see the Silver Queen herself, riderless and saddleless, her silver wings glittering in the daylight, flying back towards her lair at the lonely isle in the middle of the lake.
The buzzing in her chest ceased, sharpening into something else, an urge, single-minded and resolute.
To her displeasure, there were no rafts or boats that she could use to sail to the isle in the middle of the lake. She would have swum, but she needed to saddle the dragon in order to fly, and the saddle was too heavy for her to lug along with her as she swam, or to fasten onto Silverwing by herself.
"We need a raft," she told Corwyn.
"Mayhaps we could ask the Lord of the castle," he replied, pointing to the castle due north, also found at the edge of the lake.
"There are trees here," Baela suggested, pointing to the scattered pines that grew around the lake, "There are more than three hundred of us. Can't we make a raft?"
"Aye, we can," Corwyn countered, "But let us ask first. It might be that he has one already or has the tools to make one, something that will save us time."
There was no faulting that logic, and thus she agreed, spurring her courser into a trot towards Castle Red Lake, the seat of House Crane, her merry band of men following behind her. The drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised once their standards were identified by the men-at-arms manning the battlements. Baela, Corwyn and a score of men went in, the rest being left outside the gates, for the courtyard was too small to fill all three hundred of them.
"Princess," an aged man, though still hale and hearty, greeted her, "'Tis truly a surprise to see you in my home. Welcome to Red Lake. I am Lord Ellard Crane, lord of this castle and its attendant lands."
"Thank you for the warm welcome, Lord Ellard, though I am not to stay for long," Baela replied, not dismounting from her horse, "There's a dragon in your lands. The king sent me to retrieve her and see her returned to King's Landing."
The Lord's face turned grave, "Oh, yes. You have my thanks, princess. Silverwing rests at the lake. Your presence is a relief. You see, she has been a blight on my lands, stealing whole herds of flocks from my common folk. Compensating them has been a trial on my coffers."
"You needn't worry about that any more," she said with a bright smile, "She will disturb you no longer in short order. All I need is a raft to cross the lake and reach her lair. Could you help us with that?"
"Of course, of course," the ancient man sputtered, turning to one of the men behind him and mouthing instructions Baela could not hear.
The men disappeared into a building on the side of the main castle. They emerged long moments later with a raft secured atop a wagon, a horse pulling it. Corwyn gave her a knowing look. An eye-roll was a fitting reply for that, she thought.
"We had to have it stowed away when the dragon came, for fear that she would burn it. The isle there is quite peaceful. My grandsons and great-grandsons loved going there, before the dragon claimed it for her own, that is," the lord explained as they made their way out of the castle.
Corwyn and the Dragonkeeper themselves helped her unload the dragon's saddle out of the pack-horse and into the boat. Five other men came with her to row.
Silverwing was asleep when they came upon her lair. The rest of the men were left inside the raft as she and the Dragonkeeper waded closer to the dragon, unafraid but cautious. Baela had to remind herself to tug on that place in her mind that had been bonded with Moondancer once, to open herself up to be bound to a dragon again. For so long now, it had been unusually empty. It felt as if a piece of her was missing. Even before Moondancer had emerged from her egg, the two of them had their souls connected. Her dreams had been filled with visions of her, huge and ancient and beautiful, her emerald wings cracking like thunder as she flew, her pearlescent fires torching everything beneath her.
No matter how short her life, Baela would always remember her, even if no one else did. Since before she hatched, she had been a part of her soul, and she liked to believe that she was part of hers, in some way. It did not matter, nonetheless. Moondancer was dead and gone, whatever remained of her in Sunfyre's belly.
The Silver Queen was here, however, and Baela needed her to get her little brother back. She could not do that if she spent the rest of her long life mourning a dragon that had not truly grown out of her infancy. Viserys needed her, and needed her now. It was time to let go of past bonds, and seize the future before it all turned to ashes, as Rhaena had hinted it would.
The large dragon stirred awake from her slumber when she got near. Showing no fear, Baela went up to her and gave affectionate pats to her snout, the dragon not even showing an ounce of hostility. Silverwing took a deep breath, taking in Baela's scent, sending her lengthened hair aflutter. She watched as Silverwing shut her large yellow eyes in contentment, before opening them again, this time her irises narrowed to slits.
A smile graced her features as she felt something new clasp with her, deep in her mind and soul, in that same place that Moondancer once occupied. Baela took her own deep breath, gently tugging at that place, opening her mind, laying her soul bare before this great beast that had been a queen's dragon for more than half a century. She would be hers for the rest of her life, she was sure, now that the bloody war between dragons was at an end.
Giddiness flooded her as she skipped to the waiting Dragonkeeper and knight, satisfied with their nascent bond, instructing them to come help her saddle the dragon. Baela checked and rechecked all the fastenings once it was done, Silverwing remaining still by her whispered command as she did so.
"Never ride a saddle you haven't secured yourself," Cousin Rhaenyra had told her sons again and again as she taught them how to ride their own mounts. It was a lesson she had taken to heart, more so after Joffrey fell into the Narrow Sea once during one of their frequent races, thanks to his saddle not being securely fastened to Tyraxes. Father had almost gone apoplectic, though he was relieved when Tyraxes dove in after his bonded and scooped him up in his claws right as he was about to touch the water.
Satisfied with the attachments of the saddle to the dragon, he went round to the base of her neck, where the wings began from and mounted, ready to take the flight that would seal their bond.
"Sōvegon!" she whispered, almost fearfully, terrified that Silverwing would disobey her, despite knowing the chances of that happening to one with a lineage as pure as hers impossible, especially with this dragon.
Silverwing was born to Alysanne Targaryen, the Good Queen, daughter of a Targaryen father and a Velaryon mother, with Targaryen grandmothers on both sides of the family. No one fit that mould more than her, daughter of the Rogue Prince and the Pearl of Driftmark, granddaughter to both riders of Meleys the Red Queen, Alyssa and Rhaenys Targaryen.
The Silver Queen leapt into the air with a grace that was unfathomable for a beast of her size. The clasp between their souls snapped shut, their bond sealed for the rest of her life, before Baela withered and died and the Silver Queen was claimed by her descendant. She circled the lake thrice, before landing on the small isle the dragon had occupied.
"Ser Corwyn, I thank you for your escort all this way," she told the alarmed knight, "I will not forget this kindness, believe me, and when the time comes, I will ensure the king rewards you appropriately. Lord Crane will feast you and your men in his castle for up to a fortnight, if you wish. When you return to King's Landing, you may do so flying the Targaryen banner. I believe my sister has need of you still."
His cheeks burned bright red, and Baela thanked the wind as Silverwing beat her wings that her laugh could not be heard. She landed momentarily outside Castle Crane's gates and shouted instructions to the men in the battlements from atop her dragon. She sat much higher than their walls stood.
"Have your lord feast my men for as long as they wish to stay! The crown will compensate you for this! Ensure they want for nothing as they return to King's Landing."
Not caring for a response, she ordered Silverwing into the air once more, flying southwards, to fulfil another one of the tasks she had set out to, almost a moon's turn ago now.
Joy radiated from the Silver Queen's being and leaked into her usually grim demeanour, reminding her to truly enjoy the magic of flying once more. She certainly did not feel like Moondancer, whose speed and nimbleness grandmother had sworn would one day rival Meleys'. She felt more… majestic, regal. Baela supposed it was fitting, for she had been born to a queen and been her bonded for three score years. Her bearing truly fit her sobriquet, one she'd inherited from Meraxes of old.
Flying brought her more delight than she'd felt since the war began, a kind of free-spirited and uninhibited happiness that she thought impossible with all the tragedy she suffered and all the loss she had endured. Not since Moondancer's hatching had she felt this free, this unrestrained.
Baela took Silverwing into whoops and loops, enjoying the feeling of lying upside down, even if momentarily. She bade the dragon climb and climb, high into the sky, above the winter's gloom until she could see the sun again. Was there a more fitting representation of her life?
She then bade the dragon descend. Silverwing obeyed handily, tucking her shimmering silver wings close to her body and falling with such speed that it terrified her. When riding a dragon, height was speed, and speed was height, Father had always said. Even the slowest dragon could catch a speedier one if it was falling from the sky. Right as she was about to hit the ground and probably kill herself, she ordered Silverwing to level off, flying towards the Chequy River that snaked through the lands below.
Silverwing's hind limbs strafed the waters of the river. The roar that left her maw terrified all the common folk by the riverbank as they felled trees for fuel to use during the winter and spread manure upon the soil before it got covered in snow.
Reminding herself of her sacred mission, Baela sobered from her rather childlike spell, and ordered her Silver Queen to climb some height into the sky, though not so far, as she still needed to see the ground below. She'd forgotten to carry her far eye that would allow her to soar above the clouds while still seeing the terrain below her. It was still day time as well, and therefore she could not use the stars for navigation if she flew that high.
The dragon evened out to the point where the world stretched beneath her as if it was the fifty-foot map of the Painted Table, upon which she had been taught how to navigate from place to place throughout the realm.
This journey's course had been burned into her brain. She would follow the Chequy River until it drained into the Sunset Sea, before following the coast south, past the Shield Isles, down to Blackcrown. She would then turn northwest towards her next destination, Oldtown.
Last she had spoken with Rhaena, the Hightowers had yet to accept Grandfather's terms of peace in exchange for a pardon for the treason they committed in the war. Her sister had told her of how prideful Lord Lyonel was, a man who believed in the power he wielded and the gold he could use to continue the war, gold stolen from the crown's treasury by the usurper and delivered to his high tower at the onset of the Dance. Baela was to make sure he did not; or rather, the sight of Silverwing was to make sure he did not.
Apart from that, there were other endeavours to see to. They were to court the High Septon's favour. Rhaena had told her that His High Holiness would make himself an enemy to the Hightowers due to his opposition of their lord taking his father's second wife to bed. She had laughed herself to tears when she heard that. Still, her twin believed that with enough persuasion and with the right incentive, they could have the Faith headquartered in King's Landing within this decade or the next. It was a tasty prospect, she had to admit, something that would strip those pesky Hightowers of one of their pillars of power.
The second was a more sinister quest. She was to obtain glass candles, tools not seen in the world since the days of Valyria. Of this, she was the most sceptical, but in the end she agreed with her sister, for it was better that the four obsidian candles in the Citadel be taken into their possession. Once she returned, she would work to restrain her sister's arcane ambitions. Grand Uncle Vaegon was seneschal of the Citadel this year. She hoped he would not be too prickly to the point of refusing her. She would hate to use the threat of Silverwing's flames to get one of her blood to acquiesce to her wishes.
Oldtown came into view as darkness was falling upon the world. Since winter began, one could not really tell as the sun set, only when the light of the day began to dim and darkness slowly covered the lands.
The Hightower of Oldtown was undoubtedly the tallest tower Baela had ever seen. She had only ever read about it. Pale white stone, stepped as it went higher, it seemed as if it was clawing at the sky, with a beacon atop it that served as a lighthouse to guide ships to port. Eight hundred feet it stood, taller than even the Wall, taller than any tower in the world, truly.
Baela's pride was larger.
Four score years ago, Queen Alysanne had landed Silverwing atop the Hightower itself, fanning the flames of its beacon. She did the same now, with a difference. The Silverwing Alysanne rode then had been much, much smaller than hers. This time, the Silver Queen did not fan the flames of the beacon, but extinguished them, for she occupied almost the entirety of the rooftop, leaving only a small space for Baela to dismount. She spread her wings and gave a roar that was sure to be heard by the whole city, while casting shadows over the lands below.
Upon her command and with a furious beat of her leathern wings, she took off from the top of the tower, flying around the city, casting her large shadow over it, letting out sporadic roars. Let this treasonous city know that the flame of the dragon was yet to be extinguished. As she waited for the Lord of the Hightower to make the ponderous climb to welcome her, she chanced a look over the edge of the high wall of Hightower's rooftop. It felt as if she was looking over the edge of the world. It took her breath away.
The stars were above her and seemingly all around her, the clouds beneath her, veiling the flickering lights of the city below in fog and shadow, making them seem more distant, more dreamy. The world was seemingly at her feet. Was it any wonder that the Hightowers thought themselves as highly as they did, living so far above the rest of the world?
It was a travesty. This sight was meant for dragonriders, and dragonriders alone.
The opening of a door behind her brought her out of such pleasant thoughts of the Hightower aflame, crumbling like parchment and falling into the sea below it, or on the rest of the city, the fires spreading and consuming all in its wake, snuffing out the blight of those treasonous curs for all time.
What she assumed was lord and lady Hightower stepped up to the roof to join her.
"My Lady," the lord greeted with a bow. The lady beside him curtsied. He was young, of an age with her.
"My brother is the king," Baela corrected, her tone sharper than she would have liked, "And I am his heir, until he bears one of his body."
"Forgive me, princess," the boy made her title a mock, but she let that small slight go. He would know the true meaning of it in time, "I am Lord Lyonel Hightower, Lord of the Hightower, Beacon of the South, Defender of the Citadel and Voice of Oldtown," throwing his arm around the shoulder of the girl beside her, he continued, "And this is my lady, Samantha Tarly. Welcome to Oldtown, and the Hightower. I am sure you will find our hospitality to your liking."
It took all her composure to stop her face from twisting into a snarl, "Thank you for the warm welcome, my lord, my lady." She decided to throw in one jab at the both of them, though, "Though, I thought Lady Samantha Tarly was your father's wife."
The alarm on the lady's face disappeared in a moment, "My father is dead," the lord said, coming to her defence with greeted teeth.
"Worry not," Baela said, a bright smile on her face, "I am a Targaryen. It is certainly not for me to judge whom you choose to love."
The lady's smile was a true one, though she shivered in the night's cold, "Please do come in. It gets cold up here, especially in the nights."
"Oh," Baela replied, "Do forgive me. I do not mean to stay long. I have business I must attend to as soon as possible, and I only passed by your fair city to get what I need to do so."
"How may we be of service?" the lord was one to ask.
"I was made aware by my brother, the king, through Ser Tyland Lannister, that a large part of the crown's treasury was smuggled to Oldtown by the usurper."
The two of them looked at each other, before they turned to her and nodded, displeasure clear on the lord's face for naming his cousin a usurper.
"I need some of that gold for the task I am to undertake on behalf of the king. My weight in it. That should fit in three, maybe five chests?"
He assented again.
"Please, have said chests packed and brought up here, to be loaded upon my dragon," she made sure to specify the words 'my dragon' rather pointedly, gesturing to it as she took a lap down the Whispering Sound. "Once that is done, I will be off and out of your hair with speed. I must return to King's Landing by dawn. As I said, do forgive me. The king's business is rather urgent."
"Oh. Of course, princess. That will be done in short order. Mayhaps you could wait inside as the gold is packed? As my lady said, it does get rather cold."
"I will have to decline," Baela replied, her smile widening a tiny bit, "I do quite enjoy the view from up here. I wish to bask some more in it. And the night air does not bother me. I am well-dressed for it."
She would not be stepping into the lair of an enemy that had inflicted so much suffering upon her family, under any circumstance.
This was no place for a Targaryen, she thought, as she stared at the burnt out beacon that Silverwing had smothered with her sheer size. The usurper's youngest brother, the rider of Tessarion, from the little she could recall of him, had been a rather pleasant and chivalrous lad before he'd been brought here and seasoned with the overweening pride that seemed to run in his mother's bloodline.
Baela walked back to the parapet, staring at the view over its edge. For all she faulted its inhabitants, the view was beautiful.
She stared down for long moments, trying and failing to keep her anger at bay at the torment those born of this city had caused her and her family, when the door opened once more, this time armoured men climbing out with chests in hand. There were four chests in total, each full of gold, which she confirmed when they were opened them for her viewing. Lord and Lady Hightower were behind the men.
"Please, move back to the parapet," she told them as she summoned Silverwing, who came with speed and landed next to them, filling almost the entirety of the rooftop. Baela bade her flatten herself to the ground, and once she'd done so, the gold was loaded onto the dragon and securely fastened to the saddle.
Once done, she climbed the saddle herself, and turned to a terrified lord and lady Hightower, "Thank you for this. Please, ensure you have the rest of the gold returned to King's Landing as soon as you possibly can. I do hope that I'll see you at my brother's wedding and coronation." With that, Silverwing leapt into the air, though not before ensuring her hind limbs turned the beacon's pyre into an utter ruin. Let the ships of Oldtown get lost for a time. It's the least this fair city deserved.
Silverwing next landed outside the Citadel. Two acolytes approached quickly as Baela was admiring the two great Valyrian sphinxes that flanked either side of the gates. She did them the courtesy of descending her dragon.
"I wish to see Archmaester Vaegon."
The two nodded and went back inside. An old man with a drooped posture and lenses atop his nose came a long while later, unaccompanied by anyone else. His hair was white as snow, his face lined with age. The most striking thing about him, however, was his deathly pale skin. The only thing that could identify him as a Targaryen was the violet eyes that he'd inherited from his father, her great-grandfather.
"Grand Uncle, thank you for…"
"Say what you need and be done with it," he interrupted her, his tone filled with annoyance.
Father had told them stories of Vaegon, how prickly and blunt she was. Good, this would make things easier, "The four glass candles that the Citadel possesses."
Grand Uncle appeared to be considering her demand, before turning around a moment later and walking back through the gates. Baela stayed near Silverwing, running her gloved hands through her scales for the time it took him to return. He came with a large thin box about three feet long. She took a look inside to find three tall, thin pieces of twisted black obsidian with a fourth green one.
"They're useless," Vaegon said, once she'd finished inspecting them.
"The king still wants them," she said.
Their grand uncle did not grace that with a response, instead turning around and going back to shut himself up in his books, as he'd done for half a century. The vast chains around his neck rattled as he walked. She would not be surprised to learn that he had never seen the sun since he'd travelled to Harrenhal to oversee the assembly of the Great Council.
Silverwing leapt into the air and landed on the marble plaza of the Starry Sept momentarily. This time, her visit was short, only to tell the High Septon that the king would be honoured by him presiding over his wedding and coronation. She added the offer of bringing him to King's Landing herself atop her dragon on the day before the wedding, if their patrons continued with their scandalous union. All she had to do was to refuse to travel with them, and Baela would know his intentions and fly to Oldtown to retrieve him. The Father of the Faithful smiled, and she considered the battle won.
For the more unskilled in diplomacy between the Dragon Twins, she was doing remarkably well.
Finally, with night fully fallen, the moon risen, and the stars high in the sky, Baela set out onto her next destination, flying high in the sky, above the clouds, to find her lost brother and bring him home.
The Targaryens and their Dragons
Aegon Targaryen (b.120 AC)
Baela Targaryen (b.116 AC) - Silverwing (b.36 AC)
A female dragon born in 36 AC hatched from an egg laid by Quicksilver and sired by Balerion. Silverwing is the largest remaining dragon in the world, though considered docile and friendly towards even strangers. She has silver scales and wings, gleaming yellow eyes and silvery-yellow flames.
Rhaena Targaryen (b.116 AC) - Morning (b.131 AC)
A female dragon born in 131 AC hatched from an egg laid by Syrax and sired by Caraxes. Morning is a beautiful dragon, with vivid pink eyes, scales and wing-membranes. Her horns, crests, wing-bones, flames and claws are black.
Jaehaera Targaryen (b.123 AC)
Author's Note:
If you like the story, you can read upto three more chapters of it by searching up 'neyra29 linktree'.
A pretty coincidence that we've met three of Daella Targaryen's suitors/members of her suitor's family. Alysanne Blackwood, grandchild of Royce Blackwood, Corlys Velaryon himself, and Ellard Crane. Fun fact, Ellard Crane kissed Daella on the lips, something that, of course, made her cry.
Do you all think I'm railing too hard on Joffrey? Him climbing on Syrax was such an egregious unforced error that painted his entire character profile to me, as someone daring but rash and reckless. It was why I attributed almost dying because of a loose dragon's saddle to Tyraxes and Joffrey, not any of his siblings. (I was originally going to make it Vermax and Jacaerys as a soft parallel to how he died, but I changed my mind, as Jacaerys has been and will be mentioned enough in the story, I feel.)
What do you think of the POV title? Dragons are considered sacred creatures, with them generally being named after gods, and Baela considering them hallowed and holy. So, Baela is basically travelling for religious reasons, hence her being a Pilgrim.
As always, give me your thoughts on all this in the comments or join my Discord (link to that is in the aforementioned linktree) for more updates.