"I am surprised," Cousin Rhaenys said, where they sat alone in the lady's solar of High Tide, the seat of House Velaryon, a modern structure built by her husband, compared to the damp, draughty halls of the old Castle Driftmark. "That you lasted so long in the same place as Viserys' royal whore - at least, without a bloody murder occurring,"

"I didn't want to allow Otto Hightower the satisfaction of driving me out," She said, scowling, taking a gulp of wine. "Or give him grounds to remove me himself,"

"Yet you are here now?" Rhaenys sipped from her own cup.

Daena laughed. "Yes, I lost patience with that line of thought soon enough. So here I am, before Viserys orders me gone,"

Her cousin arched an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at her lips. "What have you done now?"

"Alicent Hightower,"

Rhaenys' brow furrowed, uncertain as to her meaning. Daena made an obscene gesture that left that meaning perfectly clear, and the Queen Who Never Was burst out laughing like she was fourteen years old again.

"You," Her cousin said. "Are incorrigible,"

Daena grinned. "What better way for Viserys to understand what he has inflicted upon me than doing the very same to him?" Alicent was wasted on her brother, besides.

"And what of her bastard? The whole court knows that the King has longed for another child for years, and that the Queen refused to give him one. He has the power to legitimise any bastard he likes - why would he not give them the Targaryen name? Not to mention, he is extremely susceptible to others' influence - would you put it past Hightower to push for legitismisation, and then have some unfortunate accident befall Baelon, putting his grandson in line for the throne?"

The sickening thought had crossed her mind.

"There will be no bastard," Daena said. "Not for some time, if ever. I slipped tansy into Alicent's cup. Whatever child grew in her belly, it does not anymore. I used a much more potent strain than is in moon tea, and the consequences can be... lasting,"

Rhaenys looked impressed. "That's cold, even for you,"

"As if Alicent dreamed of bearing Viserys' bastard," She scoffed. "The girl would have accepted being Queen well enough, but not this. She was furious with her father, last I saw her. Furious with Viserys too, for that matter - enough to drive her to me,"

"I cannot imagine she will thank you for killing her unborn child,"

"No, most likely she will not,"

They fell into a silence.

"I am glad you came here," Rhaenys said eventually. "I know we hardly have the most loving relationship, but the idea of you surrounded by liars and snakes in that city is not a pleasant one. I am glad you brought the children, too. As I have come to realise, the Iron Throne is a great and terrible thing. It would suck the life out of everyone close by, if you let it,"

Part of Daena wanted to snap back that she was able to handle herself just fine, that she had plenty of allies in the Red Keep, that she had left out of her own free will rather than fleeing in fear. "I know that now," She said instead. "I don't know if I would have, had I not been chained to it - and Viserys - all these years," She craved power, of course, but power over herself more than anything. The power to do what she wished, for her children to live long and happy lives.

"You are five-and-twenty, and have spent near half your life married," Her cousin shook her head. "You know, there was a time when Grandmother protested the match between you and Viserys,"

Daena raised an eyebrow. "She was never been one to fight my corner,"

Rhaenys grimaced. "She was not. She wanted Aemma for Viserys, and she wanted you to wed some old lord from the Vale - I forget which. He was at least fifty. Your father was furious - I'd never heard him speak to his mother like that. Grandfather considered his wife's suggestion, but agreed with his son, in the end, when it became clear that Balerion was not long for this world, and Caraxes was needed to counterbalance Meleys,"

That took Daena aback.

"She wanted me out of the way," The thought chilled her to the bone. "I would not have gone," She would have fled the city with Caraxes the moment it came into question. Though they would have known that, would have learned from Viserra, and would have kept her under guard, just like when she was pregnant with Rhaenyra, until it was time to trot her out like a prize pig at a fair to be married.

"You were thirteen," Her cousin said. "I am not so sure you would have had a choice,"

Another silence, during which her shock curdled into the hot, fierce rage that had flared within her her entire life. It was a familiar companion, by now, though the sting of it never left her, and the call in her mind for fire and blood only magnified with each year that passed, until now it was screaming. Daena was someone who gave everything to those she loved. She would fight for her family until her dying breath, had fought for Viserys' claim with everything she had, and still it was thrown back in her face, again and again.

She set the glass of wine down before her white-knuckled grip snapped the stem.

"I'm going to war with Corlys," Daena spat out. She had decided before even leaving King's Landing, but this nasty little revelation made something inside her snap. "I'll show them all that I'm not some - some disobedient inconvenience, to be picked up and cast aside at will, a weapon or womb to be used as they wish then left to rot and rust. I am a dragon rider before anything else. The world will understand that, soon enough,"

Rhaenys did not argue with her, though the same fire was reflected back in her own eyes. The Queen Who Never Was knew injustice, just as Daena Targaryen did. It did not matter that their grandparents were long dead, their parents too.

"Your son will be a different kind of king," She said. "Of that, at least, we can be sure,"

*

Rhaenyra had never truly been apart from her mother. The month that she had been on Driftmark, some time past, had been the longest, but even then she was only a few hours flight away. Now, she would be far from here, fighting in the Stepstones with Lord Corlys, whilst Rhaenyra and Baelon would be left at High Tide with Cousin Rhaenys, Laena and Laenor.

She did not worry for her safety. Her mother was fearless, a strong fighter with a sword, never mind with her dragon too. The thought of her getting hurt was impossible. She seemed eager to go, besides. More than eager; her eyes lit up with anticipation whenever the war was spoken of. But even so, Rhaenyra would miss her terribly.

At least they would not be in King's Landing. The air was cleaner here on Driftmark, the sea breeze fresh, the waters a beautiful clear blue. Whilst she enjoyed the attention at court, it was nice to be away from it, at least for a time. Syrax was closer, here, instead of all the way in the Dragonpit. And the King was far away.

Rhaenyra did love her father. He adored her, everyone said so, showering her with wonderful gifts and calling her the Realm's Delight. But she was now nine, not a baby, and knew well enough what 'court mistress' meant. How Father's new friendship with the Hightower girl disrespected her mother so. And if she loved her father, what she felt towards her mother - who was fierce, strong and beautiful - was something else entirely, enough to make her furious that he would shame her. Father would keep Rhaenyra on the ground if he could, safe, happy and smiling; Mother taught her to fly, shared the Targaryen fire with her, told her that she did not have to be happy and smiling all the time. They were the Blood of the Dragon, and she was allowed a temper.

Gods, she would miss her so much. She would not cry, however; Targaryen princesses did not weep in public. Besides, Mother was not sad. Stood at the docks, dressed for battle in lightweight armour - heavy plate was wasted on dragonback - with Dark Sister at her waist, she looked both fearsome and eager to be gone.

Lord Corlys clapped her on the shoulder like a soldier, looking like the cat that got the cream. "Those Triarchy bastards won't know what hit them," The man said, a glint in his eye.

Her mother laughed, standing before Caraxes, who was readied for a long flight. "Yes they will," She said. "Dragon fire,"

"I would prefer that neither of you got yourselves killed," Cousin Rhaenys said dryly. She was stood with Rhaenyra, Baelon and her own children, Laena and Laenor, whom were fast becoming Rhaenyra's good friends.

"I dare any Lyseni, Tyroshi or Myrman to try," Her mother flashed a smile.

"You're both as bad as each other," Rhaenys shook her head, moving forward to embrace her husband.

Whilst Lord Corlys bade goodbye to his wife and children, Rhaenyra's mother threw her arms around herself and Baelon, pulling them close. She smelled like she always did; of leather, dragon and smoke, though with hints of something strange underneath.

"Are you wearing perfume?" Baelon wrinkled his nose.

Their mother did not look pleased. "Rhaenys had the servants use some of her own soaps and oils in my bath," She said with distaste. "She has them imported them from Essos. By the time I was in the water, it was too late - I will go to war smelling like a Volantene spice market. No doubt she did it on purpose,"

"You will be the best-smelling soldier in the Stepstones, Mother," Rhaenyra giggled.

"I should hope so! The rest will be a lot of stinking, sweating men. Likely the enemy will be able to smell me on the wind before Caraxes is even within sight," Her amusement faded somewhat, eyes flickering between the two of them as she dropped down to their level. "Now, I want you both to listen to what I say now closely - I will not coddle you, as others might,"

Rhaenyra and Baelon both nodded.

"Your Father will try to take you to King's Landing, once he finds out I've gone to war. You must not go with him. He loves you dearly, though the snakes that infest his court do not. The Hand will want to make any bastard that comes from Viserys and Alicent a true Targaryen, and the only one standing in the way of his potential grandson and the Iron Throne is you, Baelon. Do you know what that means?"

Baelon was silent, though knew well enough. Her brother could be a stupid little boy at times, but less stupid than a lot of seven-year-olds.

"He'd kill him," Rhaenyra voiced what they were all thinking, feeling a rush of furious protectiveness towards her brother. "Wouldn't he? He'd kill him and pretend it was an accident!"

"In a heartbeat," Their mother said, more serious than they had ever seen her. "I cannot kill him without being exiled, which would leave you two alone in court. Hence why we are here. If anyone tries to take you back to King's Landing without me or Cousin Rhaenys, do not let them. If there is trouble, then send for me, and I will come back for you in a heartbeat. On dragonback, the journey is an easy one,"

"We will, Mother," Baelon said.

"I won't let any horrible Hightower near him," Rhaenyra proclaimed. "Syrax will bite their heads off,"

Their mother smiled. Not a sweet, kind smile like she saw many ladies offer their children, but Rhaenyra liked her own mother's better; proud, but dangerous. "Good. You are good, my daring prince and bold princess. I shall not be gone for long, and once I am back, we will fly to Essos and have all kinds of adventures. Start thinking about where you would like to go, and go we shall,"

"Pentos," Rhaenyra said at once, having recently read a wonderful story about a flower girl who lived there. "Volantis, and Braavos, and Yi Ti - "

"I want to go to Asshai-by-the-Shadow to catch a Shadowbinder," Baelon said. "And Qarth is full of witches and warlocks to teach me spells. And Mantarys has monsters - "

"Those sound like horrible places," She glared at him. "Do you want another scar?"

Her brother just grinned. "Mother said we would have adventures, I don't care about your stupid storybook flower girl,"

Their mother laughed. "Oh, I will miss you both. Write to me, and I will write back, when I can,"

She straightened up, getting back to her feet. Lord Corlys had finished his goodbyes too.

"Time to set off, I think," The man said.

"You are sure I can't come with you, Father?" Laena wheedled. "Vhagar is much bigger than Caraxes,"

Her father laughed. "Laena, you are a girl of three-and-ten. If we are still at war by the time you are of age, then yes, you may," It was said with the air of someone who thought that would never happen.

"And me?" Laenor asked, eager. "I should be going with you now, really. I'm at squiring age,"

"It is one thing being a knight's squire in a war, quite another being one of the only dragonriders," Lord Corlys said. "You will be the biggest target for hundreds of miles. Besides, Seasmoke is only young. As I said to your sister - when she is of age,"

"But Laenor's a year younger than me!" Laena said, indignant.

"Laenor is a boy,"

As Corlys Velaryon boarded his mighty flagship, assembled with the rest of the Velaryon fleet to sail to the Stepstones, their mother effortlessly climbed into Caraxes' saddle. The ships set off from the docks, and she offered one more smile in their direction, before glancing up at the sky with remarkable longing, the same way that her dragon did.

"Soves, Caraxes,"

The red dragon did not need telling twice. He launched into the sky with a force that had the rest of them staggering back, the ships lurching in the waves. Meleys may be the fastest dragon alive, but Caraxes was no less mighty, made for battle. Their mother did not look back, though Rhaenyra caught the sound of her laugh on the wind.

She wondered, sometimes, that if Mother did not have her and Baelon, would she ever land at all?

*

The Stepstones were a series of bleak little islands, wind-blown and stormy, that formed a path from Dorne to the Disputed Lands. In and of themselves, the land was barren and useless, however their position in the main shipping lanes of the Narrow Sea made them unduly important. The pitiful place had few permanent residents, however the pirates it had hosted for years had left behind some useful infrastructure on Bloodstone, the largest of the islands; docks, a dozen ramshackle buildings that may have been an inn and some houses, as well as a crude wood-and-stone fort (which, in truth, would not have looked too out of place as a minor lord's keep in the North).

Corlys had commandeered the fort upon his arrival. There was little resistance; only a token force had been left on this western side of the island by the Triarchy, and they were subdued with ease. The prisoners they had taken were now being questioned as to the positions of the rest of their forces, whilst the Velaryon men - as well as several sellsword bands that Daena had managed to pull together on the way, given how fast Caraxes travelled compared to the fleet - set up camp around the fort.

She had arrived late into the evening, after darkness had fallen, to find them settled in and around the dingy little fort. To keep the morale high, Corlys had declared an evening of drink and celebration at this first small victory, in the draughty hall of the fort. The men were well and truly drunk by the time she slipped inside, having settled Caraxes outside, a short distance away (it would not do for him to eat any wayward soldiers just yet).

Daena was not the only woman in the camp, though she was the only one who wasn't a whore or a camp follower. The Velaryon men knew her reputation, and knew better than to test her. However, many of the sellswords were not Westerosi, and either did not fully appreciate she really was a queen, had forgotten she rode a dragon, or did not care.

"Is that your real hair, or a wig?" One drunken man asked her, fingering her braid with grubby fingers.

Quick as a flash, Daena had a knife under his chin, her hand grabbing him by the front of his shirt, a sharp smile on her face. "Take a guess - if you answer wrong, shall we see if my dragon breaths real fire?"

A few more incidents like that, and they learned soon enough that she was not to be treated the way they acted towards the other women in the camp. It was convinient for most to forget she was a woman, in truth; she drank enough to keep up with the best of them, sparred every day, had a foul mouth full of curses and crude jokes, and was not opposed to dragging a laughing camp follower into her lap in the evenings. Not that she was trying to blend in. She would do the same in King's Landing if her brother wouldn't start bleating in her ear about propriety and reputations. She already did do a lot of it in King's Landing, away from most prying eyes and wagging tongues.

Thus, not one man so much as batted an eye when she not only included herself in the war councils, but also contributed heavily. She had to; no one but her knew the capabilities of a dragon, and few had fought alongside one.

The first day their campaign would begin in truth, Daena watched the sea from high on the mountainside, as Caraxes lounged amongst the rocks behind her. It had been a challenge, finding a spot where the large red dragon would be concealed from below, but they had managed it. It was unlikely that anyone would be looking up here, anyway.

The sounds of battle could already be heard, even from this distance. A small portion of the Velaryon ships had sailed around the headland that morning to confront the Triarchy forces on the other, more strategically sound, side of Bloodstone. Though Daena knew the plan, it was maddening waiting on the sidelines whilst the action unfolded below.

Corlys was losing, and fast. Already she could see the turquoise sails fleeing back around the headland, their hasty retreat pursued by the larger, and more numerous, Triarchy ships. No doubt they wanted to nip this in the bud now, eager for the chance to put the arrogant Sea Snake in his place before he could gain any territory that was actually of value, and hopefully send him packing back to Driftmark.

One of the masts was on fire, she could see from here, and the Triarchy fleet was fast gaining on them. Daena smiled. Not long now.

She sauntered down to where Caraxes lay, climbing into the saddle, making sure that her chains were fastened, that her leather armour was in place, her helm on, Dark Sister at her waist, just in case. One breath. Two. She was not good at waiting, and had to force herself to bide her time.

"Soves, Caraxes,"

Her old friend launched into the air from a crouch in one powerful leap that caused several rockfalls to go tumbling down the mountainside. He had been grounded for the last few days, so none would know of his presence here, limited to hunting silently by night. In scarcely a few seconds, they had plummeted down, down, down, fast enough to take even Daena's breath away, but not to snatch the hard smile and deathly focus from her face as the ships grew ever closer.

She could now hear the screams and shouting coming from the ships that had noticed her sudden appearance. Corlys' meagre force had been the bait, to lure out whichever Triarchy force held Bloodstone, making them think he had underestimated them drastically. She was the hunter, to spring the trap. If all went well, there would be no survivors to carry word back to their allies of exactly what ace the Sea Snake had up his sleeve.

The Blood Wyrm's wings snapped out in a flare.

"Dracarys," Daena screamed, as the momentum shoved her deep into the saddle, and the whole world lit up into chaos.

For a time, all she could see was red. They left a blistering trail of flame in their wake, dead men and burning ships. She had never seen anything like it; Daena was no stranger to death, but had never unleashed Caraxes to this level. The destruction was... immense. Daunting, even, and wondrous all at once. This was what he was born to do, what they both were born to do. The two of them moved as one, reading each others' intentions, the lines blurring between dragon and woman. He swooped up, gained some height, dropped down again for another brutal pass.

It was no less than a massacre. Their enemies were entirely unprepared. Even the great walls of Harrenhal - the largest castle the world had ever seen - had been no match for a single dragon, never mind some wooden ships. Archer's arrows bounced of Caraxes' hide, even the membranes of his wings. One got a lucky shot, which glanced off Daena's leather-covered shoulder on a particularly low pass, but in the thrill of battle she barely felt it.

Perhaps minutes, hours, or days later, there was nothing left to burn. The Triarchy ships were a smouldering wreck, the survivors being swiftly intercepted by Corlys' men on the shore. For a second, Caraxes wheeled round, seeing the Velaryon ships unharmed, and drew back as though to flame them too. For a second, Daena would have let him, so caught up in the bloodlust.

"Lykirī, Caraxes!" She caught herself. "Vēzot,"

Her command sent them shooting straight upwards, so steeply that the air no longer flew over Caraxes' wings and they were propelled by force of momentum alone. Her wretch of a dragon let them slowly lose speed until, for a split second, they were frozen in the sky. Then his wings flared outwards, he let out a roar and one last spurt of flame, and they were falling, falling, falling, until he caught enough air again to glide. Show off.

By the time Daena landed hard enough to make the walls of the fort shake, the Velaryon men and her sellswords were beside themselves, roaring her name, and that of her dragon. Her booted feet hit the ground and she had half a minute to throw her arms around Caraxes' neck, before whispering a quick 'irē' to the dragon, sending him off so the approaching crowd would not run afoul of his temper and end up as a celebratory meal. She greeted them all with a sharp grin on her face, blood pumping hard enough that she almost expected to hear it.

Despite the lacklustre accommodations, despite the pain in her bruised shoulder, despite the fact that her brother would be furious when he learned where she was, Daena liked being at war.

*

Laena Velaryon, Rhaenyra decided, was the most perfect future goodsister that anyone could ever ask for. The girl was four years older than she was, at thirteen, though did not turn her nose up at spending time with her younger cousin. Laena was unlike any of the girls in King's Landing. Like Rhaenyra, she said and did whatever she liked, whenever she wanted, and did not care for anyone telling her not to. She was witty, bold and sharp, and appealed greatly to the Princess.

"Come on," The girl woke Rhaenyra from her sleep one night, early on in their stay at Driftmark. "I want to go flying. Laenor's getting Baelon,"

"It's the middle of the night," Rhaenyra said, though was already slipping out of bed with a mischievous smile. "Won't the guards notice? Your Mother would be furious,"

"Don't fret, no one will see us," The girl grinned, taking her by the hand. "I do it all the time,"

They moved through the silent corridors like ghosts in the night. Sure enough, the route that Laena followed ensured they were not found to be out of bed. Her cousin moved with an almost-otherworldly grace, tall and lithe, her bare feet not making a sound as her silver hair glinted in the moonlight. She looked like an elfin fae from the old Westerosi tales, and for the first time in her life, Rhaenyra felt something akin to jealousy; she herself was short, much younger than Laena and not near as elegant.

Laenor met them where the dragons slept, a great earthen pit sunk into the ground. He was just as graceful as his sister; and even more pretty, she had heard some people scoff. Baelon, grinning, stood at his side.

"Laenor said I can fly on Seasmoke with him," The boy said, eager.

"Absolutely not," Laena tossed her hair. "Laenor, you fool, Seasmoke is much too young for two riders," As Baelon's face fell, she reached out her hand. "Baelon will ride on Vhagar with me,"

"Is that a good idea?" Laenor said, with a less-than-subtle gesture down his own face to mime Baelon's mostly-healed scar.

"I know what that means," Her brother scowled like their mother, folding his arms. "I'm not stupid. And I'm definitely not scared,"

"Precisely," Laena grinned. "My old lady Vhagar will have better manners this time, I am sure,"

"Does she listen to you?" Rhaenyra said, doubtful. "Mother was screaming at her, when Baelon got hurt, and she paid no attention til Caraxes arrived,"

"Your mother is not her rider," Laena said, no inch of doubt in her tone. "She will obey me,"

There was little any of them could say to that. Slowly, carefully, Laena led Baelon up to Vhagar's enormous snout, taking his hand in her own and placing it on the great dragon's greenish bronze scales. Vhagar snorted, but there was none of the aggression that Rhaenyra had seen last time. Her rider's presence calmed the huge creature.

"Anyone would think you a wanted to die, Baelon," Laenor remarked, watching as Laena climbed into the saddle, holding out a hand for Rhaenyra's brother to join her. "That dragon already tried to cleave your face in two out of personal dislike, and now you're trying to take to the skies on its back,"

Baelon made a rude gesture that he had no doubt learnt from their mother, and Laenor burst out laughing.

"Stop your fretting," Laena waved a hand, as they settled into the saddle and attached the chains. "And get on your own dragons - we're almost ready,"

Rhaenyra did not need telling twice.

Soaring on Syrax's back in the cloudless sky, the light of the full moon giving a wonderful view over the shadow of Driftmark and the sea beyond, was like nothing she had felt before. To her left, Vhagar coasted on wings so vast that they scarcely needed to beat, whilst the smaller and more agile Seasmoke flew on the enormous dragon's other side. Rhaenyra had not thought that a creature as large as Vhagar could pull off the manoeuvres that Laena put her through, but together dragon and rider - with Baelon's crowing encouragement - looked almost agile.

It was a memory that she would treasure for a long time, one that would stand out across the years; that moonlit ride over Driftmark with her brother and cousins.

Having returned to the castle, the four of them all piled into Laena's bed in an exhilarated heap, young enough for it not to matter.

"I want to fly like that every day," Baelon proclaimed.

"We'll find you a dragon of your own one day, little prince," Laena, who did fly every day, ruffled Baelon's hair.

*

Things moved quickly whilst at war, Daena found.

After Bloodstone, they carved a blackened, bloody path south, to provide a narrow but safe channel for the trading ships to go through to avoid the Triarchy seizures. Grey Gallows, Torturer's Deep, Scarfell, Wrecker's Watch, all fell to their forces. The victories came fast and often, in those first months, with relatively few lives lost on their side. No one knew how to fight a dragon, not hundreds of years after the fall of Old Valyria.

The Triarchy were fast learners, however.

They should have known it had been too easy, taking Black Tor as they did, within less than two days. All their reports had showed the island was heavily fortified, and their plans were estimated to take a month, at least, due to the extensive network of caves that allowed their foes to hide from dragon fire. Daena should not have been so blind, so careless.

Nonetheless, they believed the day to be won. She was taking a leisurely flight to scan the area around their growing encampment, tired eyes on the ground, though she felt there was nothing there to see. It was for peace of mind, more than anything.

The iron bolt came out of nowhere.

All Daena was aware of was a sudden, sickening, tearing sound, and a burning hot liquid spattering across her face. For a split second, she had no idea what had happened, startled into inaction. Then it hit her, as though she had been wounded herself. Pain, horrible, sharp pain. Caraxes let out a piercing shriek, lurching violently to the left.

If she had not been chained, or the chains had not held, she would have been thrown from the saddle no matter how good a rider she was, there was no question about it. As her dragon fought to keep in the air, wracked with pain, and she fought to gather her wits about her, Daena realised what had happened; something had gone straight through the membrane of Caraxes' flailing wing.

No sooner had she realised this, did a second bolt strike his leg.

Enraged and hurting, her dragon let out a tremendous roar, and a spurt of indiscriminate flame that turned the air around them into an inferno. Lucky, that their own ships were out of range, for there was no controlling his fire now. By this point, barely seconds after that first impact, Daena had got herself together enough from the initial shards of panic to be nothing short of furious. Revenge would have to wait, however, until they had gotten to the ground and away from whatever was firing those bolts. She had no idea where they were coming from, no idea where was the best escape route. Being threatened whilst on dragonback was an entirely new, and horrifying, experience.

Daena wasn't sure how they got to the ground in one piece. More bolts whizzed past, but they were going down fast, too fast, more falling than flying, twisting and flailing in the air. She supposed they must have been too erratic to aim at, at least.

They had ended up in one of the rocky bays that the Velaryons had occupied. Caraxes did not even flare his wings properly before landing, only barely managing to get position himself so as not to crush his rider. It was more of a vaguely-controlled crash than a landing, in truth, the dragon's injured leg giving way awkwardly underneath him.

The impact stunned Daena for a moment, especially when coupled with the shared pain from her dragon, and the fact her head was still spinning from their rapid, graceless descent. Already, the Velaryon ships were moving to cover them, blocking the mouth of the bay from any intruders. She felt a sharp stab of gratitude towards Corlys.

"Alright," Daena spoke in High Valyrian, to sooth both herself and Caraxes. "It's alright, you're alright, I'll fix it, I'm sorry,"

She struggled to unchain herself and slid from the saddle, her legs as shaky as a newborn foal, waist-deep in water that was fast turning as red as her dragon's scales. The huge bolt in his leg was still embedded in there, vicious and hateful. Such a weapon had killed the great Meraxes in Dorne a century ago, and brought down Queen Rhaenys herself. If such a thing had pierced Caraxes' heart... the very idea was unthinkable. Daena had not felt fear like that since seeing her son face down Vhagar.

Shouts were coming from the shore, cries of dismay that their greatest weapon had been downed.

"Stay back, you fools!" She yelled at them, holding up a hand without looking around, as Caraxes bristled, made even more wild and disagreeable than usual by the pain. "He'll kill you if you get closer!"

The shouting stopped, as did the running steps. Daena closed her eyes briefly, forehead against her dragon's heaving chest, attempting to block out the rest of the world.

"This has got to come out," She said, reaching for the wound.

Like a wounded dog, but with with teeth as long as her leg, Caraxes snapped at her, the smell of brimstone and burning men on his breath.

"Lykiri, Caraxes!" She shoved his snout away, ignoring the fierce snarl that followed, stepping forward not back; he would never have let her on his back, if she was not willing to face an angry dragon."You have to let me take it out, old friend. It won't heal otherwise, and you'd eat anyone else who tried,"

The rumbling in his chest lessened slightly. Daena stepped closer, placing both hands on the bolt. Without pausing, she pulled it out in one sharp, awful, crunching, scraping movement, casting the evil thing away into the sea. Caraxes roared loud enough to split the sky, making her ears ring as he lurched backwards, sending a wave washing over her.

Daena stood her ground, even as saltwater dripped down her face and into her leather armour. The waves evened out, the dragon settled down, and now she could examine him properly.

The leg wound was still bleeding, and the hole in his wing - which, in truth, she was more worried about - bled even more. A dragon's wings have the largest blood supply, she remembered absurdly, from one of Baelon's books. But whilst she could bind his leg - and started to do so, tearing off her own cloak to stem the flow, grateful for the salt water flooding to clean the wound - Daena felt helpless when it came to the wing. He may tear even her arm off if she tried to stitch it.

In the end, all she could do was have him lower it into the water, both to clean it and so she could have a closer look. It looked incredibly painful, and would be not support him in flight without tearing the membrane more, which had already happened during their haphazard descent. Caraxes would be grounded for at least a month, even considering the fast healing of dragons.

She had never felt less like a queen, trudging back to the beach, her boots filled with silt, soaked to the bone yet still covered in blood from head to toe. Caraxes walked at her side; well, limped. She didn't think she had ever seen her dragon walk so far before. Her old friend was positively furious about it too, snapping at any men that dared get too close, and even some that did not. Daena's mood was too dark to tell him not to. The stupid sods would get out the way if they had any sense.

She slept curled up to Caraxes' flank that night, her head filled with terrible visions of enemies sneaking into the cove in the cover of darkness and finishing him off. Not that she would be able to do much about that, on her own, if the enemy was so great that a battle-hardened dragon (even without use of his wings) couldn't defend himself.

"No," Corlys said, the next day, when she posed her idea. "Absolutely not,"

"You can't stop me," Daena said, slounched in her chair, her black mood not having lifted in the slightest; she suspected at least some of it was creeping over from Caraxes, for this was quite the temper even for her. "I am still your Queen,"

"Exactly," The Sea Snake said. "Viserys will be furious enough that I let his wife fight my war - never mind if I return with your corpse,"

"You've seen me fight with a sword. You know full well you wouldn't be bringing back my corpse. And Viserys knows full well that you would have no chance of deterring me from whatever foolish notion I've set my mind on,"

Corlys, eventually, had to acquiesce to her demands to fight on foot, with the men, whilst Caraxes was recovering in a sheltered - and guarded - bay. Whilst she missed being on dragonback more than she cared to examine, Daena had to admit there was something painfully real and enticing about hacking away at the enemy with sword in hand, feeling their flesh give way beneath her blade instead of seeing them burn from a distance.

War, it seemed, came more naturally to her than being Queen, Viserys' wife, or Rhaenyra and Baelon's mother, ever had.

*

The servants looked unusually grave, when they told them Princess Rhaenys had summoned them all to the main receiving hall of High Tide. Even Laena did not know, and she tended to know most things that went on in the castle. Her friend's mother's face was cold when they entered, all standing together around the high seat of the Velaryons.

Rhaenys looked hard at Rhaenyra and Baelon. "Remember what your mother told you," She said. "There are those in King's Landing that would do you harm. You will remain on Driftmark until her return,"

"What do you mean?" Rhaenyra demanded. "What's happening,"

Cousin Rhaenys just shushed her, and she bristled in indignation, but Laena was linking arms with her pointedly, Laenor on Rhaenyra's other side whilst his sister place a hand on Baelon's shoulder. Then the door was opening, and a familiar face was shown inside.

"Ser Criston!" Rhaenyra exclaimed at once, pleased to see her white knight again, ignoring how Laena's grip tightened, running over and flinging her arms around his armoured waist. How happy she had been, when Father made him her sworn shield. A shame Mother had not let him come to Driftmark.

"Princess," He said fondly, returning her embrace for half a second. His tone was a little odd. "I am relieved to find you safe and well,"

"As opposed to what?" Cousin Rhaenys asked from across the hall, with a dangerously arched eyebrow; Rhaenyra had found that the woman was just as scary as her mother could be, in a very different way. "Did you expect us to beat her?"

"Of course not, my lady," Ser Criston inclined his head.

"My mother is a Princess," Laena corrected, narrowing her eyes.

She was right. Rhaenyra looked expectantly at the knight, waiting for him to apologise for the mistake.

Instead, Ser Criston placed a hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder. "I have been sent by His Grace, King Viserys, to bring Prince Baelon and Princess Rhaenyra safely home to King's Landing,"

Rhaenyra stepped away from him. "But I don't want to go back to King's Landing, Ser Criston," She said, angry at her father rather than the knight. "Not unless Father gets rid of the awful Hightower woman. I'm much happier here,"

Ser Criston took her arm now. "You must understand, Princess, that in her anger your mother has told you all sorts of untrue things," He said. "The King is allowed to have a mistress - that is how things are done. Do you not miss your Father?"

Rhaenyra tried to wrench her arm away, but the knight was too strong. Why was he not letting go of her? No one had ever dared lay a hand on her in such a way. He was supposed to be her sworn shield, not Father's errand boy.

"Unhand the Princess, Ser," Cousin Rhaenys cut in, a stark warning. "She and her brother were left in my care by the Queen herself, their mother,"

"The Queen has seen fit to abandon her children here and run off to play at war," Ser Criston said, distaste in his tone, and Rhaenyra suddenly realised that her white knight, whom she had admired so much, did not like her mother, and perhaps there was a reason Mother hadn't let him come with them. "It is my duty - "

"Unhand Rhaenyra," Rhaenys' tone was icy cold, gesturing to the guards, who moved forward at her command. "Your white cloak offers no protection here,"

"Ser Criston, you're hurting me," Rhaenyra said. He wasn't really, though his grip was a little tight, but she knew how to wrap people around her little finger when she wanted. And she really wanted him to let go.

Where he had only stiffened at the sight of the guards, at her words, he let go of her arm as though stung. She took the chance to run to Rhaenys' side, feeling like a fool for leaving in the first place.

"Go back to King's Landing, Ser, and inform the King that the mother of his children does not feel that the Prince and Princess will be safe in his court," Her cousin said.

"The mother of his children," Ser Criston said through gritted teeth. "Corrupted and poisoned a young woman, and killed the babe in her womb. Does the Queen have any care for Lady Alicent's tears, for her dead child, or is her mind so twisted she takes pleasure in it?"

"Alicent's child was never alive," Rhaenys said. "And should never have been conceived in the first place. You are not welcome on Driftmark, Ser Criston,"

"I am a servant of the Iron Throne - "

"I am a member of House Targaryen, the house you serve. You are an upjumped son of a steward, who only won your white cloak because a little girl thought you looked pretty. Rhaenyra and Baelon do not want to go with you. Leave, before I make you,"

It was evident, from her tone, her bearing, her raised chin, that Princess Rhaenys had been raised to be Queen. Glaring, the knight turned on his heel and stormed from the room.

The moment the doors closed behind him, Rhaenyra turned to her hosts.

"He's not normally like that," She said, hating how young and babyish her own voice sounded. "I promise he's not, Ser Criston is a good man. I don't know why he was so rude to you - perhaps he was worried he would get into trouble if he did not bring us back,"

"What you witnessed, Princess, is how men react when they are told no," Rhaenys said. "Cole may be kind to you, but he holds no love for your mother. He may protect you with his life, but do you want to be a sheltered little girl wrapped in soft cotton and kept shielded from any possible harm?"

"Of course not," Rhaenyra said with a scoff. "I am a dragonrider, like Mother,"

The woman smiled. "There you have it. Most men think of women as creatures to be possessed, rather than an equal with desires and dreams as important their own. Their care extends as far as their control, and when that control slips, their true colours show. Your mother and I will ensure you are never wed to such a man, and Baelon will not act so towards Laena,"

A sharp glance at her brother had him nodding his head fervently. "I won't, Cousin Rhaenys,"

Laena grinned. "We'll get along just fine, won't we Baelon?"

Her brother grinned back.

Rhaenyra thought on her words for a moment. "Is that why Mother and Father argue so much? Because she won't let him control her?" That was an unpleasant thought.

"Though I doubt the King would acknowledge that to be true... yes, at the heart of it, you are right,"

"I don't think anyone would prefer a boring, timid woman over someone like Mother,"

Rhaenys smiled without humour. "Your father has his new mistress, does he not?"

That was true. Rhaenyra scowled.

*

The iron bolts - fired from a device called a scorpion, the captured Triarchy men told them - forced them to drastically change their strategy, once Caraxes was healed. Daena was not going to risk losing her dragon in such a way, nor risk repeating his injuries. They were not in a bad position, by any means, however; they still held the strip of islands from north to south, allowing the merchant vessels through, even if there were still skirmishes with the Triarchy who remained on the eastern islands.

Her first move after mounting her dragon again, after six weeks of recovery, was to see exactly how far these scorpions could shoot. It was easy, getting their enemies to show their hand; emboldened by their success last time, they freely fired at her and Caraxes above them, never mind that she was far out of range. That gave her an idea of how far she could push things. They were not long range weapons; the power was great to launch the iron spears, but they either struck true early on or became slow enough to harmlessly bounce off dragon hide. Not that she would risk getting even that close.

Their range, however, was at least equal to that of Caraxes' fire, their greatest weapon. She could dive down and back up again to burn a ship, briefly within range, but there would be no more soaring over the fleet, raining destruction at her leisure. This new style of fighting made Caraxes even more agile than he had been before. Another trick - Corlys' idea - was for them to load heavy rocks into a strong net, which her dragon would carry in flight and release from far above the Triarchy ships, smashing through hulls and splintering masts.

In the midst of this destruction, nearing the end of the battle, a familiar sound caught Daena's attention; dragon's wings on the wind.

Her head turned in astonishment. For one awful moment, she thought that somehow the Triarchy had found dragons of their own to turn on her. Then she realised that was absurd, and looked closer; she knew those dragons. Of course she did. The vast form of Vhagar dwarfed both Seasmoke and Syrax in the distance, flying south, towards them.

Despite her fears of scorpion bolts, despite her desire to keep her children far from this war, a laugh left her lips, unbidden. You are blood of the dragon indeed; blood of the dragon and blood of mine. She urged Caraxes higher, soaring forward to meet them with a roar.

*

"Rhaenyra," She was awoken by Laenor shaking her in the middle of the night. "Rhaenyra, you need to wake up,"

"What's happened?" She sat up sleepily.

"Your father has sent a whole ship full of men to bring you back. Mother is stalling them at the gates but there's no time to write to the Queen, we have to go now,"

"Go where?"

"To her, to the Stepstones. That's what Mother told us. Laena is readying the dragons, we need to get Baelon and leave,"

"But Syrax isn't strong enough to carry two, let alone for that long,"

"Vhagar is," The boy grinned. "We always wanted to go to fight with Father - this is a good excuse,"

Rhaenyra hesitated. "I'll get dressed now,"

She, Baelon and Laenor hurried from the castle, carrying a small bag of possessions each, wearing warm flying leathers and slipping through the corridors unseen. Laenor knew of a postern gate where they could escape without being detected by her father's men, and they stumbled down a rocky path to where the dragons lay.

Laena beamed at the sight of them. "Quickly," She said, offering a hand to Baelon.

Rhaenyra mounted Syrax, doing up the chains with shaking hands, her entire body buzzing with excitement. Beside her, Laenor was already in Seasmoke's saddle, whilst Laena and Baelon were almost seated on Vhagar's enormous back.

"Soves, Syrax,"

Her little dragon shot into the sky, the larger Seasmoke and the mountain that was Vhagar following close behind. Cries of dismay echoed from the ship in the harbour, and she laughed loudly, turning Syrax towards the south. Mother, I hope you'll be proud.

*

I think it was important for Daena to get some experience fighting in true battles alongside Caraxes, as well as to build her reputation even further; not only as a warrior queen, but also somehow who will fight fiercely for her allies. Nonetheless, the Hightowers are of course taking full advantage of her absence. I wanted to allow Rhaenyra and Baelon some time to get to know Laena and Laenor, as well as Rhaenys. Also, the seeds of doubt are planted in Rhaenyra's head against her beloved Ser Criston - currently he cares for the princess deeply, but Rhaenys phrased it well, his care is very conditional. And he does despise Daena.

As always let me know what you think.