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kckt88 · 2 months ago

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Scorched Hearts V.

Summary:

'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep, the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite' - William Shakespeare (Romeo & Juliet).

Aemond and Valaena arrive at Storms End and the dragons begin their dance with devestating concequnces for both the Blacks and Greens.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Secret Relationship, Funeral, Grief, Mild Threats, Mild Violence, Dragon Battle, Death.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 5079

A.N - Don't hate me, things must be this way for a reason!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

Valaena stood next to her brothers, Jace and Luke, her eyes fixed on the pyre where her little sister, Visenya, was being laid to rest.

The crackling flames illuminated Rhaenyra and Daemon as they stood at the head of the pyre, their hands joined in silent farewell to their daughter. All around them, heads were bowed in respect, the weight of grief heavy on the air.

Valaena could feel the cut on her palm sting as she pressed her hand to her stomach.

As she watched her mother and Daemon, Valaena wondered if what she was about to do was too cruel, to subject her mother to yet more pain.

But there really was no other way, Aemond was right there was only one way for them to be together now.

As the final words of mourning were whispered, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the sombre silence. Valaena furrowed her brow and turned, watching as Ser Erryk stepped forward.

He stopped behind Rhaenyra, reaching into his bag and pulling out a gleaming golden crown—that once belonged to King Viserys. He knelt, holding it up with reverence, his voice steady as he swore his loyalty.

“I swear to ward the Queen, with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife hold no lands and father no children.”

Daemon stepped forward, taking the crown from Ser Erryk’s hands. He turned to Rhaenyra, his face filled with fierce devotion.

With a deliberate motion, he placed the crown upon her head, then bent his knee before her, his voice ringing out loud and clear. “My queen.”

The words seemed to resonate through the gathered crowd, and Valaena, Jace, and Luke immediately bent their knees.

Soon, everyone in attendance followed suit, paying homage to Rhaenyra and acknowledging her as their Queen.

After the funeral, the gathering made their way back inside Dragonstone. The heavy doors of the hall closed behind them, and Daemon stepped forward, announcing Rhaenyra to the assembled lords and knights.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Rhaenyra, now wearing her father’s crown, approached the painted table with determination. “What is our standing?” she asked, her voice sharp and commanding.

Daemon stood beside her. “We have 30 knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms. Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves much to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers.”

Valaena stepped forward. “You already have declarations from Celtigar, Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon.”

Rhaenyra nodded, acknowledging her daughter’s support. “My lady mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

Maester Gerardys spoke up. “Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace. With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

Rhaenyra’s expression tightened. “Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to treat with him myself.”

As the discussions continued, Steffon Darklyn stepped forward. “What about Winterfell and Storm’s End?”

At the mention of Storm’s End, Valaena felt her stomach churn. She tried to steady herself, taking slow, deep breaths to keep from being overtaken by the wave of nausea. But the feeling of unease persisted.

Lord Bartimos stepped forward. “With House Stark, the rest of the North will follow. But perhaps an offer of marriage will convince Lord Stark to declare for the Queen.”

Rhaenyra turned to him, her brow furrowing. “Whose hand do you suggest I offer, my lord?”

Bartimos glanced towards Valaena. “Princess Valaena, Your Grace. She is your heir, and a match between her and Lord Stark would be most beneficial.”

Valaena’s hand instinctively went to the cut on her palm, a reminder of the bond she had forged with Aemond the night before.

She traced the mark lightly with her fingertips, remembering his words, his vow to her. Her heart raced in her chest, but she forced herself to take a deep breath.

"I will agree to the match, mother," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Rhaenyra studied her daughter, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. “Are you sure?”

Valaena nodded, her eyes flickering to the painted table. “Yes. I will do what I must in order to support my queen.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened with pride, and she gave a short nod before turning her attention to other matters.

“And our enemies?”

Daemon’s face darkened. “We have no friends among the Lannisters. Tyland has served the Hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.”

Valaena, still feeling sick, forced herself to refocus on the discussion. “Without the Lannisters, you are not likely to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth.”

An older lord stepped forward, his voice blunt but respectful. “Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

Rhaenyra’s expression tightened. “The Greens have dragons as well.”

Jace added, “Three adults.”

Daemon’s smirk returned. “We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your oldest children have Silverwing, Vermax, and Arrax. Baela has Moondancer.”

Rhaenyra sighed. “Daemon, none of our dragons have been to war.”

“We need a place to gather,” Daemon replied, eyes gleaming with ambition. “A toehold large enough to house a sizable host. Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with the dragons. And we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”

Just then, Ser Erryk stepped forward, interrupting the conversation. “Your Grace a ship has been sighted offshore: a lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.”

Daemon charged past Rhaenyra, barking orders. “Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies.”

Rhaenyra followed him quickly, but Valaena remained behind, standing with Jace, Luke, and the other lords.

A wave of sickness washed over her once more, and she had to take several deep breaths to keep from vomiting.

As she steadied herself, she noticed Rhaenys watching her closely, a curious look on her face.

Valaena quickly turned her attention to Luke, who was fiddling with one of the dragon figurines on the painted table.

A heavy tension filled the room as Daemon and Rhaenyra returned, their expressions grim. Daemon was the first to speak, his voice laced with frustration. “The simple truth is this: we have more dragons than Aegon.”

Rhaenyra, however, looked unsettled as she added, “I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone.”

Valaena, standing with her brothers and the gathered lords, stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “Were terms delivered?”

Rhaenyra nodded, her face betraying no emotion. “If I acknowledge Aegon as king and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne, in exchange, he will confirm my possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to you, my trueborn daughter, upon my death. Jacaerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark and all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon. My sons, Lucerys, Aegon, and Viserys, will also be given places of high honour at court. And the King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent.”

Valaena’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. Everything Aemond had told her the night before was true.

The offer was generous, but the underlying manipulation was unmistakable. She glanced briefly at Daemon, whose face darkened with anger.

“It’s a farce,” Daemon scoffed, his voice cutting through the room. “Offering you that which you already possess, and I would rather feed all of our children to the dragons before I bend the knee to that drunken usurper cunt of a king-”

Rhaenyra ignored his biting tone, her gaze unwavering. “As Queen, what is my true duty to the realm, Lord Bartimos? Ensuring peace and unity? Or that I sit the Iron Throne, no matter the cost?”

Before Lord Bartimos could respond, Daemon interjected, his voice sharp. “That’s your father talking.”

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened. “My father is dead. And he chose me as his successor-to defend the realm, not cast it headlong into war.”

Daemon’s eyes flashed with fire. “Well, the enemy has already declared war. What are you going to do about it?”

Before the argument could escalate further, Valaena stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “That is enough. This back and forth is getting us nowhere. The most important thing now is for you to establish who your allies are.”

Just as the tension in the room seemed ready to boil over, a familiar voice broke through. “Quite right, Princess.”

All eyes turned to see Lord Corlys Velaryon, hobbling into the room, leaning on a wooden cane. His weathered face showed signs of recent illness, but his presence was commanding as ever.

Rhaenyra’s face softened with relief. “Lord Corlys, it brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

Corlys cast a glance at the painted table, surveying the situation. “Your declared allies? Too few to win a war for the throne.”

Rhaenyra remained steadfast. “We would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.”

Corlys raised a sceptical brow. “Hope is the fool’s ally.”

Rhaenyra’s voice grew resolute. “Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me, and soon terms will be delivered to Cregan Stark, offering him a marriage with Valaena in exchange for his support.”

At the mention of her name, Valaena stiffened, but she kept her expression neutral. She had already agreed to the match, but hearing it spoken aloud brought a fresh wave of dread.

Corlys nodded approvingly. “You have the full support of our fleet and house. But what would be more beneficial is a total blockade of the shipping lanes. If we seal the Gullet, we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

Lord Bartimos added, “When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround King’s Landing, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Greens’ surrender.”

Daemon’s eyes gleamed with ambition. “If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing, you must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.”

Maester Gerardys stepped forward, nodding. “I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace.”

Jacaerys, always eager to prove himself, stepped forward. “Send us. We should bear those messages ourselves. Dragons fly faster than ravens.”

Rhaenyra considered her son’s words, then nodded in agreement. “Very well. Prince Jacaerys will fly north, to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will go to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn-”

Valaena remembering Aemond’s words, stepped forward and said “-I will fly south to Storm’s End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon.”

Rhaenyra smiled and nodded “We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore. And the cost of breaking them.”

Valaena stood before the mirror as she worked through the final braid in her dark hair, each strand meticulously woven to stay in place during the flight.

She dressed herself in her riding leathers, the familiar feel of the well-worn material bringing a small comfort amid the tension.

Fastening the chain that secured her red dragon-scale patterned cloak across her chest, she pulled on her gloves, the last barrier between her and the journey ahead.

With a slow breath, she let her eyes drift to her reflection. Her gaze settled on her stomach, her gloved hand hovering there as she closed her eyes, whispering a silent prayer that what she was about to do was right.

Her heart felt heavy with more than just the weight of her mission; it carried secrets, promises, and a growing sense of duty.

A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. "It's time, Princess," a maid called softly from the hallway.

"I'm coming," Valaena replied. She took one final look around her chambers, a place of comfort and warmth, but now filled with uncertainty.

With a steadying breath, she turned and walked out, her footsteps echoing as she joined her mother and brothers on the balcony just off the grand hall.

Rhaenyra stood tall, her expression both resolute and weary.

As Valaena approached, her mother began to speak, her voice commanding yet tender. "It’s been said that as Targaryen’s, we are closer to gods than to men. And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms-we must answer to their gods."

Rhaenyra’s gaze swept across her children. "If you take this errand, you go as messengers not as warriors. You must take no part in any fighting. Swear it to me now under the eyes of the Seven."

Two servants stepped forward, carrying an enormous holy book emblazoned with the seven-pointed star. Valaena, Jace, and Luke each placed their hands on the ancient tome.

"I swear it," they said in unison, their voices mingling with the heavy air of responsibility that lingered over them.

Rhaenyra handed Jace a rolled-up piece of parchment. "Cregan Stark is closer to your age than he is to mine. I would hope, that as men, you can find some common interest. But I do hope you get a sense of the man to whom I offer your sister’s hand." Jace accepted the scroll with a nod, replying, "Yes, Your Grace."

Next, Rhaenyra turned to Luke, giving him another scroll. "Lady Jeyne Arryn is our kin. I expect you to receive a warm welcome but be mindful of others seeking her favour."

Luke took the scroll from her, his young face serious. "Yes, mother—Your Grace."

Finally, Rhaenyra faced Valaena. "Storm's End is just a short flight from here. Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honoured to host a princess of the realm and her dragon."

Valaena accepted her own scroll, bowing her head. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Go to it, then," Rhaenyra said, her voice firm, but there was a softness in her eyes.

Valaena turned to leave, but something pulled her back. She spun around, quickly closing the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around her mother in a tight embrace.

"Avy jorrāelan, muña," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion (I love you mother).

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, returning the embrace. "You're squeezing me too tightly, sweet girl."

Valaena pulled back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Sorry," she murmured, trying to compose herself.

Rhaenyra placed a gentle hand on her daughter's cheek, searching her face. "Is everything alright?"

Valaena nodded quickly, though her body betrayed her as her hands trembled. "Everything is fine."

Rhaenyra frowned slightly. "You're shaking. If you do not wish to journey to Storm’s End—"

"I must go," Valaena interrupted, her voice firm. "I will do my duty to my queen."

Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, lingering for a moment as if to pass on strength through the gesture. Valaena gave a weak smile before stepping back.

She turned to Jace, hugging him tightly. "Naejot se hūra se arlī lēkia," she whispered, their bond unspoken yet ever strong (To the moon and back brother).

Jace squeezed her hand in return, his expression sombre. "And to you, sister."

Next, she approached Luke, pulling him into her arms. She removed one of the beaded bracelets she wore and fastened it around his wrist.

"Naejot gaomagon ao ȳgha," she said softly, her voice full of affection. (To keep you safe).

Luke glanced down at the bracelet, his eyes wide with surprise and gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered.

Valaena gave him one last smile before stepping away, her heart heavy as she looked at her mother one last time, committing her face to memory.

Then without another word, she turned and descended the steps leading to the caverns where Silverwing awaited her.

Her pulse quickened with each step she took, her heart pounding against her chest as the cool air of the caverns greeted her. The sound of Silverwing shifting in her lair echoed in the distance

Valaena approached Silverwing, her dragon’s presence filling the cavern with a sense of calm and strength.

She ran her hand along the familiar, warm silver scales, the ridges rough beneath her fingers. “Zȳha jēda,” she whispered softly (It’s time).

Silverwing responded with a determined trill, her eyes glinting in the dim light of the cavern.

Without hesitation, she lowered her massive shoulder, allowing Valaena to climb up and into the saddle.

The motion was second nature now strapping herself in, she tightened her grip on the reins, her heart steady but her mind swirling.

"Sōves," she commanded, her voice strong, and with that, Silverwing lumbered out of the cavern, the ground shaking slightly beneath the dragon’s weight. (Fly).

The cool sea air hit them as they emerged, Silverwing spreading her great wings wide and pushing off the rocky outcrop with a powerful beat.

The rush of air roared in Valaena’s ears as they ascended, circling high above Dragonstone. The island's jagged cliffs and the roiling seas below looked small from their height.

The dark clouds and distant thunder mirrored the tension she felt in her chest.

Soon, she was joined by Jace on Vermax and Luke on Arrax on either side of her, their dragons majestic as they cut through the skies.

They were soon followed by Rhaenys on Meleys. Together, the four dragons flew in formation, their powerful wings moving in synchronized rhythm, the sound like distant thunder.

Valaena cast a glance at Jace and Luke, their figures resolute upon their dragons. Her heart clenched.

Let them be victorious, let them be safe.

One by one, they began to break off. Rhaenys on Meleys peeled away first, banking sharply to the east to patrol the Gullet.

Then Jace and Luke turned their dragons north. Valaena’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, knowing how important his mission was.

Valaena turned in her saddle, watching her brothers until they became distant specks against the horizon.

She whispered another prayer under her breath, hoping they would succeed in their tasks—and return unharmed.

With a deep breath, she refocused her mind. There was still much to do. Her own destination awaited, and Lord Borros Baratheon would not be an easy man to sway.

Aemond’s words from the night before echoed in her mind, his voice a low hum as she remembered the plan.

"You can do this” she whispered to herself.

Silverwing responded, her wings beating faster as they adjusted their course southward.

Valaena leaned forward, her eyes fixed ahead, as Dragonstone disappeared behind her.

The rain fell in sheets as Silverwing descended toward Storm’s End, her massive wings slicing through the storm-laden sky.

Valaena’s heart pounded in her chest as the dragon landed with a heavy thud, the ground trembling beneath her. She dismounted quickly, her boots splashing in the mud.

As her feet touched the ground, she reached out, running her hand along Silverwing’s warm, familiar scales.

The heat radiating from her dragon comforted her, the low, contented rumble from Silverwing reminding her she wasn’t alone.

But then, a deeper, more menacing growl echoed across the courtyard. Valaena froze. Her heart skipped a beat, and she slowly turned, her breath catching in her throat.

Vhagar.

The monstrous dragon loomed behind the castle walls, her hulking form visible even through the sheets of rain. If Vhagar was here, that could only mean one thing—Aemond was here, and everything was going according to his plan.

Valaena swallowed hard, her stomach knotting with anticipation and dread. She steeled herself, pushing away the swirl of emotions clawing at her insides. She could not afford to falter now.

The knights of Storm’s End approached her, their armour clinking softly as they trudged through the rain.

“I am Princess Valaena Velaryon, and I have a message for Lord Borros Baratheon, on behalf of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

The knight studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Come. Lord Borros Baratheon waits in the Great Hall."

Valaena cast a final glance back at Silverwing, before following the knights into the castle. The courtyard blurred around her as the rain soaked through her cloak and riding leathers.

The heavy wooden doors of Storm’s End slammed shut behind them with a resounding thud.

Inside, the Great Hall was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the stone walls.

Lord Borros sat on his makeshift throne, his figure round and imposing, his eyes sharp as they landed on the drenched princess before him.

“Princess Valaena of House Velaryon,” a herald announced, and all eyes in the hall turned toward her.

Her gaze shifted toward the side of the hall, where Aemond stood, his posture relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back.

He was speaking with one of Borros’s daughters, a striking young woman with dark hair and sharp eyes, who seemed completely captivated by him.

Valaena’s stomach churned with jealousy and anger—how dare that Baratheon bitch look at Aemond in such a way, he was her husband, and she was carrying his child.

Valaena took a deep breath and ignored the urge to go over there and slit that bitch from ear to ear, for even daring to look at Aemond in such a manner.

“Lord Borros, I have brought you a message from my mother—the Queen,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing within her.

Borros chuckled, his voice booming through the hall. “Yet earlier today, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it—King or Queen? The House of the Dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it!” His laughter was coarse, echoing in the dim hall.

Valaena glanced at Aemond, who smirked at her with a tilt of his head, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Borros grew impatient. “Well, then. What’s your mother’s message?”

Valaena handed the scroll to one of the knights, who quickly passed it to Borros. The Lord of Storm’s End squinted at the parchment, frowning. He summoned a Maester to read the letter aloud.

As the Maester relayed Rhaenyra’s message, Valaena could feel Aemond’s eye burning into her, though she refused to look at him.

Her clothes were soaked through, and she stood in a small puddle of rainwater, feeling the weight of every gaze in the hall.

Once the Maester finished, Borros leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin. “Remind me of my father’s oath. King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids, which of my daughters will your brothers wed?”

Valaena hesitated before answering. “My lord, I am afraid that only two of my brothers are of age, and neither is free to marry. They are already betrothed.”

Borros frowned, clearly unsatisfied. “And what of you, Princess?”

Her breath caught in her throat. "Me, my lord?"

Borros leaned forward, his interest piqued. “I no longer have a wife. You are of age to marry and, if you are anything like your mother, I am sure you will give me many sons.”

Valaena’s heart hammered in her chest, and she risked a glance at Aemond. His jaw clenched tightly, and his hand now rested on the pommel of his sword, his face a mask of barely contained fury at the Lord audacity.

“My lord, I am not free to marry either,” Valaena said, her voice firm. “My brother flies north to offer my hand in marriage to Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell.”

The hall fell silent. Aemond’s eye narrowed, his grip on his sword tightening. The Baratheon girl beside him looked perplexed, but Aemond paid her no mind.

His rage was palpable, radiating from him like a storm, his wife had just declared she had been betrothed to that northern dog.

Aemond had to force himself to calm down, they had a plan, and he had to stick to it, he couldn't let his possessiveness over Valaena ruin what they had practised.

Borros scoffed. “Then you come with empty hands. Tell your mother the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up at need.”

Valaena dipped her head in a polite bow. “I will take your answer to the Queen.”

As she turned to leave, the wind howled outside, and the storm raged even harder. But before she could take a step, Aemond’s voice cut through the hall like a blade. “Wait, my lady Strong.”

Valaena froze, her heart pounding.

“Did you really think you could fly about the realm, stealing my brother’s throne, without paying the cost?”

She turned to face him, her heart pounding. “I will not fight you,” she said. “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

Aemond laughed, withdrawing a dagger from his belt and tossing it at her feet. “Fight would be little challenge. No, I want you to put out your eye. As payment for the one your bastard brother carved from my skull.”

Valaena’s voice was cold, unyielding. “It is not my debt to pay, besides I thought your claim of Vhagar was worth the loss of an eye, you yourself declared it was a fair exchange. Or is your hoary old bitch of a dragon no longer worth it?”

Aemond’s smirk faded. His face twisted with faux anger, her words cutting deep. “You dare speak of Vhagar that way?” he hissed. “You know nothing of what it means to command the largest dragon in the world-”

“Oh, I know a thing or two about dragons,” Valaena retorted. “Do you truly believe Vhagar could withstand a combined attack from Silverwing, Caraxes, and Meleys? She may be the largest, but even she is not invincible.”

Aemond simply stared at her, his expression unreadable as he processed her words.

"-You always seem so eager to remind everyone how large Vhagar is," said Vaelyssa, a sly smile playing on her lips. "-One might wonder if you're trying to overcompensate for other-smaller matters-"

Borros Baratheon’s other daughters who were huddled together beside their father clasped their hands to their mouths and let out a melodious giggle that echoed around the hall, the intent behind Valaena’s comment clear for all to understand.

Aemond charged toward her, picking up the dagger. “Give me your eye, or I will take it bastard!”

Before he could close the distance, Lord Borros quickly rose from his throne. “Not in my hall!” he roared.

Aemond came to a sudden halt, breathing heavily, his eye locked on Valaena.

“-The girl came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Princess Valaena back to her dragon. Now”

Valaena was then surrounded by guards and as she cast Aemond a look and she saw him nod sharply and mouth a single word—go.

She nodded back before she turned and followed the guards out into the storm and back to Silverwing.

Then without a word, Aemond stormed out of the hall, his boots echoing off the stone floor with each purposeful step.

Lord Borros called out after him, his voice reverberating through the chamber, "Prince Aemond, wait!"

Aemond didn’t stop. His jaw clenched as he pushed past the guards and courtiers that crowded the entrance of Storm’s End, his mind singularly focused.

He wasn’t interested in what Borros had to say. His thoughts were consumed by Valaena and their plan.

Valaena rushed through the storm, her boots slipping slightly on the rain-soaked stones as she reached Silverwing.

Her hands found the dragon’s warm, wet scales, and she pressed her palms against them, feeling the steady rhythm of her companion’s breath.

“Dokimarvose, Silverwing,” Valaena murmured urgently, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. “Lykirī se Rȳbās, tāemītsos naejot se kȳvanon.” (Focus, be calm and listen. Stick to the plan).

Silverwing let out a soft trill, her massive body shifting slightly as if to acknowledge the words. Valaena quickly climbed into the saddle, the leather straps slippery beneath her fingers. She fastened herself in, securing the reins tightly in her gloved hands.

With a deep breath, she shouted, “Sōves!” (Fly!)

Silverwing spread her wings and launched into the sky with powerful strokes, the wind and rain battering them as they ascended through the storm.

Valaena clenched her jaw against the force of the gale, her heart pounding in her chest. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the swirling clouds as they climbed higher and higher.

But then, a roar echoed through the storm, deep and earth-shaking. Valaena twisted in her saddle.

Through the thick clouds, she saw the hulking form of Vhagar chasing after them.

Tugging on the reins, she leaned hard to the left and shouted, “Aderī, Silverwing! Elēnās geptot!” (Quickly, bank left!)

Silverwing responded instantly, banking sharply to the left, her wings slicing through the rain. But Vhagar followed with terrifying persistence.

“Embrot!” Valaena shouted next, her voice straining against the wind. (Down!)

Silverwing tucked her wings tight against her body and dove sharply, cutting through the clouds like a blade.

The sudden dive gave them a burst of speed, and Vhagar, being as large as she was, couldn’t move as swiftly. Valaena glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see the growing distance between them.

The time had come to carry out Aemond’s plan, the only way they could be together, she just hoped her mother in time would understand why this had to happen.

Valaena tugged on the reins and commanded, “Pālegon!” (Turn!)

Silverwing arched through the air, twisting around to face Vhagar once more. The massive dragon loomed ahead, her wings spread wide, dark against the stormy sky.

Valaena braced herself, quickly hooking the spare strap from her saddle to her waist, making sure it was secure.

She reached for the chain that held her dragon-scaled cloak in place, tearing it from her shoulders and letting it fly off into the wind, the heavy fabric disappearing into the storm.

“Gīda, Silverwing” Valaena whispered, her voice calm despite the pounding of her heart. (Steady.)

Silverwing steadied her flight as they closed in on Vhagar, the two dragons hovering in the sky, locked in a face-off.

Rain poured down in torrents, streaking across Valaena’s face, but she ignored it, her eyes fixed on Aemond.

He was there, atop Vhagar, as he raised his voice and yelled, “Drakarys!”

The word reverberated through the air, and flames erupted from Vhagar’s massive jaws, a torrent of fire rushing toward them.

But Valaena was ready as she shouted with all her might, “Drakarys!”

Silverwing answered her call, unleashing a blaze of fire in return. The two dragons’ flames met in the air, clashing in a violent explosion of heat and light.

The storm around them was momentarily drowned out by the roar of the fire, illuminating the dark sky as the two mighty beasts faced each other

TBC

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