Queen's Landing

'To the soaring dragon, those on the ground are like ants. It's only when the dragon lands does it realize; they are surrounded by pigs.' 

-Taken from 'The Early Musings of Prince Rhaenar' by Brien Flowers.

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In the sky, beyond any peak known to man, and higher still, the world below seemed trivial, like something out of a dream instantly forgotten upon the awakened.

An endless expanse from horizon to horizon, the air stretched cold and thin, its blue hue containing more black than expected, as if one could reach up and peel away the firmament separating Earth from the stars.

Under the right conditions, there was nothing as peaceful as the calm isolation the sky afforded. Massive clouds ambled by, rolling and folding on each other like billowing grey waves of a cosmic ocean.

On sunny days, only one thing dared to breach the peace.

'Faster.'

Piercing through the clouds that at ungodly speeds was the dragon, Syrax.

The she-dragon's green eyes gleamed in the sunlight, matching the brilliance of her yellow scales. 

Yet, they paled in comparison to the shining gemstone that was her rider, Princess Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra gripped the reins tightly through her riding gloves. Her silver hair flailed wildly in the wind, while her violet eyes, a distinctive trait of her Targaryen lineage, sparkled with determination.

'Faster,' thought Rhaenyra as Syrax dove toward the earth. Butterflies filled her stomach.

'Faster, faster!'

The dragon descended like a comet, or perhaps a shooting star longing for a wish.

With a whoosh of her wings, Syrax felt the tug from her rider, and together they reared up just in time to avoid crashing into the terracotta rooftops of King's Landing.

Most of the capital's residents were accustomed to dragon activity, paying little heed except for the children, whose hearts still held wonder.

However, lately, the princess's excursions bore a fervor beyond the typical joy ride of a dragon lord.

As Syrax's gust loosened a rain of red bricks, smallfolk scrambled for shelter. Swooping and soaring, the dragon cast a modest shadow over the city until they reached Aegon's high hill.

With precision, Rhaenyra steered their flight path around the Red Keep, daring to fly as close to its royal towers as her skill allowed.

The spectacle would have impressed anyone, even her peers. Yet the princess remained unsatisfied.

'It's still not enough,' thought Rhaenyra, echoed by a frustrated roar from Syrax.

Regardless of the rider's feelings, if the smallfolk weren't so used to it, Syrax's roar was a tyrannical shriek, instilling fear reminiscent of fairy tales.

Rhaenyra circled King's Landing before heading toward its northern side.

There, atop Rhaenys's Hill, stood the Dragonpit — an imposing structure crowned by a colossal dome.

The main entrance boasted massive bronze doors that, when opened, revealed a cavernous interior capable of hosting a crowd of eighty thousand.

Rhaenyra's destination lay near one of the back doors, where tunnels large enough to lead to a dragon's quarters were found.

Dust rose as Syrax landed in the clearing. Rhaenyra dismounted, giving Syrax a final pat. The dragon purred.

Without delay, two robed figures emerged: an Elder accompanied by his apprentice, each armed with sticks long enough to corral their fire-breathing charge.

These were Dragonkeepers — more than mere stableboys, they were guardians of formidable creatures. Given the perilous nature of their task, they had evolved into a formidable order of warrior monks, forever loyal to House Targaryen.

Syrax let out a loathsome shriek, agitated by the presence of the sticks wielded by these mere servants. Yet, the Elder spoke in High Valyrian, soothing the dragon with words in her mother tongue.

"<Dohaeras, Syrax!>" spoke the Elder, halting his apprentice with a gesture. Then, with a nod, Syrax rumbled as the apprentice stumbled through the commands he had been taught.

"<Umbas >", the apprentice said, "<Rybas >". 

With a half-hearted shake of her head, Syrax complied, disappearing into the tunnels. 

The Elder was pleased with the result of his teachings. <"Naojot!" >

Rhaenyra turned to find her concerned escort for the day. 

Sat upon a white horse of noble stature was Ser Harrold Westerling. Draped from his shining armor was a white cape, a symbol that showed he was of the Kingsguard, a group of carefully chosen knights sworn to the monarch's protection.

'Truly the realms delight,' thought Ser Harrold, 'Even in the darks of her riding gear, her light is radiant.' 

Ser Harrold had escorted Rhaenyra many times so his heart was calm. Sweat did not pore from his bald head, seasoned head. 

Even so, he sighed in relief when the princess returned. He did his best not to pinch himself and make out the whole affair was normal.

"Welcome back, Princess," Ser Harrold said, "I trust your ride was pleasant."

'More pleasant than your wait,' Rhaenyra teasingly thought. 

She opted to let Ser Harrold off the hook, "Try not to look too relieved, Ser."

"I am relieved," replied the knight, "every time that golden beast brings you back unspoiled saves my head from a spike."

Rhaenyra paid his protectiveness no mind, "And whose spike might that be? The king or my brother?"

Ser Harrold shuddered, "I could only pray your mother would find me first."

Rhaenyra laughed, and soon her world was filled with color. Emerging from a royal wheelhouse — so big and sturdy four black workhorses must drag it along — was Alicent Hightower.

Alicent's brown hair and bright blue dress may have contrasted Rhaenyra's attire, but that was the extent of their differences. Depending on who you asked, Alicent was the comeliest girl in court.

The smile the princess gave to her childhood companion did nothing to mask her frustration, and Alicent could sense it.

"Syrax is growing quickly," said Alicent, "She'll soon be as large as Caraxes."

"That's almost large enough to saddle two."

"I believe I'm quite content as a spectator, thank you," said Alicent, and the duo retired into the wheelhouse.

Once seated, Rhaenyra gazed out the window and sighed, "It's not size that I want. It's speed."

Alicent gave that sympathetic expression she always did whenever Rhaenyra's mind wandered to her brother.

"Rhaenar is hardly going to fly off and leave. He loves you."

That's when Rhaenyra snapped out of her haze, and again, Alicent saw that determination she adored so much.

"I'd like to see him try," said Rhaenyra, "By the time he ever dares, I'll be flying just as fast — no, even faster than him!"

No matter how often she said the words, Rhaenyra did not know if she believed them. Still, she would not be left behind.

'Love…'

Rhaenyra's mind wandered again as the wheelhouse rolled through the cobbled streets of King's Landing.

It may have been true, but her brother's love had been spread rather thin after his return from the Vale. From smallfolk to nobility, everyone wanted a piece of the prince.

What happened during his bloody campaign against the mountain clans? However subtle it was, something had changed about him. No matter how attentive his gaze, he saw past people now, as if he was searching for some far-off destination in their eyes.

Just as Rhaenyra was about to delve into another black pit of frivolous thought, Alicent sensed her friend's growing despair and squeezed Rhaenyra's hand. This act brought Rhaenyra back, and the two once again were content to enjoy their time as young maidens, the world their oyster.

'One thing I do know,' thought Rhaenyra, 'If I ever have to fly after him, I want to take Alicent with me.'