Chapter 77 - Interlude : The Rogue Princess

125 AC

The first day of the fourth moon

Rhaena Pov

"Sovēs," I whispered, the command escaping my lips as the mighty Cannibal spread his wings, taking flight. The sensation of soaring through the air was indescribable, a liberation like no other.

As we ascended, the shackles of the world fell away, leaving me free and weightless. I felt a profound connection with him, my dragon, a bond that transcended the constraints of the mundane. With every beat of his powerful wings, I was reminded of the freedom that came with mastering the skies.

A thunderous roar echoed from Cannibal, reverberating through the air, and in response, my whip materialized in my grasp. The synergy between us was palpable; he was an extension of my will, and I reveled in the exhilarating power that surged through my veins.

Training Cannibal had been a relentless struggle. He defied the norms of Dragonstone, his temperament distinct from the others. My father fretted over my safety, and the dragonkeepers warned against flying him, citing his unpredictable nature. Yet, it mattered little, for he and I shared a common disdain for our kind.

I harbored no love for most, except for my father, Baela, my grandparents, and Nettles. The rest of them could rot in the fiery depths of hell as far as I cared. Even the man who had been my sworn shield had abandoned me, his white hair a fleeting memory in the wind.

A surge of emotion gripped me, and the Cannibal responded with a resonant roar, as if acknowledging the turmoil within me.

"Dracarys," I uttered, channeling my anger through Cannibal, who unleashed a torrent of green flames. The searing blaze symbolized not just our destructive power but also the burning determination within me.

"You must become stronger," I declared, the thought of reducing Aemond to ashes lingering in my mind. To achieve that, I knew I had to confront Vhagar, the mount of my mother. Yet, sentiment held no sway, for the words of my house echoed in my mind— "Fire and Blood."

The path ahead was treacherous, fraught with challenges and adversaries, but atop Cannibal, I felt an unyielding resolve. The world would soon witness the flames of my ascension.

I guided Cannibal toward Dragonstone, feeling the powerful rhythm of his wings beneath me. As we descended, I gracefully dismounted, and with a silent command, Cannibal took to the skies once more, disappearing into the vastness above. Nettles awaited me just beyond the gates of Dragonstone.

"You're late," she remarked with a touch of impatience.

"Since when did you start caring about my punctuality?" I retorted, my words carrying a rebellious edge. The castle septa overheard my response, casting disapproving glances in my direction. I scoffed at their judgment.

"Fuck them and their faith of the seven," I declared boldly, my disdain for the religious doctrines echoing through the courtyard. The guards exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to react to the princess who dared to challenge tradition.

"I often wonder why King Aegon Targaryen chose to convert to the faith of the seven," I mused aloud, contemplating the incongruity of a dragonlord embracing a religion that seemed so inconsequential compared to the power of dragons. "He could have easily reduced them to ashes and been done with it."

"You speak callously about matters of faith, Rhaena," Nettles chided, her tone grave with concern.

I dismissed her words with a wave of my hand. "What will happen when the High Septon catches wind of a Targaryen princess plotting to bring down the 'seven who are one'?" Nettles cautioned in a voice that mirrored the castle septa's high-pitched disapproval.

I met her gaze with a defiant stare. "Let them talk," I declared. "I care not for the judgment of those who bow to gods that would flee from the flames of a dragon. The power we wield transcends their feeble beliefs."

As my defiant words hung in the air, Nettles and I exchanged a glance, and then an unexpected burst of laughter escaped both of us. In this world filled with judgment and expectations, the only true friend I had was Nettles.

She seemed impervious to the superficial concerns that plagued others. Nettles didn't care about the fact that I bore only one eye, or how my younger brothers, Aegon and Viserys, shrank away in fear from my altered appearance — a result of the scar etched across my face that had cost me an eye.

In Nettles, I found a companion who saw beyond the external and into the depths of my character. It wasn't just about the scars on my face but the scars on my soul. I trusted her implicitly, knowing that our bond went beyond the surface, transcending the judgments that others were quick to cast upon me.

She, in turn, reciprocated that trust, and the unspoken understanding between us forged a connection that withstood the trials of our tumultuous world. In the intricate dance of loyalty and friendship, Nettles stood as a beacon of unwavering support, the only other person who saw the true essence of Rhaena Targaryen beneath the scars and the one piercing eye.

The training yard buzzed with the rhythmic clanging of steel as the men-at-arms honed their skills. Father approached, his stern gaze fixated on me.

"I told you not to ride Cannibal without my presence," he reprimanded, his tone echoing the weight of authority.

"Cannibal despises the presence of others of his kind," I retorted, disdain evident as my gaze swept over the crowd of onlookers.

Father's response was swift; he unsheathed Dark Sister, its Valyrian steel glinting menacingly. In response, I rolled backward with practiced agility, swiftly drawing the dagger he had gifted me on my nameday.

Our sparring began, a dance of steel and determination. Father wielded a wooden sword, choosing to spar with me rather than outright defeat me, recognizing my current limitations. It was a testament to my relentless pursuit of strength that I engaged in these sessions despite the inevitable bruises and setbacks.

The clash of blades echoed through the yard as we circled each other, a fierce intensity burning in Father's eyes. My dagger moved with precision, a desperate attempt to prove my worth in combat. I knew Father held back, compensating for my lack of strength, but I cared little for mercy. The burning desire for power fueled my every move.

The one-eyed disadvantage became apparent as Father exploited my blind spot, launching a surprise attack that left me momentarily disoriented. A sharp pain erupted as his kick found its mark, knocking the air from my lungs. I crumpled to the ground, clutching my chest in agony.

As I struggled to regain my footing, Father wore a triumphant grin. I lashed out with my dagger, aiming for his legs in a desperate retaliation. He deftly evaded, then ruthlessly stamped on my hand, eliciting a cry of pain. Darkness threatened to engulf my vision as his fist blurred towards me.

The world went black, the throbbing pain in my hand and chest fading as unconsciousness claimed me. Father's victorious silhouette was the last image etched in my mind before everything succumbed to the shadows.

I awoke with a throbbing head, finding myself in a dimly lit room. Baela, my older sister, sat nearby, engrossed in her prayers. 

"The Seven are not real," I declared, causing her to halt her prayers and rush towards me, enveloping me in a tight embrace.

"Rhaena," she uttered softly, concern etched on her face. "Are you well?"

"Not currently, the way you were squeezing the breath out of me," I retorted, prompting Baela to release her hold. We shared a laugh at the irony of our exchange.

Baela, showing her protective side, vowed to speak to Father about the brutality of our sparring sessions. However, I rebuffed her offer, asserting that I needed no one's protection.

Just then, the bastards entered the room. The eldest among them greeted me, and as I acknowledged his presence, Baela playfully pinched my waist. Irritated, I shot a look at Jacaerys, Baela's betrothed.

"Thank you for visiting me, Jacaerys," I said with a fake smile, only to notice the discomfort in his expression. It struck me — I was not wearing my eyepatch.

The haunting thought returned: they despised my face.

Baela, sensing the tension, excused herself along with the brown-haired bastards , leaving me alone with my apprehensions.

After a brief pause, Father entered the room. He inquired about my well-being, and when he sensed my hesitation, he urged me to speak my mind.

"I will beat you the next time we spar," I declared, anger seeping into my voice.

"That is my daughter," he said with a proud grin, leaning in to kiss my forehead gently.

"Do you know who you and your sister remind me of?" he inquired.

"No," I replied.

"Baela reminds me of my mother," he said, his gaze distant as if recalling cherished memories.

"I never knew her well because she passed when I was just a babe, but from what your grandfather and others spoke, it seemed that Baela is just like her."

I couldn't help but wonder about my own comparison. "What about me?" I asked.

"You remind me of... me," he declared after a brief pause, causing my eyes to widen in surprise.

"It is the truth," he continued, his words sinking in. "Although when you and Baela were babes, I thought that you would be a quiet and timid girl, but I was wrong about that assumption. You have the same fire in you, just like I did. I see myself in you, Rhaena," he confessed, and a warm sense of connection washed over me.

"That is why when I spar with you, I try to be as brutal as possible. Remember, the world is a cruel place, and there will come a time when I will not be there to protect you and your sister," he explained.

"When that time comes, I need you to stand up against those who oppose the House of the Dragon," he urged, his eyes filled with a mixture of seriousness and paternal concern.

"And when that time comes, you will have your dragon by your side along with Dark Sister," he added.

His revelation left me stunned. "You would give me Dark Sister?" I questioned, my voice a mix of disbelief and gratitude.

"Of course, why else would I be training you so harshly?" he replied, a smug grin playing on his face.

"Thank you, Father," I managed to say, my voice choked with emotion as tears welled in my eyes. The weight of the Valyrian steel sword, a symbol of Targaryen power and legacy, felt almost tangible in that moment.

"I believe in you, Rhaena," he reassured me, his confidence instilling a newfound determination within me.

"After all, I am tired of being the only Rogue Prince in the Seven Kingdoms. I believe it will not be long before the Seven Kingdoms find themselves with another rogue. However, this rogue would be different – a princess," he declared, his words carrying the weight of both expectation and pride.