Chapter 9: A Dragon for a Dragon

Wheelhouse rolling to a halt, Princess Rhaena Targaryen was glad to exit onto the cobblestones of the great plaza before the Sept of Remembrance. Guards in both Targaryen black and the colorful swirls of the Warrior's Sons stood in two lines, clearing a path for the dignitaries heading into the sept. Beyond, a loud cacophony of sounds filled the air of the beautiful winter's day. She wanted to cover her ears, but forced herself to act dignified.

"Egg, do not tug at your doublet." Her mother insisted, and unlike her brothers she complied.

"Momma." Viserys tugged at the hem of Alyssa's dress, an aquamarine color not unlike her eyes. "I's 'ungry."

"You just ate before we left the manse," Rhaena replied, annoyed.

Her littlest brother - at least for now - pouted. "I's still 'ungry."

Ruffling his hair, the Crown Prince beamed down at his boy, all while he rested his hand on Alyssa's growing belly. "We'll give you a pastry if you keep quiet through the ceremony, alright?"

All Viserys seemed to hear was 'pastry,' so he smiled and jumped up and down. Rhaena rolled her eyes… only to fall on the large crowd. She had seen the people of King's Landing while with her uncle, but these were different. Unfamiliar. "Muna?" She asked as they began to walk towards to the open Ironwood doors of the Sept. Alyssa didn't notice, so Rhaena tried again. "Muna?"

Not used to being spoken to in Valyrian, it took a few moments for Alyssa to notice. "Daughter? What is it?"

"Who are they? The quiet ones with the stars on their shirts?" At the van was a massive man, probably at least seven feet tall and resting a large axe over his shoulder. The Targaryen guards gave him a wide berth, but the Warrior's Sons weren't fazed.

"Oh." Alyssa chuckled. "Those are the Poor Fellows, devoted followers of the Faith as the Warrior's Sons are."

The massive man glanced down at Rhaena and grinned, baring his teeth. Rhaena hid a shudder… While they may have been here to show their support for her uncle - or at least for her uncle's bride - she had a very bad feeling about them. Dragon's instincts as her grandmother may have said.

Designed on a grandiose scale, the large statues inlaid in the various alcoves of the Sept of Remembrance stared down at Rhaena as she ascended the steps. They looked grand, but to her they were as foreboding as the Faith Militant - somehow moreso. 'You do not belong here,' they seemed to say to her, stern faces judgemental as the granddaughter of a brother-sister marriage entered their domain. Rhaena had never felt this before…

You are a dragon as she is… You should embrace it…

Packed from the altar to the edge of the well, the grand vestibule was capped by the massive dome above them - its inner surface covered in beautiful murals and frescoes of the Seven who are One. Gold leaf covered the walls, ivory and marble finishings topping statues of various saints and heroes such as Artys Arryn or Merle I Gardener, the first Gardener King to convert to the Faith. Incense burned from braziers, leaving an almost hazy atmosphere broken by the sunlight streaming from high-placed windows. Rhaena had to admit its beauty. Why do they get such beauty while grandfather and grandmother live in the drab Aegonfort? While Aegon gawked at such majesty much as their father, Rhaena merely huffed in annoyance.

Eventually, they reached the front row of pews. "My son." King Aegon embraced her kepa. "I was worried you would be tardy."

"Nonsense. I would be remiss if I miss my brother's wedding." Aenys eased Alyssa to her seat between him and Egg, while hefting Viserys onto the pew before sitting down.

"My dear," Aegon kissed Rhaena's forehead. "You will need to sit beside your grandmother."

Rhaena looked to find Visenya seated in the second column of pews. "Grandfather? You're not seated together?"

A look of pain crossed over the King. "I'm afraid not, sweetling. But please keep her company."

Sighing, Rhaena did as bidded. "Grandmother, may I?"

Stern and unyielding, Visenya's expression lightened upon seeing her granddaughter. "Rhaena… of course." She kissed the girl's cheek. "Thank you for sitting with me."

"Grandfather asked me and I was happy to." That killed Visenya's smile, the Queen mumbling something in High Valyrian. Whatever she said, it can't be good.

Before Rhaena could inquire further, the High Septon - he seemed jolly enough even while dressed in the gaudiest of robes, almost painted in gold leaf - cleared his throat. "Presenting, Prince Maegor of House Targaryen." From the rear of the sept came her uncle. Rhaena's eyes widened at his appearance. He always had a formidable look, but in full dress armor and a red-black cloak he exuded both ferocity and power.

He is most definitely a dragon.

"A dream, is he not?" murmured Larissa Velaryon, her friend being directly behind her by chance. Rhaena waved her off. "Look, it's Lady Hightower." Rhaena creened her head around, getting a glimpse for the first time of her uncle's bride.

Lord Manfred Hightower escorting his daughter in full armor as well, Lady Ceryse was undeniably beautiful. The dress - far from the normal greens of her house - was an almost robin's egg blue. So light to be near ice. Diamonds and rubies glittered about necklaces and bracelets that only added to the near precious air about her. Long brown hair was done in upknots, exposing a long neck and a circlet of flowers accentuating her green eyes.

She looked perfect, and Rhaena could see the stares of… almost hunger from many guests, of both sexes, but she could only wrinkle her nose.

Lady Hightower doesn't deserve my uncle.

Rhaena didn't know what bid the thought, or why she felt it, but she knew it was true all the same.

Not that she or anyone had the power to reverse it, so quiet she sat.

"Your Graces, Lords and Ladies. The ceremony before the sight of their most Holy Seven shall begin." High Septon Gerold cleared his throat, gesturing to two septons bearing cloaks. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Wordlessly, Ceryse turned, a bright smile on her face as Maegor removed the cloak of her House and replaced it with a red-black cloak emblazoned with the Targaryen three-headed dragon. The same as the seal woven into the fabric of Rhaena's dress. It seemed wasted on someone so… delicate. Grandmother was fierce, as was aunt Rhaenys and even her mother in her own way. Can I be fierce? Rhaena bit her lip, feeling inadequate.

"My lords, my ladies," the High Septon began anew. "We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." The couple joined hands, Septon Murmison producing a ribbon and tied a knot around their joined hands. "Let it be known that Prince Maegor of House Targaryen and Lady Ceryse of House Hightower are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Visenya mumbled something else under her breath. Another act of disapproval, Rhaena figured. Is this why she and grandfather are sullen towards each other?

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." Looking at his niece, the High Septon puffed up with pride and happiness for the dear girl. "Look upon each other and say the words."

Turning at the High Septon's command, the two of them stared into each other's eyes - Ceryse beaming broadly while even Maegor's stern visage cracked a smile. They spoke simultaneously. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…"

"I am hers…"

"I am his…"

"And she is mine…"

"And he is mine…"

"From this day, until the end of my days."

Maegor reached up to cup his new bride's cheek. "With this kiss, I pledge my love."

Beginning with the King, then the Queen - though she was still scowling - and the Crown Prince, soon the entire hall of Lords, foreign dignitaries, and other officials were standing and applauding the newly-wedded couple. Rhaena sighed and clapped with all… deserve him Ceryse may not, but her uncle looked happy. And that made her happy.

Turning to whisper something to Larissa. Something caught her eye… something normally overlooked, but she was perceptive.

Alone among the guards, the Warrior's Sons that predominated the room removed to lift their visors. They clapped, but refused her uncle even that shred of added respect.

Minstrels ending their smooth rendition of Two Hearts That Beat as One, Maegor ground to a halt, kissing his bride's hand as she curtseyed for him. "You are quite the dancer, my Prince," she noted.

"I am a Prince as much as a warrior, of course I would know such a skill."

She bit her lip. "I can't wait till I… show you my skills." Kissing his cheek, she smiled innocently. "It seems your mother, the Queen wishes to dance with you. I shall leave you to that and speak with my family." She was going to enjoy lording her husband with her cousins.

Staring at the supple rear end accentuated by the dress, Maegor was reflecting on the lusty minx he married as Visenya tapped his shoulder. "Eyes over here, son." Another tune, this one Northern and rumored to have been composed by Bael the Bard himself, started as Lord Torrhen and Lady Jocelyn took to the floor alongside them. "May I have this dance?"

"Of course, muna." Their hands in position, the two of them glided about the dance floor. "You know kepa didn't mean to go against you."

"Don't."

"But…"

"Don't son. Your kepa and I's relationship doesn't need to be your concern, especially on your wedding night." Visenya sighed. "I worry for you, my son. I love you, and I…" She had a bad feeling about the marriage. Ceryse… she seemed infatuated with Maegor, but that family. It can't end well. She could feel it, but wouldn't sabotage it. "I just think you would have had a better bride in Rhaena once she came of age."

"Rhaena is my dear niece, and I do worry for how Aenys raises her, but this is the hand I was dealt and I am excited for it." He twirled his mother around as the tempo changed. "Please do forgive, kepa. He loves you."

"You're too kind for your own good, regardless of what the scum say about you." As the song ended, she kissed his forehead. "Forgive me, but I must be off."

"Where are you going?"

"To Dragonstone." Visenya glared at her husband, violet eyes filled with loathing - Aegon at least had the courtesy to wince. "I can't be close to him anymore. Apologies, my son. I wish your marriage the best." Her own Kingsguards following her, Queen Visenya made her way out of the great hall, inspiring all sorts of whispers behind her back.

An hour passed, followed by platters of boar, arouch, honey-glazed whole roasted piglets, and fresh bread washed down with whole tankards of ale. Maegor danced with many more, from his new goodmother to a quite tense and quiet song with Alyssa. Many toasts were made in his honor, from the genuine ones from Daeron Qoherys, Lord Torrhen, and his brother, ones heaped with formalistic politeness from Ser Damon Morrigen and old Loren Lannister, to the incomprehensible one from his drunk uncle Orys, aunt Argella covering her face in embarrassment. Maegor was fine with it, enjoying the attention. Catching a glint in his bride's eye, one Maegor had oft seen from Ralla before luring him behind a tent and jumping his bones… "Forgive me my Lords, brother." He stood, most of the feast halting at the groom's actions. "I believe it is time for Princess Ceryse and I to retire for the night."

A whistle echoed through the hall. "Bedding!" boomed Gargon Qoherys. "Best part of the weddin!" He rose, unsteady on his feet from the five goblets of wine he downed prior. "Maidens to the Prince. Mates, let's get the Princess… Aghhh!"

The man seemed seven feet tall and built like a boulder, but one punch from a quite angry Dragon Prince sent him sprawling. "There will be no bedding," he bellowed, "and even if there was one I wouldn't let your drunken paws on my wife!" A fist followed to the head, knocking the Valyrian highborn to the ground. "Looks like he's left the feast."

Daeron Qoherys stood, motioning for several other Riverlords to follow him - to the amusement of the King, Edmyn Tully among them. "Lord Daeron, Lord Edmyn, please remove Ser Gargon to his room. He needs to convalesce."

"At once, your Grace." Daeron looked miserable, and Edmyn did as well… for differing reasons. Corlen Blackwood and Edmund Darry just seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.

"Well, that's got it done." Aegon stifled a chuckle, raising his goblet. "My son, go be with your new bride tonight. We shan't disturb you."

Maegor smiled genuinely at his father. "Thank you, kepa."

The two of them now in front of each other, the King disregarded propriety and gave Maegor a tight hug. "Forgive me, my son. There will be a task required of you, but enjoy your night. We'll speak of it on the morrow."

"Alright." Nodding at his father, Maegor made his way to the Hightower entourage, taking the hand of his bride. "Lord Manfred, I am grateful for your service to the crown, but I believe Ceryse is now under the protection of House Targaryen." Grinning at him, the oaken-haired beauty wrapped her fingers around the loop of his arm. "I bid you goodnight."

Lord Manfred and Archsepton Hugor smiled politely, but the High Septon boomed laughter at the witty jape. "Go, my Prince. Sire a Prince tonight."

"Oh, uncle. I believe we shall," replied Ceryse, feeling bold and quite happy as Maegor's hand rested on the small of her back. Why shouldn't she? She was living the dream of every maiden. My husband is much handsomer than the Crown Prince. The Velaryon bitch can have him. "Tonight, a son shall be quickened."

"Huzzah!" cheered the guests, most deep in their cups.

Leading her out, Maegor leaned into his bride's ear. "Eager, aren't we?" While most of the maidens in court seemed to embody the shy, coquettish fake innocence from the legends of Jonquil and Florian, Ceryse was resolute as well as beautiful. "Most ladies of court would die of humiliation from such a statement."

She gazed back at him with a lusty gaze. "Well, I am not most ladies at court." She leaned in as well, lips hovering over the shell of his ear. "Everyone speaks of you as a powerful dragon warrior…" Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the Prince's black direwolf trotting after them, tongue lolled out. "With the skills of a wolf as well." Ceryse saw Lord Torrhen spar with the King - if his heir was as rugged and comely, Princess Rhaenys was a lucky woman. "Given you were so subdued in taking me to the bedchamber, I wonder if everyone heard wrong."

Growling, Maegor coaxed a squeal from his bride as he lifted her up in his arms. "Just wait, you'll see how much of a dragon I am."

Ceryse shuddered in pleasure. "Lead the way, my Prince." Without delay, she crashed their lips together.

Syndor turned her torso around, averting her gaze at the scene.

Meanwhile, the feast was progressing back on pace. Servants refilled platters and goblets, the various Lords and knights so deep in their cups that hands wandered and girls giggled from well-placed gropes. "I better retire for the night. Brother, Hugor, I shall wait at dawn for prayers in the sept."

"Of course, your eminence." The two of them were left alone at their table. "Congratulations, Manfred. You have actually broken the Valyrian insular marriages with your dear daughter."

Manfred shrugged. "She's quite beautiful, it wasn't hard given the political needs of the dragonspawn." He raised an eyebrow. "And the rest?"

Hugor smiled softly. "Your brother speaks often about how the Mother entrusted women with the protection of human virtue, but it turns out the fairer sex can be quite tartish if left to their own devices." He leaned back in his seat. "Amazing what absolution for a future's worth of promiscuity can convince a maid to do."

His eyes fell on the King, seated alone. Truly, truly amazing.

"The price is a million gold dragons," Princess Deria Martell of Sunspear insisted, eyes narrowing at the envoy of the new Triarchal regime of Volantis. "These are not pirates or Dothraki Khals raiding the upper Rhoyne. The Three Daughters are powerful, so therefore I cannot commit Dornish spears without proper compensation."

The balding nobleman ran a hand through his thinning hair. He insisted on the finery of a Valyrian highborn, even though the various silks and cotton garments were causing the portly envoy to sweat significantly. "Such is a price too excessive for the Triarch."

Deria shrugged. "Very well. I am sure your Black Guardsmen and the Unsullied can handle the fight on your own." She began to walk away…

"Stop." Deria smirked. "One million gold dragons, but the Spears should be in Volantis harbor by the end of the next five moons."

"Of course. I shall call them presently."

As the envoy left, Deria picked up a date from the bowl resting on her desk and popped it in her mouth, twirling a lock of her still ink-black hair. Gods, it was a chore to deal with the pompous pretend-Valyrians from across the Narrow Sea - if Dorne, still scarred from the Dragon's Wroth, didn't need the money to finish the rebuilding of the hellscapes left by Balerion and Vhagar, she wouldn't be bothered.

"It wouldn't hurt to have more allies, my love."

Even proud as she was, the Princess of Dorne had to acknowledge that her latest lover - Anders Sand of Yronwood, a brave and muscular knight twenty-five years her junior - made sense. The fact that it was in the afterglow of their lovemaking in front of the waterfall of Sunspear's gardens had caught her at a weak moment.

But it was one million gold dragons to reseed the fertile fields of the Torrentine, not to mention granting the new generation of her bannermen with necessary combat experience. Never again would they let the dragons run roughshod over their land.

Sighing, Deria pulled up the skirts of her thin dress. Her feet ached unbearably, and without Anders to work his magic upon her soles, she'd have to massage the joints and bones herself. This must have been grandmother's life, slowly withering away as the stresses of ruling destroy her. In over eighty years of life, wars with Argilac the Arrogant and the Dragon's Wroth only worsened it entirely. Sunspear managed to escape the torch and burn of the Targaryens but Deria doubted the 'Yellow Toad' ever dwelled there. Far too unsafe.

"Gods, please allow my death before I reach such an age." A life of gout, unable to speak or sit up in bed without help… Deria would rather the sweet release of passing before such ignominy. Young Moros was in the prime of his life and holder of boundless ambition, a proper ruler for Dorne as those of the Targaryen Conquest died off - replaced by those without the skill or experience to hold together the patchwork of formerly warring kingdoms to their north.

Now only to secure a strong kingdom for her son to inherit.

Deria looked up to see Anders, drawing a smile on her lips. But his signature smirk was gone, instead straight and professional. "My Princess, Lord Wyl presents himself as you requested."

Her brows furrowed before recognition crossed her face. "Ah, yes. Please see him in, and do not depart as of yet. I shall need to… speak with you afterwards."

"Of course, Princess." His blue eyes sparkled with lust, setting her aflame.

Lord Malcolm Wyl of Wyl, the Butcher of Old Oak and the mutilator of the King's brother Orys Baratheon, was a person known by all in Dorne. A folk hero to many, in spite of the various acts he inflicted on men and women alike for his pleasure - other Dornish prior to the wars that focused his actions outward. Even with a mane of grey hair and varicose veins branching out from his knee-high boots that belied his advancing age, he still cut a menacing figure. "My Princess," he bowed.

"Thank you for coming to Sunspear, Lord Malcolm," Deria remarked, motioning for him to sit and trying not to shudder in disgust from his… aura of malevolence. "I trust that you were unmolested in your journey to Oldtown."

Shrugging, the tiniest of grins danced on his face. "There are those that think themselves smart, that they can dwell in the same plain as the big boys." Wyl had numerous bounties on his head from the Marcher Lords as well as the Oakhearts, but he seemed to laugh at the agreed border of the Torrentine, Wyl, and Red Mountains. He spent more time in the Reach than he did in Dorne. "The Hightowers are not those people… there are a few in the Faith that are, but an enemy of House Targaryen is a friend of theirs."

That drew Deria's attention. "The Faith?" She wasn't the most devout, but many of her senior bannermen were and that necessitated paying attention. "An alliance they seek?"

"No, but there need be few reasons for them to be antagonized by us. I sense certain avenues of mutual understanding in the future." He plucked a date off her desk, popping it in his mouth. "But I doubt you wished to discuss religion with me, Princess."

"Indeed not." Deria leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Cease all incursions into the Reach."

Lord Malcolm blinked. "Princess?"

"The Hightowers have married into the Targaryen royal house. We cannot afford to antagonize them openly." She quirked an eyebrow. "I trust that you understand what I ask of you."

He nodded. "Of course." There was no intent to end the raids, only the means of them. Plausible deniability that couldn't be traced back to House Martell. He stood and bowed, but before he left, Wyl turned. "If it may please, Princess, I have heard whispers from Oldtown that present matters important to the Aegonfort."

Deria raised her eyebrow. "Go on, Lord Malcolm."

"Our friend Sargasso Saan has drawn the ire of the dragons - it appears his raids upon my good friend Orys Baratheon," his sandy brown eyes sparkled as he said that. "Have angered them enough to send Aethan Velaryon's royal fleet to do battle with them… and Prince Maegor is joining them."

That was news to Deria. "I have heard of his strength in fighting North of the Wall against the wildlings."

"Wildlings aren't warriors of great repute, so I wouldn't gauge Prince Maegor's martial ability based on such. The Lysene pirate kings are different, though."

"I trust our contacts that you placed with Lord Saan are still in place. See that they keep eyes upon the Prince. Unlike his elder brother, there is still a potential threat in that one."

Malcolm nodded. "And the she-dragon?"

Deria blinked. "Princess Rhaenys." She waved it off. "Let her rule that frozen tundra. Even with a dragon the North will turn inward in the face of any threat."

"But, Princess…"

"Save our agents for more pressing threats, Lord Malcolm."

Wyl wrinkled his nose. "As you wish… your will is my command, Princess." As he left, his mind whirred with activity. It was a good thing that the North was far out of her ability to monitor without him.

"Uncle!" Rhaena ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist as her sleeveless dress swished against the wooden floor. "I'm so happy you came!" He wore a black cuirass with a red cloak about his shoulders and hefted a large sack slung over his shoulder, but she was merely happy to see him. "Can we go see the dragons again? We could bring Egg and Vis!" She was sure Balerion would love them as he loved her.

Ruffling her hair, Maegor felt a sense of melancholy looking at his niece. This was the first time he truly saw her face light up. Hopefully this will make that light permanent. "I'm sorry, Rhaena, but I can't."

"Please?" Rhaena looked up at him with a pout. "Please, please, please?"

That adorable pout nearly made him cave. How could he deny this little dragon anything… but Maegor Targaryen was built with stern stuff. "Apologies, niece, but your muna doesn't know I'm here." He placed a finger to his lips and winked.

Rhaena giggled - gods help her, she almost felt giddy at the thought of defying her mother. It was… a strange feeling. "Does fa… kepa know you're here?" She stopped herself, using the Valyrian word like her uncle taught her.

"He knows I'm bidding you farewell, but doesn't know how," another wink, which drew out another giggle.

But Rhaena stopped midway… Bid farewell… A look of confusion was replaced with one of recognition, followed by sorrow. "You have to go somewhere." It wasn't a question.

"Aye." Maegor nodded. "Not to the North, this time. To sea with your other uncle…" he was cut off as Rhaena threw her arms around him again, squeezing tightly. "Gods… you're strong for a little girl."

"Don't leave, uncle," she cried. "Did I do something wrong?"

He kissed her hair. "No, my dear, this has nothing to do with you." Other matters do. But Maegor was not going to burden her with such things. "Pirates are threatening uncle Orys' kingdom, so your uncle and I are going to stop them."

"So you could die." Somehow the thought brought her physical pain.

"Hey, look at me, sweetling." When the red-rimmed eyes looked up at him, Maegor cupped the cheeks. "I don't intend on dying. The world still has much to see of me, but I will be gone for a long time. One regret is that I won't see you come of age into a proper dragon like your grandmother." He would regret many things, but he need not burden her with the marital pain of being separated from his newly-wedded bride so soon after their wedding.

Rhaena bit her lip. "But you won't be here. Who will take me to the dragons, or teach me Valyrian? Grandmother?"

"Um…" How could he tell her of the spat between the King and Queen? How Visenya mounted Vhagar and flew off to Dragonstone… because of he and Rhaena. "Grandfather and grandmother will, I promise, but I brought you something that will help." He unslung the sack, setting it on her bed. "Sit beside me and close your eyes."

"Uncle…"

He pressed his thumb on her cheek. "Trust me."

She nodded. "I trust you." Eyes closing, Rhaena sat there counting in her mind, imagination wandering as to what her uncle could possibly give her out of the blue. A sword… a weapon of some kind? Her mother would kill… Something large fell in her lap… large and warm. Rhaena ran her hands over it - it felt almost scaled, but smooth like stone. "Uncle?"

"You may open them." He folded his arms, waiting for the reaction.

Eyes fluttering open, Rhaena found herself looking at an egg. A large egg… but one distinctive. "A dragon egg, uncle?"

"Aye, one from Vhagar's clutch kept in your grandmother's solar." Visenya insisted they go to her children and grandchildren, and Arrax had hatched from one egg that Rhaenys claimed - but none of the eggs felt right for Maegor and Alyssa refused to let her children even claim one until they were older. "Usually they're placed in a babe's crib after they're born, but…" he trailed off. "Rhaena? Sweetling."

She wasn't paying attention. Rhaena sat upon her bed, eyes glazed over as she slowly stroked the egg. In truth, she had never laid witness on a dragon egg in her life - but there was no denying it for what it was, or how beautiful it was. The scales were pale blue, not the same as an early morning sky but rather like the sapphires inlaid in the necklaces her mother or Lady Stark often wore. Silver swirls and streaks ran through it, the color of her own hair. "Breathtaking," Rhaena murmured.

Maegor blinked, not expecting such an instant connection. "Do you feel something, niece?"

Pressing her cheek against the sapphire scales, it felt wonderfully warm. Much like Balerion's snout, but even more soothing. Wonderful…

Muna…

Rhaena blinked. "Did you say something?" It wasn't her uncle's voice.

Hold me, muna… I'll hatch soon…

"Are you… you're talking to me!" Her smile could have brightened the darkest room.

Chuckling, Maegor kissed her forehead. "Looks like we've found your bond, little dragon." He stood, only to kneel in front of her. "Remember, niece. Your dragon is your responsibility. You must care for her as if your muna would you. Understand?"

"Yes, uncle. I do… when will it hatch?"

"When the time is right, Rhaena." He chucked her chin. "A dragon is not a slave, nor a pet. They are the wisest, most intelligent creatures, much like direwolves but with much more power. Not only are you their mother or sister, but you also are their partner. Their equal, and you must always show them respect."

"I will, uncle. I'll make you proud." Setting the egg down on the bed, she hugged him again. "I love you."

Maegor hugged her back, hoping it would be as satisfying a feeling when he had his own children with Ceryse. "I love you too, niece." He motioned for her to pick up the egg. "You'll want to keep the egg warm in the hearth, or else it won't hatch."

Without delay, Rhaena scooped the egg in her arms, carrying it to the roaring hearth in her chambers. Protect me, muna.

Only if you protect me when the time comes.

Never will I desert you. Placing the egg in its new cradle, not once did the flames harm her skin.