Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Once everything had been loaded aboard the ships bound for Dragonstone, the family made their final preparations to depart. The youngest members of the royal family would make the journey by sea. Too young to safely ride dragons, they would sail beneath the watchful care of Aenar, Aelyra, Daenys the Dreamer, Guardian Rhaenyra, Daemion, and Aerea. Surrounded by the ancient Targaryens, the younger children of Viserys and Aemma would be kept safe and entertained throughout the voyage across Blackwater Bay.

Viserys and Aemma, meanwhile, would take to the skies alongside Viserys's brothers—Daemon, Aegon, and Rhaegor—and the three princesses. Mounted upon their beloved dragons, they would escort the fleet from above, their great wings casting fleeting shadows across the waters as Dragonstone slowly rose upon the horizon, waiting to welcome both the descendants of Old Valyria and those who had helped give its legacy new life. Daemon and Rhaenyra wheeled through the sky in playful circles, their dragons banking and diving with effortless grace as though they were dancing upon the wind itself. Every sweeping turn and sudden climb spoke of years spent flying together, dragon and rider moving as one beneath the open sky.

Fond smiles spread across the faces of the other dragonriders as they watched the pair's carefree display. Even Viserys found himself chuckling softly, while Aemma simply shook her head with quiet affection. It was good to see them enjoying a rare moment of peace. From the decks of the ships below came peals of delighted laughter. The five youngest children crowded against the rails, waving excitedly and cheering each time Daemon and Rhaenyra swept low over the fleet before climbing once more into the clouds. Their excitement proved infectious, drawing warm smiles from the ancient Targaryens who sailed beside them.

Standing upon the deck of his flagship at the head of the fleet, Corlys Velaryon watched the spectacle unfold. With an amused shake of his head, the Sea Snake folded his arms across his chest. "They truly never stop showing off," he murmured, though the fondness in his voice betrayed that he would not have had it any other way.

High above them all, the great dragon Nyghtfyre glided through the clear sky. Rather than joining the playful aerial dance, the mighty beast maintained a steady course above the fleet, ever watchful as he faithfully followed his rider while keeping silent vigil over the ships bound for Dragonstone.

A few hours later, the ships carrying the family's belongings, along with the younger children and the elder Targaryens, finally sailed into Dragonstone's harbor. Towering above the port, the ancient castle stood proudly upon the volcanic island, its black stone walls and dragon-carved towers rising from the mountain as though they had grown from the rock itself.

The moment the gangplanks were lowered, the servants of Dragonstone joined those who had sailed with the younger children in carefully unloading trunks, chests, furnishings, and supplies destined for the castle.

Nearby, Aenar, Aelyra, Daenys the Dreamer, and Guardian Rhaenyra patiently helped the children disembark. Gentle words of encouragement and steady hands ensured that each child stepped safely from the ship before gathering together to follow their elders toward their new home.

For Baelon, little Aegon, and Helaena, everything they saw was new. Their wide eyes wandered from the bustling harbor to the immense fortress looming above them. Great dragon statues watched over the island from every tower and parapet, while the faint scent of salt mingled with the warmth carried upon the air from the volcano that gave Dragonstone its life.

Daemion and Aerea, however, remembered fragments of the island. Though they had been very young, Dragonstone had once been their home. Guardian Rhaenyra had brought them here when they were only three years old after a rebellion forced her to seek the safety of the ancient fortress. Time had softened many of their memories, yet familiar glimpses remained—a winding stair carved into black stone, the echo of waves striking the cliffs below, and the comforting warmth that seemed to radiate through the island itself.

Watching the children take in their surroundings, Aelyra smiled softly. For some, Dragonstone was an entirely new beginning. For others, it was the first step in rediscovering a place they had once called home.

Maester Gradys was a kind and learned man who, in the absence of a permanent castellan, had overseen the day-to-day running of Dragonstone for several years. With none of the royal family residing upon the island, the responsibility had naturally fallen to him. Though never intended to be a permanent arrangement, each passing year without a resident lord or lady had left the castle in his capable hands.

The elderly maester stood waiting within the castle courtyard as the procession climbed the winding path from the harbor. Servants hurried past carrying trunks, chests, and carefully wrapped furnishings while sailors returned to the ships for another load. At the head of the procession walked King Viserys and Queen Aemma, followed closely by Princes Daemon, Aegon, and Rhaegor. Around them wandered the younger children, their excitement evident as they eagerly took in every dragon-carved archway and towering wall. It was the figures walking quietly among them that caused the maester to stop in his tracks. His eyes widened.

The color drained from his face.

The books in his arms slipped from nerveless fingers, striking the stone courtyard with a heavy thud that echoed through the otherwise cheerful greetings. "By... by the gods…" His voice scarcely rose above a whisper. With hurried, uncertain steps, he moved closer, his gaze never leaving the four ancient dragonlords before him. "You... you're..." His mouth opened and closed several times before the words finally found him. "Lady Daenys the Dreamer... Guardian Rhaenyra..." His astonished gaze shifted to the older man and woman standing beside them. "And... Lord Aenar... Lady Aelyra..."

For a long moment, he simply stared.

"How..." he breathed, his scholarly composure utterly forgotten. "How is this possible?" A faint smile touched Daenys's lips as Aelyra regarded the stunned maester with gentle understanding. They had expected such reactions. To the people of Westeros, they were not merely ancestors remembered in dusty histories.

They were legends. Legends who had just walked out of the pages of history. Maester Gradys had long since grown accustomed to the quiet rhythm of Dragonstone.

Though a maester by chain and training, necessity had made him far more than healer and scholar. With no permanent castellan appointed to oversee the ancient fortress, the responsibility had gradually fallen upon his shoulders. The servants answered to him, repairs to the castle were brought before him, and every supply ship entering the harbor did so beneath his careful watch. It had never been the life he imagined for himself, yet he had accepted the duty with quiet pride, determined to keep Dragonstone ready for the day its rightful occupants returned.

When ravens arrived announcing that Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma intended to once again make Dragonstone their family's home, the elderly maester wasted no time preparing the castle. Guest chambers were opened and aired, hearths were lit throughout the fortress, the royal apartments meticulously cleaned, and the nurseries prepared for the youngest princes and princesses. By the time the fleet finally sailed into the harbor, Dragonstone stood ready to welcome its new residents.

Standing within the castle courtyard, Gradys watched with quiet satisfaction as servants hurried back and forth carrying trunks, chests, books, furnishings, toys, and countless other belongings toward the castle. Sailors moved with practiced efficiency while additional servants descended toward the harbor to retrieve yet another load.

His attention drifted toward the children making their way through the gates beneath the watchful care of the elder Targaryens.

Prince Baelon stared in fascination at the dragon carvings that seemed to emerge from every wall and pillar. Little Prince Aegon craned his neck so far backward while trying to take in the towering fortress that Princess Daenys had to gently steady him before he stumbled. Princess Helaena lingered beside Lady Aelyra, her curious violet eyes wandering over every carved dragon and ancient archway as though expecting the stone creatures to awaken at any moment.

A warm smile crossed the old maester's face.

It was good to see Dragonstone alive once more. Then he truly looked at those escorting the children. The smile slowly faded. His scholarly mind immediately rejected what his eyes insisted upon seeing. Silver-gold hair. Ancient Valyrian features.

Clothing unlike anything worn in Westeros for centuries. His arm relaxed without him realizing it, allowing the ledgers tucked beneath it to slide free before striking the black stone courtyard with a heavy thud. The sound echoed around the courtyard. Several servants glanced toward him in surprise. Gradys never noticed.

His heart pounded against his ribs as years of study and countless hours spent copying ancient texts flooded back into his memory. Portraits preserved within dusty manuscripts. Descriptions written by maesters long dead. Every lesson concerning the final days before the Doom. With slow, uncertain steps, he approached the four silver-haired figures. His lips parted. Several attempts to speak failed him before he finally managed to whisper, "By... by the gods..."

His astonished gaze settled first upon the elegant woman whose calm smile held centuries of wisdom.

"You're... Daenys the Dreamer…" His eyes shifted toward the woman standing proudly beside her. "...Guardian Rhaenyra…" Then toward the older lord and lady who watched the children with quiet affection. "...Lord Aenar...Lady Aelyra…" His voice faltered completely. "I... I studied your lives. I copied the accounts myself while earning my chain. Every history... every surviving record..." He swallowed hard, scarcely believing his own words. "You have been dead for centuries."

A gentle smile touched Daenys's lips as she stepped forward, her movements carrying the quiet grace of Old Valyria.

"Breathe, child of Westeros," she said softly, the faint cadence of ancient Valyria lingering within every word she spoke. "We are very real." The simple kindness in her voice seemed enough to steady the elderly maester's breathing, though the disbelief upon his face remained. "And to answer your question, the Fourteen Flames granted us new life so that we might witness the Freehold restored to its true glory beneath the leadership of the Three-Headed Dragon." She turned her silver eyes toward the skies above Dragonstone, a knowing smile gracing her features. "We now await the blood of our line. They should be arriving soon."
As though the gods themselves had chosen to answer her words, a mighty roar rolled across the island. Every conversation within the courtyard ceased. The servants froze where they stood. The children immediately turned excited eyes toward the heavens. Gradys slowly lifted his gaze.
Dark shapes appeared beyond the castle, growing larger with every passing heartbeat until magnificent dragons soared into view. Their enormous wings cast sweeping shadows across Dragonstone as Prince Viserys, Princess Aemma, Princes Daemon, Aegon, and Rhaegor, together with Princesses Daenys, Rhaenyra, and Visenya, descended from the skies upon their beloved dragons, the blood of ancient Valyria finally gathering beneath one roof once more.

Leaving the fleet to continue toward the harbor, the eight dragonriders guided their dragons toward the towering volcanic peak that dominated Dragonstone. Great columns of steam drifted lazily from vents scattered across the Dragonmount while the familiar warmth rising from the mountain wrapped around both dragon and rider alike. It was a warmth unlike anywhere else in Westeros, one that spoke of fire, stone, and the ancient blood of Old Valyria.

One by one, the dragons circled the mountain before descending onto the broad landing ledges carved into the black volcanic rock. Powerful wings beat against the warm air before slowly folding against massive bodies as each beast settled upon the stone with practiced ease.

Prince Viserys was the first to dismount, followed closely by Princess Aemma. Prince Daemon swung effortlessly from his saddle with the confidence of a man who had spent most of his life upon dragonback, while Prince Aegon and Prince Rhaegor followed moments later. Behind them, Princesses Daenys, Rhaenyra, and Visenya gracefully climbed from their saddles, each pausing to stroke the neck or muzzle of the dragon that had faithfully carried them from King's Landing.

Every one of the dragonriders wore the traditional dragon leathers of House Targaryen. Black leather trousers were tucked neatly into sturdy riding boots, while rich crimson tunics disappeared beneath long black riding coats designed to shield both rider and clothing from wind and dragonfire alike. Though practical in purpose, the garments carried an unmistakable elegance, their simple lines reflecting the ancient traditions of the dragonlords far more than the fashions of the royal court.

Soft rumbles echoed from the dragons as their riders offered quiet words of affection and gratitude before stepping away. With familiar ease, the great beasts turned toward the vast nesting caverns that stretched deep within the Dragonmount. One after another they disappeared into the volcanic mountain, returning to the warm chambers that had sheltered dragons since before Aegon the Conqueror had first set foot upon Dragonstone. For several moments the eight riders simply watched as the last of their beloved companions vanished into the mountain's depths.

No matter how many times they witnessed the sight, there was something deeply comforting about watching dragons return willingly to the ancient home that had welcomed their kind for centuries. Dragonstone had never merely been a castle.

It had always been a sanctuary for dragons.

Leaving the Velaryon fleet to continue toward Dragonstone's harbor, the eight dragonriders banked their dragons toward the towering Dragonmount. Great columns of steam drifted lazily from vents scattered across the volcanic mountain while ribbons of smoke curled skyward before being carried out over Blackwater Bay. Though the mountain slept peacefully today, the warmth rising from its ancient heart embraced dragon and rider alike. It was a warmth unlike anywhere else in Westeros, one that reminded every descendant of Old Valyria that Dragonstone had always been more than a fortress. It was the last true sanctuary of the dragons.

One after another the dragons circled the mountain before descending toward the broad landing ledges carved into the black volcanic stone. Powerful wings beat against the warm air as the great beasts settled with practiced grace, their talons scraping softly against the rock before their wings slowly folded against their massive bodies. Prince Viserys was the first to dismount, followed by Princess Aemma. Prince Daemon swung effortlessly from Caraxes before helping Princess Rhaenyra down from Syrax. Prince Aegon and Prince Rhaegor soon followed, while Princesses Daenys and Visenya gracefully climbed from their own dragons, each taking a moment to stroke the neck of the companion who had safely carried them home.

All eight wore the traditional dragon leathers of House Targaryen. Black leather trousers disappeared into sturdy riding boots while crimson tunics were partially concealed beneath long black riding coats designed to protect both rider and clothing from the fierce winds encountered high above the clouds. Though practical in every respect, the garments carried an unmistakable elegance born from centuries of dragonlord tradition, their simple appearance speaking not of wealth, but of purpose.

Soft rumbles answered the gentle affection of their riders as each dragon lowered its head to receive a final touch before turning toward the great nesting caverns hidden within the Dragonmount. Unlike the Dragonpit in King's Landing, no chains waited for the dragons of Dragonstone. The dragonkeepers who tended the ancient fortress still honored the oldest law ever spoken between dragonlord and dragon. Let them be free. Dragons had never been creatures meant for cages, and so each great beast wandered into the mountain entirely of its own choosing, disappearing into the warm caverns that had sheltered their kind since before Aegon the Conqueror first set foot upon the island.

The family remained where they were for a few quiet moments, watching until the last dragon disappeared from sight. Only then did they begin making their way down the broad stone path that wound its way toward the castle below. Rhaenyra's eyes drifted toward the harbor in the distance before a smile spread across her face. Looking first to Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma before turning toward Daemon walking at her side, she couldn't resist voicing the thought that had just crossed her mind. "Shall we go see how our little trouble-making firelights are doing?" she asked with a grin. "And hopefully they didn't cause too much trouble aboard the ships."

Warm laughter immediately spread through the group. Viserys smiled knowingly while Daemon chuckled beneath his breath, and both Aegon and Rhaegor exchanged amused glances before looking toward the three sisters. "I never thought I'd hear someone else wearing that title," Viserys admitted with a fond shake of his head. "Neither did I," Daemon agreed. "Though I suppose it was inevitable." Rhaenyra looked between the four brothers with perfectly feigned innocence. "I've absolutely no idea what either of you means." "No?" Aegon replied, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Would you like us to remind you?" Rhaenyra sighed dramatically. "I'd really rather you didn't."

"Oh, I think we should," Rhaegor said, unable to contain his grin. "After all, it's only fair." Daenys laughed before her younger sister could answer, while Visenya nodded in complete agreement with their brothers. "He's right," Daenys said. "Entirely right," Visenya added. Rhaenyra looked from one sister to the other in mock disbelief. "I can't believe you're siding with them." "We are your sisters," Daenys answered sweetly. "That doesn't mean we have to protect you from your own childhood."

Viserys's smile softened as the memory returned with perfect clarity. "Father searched nearly every room in Dragonstone after the three of you disappeared. By the time one of the dragonkeepers suggested checking the hatcheries, he had nearly convinced himself something terrible had happened." Daemon nodded, laughing quietly at the recollection. "I don't think I'd ever seen Father move so quickly." "And when we finally reached the hatcheries," Aegon continued, "there the three of you were, asleep between two young dragons as though it were the most natural place in the world to take a nap." Daenys covered her face with one hand, already laughing. "Oh, I'd nearly forgotten that." "I hadn't," Visenya replied with a grin. "Nor had I," Rhaenyra admitted. "It was warm."

"It was enough to frighten Father half to death," Viserys reminded them. "He wanted to scold all three of you. You could see it written across his face. But the moment he realized you were safe, every word he'd planned to say simply disappeared." Daemon laughed outright. "Instead, he hugged the three of you so tightly that Rhaenyra started complaining." "Because I couldn't breathe," Rhaenyra protested. "You complained while laughing," Daemon answered. "I was making an observation." "You were being dramatic." "I was being truthful." The family laughed together as they continued their descent toward the castle, each remembering Baelon's loving heart with equal measures of joy and longing.

As the laughter gradually faded, Viserys looked toward Dragonstone Castle standing proudly upon the island below. Somewhere inside, Baelon, little Aegon, and Helaena were undoubtedly exploring beneath the watchful eyes of Aenar, Aelyra, Daenys the Dreamer, and Guardian Rhaenyra. A warm smile crossed his face.

"I suppose it's fitting," he said quietly. "Once the three of you were Dragonstone's little firelights. Now that title belongs to Baelon, little Aegon, and Helaena." Rhaenyra's smile softened. "I think they'll wear it just as proudly as we did." Daemon laughed. "I only hope the dragonkeepers are prepared." Agreeing Aegon said. "They'd better be,"

"Something tells me," Rhaegor added with a chuckle, "Dragonstone is about to become much livelier than it has been in many years." Still smiling, the eight dragonriders continued down the mountain together, eager to reunite with the youngest members of their family and discover whether Dragonstone's newest little firelights had already begun creating stories that would one day be told with the same affection as their own.

As they continued down the winding path toward Dragonstone Castle, laughter came easily to the family. Memories of childhood adventures quickly gave way to playful teasing as one story after another was shared, each somehow leading to another forgotten tale. The sound carried down the mountainside, mingling with the cries of dragons soaring overhead and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below. For the first time in many years, there were no pressing matters of state demanding Prince Viserys's attention, no council waiting impatiently for his return, and no endless procession of lords eager to test the patience of the royal family.

Daemon glanced toward his elder brother before exchanging an amused smile with Aegon and Rhaegor. None of them needed to say a word. The change in Viserys was impossible to miss. The burden that had rested upon his shoulders for more than two decades had vanished almost overnight.

Viserys walked with an ease they had not seen since he was a much younger man, his laughter coming freely instead of being tempered by duty. Beside him, Princess Aemma looked every bit as relaxed, her smile brighter than it had been in years. The endless weight of the Iron Throne, the expectations of the realm, and the constant struggle against those who believed a queen should stand behind her husband instead of beside him had finally been laid to rest.

From the very day Viserys had taken the throne, he had refused to allow anyone to diminish Aemma's place at his side. She had ruled with him as his equal in every sense of the word, and together they had weathered every challenge the Seven Kingdoms had placed before them. Yet both knew how exhausting that constant battle had become. Every decision had been questioned. Every success credited to Viserys alone by those unwilling to acknowledge Aemma's wisdom. Every failure had somehow become hers to bear simply because she was a woman.

No longer.

The crown now rested where Viserys had always believed it belonged. Aegon the Conqueror once again ruled the Seven Kingdoms alongside his sister queens, while Viserys and Aemma were finally free to devote themselves to the roles they cherished most—husband and wife, father and mother, brother and sister, dragonriders and family. "They look happier," Daemon observed quietly, his voice carrying just enough for the others to hear.

"They do," Aegon agreed. "I don't think I've seen either of them smile this much in years." Rhaegor nodded as he watched their brother and sister-in-law walking a short distance ahead, talking quietly between themselves before bursting into another fit of laughter. "They seem twenty years younger." Daenys smiled fondly as she watched her parents. "They're finally able to breathe."

"They're home," Visenya said softly. "Not just here on Dragonstone... but home in every sense of the word." Rhaenyra slipped her arm through Daenys's and smiled. "And they don't have to carry the realm upon their shoulders anymore." Viserys looked back over his shoulder, having clearly overheard the conversation despite pretending otherwise. "I'll have you know," he said with an amused grin, "I do not feel twenty years younger."

"No?" Daemon asked innocently. Viserys chuckled. "No." Aemma smiled knowingly as she looked up at her husband. "I'd say perhaps fifteen." That earned a chorus of laughter from the family. Viserys laughed harder than anyone else before shaking his head. "I suppose I can live with fifteen."

"You'll have to," Daemon replied. "After all, you're four-and-forty now." Daemon teased, knowing his brother wouldn’t take it in a bad light. After all, all four brothers teased each other all the time. "I am." Viserys said with a slightly annoyed look though the brothers could tell it was just a playful annoyance. "And yet," Aegon added with a grin, "I don't think I've ever seen you looking more at peace." Viserys's smile softened as his gaze drifted toward Dragonstone Castle standing proudly upon the island below.

"Peace..." he repeated quietly. "I think that may be exactly the right word." His hand found Aemma's, their fingers naturally intertwining as they continued walking together. "For the first time in a very long while," he said, looking toward his family rather than the castle itself, "I feel like we're exactly where we're meant to be." No one argued. There was no need. Looking around at the people walking beside him—his wife, his brothers, his sisters, and the home awaiting them below—each of them knew he was right.

Together they continued their descent toward Dragonstone, where the youngest members of their family waited, blissfully unaware that their parents, uncles, and older sisters were already looking forward to hearing every story of the voyage they had missed.

As they descended the final stretch of the mountain path, the sounds of Dragonstone gradually replaced the quiet conversation shared among the family. Young growls, playful chirps, and the occasional tiny roar drifted upon the warm breeze, followed almost immediately by peals of childish laughter that echoed through the castle grounds. Rhaenyra smiled the moment she recognized the unmistakable sounds. "The panther cubs," she said. "and from the sound of it the hatchlings are mixed in there from the delighted chirps. They certainly sound happy," Daemon replied, amusement already creeping into his voice. "I don't think it's just the panther cubs," Visenya laughed. "Listen closer."

Sure enough, the delighted laughter of Baelon, little Aegon, and Helaena rang out across the courtyard, accompanied by what sounded suspiciously like Aerea and Daemion joining enthusiastically in whatever game had captured their attention. Every few moments another playful growl or tiny roar answered the children's laughter, making it increasingly obvious that the young Valyrian panther cubs had decided to become part of the game. A warm smile spread across Aemma's face. "They're happy."

"They're children," Viserys answered simply. "Exactly as they should be." His words earned quiet nods from the rest of the family. Life within the Red Keep had always demanded far too much from the youngest members of House Targaryen. Even Baelon, little Aegon, and Helaena had begun feeling the invisible weight of courtly expectation. Lords and ladies alike expected them to stand quietly, speak only when spoken to, and conduct themselves with the same calm dignity displayed by their elder sisters. They were praised when they behaved like miniature adults and gently corrected whenever they forgot they were, in truth, still children. It was an expectation neither Viserys nor Aemma had ever truly accepted. Nor had Daemon, Aegon, or Rhaegor.

Children, they believed, should be allowed to laugh without apology, play without guilt, and return home with grass stains, windswept hair, and stories worth telling. There would come a day when duty settled upon their shoulders soon enough. None of the adults intended to steal away the few precious years they had to simply be young. "They'll learn responsibility," Daemon said, hearing the distant laughter grow even louder. "Just not before they've had the chance to enjoy being children."

"They've already begun learning," Aemma replied with a smile. "Kindness, compassion, respect, and love for one another. Everything else can wait." Viserys nodded in complete agreement. "There is a time to rule," he said quietly. "There is also a time to climb trees, chase panther cubs, laugh until your sides ache, and come home covered in dirt." Rhaenyra laughed. "I have a feeling Grandfather and great grandfather knew every time." Viserys looked positively innocent. "I have no idea what you mean." Daemon snorted. "Oh, I distinctly remember four brothers who regularly returned home looking as though they'd wrestled the entire Dragonmount."

"And won," Rhaegor added proudly. "According to the stories," Aegon said with a grin, "we won every time." The family laughed together once more as they passed beneath Dragonstone's ancient gatehouse. Ahead, the joyful sounds of the children and the playful calls of the panther cubs grew louder still, welcoming them home in a way no herald or royal ceremony ever could.

As they stepped through Dragonstone's great gates and into the castle courtyard, the sight before them immediately brought smiles to every face. The five children had gathered together beneath the watchful eyes of Guardian Rhaenyra, Daemion, and Aerea while Aenar, Aelyra, and Daenys the Dreamer looked on from nearby with quiet affection. Around the children, several young Valyrian panther cubs darted back and forth across the courtyard, their playful growls answered by delighted laughter as little hands reached down to scratch ears or gently rub soft black fur.
Guardian Rhaenyra watched the game unfold with a fond smile before calling to the children in fluent High Valyrian.
"Gōntan, ñuhī prūmio perzys! Sagon iā qelbar hen naejot ēdrugon!" (Come now, my little firelights! It is time to greet your family!)
The children immediately looked toward the castle gates.
Daemion laughed as he watched Baelon hurriedly pull little Aegon to his feet while Helaena clapped excitedly, all three recognizing familiar voices even before seeing who had arrived. Beside them, Aerea smiled brightly before saying something to the younger children in High Valyrian, slowing her words just enough that they could follow along.

Unlike the younger Targaryens, Daemion and Aerea spoke the ancient language as naturally as they breathed. Both had been born in Draconian, the ancient capital of Valyria, and had spent the first years of their childhood surrounded by nothing but High Valyrian before Guardian Rhaenyra brought them to Dragonstone following the rebellion. To them, the language was as familiar as their own names.

For Baelon, little Aegon, and Helaena, however, every conversation became another lesson.

Though High Valyrian had always filled their home, spoken daily by Viserys, Aemma, their uncles, and their three elder sisters, they were still very young. They understood far more than they could speak, often recognizing familiar words and simple phrases while still searching for the confidence to answer in the language themselves. Neither Viserys nor Aemma had ever rushed them. Languages, like dragons, flourished best when allowed to grow naturally. That was one of the many reasons the arrival of Aenar, Aelyra, Daenys the Dreamer, and Guardian Rhaenyra had been such an unexpected blessing.

Every conversation became an opportunity to learn.

Every story told in High Valyrian strengthened the children's understanding. Every gentle correction brought another smile instead of frustration. There were no harsh lessons. No impatient demands. Only family speaking the language of their ancestors exactly as it had been spoken before the Doom. Watching the scene unfold, Viserys smiled quietly. "It seems they haven't wasted a single moment."

"No," Aemma agreed warmly, watching Helaena carefully repeat one of Aerea's words before earning an encouraging smile from the older girl. "And judging by the smiles on their faces... I don't think they even realize they're learning."

"They're simply spending time with family," Daenys said softly. "And learning the language of our people," Guardian Rhaenyra added as she turned to greet the newly arrived dragonriders. "Exactly as children should."

Helaena's violet eyes widened as she watched Daemion speak to one of the young dragons in High Valyrian. She listened intently, repeating the unfamiliar sounds beneath her breath several times before gathering every bit of courage she possessed. Looking toward the small silver hatchling resting nearby, she took a careful breath. "Dracarys, Sylverfyre." The pronunciation was far from perfect, the words carrying the unmistakable uncertainty of a child still learning the ancient tongue. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then Sylverfyre slowly lifted her silver head, her bright eyes settling upon her bonded companion. The little dragon studied Helaena for a long moment, as though considering the earnest attempt, before a pleased trill escaped her throat. Stretching her neck toward the heavens, Sylverfyre opened her jaws and released a tiny roar. A wave of pale silver-white flame burst harmlessly into the air, dancing like liquid moonlight above the courtyard before slowly fading into wisps of shimmering smoke. The courtyard fell silent. Helaena blinked. "I... I did it?"

Aerea laughed softly while Daemion smiled with unmistakable pride. "You did," Daemion replied. "Perhaps not perfectly, but Sylverfyre understood exactly what you meant." Guardian Rhaenyra smiled warmly as she looked from the little princess to the young dragon. "Dragons do not seek perfection, little one. They seek understanding, confidence... and above all else, the bond they share with their rider."

Sylverfyre lowered her head until her nose gently bumped Helaena's shoulder, earning a delighted giggle from the young princess. "I think," Aelyra said, unable to hide the affection in her voice, "she rather likes hearing you speak the language of your ancestors." Viserys and Aemma exchanged a proud smile while the three elder sisters watched with quiet affection. "That," Daenys said softly, "is the first of many words she'll one day speak fluently."

"And," Rhaenyra added with a grin, "probably the first command every young dragonlord hopes to master." The adults laughed gently, while Helaena wrapped her arms around Sylverfyre's neck as far as they would reach, the little silver dragon answering with another contented trill that echoed through the courtyard. Before anyone could say another word, two much louder roars echoed across Dragonstone, rolling over the castle walls like distant thunder. Every head instinctively turned toward the sky. High above the castle, Syrax and Caraxes soared together upon the warm currents rising from the Dragonmount. The pair had witnessed their daughter's first successful use of Dracarys, and the pride they felt was impossible to mistake.

Syrax was the first to answer.

A brilliant stream of molten gold burst from her jaws, climbing high into the heavens before illuminating the sky above Dragonstone like a second sun. Caraxes answered a heartbeat later. A mighty torrent of deep blood-red dragonfire followed his mate's display, the two streams twisting together overhead in a breathtaking display of gold and crimson before slowly fading into drifting embers carried away by the sea breeze. The dragons circled proudly above the island, their triumphant roars echoing through the mountains as Sylverfyre answered her parents with an excited trill from the courtyard below.

Watching the exchange with wide eyes, Baelon and little Aegon looked at one another before slowly turning toward their own hatchlings. "If Helaena can do it..." Baelon whispered. "...Then maybe we can too," little Aegon finished. The boys nodded together before stepping forward. Baelon looked at the young black hatchling sitting patiently before him. Taking a deep breath, he carefully repeated the word as he believed he had heard it. "Darcarys... Balerion." The little black dragon blinked.

Tilting his head first one way and then the other, Balerion gave a soft questioning chirp before waddling over to Baelon and gently nudging his hand with his nose. Clearly, the hatchling knew his rider wanted something, but whatever Darcarys meant, he had never heard it before. Baelon sighed. "I said it wrong."

Guardian Rhaenyra smiled kindly. "You did, little prince. But there is no shame in learning. High Valyrian is an ancient language. Even those born speaking it needed time before every word came easily." Determined not to be discouraged, Baelon nodded and stepped aside for his younger brother. Little Aegon squared his shoulders before looking proudly toward the golden hatchling. "Sunfyre... Dracars." Sunfyre immediately chirped excitedly.

The little dragon bounced happily upon all four feet before throwing his head toward the sky with every ounce of confidence he possessed. A tiny puff of smoke escaped his nostrils. Sunfyre blinked. He tried again. Another little puff drifted lazily into the air before disappearing altogether. The golden hatchling looked immensely proud of himself despite producing no flame at all. Laughter spread throughout the courtyard.

Even little Aegon couldn't help laughing as Sunfyre happily chirped at him, completely convinced he had succeeded. Prince Aegon crouched beside the boys, smiling warmly. "You were both very close," he said. "Listen carefully." He looked first toward Baelon. "Not Darcarys." Slowly, he pronounced each syllable. "Dra...ca...rys." Baelon repeated it carefully. "Dracarys."

"Much better," Aegon praised before turning toward his nephew. "And not Dracars." Again, he spoke the word slowly. "Dra...ca...rys." Little Aegon grinned. "Dracarys."

"Excellent," Viserys said proudly. This time, as though understanding they had finally spoken the command correctly, both young dragons looked eagerly toward their riders, waiting patiently for the next attempt while Sylverfyre watched her two fellow hatchlings with what almost appeared to be encouraging excitement.

Aemma smiled warmly as she stepped forward, kneeling so she was eye level with the two boys. There was no disappointment in her expression, no frustration over mispronounced words. Only patience and quiet encouragement filled her gentle smile. "Try again, my little lights," she said softly. "But remember to be careful. It's Dracarys." She spoke the command slowly, allowing each syllable to be heard clearly. "Sound it out first before you try giving the command to your hatchlings."

"Dra..." Baelon repeated carefully. "...ca…" little Aegon finished beside him. "...rys," Aemma nodded proudly. "Very good. Now say it together." The boys smiled at one another before turning back toward their dragons. As she watched them, Aemma felt her vision begin to blur ever so slightly. A faint glimmer of tears gathered within her violet eyes, though none escaped. They were not tears of sadness, nor even relief.

They were tears of a mother watching time quietly slip through her fingers.

It seemed only yesterday she had held Baelon against her chest for the very first time, marveling at how someone so tiny could already have such a fierce grip upon her finger. Not long after had come little Aegon, every bit as curious as his elder brother from the moment he opened his eyes. Then there was Helaena, her sweet little dreamer, who had always looked upon the world with quiet wonder, as though she alone could see beauty hidden from everyone else.

Now all three stood before her with dragons of their own.

Learning the ancient language of their ancestors. Taking their first hesitant steps toward becoming dragonriders. The years had passed far too quickly. She knew there would come a day when they would stand as grown men and woman, their dragons fully grown beside them, carrying responsibilities every bit as great as those once borne by their parents. But not today. Today they were still her little lights. Still her babies.

Still children whose greatest concern was saying a single High Valyrian word correctly. A gentle hand slipped into hers. Looking up, Aemma found Viserys smiling at her with the same warmth and understanding that had carried them through every joy and every sorrow of their lives together.

"They're growing up," she whispered. "They are," Viserys replied softly, his eyes never leaving their children. "But they'll always be ours." Aemma leaned lightly against his shoulder, smiling through the tears that refused to fall. "That they will." Together they watched as Baelon and little Aegon drew another steadying breath, determined to try once more while Helaena stood beside Sylverfyre, cheering her brothers on with all the enthusiasm only a loving little sister could possess.

Aenar and Aelyra exchanged a quiet smile, one born from years of shared memories before their attention returned to Viserys and Aemma. There was no mistaking the emotions written across the younger couple's faces. They had felt that same mixture of pride, joy, and bittersweet longing countless years ago while watching their own children grow.

"It is never easy watching your little ones grow into strong dragons," Aelyra said gently, her voice carrying the same warmth that had comforted her own children through triumphs and heartaches alike. "We remember standing exactly where you stand now. It feels as though only yesterday they were nestled safely in our arms, looking to us for everything. Then, before we truly realized how quickly the years had passed, they were spreading their wings and beginning to find their own place in the world."

Her loving gaze drifted toward Daenys the Dreamer and Guardian Rhaenyra before settling upon the empty place where another daughter should have stood. A faint smile remained upon her lips despite the ache of old memories. "There is a bittersweet joy in watching them grow," she continued softly. "Your heart swells with pride at the people they become, yet at the same time you find yourself wishing you could hold on to just one more day of their childhood."

Aenar reached across and gently covered his wife's hand with his own before looking toward Viserys and Aemma. His voice, deep and naturally gruff, carried a quiet tenderness that only those who truly knew him were privileged to hear. "Take pride in the strength they are finding," he said. "Every lesson you have taught them, every story you've shared, every embrace you've given, every sacrifice you've made... it has shaped the children standing before you today."

His eyes settled upon Baelon, little Aegon, and Helaena as the three siblings stood proudly beside their hatchlings, each determined to master a single High Valyrian word.

"They may one day become mighty dragonlords and dragonladies. They may lead kingdoms, guide their people, and carry burdens greater than either of you can imagine." A warm smile slowly spread across his weathered face. "But no matter how many years pass... no matter how large their dragons grow... or how far their wings carry them..."

He looked back to the younger parents.

"They will always be your little hatchlings." Aemma smiled through eyes shimmering with unshed tears, while Viserys quietly squeezed her hand. Neither spoke. They didn't need to. For in that moment, surrounded by family, dragons, and the language of their ancestors, both knew Aenar spoke a truth that every parent, no matter the age, carried within their heart. Baelon and little Aegon exchanged one final determined look before nodding to one another. This time neither hurried the words. They sounded each syllable out exactly as their parents and elders had taught them, taking their time rather than rushing through the unfamiliar language. Little Aegon smiled brightly as he looked toward his golden hatchling.

"Dracarys, Sunfyre." Sunfyre immediately turned his head toward his bonded rider, letting out an eager chirp before lifting his neck as high as his little body would allow. The hatchling spread his tiny wings for balance, opened his jaws, and released a joyful roar. A beautiful stream of golden-pink flames burst into the air, dancing gracefully above the courtyard before slowly fading into wisps of shimmering smoke. "I did it!" little Aegon exclaimed, laughing as Sunfyre bounced excitedly around him, clearly delighted with himself. Baelon couldn't help grinning at his younger brother's success before turning toward his own dragon. Taking a deep breath, he stood a little taller, confidence slowly replacing the uncertainty he had worn only moments before. "Balerion... Dracarys."

The young black dragon looked directly into Baelon's eyes for a brief moment before a pleased rumble vibrated deep within his chest. Lowering himself slightly, Balerion gathered a breath before proudly stretching his neck skyward. A hatchling-sized jet of black and crimson dragonfire burst from his jaws. Though far smaller than the mighty flames of the adult dragons soaring above Dragonstone, the little display was no less magnificent in the eyes of those watching. The black fire burned at its heart while crimson flames danced around it before gradually disappearing into the warm afternoon air. Baelon's face lit up with pure wonder. "He understood me."

"He did," Viserys said proudly, unable to hide the smile spreading across his own face. "Both of you spoke clearly, and both of your dragons understood exactly what you asked of them." Nearby, Sylverfyre gave an excited trill before happily nudging first Sunfyre and then little Balerion, almost as though congratulating them on joining her. The three hatchlings chirped and rumbled back and forth, their tiny voices filling the courtyard with sounds that caused every adult present to smile. Daenys the Dreamer quietly watched the three children standing beside their dragons before looking toward her father Aenar. "The future of our people." Aenar nodded, his weathered face filled with quiet pride. "The future," he agreed softly, "burns brightly indeed."
The delighted laughter of the three children echoed through the courtyard as their hatchlings chirped proudly, each seeming just as pleased with their accomplishments as their bonded companions. Sylverfyre happily brushed against Sunfyre while little Balerion answered with a contented rumble, the three hatchlings already behaving more like siblings than strangers.
Visenya watched the scene unfold with a smile that warmed her entire face. Pride shone plainly in her violet eyes as she looked upon her younger siblings. Only a few years ago, she, Daenys, and Rhaenyra had stood exactly where Baelon, little Aegon, and Helaena now stood, stumbling over High Valyrian words while learning alongside their own dragons.
Stepping a little closer, she smiled encouragingly.
"Helaena, Aegon, Baelon," she called, her voice carrying the affectionate excitement of a proud older sister. "Would you three like to try another command?"
Three eager faces immediately turned toward her.
"What one?" Baelon asked excitedly.
Visenya smiled.
"Try saying Sōvēs." She spoke the word slowly, making certain each syllable was easy to hear. "It's High Valyrian for fly." The three younger siblings repeated it quietly beneath their breath.

"Sōvēs..."
"Sōvēs..."
"Sōvēs..."

"Very good," Daenys praised with an encouraging smile. "Remember," Rhaenyra added gently, "there's no need to rush. Dragons understand confidence far better than speed." The three children nodded together before turning toward their hatchlings once more, excitement shining in their eyes as they prepared to learn another word from the language of their ancestors. Around them, the adults watched with quiet pride, each realizing they were witnessing more than children practicing commands. They were watching another generation of dragonlords and dragonladies take their very first steps into a heritage that had nearly been lost to history.

The three younger siblings exchanged excited smiles before turning toward their hatchlings once more. They had practiced the pronunciation carefully, sounding out each syllable exactly as Visenya had taught them. Now came the true test. Helaena smiled brightly as Sylverfyre watched her with curious silver eyes. "Sōvēs, Sylverfyre." The little silver dragon gave an eager trill before immediately spreading her wings. With several quick, excited wingbeats, Sylverfyre lifted herself higher into the warm afternoon air, happily circling above Helaena's head.

Little Aegon watched his sister's success with growing excitement before looking toward his own hatchling. "Sōvēs, Sunfyre." Sunfyre chirped happily the instant he heard the familiar voice of his rider. Throwing open his tiny golden wings, the hatchling pushed himself upward, climbing several feet into the air before wobbling slightly. After a few determined wingbeats, he found his balance and proudly circled around little Aegon, letting out an excited squeal as though celebrating his own accomplishment. Baelon couldn't help grinning as he looked toward the young black dragon standing patiently beside him. "Sōvēs, Balerion."

Balerion answered with a pleased rumble before spreading his broad black wings. With slow, powerful strokes far steadier than his siblings, the little hatchling lifted gracefully from the courtyard stones. Rising to join Sylverfyre and Sunfyre, he circled alongside them as the three young dragons chased one another through the warm air above Dragonstone.

The delighted laughter of the children echoed throughout the courtyard. "They're flying!" Helaena exclaimed as Sylverfyre swooped happily overhead. "They listened!" little Aegon laughed while Sunfyre excitedly circled back toward him. Baelon beamed with pride, watching Balerion glide confidently beside his siblings. "I knew you could do it."

The adults looked on with warm smiles as the three hatchlings continued circling above the courtyard, their happy chirps and playful little roars filling Dragonstone with life. Beside them, Aenar folded his arms across his chest while Aelyra slipped her hand into his, both quietly watching another generation of dragonlords and dragonladies take one more step along a path their ancestors had once walked. Only after the hatchlings had enjoyed several joyful laps around the courtyard did Rhaegor step forward, smiling proudly at the three younger siblings. "Very well done, little lights," he said warmly. "Now it's time to learn how to bring them safely back to the ground."

The three children immediately turned toward Rhaegor, giving him their full attention. Their hatchlings continued circling happily overhead, blissfully unaware that another lesson was about to begin. A proud smile crossed Rhaegor's face as he looked at the eager expressions staring back at him. "You've all done wonderfully," he said warmly. "Now comes an equally important command. Every dragonlord must know not only how to send their dragon into the sky, but also how to safely bring them back." The three younger siblings nodded eagerly. "The High Valyrian command to land," Rhaegor continued, speaking slowly enough that each syllable could be clearly heard, "is Tegot."

"Tegot," Baelon repeated thoughtfully. "Tegot," little Aegon echoed a heartbeat later. "Tegot," Helaena whispered, carefully matching the pronunciation. Rhaegor smiled proudly. "Excellent. Just as your mother taught you, don't rush the words. Speak clearly, and speak with confidence. Your dragons know your voices." The three children nodded once more before lifting their eyes toward the hatchlings soaring above the courtyard, each taking a quiet breath as they prepared to give their newest command.

The three younger siblings looked up toward their hatchlings, watching them happily circle one another above the courtyard. Though each dragon remained close to its bonded rider, they were clearly enjoying the freedom of flight, occasionally chirping to one another as they rode the warm currents rising from the Dragonmount. Baelon's excitement slowly gave way to uncertainty as he watched little Balerion soaring overhead. Lowering his gaze toward his mother, he hesitated before quietly voicing the worry that had settled into his heart. "Muña... what if we can't say the word right? Can you say the word and get them to do it?"

Aemma's heart melted at the uncertainty in her son's voice. Smiling warmly, she knelt so she was eye level with all three of her younger children before gently resting a reassuring hand upon Baelon's shoulder. "Normally, no," she answered softly. "A dragon answers to the voice of the one it has bonded with. Another person can speak the command perfectly, but most dragons will wait to hear it from their own rider." Her eyes drifted briefly toward the three hatchlings circling overhead before returning to her children. "However, because the three of you are my children, your hatchlings may choose to listen if I absolutely had to give the command. Dragons are intelligent creatures, and they already know and trust the rest of your family."

Aemma's smile softened even further as she gently squeezed Baelon's shoulder. "But I don't think that's going to be necessary." Looking from Baelon to little Aegon and finally to Helaena, she continued, "I have all the faith in the world that the three of you can do this. You've listened carefully, you've taken your time, and you've spoken every command with confidence. Your hatchlings trust you just as much as you trust them."

Viserys smiled proudly beside his wife but remained silent. He knew there was nothing he could add that Aemma had not already said perfectly. Sometimes a child didn't need another lesson. Sometimes they simply needed to know someone believed in them.

The three younger siblings exchanged small, determined smiles before nodding together. Looking back toward the sky, each found their own hatchling circling patiently overhead as though waiting for what came next. Taking one steadying breath, they stood a little taller, confidence replacing nearly all of the worry that had filled them only moments before.

"Tegot, Sylverfyre." Helaena called. "Tegot, Sunfyre." little Aegon echoed. "Tegot, Balerion." Baelon finished. Almost immediately, three little heads turned toward the courtyard below. Sylverfyre, Sunfyre, and Balerion recognized the familiar voices of their riders and, with happy chirps and playful little roars, each began their descent toward the stone courtyard, eager to return to the children who had become their whole world.

The three hatchlings landed one after another, each touching down with varying degrees of grace. Sylverfyre folded her silver wings neatly against her sides before proudly walking over to Helaena, who immediately threw her arms around her dragon's neck. Sunfyre's landing was considerably less elegant, the little golden dragon stumbling over his own feet before catching himself and looking around as though he had meant to do it all along. Little Aegon burst into laughter, kneeling to wrap his arms around the hatchling while scratching beneath his chin. Balerion, meanwhile, landed with surprising confidence for one so young, folding his black and crimson wings before walking proudly to Baelon, who smiled as the little dragon affectionately bumped his hand with his nose.

Watching the reunion between the three children and their hatchlings brought warm smiles to every face gathered in the courtyard. Rhaenyra stepped forward, pride shining plainly in her violet eyes as she looked upon her younger siblings. It felt like only yesterday she, Daenys, and Visenya had been standing exactly where they now stood, learning the same commands from their parents while their own dragons stumbled through their first lessons.

"I knew you could do it," Rhaenyra said warmly, her voice filled with unmistakable pride. "And in a single lesson you've learned three of the most important commands every dragon rider must know. Dracarys to call for flame, Sōvēs to send your dragons into the sky, and Tegot to bring them safely back to the ground."

The three younger siblings beamed at the praise, each standing a little taller than before. Though the commands themselves were simple, the confidence they had gained from mastering them was worth far more than the words alone. Around them, the adults quietly watched with knowing smiles, each remembering the pride they themselves had felt when they had first spoken those same ancient words and watched their dragons answer the call.

Above them, the distant cries of Syrax and Caraxes drifted across the skies of Dragonstone once more, as though the proud parents were adding their own voices of approval to the celebration below. Little Aegon smiled proudly as he continued stroking Sunfyre's neck, the little golden hatchling happily leaning into the affection while Sylverfyre and Balerion settled beside their own riders. "Mandia..." he asked after several quiet moments, his voice filled with the same innocent curiosity that so often led him to questions no one else thought to ask. "Why do the bigger dragons fly without you saying the commands?"

The question drew warm smiles from every adult gathered within the courtyard. Rhaenyra knelt beside her little brother, smiling as she gently brushed a stray lock of silver-gold hair away from his face. "That is a wonderful question, ñuha jorrāelagon," she said warmly. "When dragons are very young, commands help teach them what the words mean. Just as you are learning High Valyrian, Sylverfyre, Sunfyre, and Balerion are learning it as well. Every time you give a command and praise them for listening, they begin to understand what that word means."

Little Aegon listened with complete attention while absentmindedly scratching beneath Sunfyre's chin. "But dragons are very intelligent creatures," Rhaenyra continued. "As they grow older, they begin to understand far more than spoken commands. They learn your voice, your expressions, even your thoughts and feelings through the bond you share."

Daemon smiled as he glanced toward Caraxes soaring high above Dragonstone. "There are times I don't have to speak at all," he said. "Caraxes already knows exactly what I intend to do."

"And Syrax is much the same," Rhaenyra added. "Sometimes all I have to do is climb into the saddle, and she already knows whether we're going hunting, taking a leisurely flight, or simply enjoying the skies together."

Little Aegon's eyes widened. "So one day…" He looked down at Sunfyre. "...he'll know what I want without me saying Sōvēs?" Rhaenyra smiled. "One day," she answered. "But that day comes because the two of you spend years learning together. The commands are only the beginning." Little Aegon grinned as Sunfyre answered with a happy chirp, as though the little golden hatchling fully intended to learn every lesson alongside his rider. "But, little fire," Daenys the Dreamer said gently, her warm smile never leaving her face, "dragons are not simply creatures that obey commands. They are living, thinking beings with minds and hearts of their own." Little Aegon looked toward her curiously while Sunfyre settled comfortably against his side.

"They choose many things for themselves," she continued, her silver eyes drifting toward the dragons soaring high above Dragonstone. "They choose when they wish to stretch their wings beneath the open sky. They choose when they wish to land and rest upon the mountains. They choose when it is time to hunt. They choose where they sleep and which places they call home." Her gaze settled upon the three hatchlings before returning to the children. "The commands you are learning are not about controlling your dragons." Her voice remained soft, yet carried the quiet wisdom of one who had lived in the Freehold itself. "They are a way of speaking with them. A dragon may choose to listen because it trusts and loves its rider, not because it is forced to obey."

Aenar nodded in agreement.

"The greatest mistake many outside of Valyria made was believing dragons were beasts to be mastered," he said. "A dragon is never mastered. The bond between dragon and rider is one of mutual trust and respect. Without those two things, no command, no matter how perfectly spoken, will truly matter." Viserys smiled as he watched the his young children thoughtfully considering every word. "In time," he said warmly, "you won't think of these as commands at all."

"They'll simply become conversations," Aemma finished with a gentle smile. The three children looked down at their hatchlings, each dragon gazing back at its rider with trusting eyes. Little Aegon wrapped his arms around Sunfyre's neck. "So..." he said quietly, "he listens because he loves me."

Daenys the Dreamer's smile grew even warmer. "Yes, little fire." She reached out, gently resting a hand upon his shoulder. "And because you love him." For a long moment, no one spoke. They simply watched as three children hugged their dragons, each bond growing stronger with every lesson they shared together.

"And one day," Prince Aegon said, his voice carrying the quiet wisdom of one who had shared a lifetime with a dragon, "if your bond is strong enough, you'll hear their voices within your mind." The three younger siblings looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. "In your mind?" Helaena asked softly. Prince Aegon smiled, his gaze drifting toward the dragons soaring high above Dragonstone before returning to the children gathered around him.

"Not as you hear my voice now," he explained patiently. "There will be no spoken words. Instead, you'll feel them. Their joy will become your joy. Their excitement, their fear, their sorrow... you'll know them as though they were your own. And they will know your heart just as clearly." Little Aegon instinctively looked down at Sunfyre, who answered by happily rubbing against his leg before looking back up with bright, trusting eyes. "So..." the young prince whispered. "Sunfyre will talk to me?" Prince Aegon chuckled warmly.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Not today... perhaps not even tomorrow. Bonds like that take years to grow. But every lesson you learn together, every flight you share, every triumph and every hardship... those things strengthen the bond between dragon and rider until words are no longer needed." Baelon looked thoughtfully toward Balerion while gently scratching beneath the hatchling's chin. "So we'll always keep learning together."

"You will," Prince Aegon answered proudly. "The learning never truly ends."

The three children smiled as they looked toward their hatchlings, each dragon returning the gaze with complete trust. Around them, the adults watched in quiet contentment. There were few sights more precious than witnessing another generation of dragonriders taking their first steps along the same path their ancestors had once walked.

For a few peaceful moments, the only sounds filling the courtyard were the happy chirps of the hatchlings, the distant cries of dragons soaring overhead, and the laughter of children whose greatest concern only moments before had been whether they could pronounce a single High Valyrian word correctly. Then hurried footsteps shattered the calm. The sound echoed across the ancient stone courtyard. Every conversation ceased. Every smile slowly faded.

One of Dragonstone's dragonkeepers came running through the gates, breathing heavily from the steep climb between the Dragonmount and the castle. His riding leathers were streaked with soot and ash, his silver hair clung damply to his forehead, and the grief written plainly across his face caused an uneasy silence to settle over those gathered. The moment his eyes found Prince Aegon, he slowed.
His pace faltered.

It was as though every remaining step became heavier than the last. Coming to a stop several paces before the prince, the dragonkeeper bowed deeply, but the gesture lacked its usual precision. His shoulders trembled ever so slightly as he struggled to steady his breathing.

"My prince..."

The words caught in his throat. He lowered his head, unable to meet Aegon's eyes. Around the courtyard, the family exchanged worried glances. The children instinctively moved closer to their parents, sensing from the adults alone that something was terribly wrong.

Prince Aegon took a single step forward.

"What is it?" he asked quietly. The dragonkeeper swallowed hard. "My prince... your bonded…" Again his voice failed him. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, as though desperately wishing he could somehow change what had happened before forcing himself to continue.

"We... we tried everything." The words struck Prince Aegon like a blow. His expression changed almost instantly. The warmth that had filled his face while speaking to the children disappeared, replaced by a growing unease that spread through the entire courtyard. The dragonkeeper finally lifted his eyes. They shimmered with unshed tears. "We did everything within our power to save her."

Silence.

No one dared interrupt. No one dared breathe. Finally, with a voice barely above a whisper, the dragonkeeper delivered the words no dragon rider ever wished to hear. "But... Draxteronxia has passed." The world seemed to stop.

Even the dragons soaring high above Dragonstone fell strangely quiet. The dragonkeeper lowered his head once more. "She has gone to be with her mate within the halls of the Dragon God of Death." His voice broke completely. "I am so sorry, my prince." He pressed a trembling fist against his chest. "We truly tried everything."

No one spoke.

The laughter that had filled Dragonstone only moments before had vanished as though it had never existed, leaving behind only an aching silence that settled over every soul gathered within the courtyard. Prince Aegon could not speak. The words reached his ears. He understood every one of them. Yet his mind refused to accept them.

Slowly, almost desperately, he reached inward, searching for the familiar bond that had been a part of him since he was but ten-and-one namedays old. For decades Draxteronxia's presence had never been far away. Whether she slept upon Dragonstone's cliffs, hunted across the Narrow Sea, or soared high above the clouds, he had always felt her. A quiet warmth. A comforting presence. A second heartbeat that had become so intertwined with his own that he no longer remembered what life had been like before her.

Now…

There was nothing. No gentle reassurance brushing against the edge of his thoughts. No quiet affection. No steady presence waiting just beyond his own mind. Only silence. A silence so vast it seemed to consume every thought he possessed.

His breathing caught.

His violet eyes slowly closed as though, if he searched just a little harder, he might somehow find what had been lost. Surely the bond was still there. Surely… Nothing answered him. The emptiness within his mind became almost painful. It was not merely the loss of a dragon.

It was the loss of the companion who had stood beside him through nearly every chapter of his life. She had carried him upon her back through cloud and storm. She had shared in his triumphs, comforted him through his grief, and remained beside him through every joy and every hardship. She had been family. And now… The place she had always occupied within his soul stood heart breakingly empty.

Prince Aegon could not move. The silence left by Draxteronxia's passing still echoed through every corner of his mind, an emptiness unlike anything he had ever known. For more than three decades her presence had been as constant as his own heartbeat. Now there was only grief. A low, unfamiliar roar suddenly drifted across the courtyard. It was young. Strong. Curious.

Every head turned toward the sound.

From beyond Dragonstone's walls, a dragon glided into view. Her scales were darker than the evening sky, so black they seemed to drink in the sunlight itself, while faint streaks of silver shimmered beneath her wings whenever they caught the light. Though fully grown, she carried herself with the youthful confidence of a dragon who had not yet chosen a rider. She circled the courtyard only once before folding her wings and landing several feet from Prince Aegon. The gathered family watched in complete silence.

No one dared move.

The dragon regarded Prince Aegon with ancient, intelligent eyes before taking several slow steps toward him. She stopped within arm's reach. For a long moment neither dragon nor man moved. Then, with a gentleness few would have believed possible from such a magnificent creature, she lowered her head and rested her nose against the center of his chest, directly over his heart. Prince Aegon closed his eyes. The terrible emptiness within his mind remained. Draxteronxia was gone. Nothing could ever change that. Nothing ever would. Then… A whisper.

Soft as the first breeze before dawn.

A presence unlike any he had ever known brushed against the edge of his thoughts. It did not force its way into the place Draxteronxia had once occupied, nor did it seek to erase the grief that filled his heart. Instead, it waited patiently beside it. A voice, graceful and melodic, flowed through his mind in flawless High Valyrian. "Ñuha ñan ēza Mydnyghtfyre."
(My name is Mydnyghtfyre.) Prince Aegon's eyes slowly opened. The dragon remained perfectly still. Again the voice came. "Iksan nyke jorrāelagon gaomagon ñuha dāria."
(I choose you to be my bonded rider.)

Warmth slowly spread through the bond, gentle and unhurried, carrying not only the dragon's thoughts but her compassion. She knew. She understood. She mourned with him. One final thought drifted into his mind, accompanied by the image of endless blue skies stretching far beyond the horizon. "Āeksio iā sōvēs issa nyke."
(Come. Fly with me.) Prince Aegon's hand trembled as he slowly reached forward, his fingers coming to rest against the smooth scales of Mydnyghtfyre's face. For the first time since hearing of Draxteronxia's passing...

...he felt something other than grief. Not happiness. Not yet.

Hope. The smallest ember of hope. And quietly, without anyone needing to explain what had just happened, every dragonlord and dragonlady gathered within the courtyard understood. Draxteronxia had not been replaced. She never could be. But another dragon had seen a grieving heart...

...and chosen to help it heal.

Prince Aegon rested his forehead gently against Mydnyghtfyre's, his eyes closing once more as he allowed the new bond to settle naturally between them. The ache within his heart remained.

He knew it always would.

No dragon, no matter how kind or loving, could ever replace Draxteronxia. The bond they had shared since he was but ten-and-one namedays old belonged to them alone, a part of his soul that would forever carry her memory. He would grieve for her for the rest of his days. There was no shame in that. She had not simply been his dragon. She had been his family.

His dearest friend.

His constant companion through every triumph, every hardship, every joy, and every sorrow life had placed before him. That love would never fade. Neither would the pain of losing her. Yet, as Mydnyghtfyre's gentle presence settled beside his grief rather than seeking to replace it, Prince Aegon realized something he had not believed possible only moments before. Hope.

He would not have to carry this sorrow alone.

His family had already surrounded him with their love, refusing to let him face the loss by himself. Now another dragon had freely chosen to stand beside him as well. The bond he would one day share with Mydnyghtfyre would never be the same as the one he had shared with Draxteronxia.

Nor should it be. Every dragon was unique. Every bond was unique. This would not be a second Draxteronxia. It would become something entirely its own. And though the wound upon his heart would never fully heal, he felt, for the first time since hearing the dreadful news, that one day the pain might become easier to bear. Not because he had forgotten...

But because he would no longer walk through his grief alone.

"Go valzyr," Daenys said softly, her violet eyes shimmering with both understanding and sorrow as she looked toward her uncle. Shadowwyng had quietly landed behind her moments earlier, the great dragon lowering her head as though she too understood the grief settling over the courtyard. "Take to the skies. Shadowwyng and I will join you."

Prince Aegon remained motionless, one trembling hand still resting against Mydnyghtfyre's face while the young dragon patiently waited beside him. Though her gentle presence had eased the crushing loneliness that had followed Draxteronxia's passing, nothing could quiet the ache within his heart. Daenys slowly stepped closer. "There is no getting around the pain and sorrow of losing Draxteronxia," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "There shouldn't be." Her eyes drifted briefly toward the Dragonmount before returning to her uncle.

"She was your family. Your friend. A part of your soul for longer than I've even been alive." A tear quietly escaped Prince Aegon's eye. Daenys offered him a gentle smile filled with compassion. "A new bond will never replace the one you shared with her." She slowly shook her head. "It cannot."

Her gaze settled upon Mydnyghtfyre, who remained perfectly still, making no attempt to hurry the grieving prince. "But perhaps…" She paused for a moment. "...it can help ease the pain of carrying that grief alone." Silence settled over the courtyard once more. No one spoke. No one tried to rush Prince Aegon toward a decision. Even the hatchlings seemed to sense the sorrow surrounding the elder prince, remaining unusually quiet beside their riders.

Mydnyghtfyre softly rumbled.

The sound was gentle. Patient. Understanding. Again her voice flowed gracefully through Prince Aegon's mind, carrying neither urgency nor expectation."Āeksio."
(Come.) A second thought followed. Not words this time… Simply the feeling of soaring high above Dragonstone, of cool winds rushing across open wings, of grief carried into the endless sky rather than borne alone upon weary shoulders.

Prince Aegon slowly drew a steady breath.

His fingers gently stroked the side of Mydnyghtfyre's face. "Draxteronxia..." he whispered, his voice breaking beneath the weight of her name. His eyes closed. "I will never stop loving you." The bond remained silent. It always would. That silence would forever ache.

But another presence waited quietly beside it. Not seeking to take Draxteronxia's place. Simply offering to stand beside the memories she had left behind. Slowly, Prince Aegon nodded. Without another word, he placed a foot into Mydnyghtfyre's stirrup and climbed into the saddle upon her back.

The young dragon waited until he had settled himself before lifting her head proudly toward the sky. Shadowwyng stepped forward beside them. Princess Daenys mounted with practiced ease before looking toward her uncle. A small smile touched her lips. "You don't have to make this flight alone." Prince Aegon looked at his wife for a long moment before giving the faintest nod. "No…" His voice was quiet. "I don't."

Together, Mydnyghtfyre and Shadowwyng spread their wings. With two powerful leaps, they rose from the courtyard stones and climbed into the skies above Dragonstone, one dragon carrying fresh hope... the other carrying quiet understanding... both honoring the memory of the dragon whose absence would forever be felt.

For a time they simply flew.

Neither dragon hurried the other, and neither rider felt the need to fill the silence with words. Mydnyghtfyre seemed to understand that her rider needed time to grow accustomed not only to the new bond they now shared, but also to the quiet where Draxteronxia's familiar presence had once been.

Prince Aegon gradually found himself relaxing within the saddle. Tentatively at first, he gave Mydnyghtfyre gentle commands, learning how she responded to the smallest movements of his hands and legs, discovering the subtle differences between her flight and Draxteronxia's. Every dragon flew differently. Every dragon carried their rider differently. The more time they spent together, the more naturally the new bond began to settle between them.

Beside them, Princess Daenys and Shadowwyng remained close, never crowding the pair yet never straying far enough that Prince Aegon felt alone. They circled high above Dragonstone several times before turning toward the Dragonmount itself. As they approached the great volcanic mountain, Shadowwyng guided Mydnyghtfyre toward the nesting caverns where the dragons of Dragonstone made their dens. The young dragon looked curiously around her new home before choosing a cavern not far from Shadowwyng's own. Satisfied with her choice, she gave a contented rumble before lowering herself to rest.

Only then did the two riders return to the castle.

As Prince Aegon and Princess Daenys entered the courtyard, the rest of the family quietly gathered around them. No one rushed forward. No one overwhelmed the grieving prince. They simply welcomed him back with gentle smiles and understanding eyes. Rhaenyra stepped forward first, slipping comfortably beneath Daemon's arm as she looked toward her uncle. "I think..." she began softly, "...we should celebrate, Kepus."

Prince Aegon looked at her, surprised by the suggestion. Rhaenyra's smile remained warm despite the tears shining within her violet eyes. "I know Draxteronxia would want you to be happy." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Let's celebrate her life... not mourn her death. She gave you decades of love, loyalty, and memories that no one can ever take away. Those deserve to be remembered with smiles as much as tears." She reached over and gently rested a hand upon his arm. "And one day, Kepus... we'll all be together again. Our family... our dragons... all of us will meet again within the halls of Balerion."

Daemon smiled softly as he looked toward his elder brother.

"She's right, valonqar," he said, the High Valyrian term for little brother falling from his lips as naturally as breathing. "Mourn her. Cry for her. Miss her every day if that's what your heart needs." He stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand upon Prince Aegon's shoulder.

"But don't stop living."

His eyes drifted briefly toward Mydnyghtfyre, who had settled peacefully nearby after following them from the Dragonmount. "Draxteronxia loved watching you fly." A faint smile touched Daemon's lips. "She would want to see you soaring through the skies again... even if it is upon younger wings."

Prince Aegon's eyes followed his brother's toward Mydnyghtfyre. "The bond you shared with Draxteronxia can never be replaced," Daemon continued quietly. "Nor should it be. But Mydnyghtfyre isn't asking you to forget her." He smiled gently. "She's simply asking for the chance to make memories of her own." Silence settled over the family once more. This time… It was no longer filled only with grief.

It carried the quiet comfort that only family could bring.

That evening, as the sun slowly disappeared beneath the western horizon and Dragonstone became illuminated by hundreds of torches and braziers, the royal family gathered within the castle's great hall. Rather than hosting an elaborate celebration worthy of a royal court, they chose to hold a small feast attended only by their family and the loyal men and women who had faithfully cared for Dragonstone throughout the years it had stood without its rightful lords.

Though sorrow still lingered within every heart following Draxteronxia's passing, none wished for the evening to become one filled only with mourning.

Instead, they chose to honor the magnificent dragon's life.

Long tables were filled with roasted meats, freshly baked bread, cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and sweet pastries, while goblets were raised not only in remembrance of Draxteronxia but also in celebration of the new beginning that had brought the Targaryens home once more.

For many among Dragonstone's staff, it was the first time they had ever dined in the company of the royal family.

Servants who had expected only to prepare the feast instead found themselves invited to sit beside those they had spent years serving. At first, many hesitated, believing some mistake had surely been made. Never before had they been asked to share a table with princes and princesses. Viserys was the first to notice their uncertainty.

Smiling warmly, the elder prince rose from his chair.

"There has been no misunderstanding," he said, his voice carrying easily throughout the great hall. "Tonight there are no strangers beneath Dragonstone's roof." Aemma smiled beside her husband. "You have cared for this castle in our absence," she said gently. "You protected our home when we could not. Tonight, we wish to thank you." Aenar nodded his agreement. "A castle is built of stone," he said, "but it becomes a home because of those who care for it."

"And family," Aelyra added warmly, "is not measured solely by blood." Gradually, the tension faded. One by one, the members of Dragonstone's household accepted the invitation, taking their places among the royal family. Nervous smiles slowly gave way to comfortable conversation as introductions were made, stories were shared, and laughter gradually returned to the ancient hall.

Though tears were still shed whenever Draxteronxia's name was spoken, they were no longer tears born only of sorrow. They were tears of gratitude. Gratitude for the decades she had shared with Prince Aegon. Gratitude for every life she had protected. Gratitude for every memory she had helped create. As the evening continued, the hall echoed not with mourning…

...but with the joyful remembrance of a dragon whose life had touched every soul fortunate enough to know her.

And somewhere high upon the Dragonmount, Mydnyghtfyre lifted her head toward the stars, giving a soft, respectful roar that rolled across the island like a final farewell to the dragon whose place in history—and in Prince Aegon's heart—would never be forgotten.

The next morning came quickly.

Shortly after sunrise, word reached Dragonstone from the harbor that several ships carrying passengers had arrived. Unsure whether those aboard were expected guests or curious travelers hoping to seek an audience with the royal family, the harbor master had immediately dispatched a messenger to the castle asking whether the visitors should be turned away or escorted up the mountain. After a brief discussion, Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma agreed the guests should be welcomed.

By the time the visitors entered the great hall, every member of the royal family had already assembled. The room itself had changed beyond recognition. Where the crude replica of the Iron Throne had once dominated the dais now stood the Dragonfire Thrones of New Valyria. Six magnificent thrones rested upon a broad platform of polished black stone, arranged in three equal pairs. Upon the left sat the thrones of Princess Rhaenyra and her Lord Husband, Daemon. At the center rested the thrones of Princess Daenys and her Lord Husband, Aegon. To the right stood those belonging to Princess Visenya and her Lord Husband, Rhaegor.

Though each throne was identical in craftsmanship, no one who looked upon them could mistake them for anything born of Westeros.

Rather than jagged swords or symbols of conquest, each throne appeared to rise from dragonfire itself. Great tongues of polished Valyrian steel curled upward like flames forever reaching toward the heavens, forming the seats, armrests, and towering backs. Curled protectively around the base of every throne rested a magnificent dragon, its scaled body emerging naturally from the frozen flames as though both dragon and throne had been forged from a single piece of living metal. Each dragon held its head proudly above the flames, watching the hall with calm vigilance instead of menace, while its wings remained only half unfurled, poised as though they could spread wide in defense of their rulers the instant danger revealed itself. Resting gently within the jaws of every dragon was a Dragonfire Eye Stone. Even while dormant, each stone shimmered with a quiet inner glow, as though ancient dragonfire slept just beneath its surface. Seated upon the central pair of thrones were Princess Daenys and Lord Husband Aegon. To their left sat Princess Rhaenyra beside Lord Husband Daemon, while Princess Visenya and Lord Husband Rhaegor occupied the pair to the right.

Although each princess wore the same ceremonial gown, no one could mistake one for another.

Flowing black silk cascaded from their shoulders to the floor, the gowns richly embroidered with flames that seemed almost alive beneath the torchlight. Gold flames climbed gracefully from the hem of Princess Rhaenyra's gown in honor of Syrax. Princess Daenys' dress was adorned with brilliant sapphire-blue flames, while shimmering silver flames danced across Princess Visenya's skirts like moonlight upon dragonfire.

Resting upon each princess's brow was the heir's crown of polished Valyrian silver. Elegant in both form and craftsmanship, each crown swept gently downward at its center before a single Dragonfire Stone hung delicately beneath the point, catching the light with every subtle movement. Their jewelry matched in design, differing only in the gemstones they bore. Princess Rhaenyra's necklace and earrings gleamed with rich golden stones, Princess Daenys' with brilliant sapphire blue, and Princess Visenya's with stones as white as freshly fallen snow. Together, the three sisters presented a single image. Not three competing rulers. But three equal sovereigns bound together in purpose. Among those escorted into the hall was a familiar face.

Ser Harrold Westerling.

The seasoned knight paused as his eyes fell upon the royal family. A warm smile slowly spread across his weathered features, pride evident in his expression as he looked upon the three princesses he had helped protect since childhood. Though years had passed and much had changed, he still saw the little girls who had once raced laughing through the halls of the Red Keep.

Bowing deeply to the assembled family, he straightened before speaking.

"I have served as guardian to the princesses since they were but small children. When Their Graces departed King's Landing, I asked His Grace, King Aegon, if I might be relieved of my duties as a Kingsguard so that I could continue protecting the family I had sworn to watch over." His eyes drifted briefly toward Princess Daenys, Princess Rhaenyra, and Princess Visenya before returning to the Dragonfire Thrones.

"Instead, His Grace told me he was creating a new order. An order that would exist not for one ruler... but for the Three-Headed Dragon and their families. He named that order the Dragon Guard and entrusted me with the honor of becoming one of its first sworn protectors."

With those words, Ser Harrold stepped forward. Reaching the foot of the dais, he lowered himself onto one knee. He did not kneel before Prince Viserys. He did not kneel before Princess Aemma. Nor did he kneel before the six rulers seated upon the Dragonfire Thrones.

Instead, he bowed before the Dragonfire Thrones themselves.

Drawing a small ceremonial Valyrian steel dagger from his belt, he carefully pricked the palm of his hand. Crimson drops of blood welled immediately before slowly falling from his fingertips onto the ancient black stone before the six thrones. Holding his bloodied hand over his heart, Ser Harrold lifted his head toward the six Dragonfire Thrones. Though the six rulers sat upon them, his gaze rested not upon Princess Daenys, Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Visenya, nor upon their lord husbands. Instead, it remained fixed upon the Dragonfire Thrones themselves, for it was to the rulers of New Valyria—those of today and those yet to come—that his oath would forever belong.

His voice rang clear throughout the great hall.

"Before the Fourteen Flames, before the Dragon Gods, before the Dragonfire Thrones, I offer my life's blood. My shield shall stand before every danger. My sword shall answer every threat. My life shall be given before theirs. My loyalty shall never waver. The counsels I hear, the truths entrusted to me, and the burdens I witness shall remain mine alone until the gods themselves call me home. I shall claim no throne. I shall seek no crown. I shall hold no ambition above my duty. I shall take no spouse unless granted leave by the Three-Headed Dragon. I shall inherit no lands, nor seek titles beyond those freely bestowed. As dragonfire tempers steel, so shall this oath temper my soul. Should I betray this vow, may the dragons deny me, may the Fourteen Flames refuse my spirit, and may my name be forgotten by history. This I swear with my blood, my honor, and my soul."

As the final words left Ser Harrold's lips, another drop of crimson blood slipped from his palm. The instant it struck the black stone before the Dragonfire Thrones, the hall fell unnaturally still. Not a single torch flickered. Not a single soul dared breathe. For one endless heartbeat… Nothing happened. Then the Dragonfire Eye Stones resting within the jaws of each dragon awakened.

One after another, the ancient stones blazed to life.

Golden light ignited first within the throne of Princess Daenys before racing through hidden channels beneath the polished Valyrian steel. Moments later, the Dragonfire Eyes of Princess Rhaenyra's, Princess Visenya's, Lord Husband Daemon's, Lord Husband Aegon's, and Lord Husband Rhaegor's thrones answered in turn until every Dragonfire Throne glowed with ancient power.

The frozen flames that formed the six thrones came alive.

Brilliant streams of crimson, silver, black, and molten gold coursed through the sculpted dragonfire as though living flame flowed beneath the metal itself. The dragons curled protectively around each throne seemed almost to breathe as light surged through every scale, every wing membrane, and every graceful curve of their bodies. A deep, resonating hum echoed throughout Dragonstone. It was not loud. It did not need to be. Every man and woman present felt it deep within their bones. The castle itself remembered.

Ancient Valyria remembered.

The dragonfire surged from the six thrones in graceful ribbons, weaving together above the dais before descending upon the kneeling knight. They circled Ser Harrold slowly, neither burning nor blinding him, but surrounding him in ancient magic older than the Seven Kingdoms themselves.

Outside, the dragons upon the Dragonmont answered. One mighty roar shook the mountain. Then another. Soon dragon voices echoed across the island, rising one after another until it seemed every dragon upon Dragonstone acknowledged the birth of something long forgotten. Within the hall, the magic settled gently upon Ser Harrold.

His brilliant white Kingsguard armor shimmered.

The polished steel slowly darkened before the eyes of every witness. Like ink spreading across parchment, the brilliant white vanished beneath a deep black sheen that reflected the dancing torchlight like polished obsidian. One plate after another transformed until no trace of the Kingsguard remained. A quiet gasp escaped one of the castle servants. Another soon followed.

His white cloak rippled though no breeze stirred the hall.

The fabric shimmered before deepening into a rich midnight black. Along its borders appeared intricate crimson embroidery depicting intertwining dragons, their bodies flowing endlessly around the edges of the cloak in an unbroken circle. The familiar lion-headed clasps securing it at his shoulders softened beneath the ancient magic before reshaping themselves into beautifully crafted three-headed dragons wrought from blackened Valyrian steel.

Then the magic turned toward the sword resting at his side. Without a hand touching it, the blade slowly slid free from its scabbard. It hovered before Ser Harrold. The steel rippled. Folded. Changed. Ancient patterns flowed the entire length of the blade as though the memories of Old Valyria itself were being forged anew. Moments later the transformation ended. No longer did an ordinary knight's sword hang before him.

In its place rested a magnificent blade of true Valyrian steel.

Its silver-gray surface bore the unmistakable flowing patterns that marked the lost art of Valyrian forging. The crossguard had become a three-headed dragon, each head watching in a different direction with tiny ruby eyes glowing like sleeping embers. The grip darkened to black leather bound with crimson cord, while the pommel ended in a polished dragon's head crowned by a single Dragonfire Eye Stone no larger than a thumbnail. The sword slowly lowered itself back into its scabbard. Silence claimed the throne room once more. The last traces of dragonfire drifted harmlessly into the air before disappearing entirely. For several long moments, no one moved. Then the ancient voice echoed throughout the hall once again. "The oath is accepted." Every Dragonfire Eye Stone pulsed once. "Rise, Ser Harrold Westerling... first of the Dragon Guard."

The light faded from the thrones.

The dragons carved into them once more became unmoving sculptures of polished Valyrian steel. Slowly, Ser Harrold rose to his feet. His eyes lowered to the armor now resting upon his body before drifting toward the black cloak hanging from his shoulders and finally to the sword at his side.

He swallowed. Not from fear.

From humility. Prince Viserys smiled with unmistakable pride. "So…" Princess Aemma's smile matched his own. "The Dragonfire Thrones have accepted your oath." Ser Harrold placed a fist over his heart and bowed deeply toward the Dragonfire Thrones. "I shall spend every day proving myself worthy of their acceptance." Around him, every member of the royal family understood they had witnessed far more than the swearing of a knight. They had witnessed the rebirth of an order that had never before existed. The Dragon Guard had welcomed its first sworn brother.

Harwin Strong.

The heir to Harrenhal walked confidently across the hall before stopping several paces from the dais. Though his bearing remained that of the seasoned knight everyone knew, there was an unmistakable look of determination in his eyes. He bowed deeply before Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma before turning his gaze toward the three Dragonfire Thrones resting upon the dais behind them. "If it pleases Your Graces," Harwin said respectfully, "I wish to swear the oath of the Dragonguard before the Dragonfire Thrones."

Viserys exchanged a proud smile with Aemma before looking back toward the knight who had served their family with unwavering loyalty for so many years. "You need not ask our permission to follow your heart, Ser Harwin," Viserys replied warmly. "If you believe the Dragonguard is where the gods have called you, then approach the Dragonfire Thrones." Aemma nodded in agreement. "You have long been a friend to our family, Harwin. It would honor us to see you stand among the first of the Dragonguard." Harwin placed a fist over his heart. "My thanks, Your Graces." Without another word, he stepped toward the Dragonfire Thrones.

The hall fell silent once again.

Harwin Strong stepped forward without the slightest hesitation. The confidence in his stride was not born from pride, but certainty. He had spent his life protecting those he loved. Whether defending his family, standing beside the royal household, or placing himself between danger and another, duty had never been something he questioned. It was simply who he was. Coming to a stop before the Dragonfire Thrones, Harwin lowered himself onto one knee. Like Ser Harrold before him, he did not kneel before Prince Viserys or Princess Aemma, nor before Princess Daenys, Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Visenya, or their lord husbands.

His oath belonged to the Dragonfire Thrones themselves.

Reaching to his belt, Harwin drew the ceremonial Valyrian steel dagger. Without hesitation, he pressed the keen edge across the palm of his hand. The blade parted flesh cleanly, and crimson drops of blood welled immediately before falling one by one upon the polished black stone before the six ancient thrones. As the blood struck the stone, the throne room fell silent once more. Harwin closed his fingers around the dagger before returning it to its sheath. Then, placing his wounded hand over his heart, he lifted his head toward the Dragonfire Thrones. His voice was calm. Steady. Without fear.

"Before the Fourteen Flames, before the Dragon Gods, before the Dragonfire Thrones, I offer my life's blood. My shield shall stand before every danger. My sword shall answer every threat. My life shall be given before theirs. My loyalty shall never waver. The counsels I hear, the truths entrusted to me, and the burdens I witness shall remain mine alone until the gods themselves call me home. I shall claim no throne. I shall seek no crown. I shall hold no ambition above my duty. I shall take no spouse unless granted leave by the Three-Headed Dragon. I shall inherit no lands, nor seek titles beyond those freely bestowed. As dragonfire tempers steel, so shall this oath temper my soul. Should I betray this vow, may the dragons deny me, may the Fourteen Flames refuse my spirit, and may my name be forgotten by history. This I swear with my blood, my honor, and my soul." The final words echoed throughout the throne room. For only a heartbeat… Silence answered.

Then the Dragonfire Eye Stones resting within the jaws of the six dragons awakened once more.

Their ancient light burned brilliantly as dragonfire raced through hidden channels within the Valyrian steel, bringing the sculpted flames of every Dragonfire Throne to life. Crimson, silver, black, and molten gold coursed through the frozen fire while the dragons curled around each throne seemed almost to breathe once again. The deep hum of ancient Valyria rolled through Dragonstone. Outside, dragons answered with powerful roars that echoed across the island. Within the hall, ribbons of dragonfire flowed gracefully from the six thrones before circling Harwin in widening spirals. The ancient magic neither burned nor blinded him. Instead, it settled gently upon him like the blessing of dragons long departed.

His armor shimmered. Beginning at his boots and climbing steadily upward, the familiar steel darkened before the eyes of those gathered. Bright polished metal became blackened steel with a subtle obsidian sheen that reflected the dancing torchlight without losing its depth. One piece after another transformed until every trace of the armor he had worn into the hall had vanished.

His cloak followed.

The white fabric rippled softly before deepening into a rich midnight black. Along its borders, intricate crimson embroidery slowly appeared, depicting dragons whose bodies intertwined endlessly around the edges of the cloak. The clasps fastening it at his shoulders softened beneath the ancient magic before reshaping themselves into twin three-headed dragons crafted from blackened Valyrian steel.

Then the magic turned toward the sword resting at his side. The blade slowly drew itself from its scabbard. Suspended before Harwin, the steel rippled as though molten beneath its surface. Ancient waves flowed from point to pommel while the weapon folded upon itself again and again, the forgotten art of Old Valyria recreating the blade before the eyes of every witness. Moments later the transformation was complete.

No ordinary sword remained.

In its place hovered a magnificent blade of true Valyrian steel, its pale silver-gray surface alive with the unmistakable flowing patterns known only to the greatest smiths of lost Valyria. The crossguard had become a beautifully crafted three-headed dragon, each head facing a different direction in silent vigilance, tiny rubies glowing within their eyes like living embers. The grip darkened to black leather wrapped with crimson cord, while the pommel ended in the sculpted head of a dragon crowned by a single Dragonfire Eye Stone.

Slowly, the sword lowered itself once more into its scabbard. The last traces of dragonfire drifted harmlessly into the air. Silence settled over the throne room. Then the ancient voice echoed from the Dragonfire Thrones. "The oath is accepted." The Dragonfire Eye Stones pulsed together. "Rise, Ser Harwin Strong... Deputy Commander of the Dragon Guard."

The light within the thrones slowly faded, the dragons once again becoming still sculptures of polished Valyrian steel. Harwin remained kneeling for another heartbeat, allowing the weight of the moment to settle upon him before slowly rising to his feet. His eyes wandered over the blackened armor now covering his body before settling upon the Valyrian steel sword resting at his side. Reaching across his chest, he placed a clenched fist over his heart before bowing deeply toward the Dragonfire Thrones.

"I shall spend every day proving myself worthy of the honor you have bestowed upon me."

When he straightened, Ser Harrold Westerling was already waiting. The Lord Commander met his gaze before raising a closed fist over his own heart. Harwin returned the salute without hesitation. No words passed between them. None were needed. The Dragon Guard no longer stood with only one sworn protector. It now stood with two brothers, united by blood freely given, an oath freely sworn, and the ancient magic of the Dragonfire Thrones themselves.

The next family to enter the throne room was House Velaryon.

Lord Corlys Velaryon led the way with the quiet confidence expected of the Lord of the Tides. Beside him walked Princess Rhaenys, every bit the proud dragon princess she had always been, her bearing regal without ever becoming cold. Following closely behind came their children. Laena carried herself with the grace and confidence of a dragonrider, while Laenor's expression remained calm and composed, though those who knew him well could see the quiet determination in his violet eyes.

Together, the four approached the Dragonfire Thrones.

The six ancient thrones dominated the dais, each rising from sculpted Valyrian steel flames that reached gracefully toward the vaulted ceiling. Around the base of every throne rested a vigilant dragon, its powerful body curled protectively through the frozen dragonfire while its head remained lifted proudly above the flames, watching the hall with unwavering attention. Each dragon's wings rested half unfurled, neither fully spread nor folded, as though prepared to shield its ruler at a moment's notice. Resting gently within the jaws of every dragon was a glowing Dragonfire Eye Stone whose quiet light reflected across the polished black stone of the dais. Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon occupied the pair of thrones to the left. Princess Daenys and Lord Husband Prince Aegon sat upon the central pair. Princess Visenya and Prince Rhaegor completed the final pair to the right.

Though their gowns shared the same elegant design, each princess remained unmistakably herself. Black silk flowed around them like liquid night while embroidered dragonfire climbed each skirt in the colors that marked their own dragons and destinies. Gold flames shimmered across Princess Rhaenyra's gown, brilliant sapphire-blue flames adorned Princess Daenys, and silver flames danced across Princess Visenya's skirts beneath the torchlight.

Upon each brow rested an heir's crown of polished Valyrian silver. The graceful circlets dipped into a gentle downward V at their center, from which a single Dragonfire Stone hung delicately, catching the light whenever one of the sisters moved. Matching jewelry completed the ceremonial attire—gold gemstones for Princess Rhaenyra, sapphire-blue for Princess Daenys, and brilliant white for Princess Visenya—subtle reminders that though each possessed her own identity, together they ruled as one. House Velaryon came to a respectful halt before the Dragonfire Thrones. For several moments, none of them spoke. Then Corlys turned toward his son. The Lord of the Tides rested a firm hand upon Laenor's shoulder, giving it a single reassuring squeeze before stepping back beside his wife and daughter. The gesture needed no words.

Go.

Laenor inclined his head respectfully toward his parents before stepping forward alone. His measured footsteps echoed softly throughout the throne room until he reached the foot of the dais. There he bowed first to Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma before lifting his gaze toward the Dragonfire Thrones. "I too would swear the oath to defend my family," Laenor said, his voice steady and filled with quiet conviction. "If the Dragonfire Thrones find me worthy of such an honor." Silence settled over the hall.

Corlys watched his son with unmistakable pride.

Beside him, Princess Rhaenys' expression remained composed, though the emotion shining within her violet eyes betrayed what lay in her heart. Laena stood with her hands gently folded before her, smiling softly as she watched her twin brother stand before the rulers of New Valyria.

All three had known this day might come ever since King Aegon had announced the creation of the Dragon Guard. To be judged worthy of joining its ranks was among the greatest honors any knight could hope to receive. Yet every honor carried its own sacrifice. Should the Dragonfire Thrones accept Laenor's oath, his first duty would no longer belong to Driftmark. It would belong to the Three-Headed Dragon. He would spend fewer days sailing beside his father across the Narrow Sea, fewer evenings laughing with his sister upon Driftmark's windswept cliffs, and fewer quiet moments beneath the watchful eyes of his mother. The thought pained them.

Yet not one of them would ask him to refuse so great an honor.

Prince Viserys smiled warmly. "You have never needed to ask whether you are welcome among this family, Laenor." Princess Aemma nodded in agreement. "The Dragonfire Thrones alone shall judge whether you are worthy of the oath. We merely bear witness." Placing a fist over his heart, Laenor bowed once more. "My thanks, Your Graces."

Without another word, he ascended the dais.
Reaching the Dragonfire Thrones, Laenor lowered himself onto one knee before the ancient seats of power. Accepting the ceremonial Valyrian steel dagger from the attending servant, he drew the blade cleanly across the palm of his hand without the slightest hesitation. Crimson drops of blood welled immediately before falling one by one upon the polished black stone before the Dragonfire Thrones.
The soft sound of each drop echoed through the otherwise silent hall.

Returning the dagger, Laenor closed his wounded hand into a fist before placing it over his heart. For a single heartbeat, he closed his eyes. When he spoke again, it was not in the Common Tongue. The ancient language of Old Valyria filled the throne room. Every member of House Targaryen understood. Every member of House Velaryon understood. For the others gathered within the hall, the words carried an ancient beauty and solemnity even if their meaning escaped them.

"Hen Bōsaōñi Ēdrurȳti, hen Zaldrīzoti, hen Zaldrīzesse Sōvegon, ñuha jīvagona ānogar gierūli. Ñuha vīlībāzma ūndegon hen syt iksā. Ñuha valzȳrys gevie hen aozma iksā. Ñuha jīvagon nyke dōrī bēvilza hen pōja. Ñuha ēdruta daor syt jemot. Sȳz iksos iā daorun, sȳz nyke sȳrī, se sȳz nyke mērī, nyke iā syt gaomagon hen nyke issa jorrāelagon, gīmigon bēvilza ñuha ābrar hen se Zaldrīzoti nyke gierūli. Nyke daor urnēbagon sōvēs. Nyke daor sagon hēnkirī. Nyke daor ūndegon iā rȳbagon hen ñuha dōrī. Nyke daor ūndegon dāria mirre, kostilus hen Tolī Zaldrīzoti ñan nyke udrāzma. Nyke daor urnēbagon ēdrurȳti, se daor sagon se ossēnȳrti, kostilus iā hen nyke sȳrkta rȳ hen ēdrurȳti. Skorkydoso zaldrīzes ānogārzma valyrio, se sȳz ñuha jorrāelagon ānogārzma. Kostilus nyke ziry iksā dōrī ēdrugon, zaldrīzoti nyke qogror sȳrkta, Bōsaōñi Ēdrurȳti ñuha jāhor gierūli, se ñuha brōzi henujagon hen iēdrosa. Yn nyke gierūli hen ñuha ānogar, ñuha ēdruta, se ñuha jāhor."
(Before the Fourteen Flames, before the Dragon Gods, before the Dragonfire Thrones, I offer my life's blood. My shield shall stand before every danger. My sword shall answer every threat. My life shall be given before theirs. My loyalty shall never waver. The counsels I hear, the truths entrusted to me, and the burdens I witness shall remain mine alone until the gods themselves call me home. I shall claim no throne. I shall seek no crown. I shall hold no ambition above my duty. I shall take no spouse unless granted leave by the Three-Headed Dragon. I shall inherit no lands, nor seek titles beyond those freely bestowed. As dragonfire tempers steel, so shall this oath temper my soul. Should I betray this vow, may the dragons deny me, may the Fourteen Flames refuse my spirit, and may my name be forgotten by history. This I swear with my blood, my honor, and my soul.) As the final words of the ancient oath faded into silence, the hall became utterly still.

Then the Dragonfire Thrones answered.

The Dragonfire Eye Stones cradled within the jaws of the six ancient dragons blazed to life. Soft embers erupted into brilliant radiance as ancient Valyrian magic awakened once more. Golden light surged from each Dragonfire Eye before racing through hidden channels woven throughout the polished Valyrian steel. The sculpted flames that formed the Dragonfire Thrones came alive, crimson, silver, black, and molten gold coursing through the frozen dragonfire until the six thrones seemed forged from living flame rather than metal.

A deep, resonating hum rolled through the great hall. It was ancient. Older than Dragonstone. Older than the Doom itself.

Every soul present felt it deep within their bones. The dragons curled protectively around each throne remained motionless, yet the dragonfire flowing through them made them seem almost alive. Their watchful eyes appeared fixed upon the kneeling Velaryon, judging neither his birth nor his name, but the truth carried within his oath. Outside, the dragons upon the Dragonmont answered. One mighty roar echoed across the island.

Then another.

Soon dragon voices rolled through the skies above Dragonstone, their calls joining together as though the dragons themselves welcomed another sworn protector into the service of the Three-Headed Dragon. Within the throne room, six ribbons of dragonfire rose gracefully from the Dragonfire Thrones. Rather than remaining apart, they slowly intertwined above the dais until they became one great spiral of ancient magic. It descended without haste, encircling Laenor in widening rings of crimson, silver, black, and molten gold before settling gently upon him.

His polished armor shimmered.

Beginning at his boots and steadily climbing upward, the brilliant silver steel deepened into a rich charcoal gray unlike any armor ever forged within the Seven Kingdoms. Though darker than the armor he had worn into the hall, it remained distinctly lighter than the obsidian-black plate bestowed upon Lord Commander Harrold Westerling and Deputy Commander Harwin Strong.

The charcoal steel possessed a subtle silver sheen that caught the torchlight beautifully, every engraved dragon scale and flowing line standing proudly against the darker metal. At a glance, anyone could distinguish the leadership of the Dragon Guard. The Lord Commander and Deputy Commander wore armor as black as dragonstone itself. The Commanders wore charcoal steel touched with silver. Different. Yet unmistakably brothers of the same order.

His cloak rippled softly though no wind stirred the hall.

The white fabric slowly darkened until it matched the midnight-black cloaks worn by every sworn Dragon Guard. Crimson embroidery appeared along its borders, depicting intertwining dragons whose bodies flowed endlessly around the edge of the cloak. The silver clasps fastening it at his shoulders softened beneath the ancient magic before reshaping themselves into twin three-headed dragons crafted from polished Valyrian steel.

Then the dragonfire turned toward the sword resting at Laenor's side.

Without a hand touching it, the blade slowly slid free of its scabbard.

Suspended before him, the Westerosi steel rippled as ancient magic flowed across its length. Layer after layer the metal folded into itself, revealing the unmistakable flowing patterns known only to the master smiths of Old Valyria. When the transformation was complete, a magnificent blade of true Valyrian steel hovered before him. Its pale silver-gray surface shimmered beneath the torchlight, alive with ancient rippling patterns. The crossguard had become a beautifully crafted three-headed dragon, each head facing a different direction with tiny rubies glowing within their eyes like sleeping embers. The grip darkened beneath black leather wrapped with crimson cord, while the pommel ended in the sculpted head of a dragon forged from polished black steel. Slowly, the sword lowered itself once more into its scabbard.

The dragonfire faded.

The Dragonfire Eye Stones dimmed until only their quiet inner glow remained. Silence settled over the throne room. Then the ageless voice of the Dragonfire Thrones echoed once more. "The oath is accepted." The six Dragonfire Eye Stones pulsed together. "Rise, Laenor Velaryon... Commander of the Dragon Guard." The last traces of ancient magic drifted harmlessly into the air.

Laenor remained kneeling for a single heartbeat longer before slowly rising to his feet.

His violet eyes traveled over the transformed armor now resting upon his body before settling upon the Valyrian steel sword hanging once more at his side. A faint smile touched his lips—not one of pride, but of gratitude. Placing a closed fist over his heart, he bowed deeply toward the Dragonfire Thrones. "I shall honor this oath for every day the Dragon Gods grant me." A broad smile spread across Lord Corlys' face, pride shining plainly in his eyes. "There stands cousin." Princess Rhaenys quietly slipped her hand into her husband's, her gaze never leaving Laenor. Beside them, Laena smiled just as proudly, watching her twin brother stand clad in the colors of the Dragon Guard. They had always believed Laenor was destined for greatness. Today, the Dragonfire Thrones themselves had declared him worthy.

While no other family entered the throne room alongside Ser Harrold, Ser Harwin, and House Velaryon, one final figure quietly stepped forward. The simple act drew every eye within the great hall.

She wore neither the black armor of the Dragon Guard nor the colors of any noble house. Instead, flowing robes of deep crimson and black draped gracefully around her, their hems embroidered with ancient Valyrian script that few living souls could still read. Around her neck rested the symbol of the Guardians of History, worn smooth by over a thousand years of faithful service. For more than a millennium she had stood watch over the memories of a civilization thought forever lost. She had witnessed the final years of Old Valyria.

She had survived the Doom.

She had guarded the histories, traditions, and truths of her people so that one day, should Valyria ever rise again, it would remember not only what it had been, but why it had fallen. Now, for the first time in over a thousand years, she stood before the Dragonfire Thrones. Guardian Rhaenyra approached with measured steps until she reached the foot of the dais. There she stopped.

Placing a hand over her heart, she bowed deeply before the six Dragonfire Thrones.

"I have guarded the histories of Valyria for more than a thousand years," Guardian Rhaenyra said, her Common Tongue flowing with effortless ease despite the centuries that separated her from its earliest form. "I have witnessed kingdoms born from hope and others consumed by pride. I have preserved the names history sought to erase and safeguarded the truths upon which our people were built." Slowly she lifted her gaze. Not toward Prince Viserys. Not toward Princess Aemma. But toward the six rulers seated upon the Dragonfire Thrones. Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon upon the left. Princess Daenys and Lord Husband Prince Aegon seated proudly at the center. Princess Visenya and Prince Rhaegor completing the final pair to the right.

For a brief moment, emotion softened the ancient guardian's expression.

"Yet never," she continued quietly, "in all those centuries have I stood before the true Dragonfire Thrones." Silence settled over the hall. No one interrupted. No one wished to. "Today..." she said, her voice carrying both reverence and quiet joy, "Valyria lives once more." Her eyes slowly swept across the six Dragonfire Thrones. "Not as memory." She looked toward the three princesses. "Not as legend." Her gaze lingered upon the dragons carved protectively around the ancient thrones. "But as a living realm."

She bowed her head once more. "I would ask the honor of swearing the oath of the Dragon Guard before the rulers of New Valyria." For several long moments, the only sound within the throne room was the quiet crackling of torchlight. Princess Daenys turned first toward her sisters. Princess Rhaenyra met her gaze, a warm smile already forming upon her face. Princess Visenya answered with the slightest nod. No words passed between them. None were needed. The three sisters had long since learned to understand one another without speech. Princess Daenys rose from her Dragonfire Throne.

Her sapphire flames shimmered softly across the black silk of her ceremonial gown as she descended a single step upon the dais.

"You have protected our history for longer than many kingdoms have endured," she said warmly. "No one within this hall could ever question either your loyalty or your devotion." Princess Rhaenyra rose beside Daenys. The gold flames embroidered upon her own gown caught the torchlight as she smiled at the ancient guardian. "You have ensured that the voices of our ancestors would never be forgotten. You preserved our history when none remained to remember it." Her smile deepened. "It would honor New Valyria to welcome you among those sworn to protect its future."

Princess Visenya likewise stood.

Silver flames danced across the hem of her gown as she rested one hand lightly upon the arm of her Dragonfire Throne. "The Dragon Guard exists to defend more than those who sit upon these thrones." Her calm voice carried throughout the hall. "It exists to defend the realm." She looked toward the assembled nobles. "Our people." Then toward Guardian Rhaenyra. "And the legacy entrusted to us." A faint smile touched her lips. "You have spent over a thousand years protecting that legacy already."

She extended one hand toward the dais.

"Come forward, Guardian Rhaenyra." The ancient guardian placed a hand over her heart once more before bowing deeply. "It is an honor beyond words, Your Graces." She ascended the dais with slow, deliberate steps until she stood before the Dragonfire Thrones themselves. For several moments she simply stood there. Before her rested six thrones born of dragonfire. Their sculpted Valyrian flames reached toward the vaulted ceiling while the six guardian dragons remained forever vigilant, each Dragonfire Eye Stone glowing softly within the jaws of its dragon. For the first time in more than a thousand years… Guardian Rhaenyra stood before the restored heart of Valyria.

She slowly lowered herself onto one knee.

Closing her eyes, she rested her hand over her heart. When she spoke again, the language filling the throne room was no longer the Common Tongue. It was High Valyrian. The ancient language echoed beautifully throughout the great hall, every word carrying the weight of centuries. Many present could not understand the vows she spoke. House Velaryon understood. Every member of House Targaryen understood. Those descended from Old Valyria recognized every solemn promise as it passed her lips, the ancient words carrying a reverence no translation could ever truly capture.

The language of their ancestors until the final words faded gently into silence. House Velaryon understood. Every member of House Targaryen understood. Those descended from Old Valyria recognized every solemn promise as it passed her lips, the ancient words carrying a reverence no translation could ever truly capture.

"Hen Bōsaōñi Ēdrurȳti, hen Zaldrīzoti, hen Zaldrīzesse Sōvegon, ñuha jīvagona ānogar gierūli. Ñuha vīlībāzma ūndegon hen syt iksā. Ñuha valzȳrys gevie hen aozma iksā. Ñuha jīvagon nyke dōrī bēvilza hen pōja. Ñuha ēdruta daor syt jemot. Sȳz iksos iā daorun, sȳz nyke sȳrī, se sȳz nyke mērī, nyke iā syt gaomagon hen nyke issa jorrāelagon, gīmigon bēvilza ñuha ābrar hen se Zaldrīzoti nyke gierūli. Nyke daor urnēbagon sōvēs. Nyke daor sagon hēnkirī. Nyke daor ūndegon iā rȳbagon hen ñuha dōrī. Nyke daor ūndegon dāria mirre, kostilus hen Tolī Zaldrīzoti ñan nyke udrāzma. Nyke daor urnēbagon ēdrurȳti, se daor sagon se ossēnȳrti, kostilus iā hen nyke sȳrkta rȳ hen ēdrurȳti. Skorkydoso zaldrīzes ānogārzma valyrio, se sȳz ñuha jorrāelagon ānogārzma. Kostilus nyke ziry iksā dōrī ēdrugon, zaldrīzoti nyke qogror sȳrkta, Bōsaōñi Ēdrurȳti ñuha jāhor gierūli, se ñuha brōzi henujagon hen iēdrosa. Yn nyke gierūli hen ñuha ānogar, ñuha ēdruta, se ñuha jāhor."
(Before the Fourteen Flames, before the Dragon Gods, before the Dragonfire Thrones, I offer my life's blood. My shield shall stand before every danger. My sword shall answer every threat. My life shall be given before theirs. My loyalty shall never waver. The counsels I hear, the truths entrusted to me, and the burdens I witness shall remain mine alone until the gods themselves call me home. I shall claim no throne. I shall seek no crown. I shall hold no ambition above my duty. I shall take no spouse unless granted leave by the Three-Headed Dragon. I shall inherit no lands, nor seek titles beyond those freely bestowed. As dragonfire tempers steel, so shall this oath temper my soul. Should I betray this vow, may the dragons deny me, may the Fourteen Flames refuse my spirit, and may my name be forgotten by history. This I swear with my blood, my honor, and my soul.)

As the final words of the ancient oath faded into silence, Guardian Rhaenyra remained kneeling before the Dragonfire Thrones. Only then did she open her eyes. Drawing a slow breath, she repeated the oath in the Common Tongue, ensuring every soul gathered within the great hall—whether they understood High Valyrian or not—heard the vows she had willingly bound to her blood, her honor, and her soul. Only then did Guardian Rhaenyra open her eyes. For a single heartbeat… Nothing happened.

Then Princess Daenys rose from the center Dragonfire Throne.

The sapphire flames embroidered upon her black ceremonial gown shimmered beneath the torchlight as she descended a single step upon the dais. Beside her, Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Visenya remained seated upon their own Dragonfire Thrones, their eyes resting upon the ancient guardian with quiet approval. Drawing the polished Valyrian steel sword that rested beside her throne, Princess Daenys approached Guardian Rhaenyra. The hall watched in reverent silence. With practiced grace, Daenys rested the flat of the blade first upon Guardian Rhaenyra's right shoulder, then her left. "Rise, Guardian Rhaenyra." A warm smile softened the young princess's features. "Rise as a sworn sister of the Dragon Guard of New Valyria."

Guardian Rhaenyra slowly rose.

Almost immediately, one of the attendants stepped forward carrying the black cloak of the Dragon Guard. With great care, it was settled across the ancient guardian's shoulders before the twin three-headed dragon clasps were fastened at her collar. The weight of the cloak was slight. The honor it represented was immeasurable. For the first time in more than a thousand years, the guardian entrusted with preserving Valyria's past had become one of those sworn to defend its future. No sooner had the clasp been secured than the Dragonfire Thrones stirred once more. Every Dragonfire Eye Stone resting within the jaws of the six guardian dragons awakened together.

Their quiet glow blossomed into brilliant light.

Golden dragonfire surged through hidden channels within the polished Valyrian steel, racing along the sculpted flames that formed each of the six Dragonfire Thrones. Crimson, silver, black, and molten gold coursed through the ancient craftsmanship until the dragons curled protectively around the thrones seemed almost alive. The throne room fell utterly silent. Every eye turned toward the Dragonfire Thrones. No one looked away. Then the ageless voice echoed throughout the great hall once more.

It seemed to come from every direction at once—from the polished stone beneath their feet, the towering pillars that lined the hall, the dragonfire flowing through the ancient thrones, and from the very heart of Old Valyria itself. "As you are the blood of the Family of Dragons, receive these crowns. While not rulers, you are honored members of the royal family." Ancient dragonfire gathered before Laenor Velaryon and Guardian Rhaenyra. It carried no heat. Instead, ribbons of molten gold, crimson, silver, and black flowed gracefully through the air before weaving themselves together into two slowly forming shapes.

The assembled lords and ladies watched without so much as a whisper.

Even those who had already witnessed the Dragonfire Thrones awaken stood captivated by the miracle unfolding before them. As the dragonfire slowly withdrew, two crowns remained suspended before their destined bearers. Neither rivaled the heir crowns worn by Princess Daenys, Princess Rhaenyra, and Princess Visenya. They were never meant to. The heir crowns proclaimed sovereignty.

These proclaimed blood, belonging, and the honor of standing among the Family of Dragons.

Each circlet had been forged from polished Valyrian gold whose warm brilliance reflected the dancing torchlight without ever becoming ostentatious. Delicate engravings of dragons in flight wound gracefully around each band, so finely worked they seemed ready to lift from the metal itself. At the front of every crown rested a single sculpted dragon's head. Its expression was calm. Watchful. Protective. Its jaws remained gently parted, not in threat, but in guardianship, cradling a single Dragonfire Stone unlike any found elsewhere in the realm.

Laenor's stone shimmered with the colors of sea and sky.

Brilliant aqua-green danced across its surface while deep within its heart soft currents of sapphire blue flowed endlessly like sunlight beneath the waters surrounding Driftmark. Every subtle movement caused the colors to shift and mingle until the gemstone appeared almost alive.

Guardian Rhaenyra's Dragonfire Stone possessed a beauty entirely its own.

The ruby glowed with a rich, regal crimson that seemed to radiate quiet warmth from within. At its very center, delicate strands of black onyx curled through the gemstone in slow, graceful spirals like smoke rising through dragonfire or ink drifting across ancient parchment. It was a stone that seemed to carry memory. Sacrifice. And the wisdom of ages long past. For several long heartbeats, neither Laenor nor Guardian Rhaenyra moved. They simply stared.

Princess Rhaenys felt her breath catch.

Beside her, Lord Corlys regarded the crown awaiting his son with unmistakable pride shining in his eyes. Even Prince Viserys found himself unable to speak. No master smith had forged those crowns. No jeweler had crafted their gemstones. No servant had carried them into the hall. The Dragonfire Thrones themselves had recognized two more members of the Family of Dragons. Slowly… Almost reverently… The crowns drifted forward. Without guidance.

Without human touch.

Laenor instinctively lowered his head. Guardian Rhaenyra did the same. The crowns settled gently upon them as though they had always belonged there. The instant each circlet came to rest, its Dragonfire Stone blazed brilliantly. Laenor's gemstone erupted in dazzling shades of aqua and sapphire before gradually calming into its tranquil, ocean-like glow.

Guardian Rhaenyra's ruby flared with deep crimson dragonfire while the onyx at its heart shimmered like living shadow, the two colors flowing together in perfect harmony before slowly settling once more. The dragonfire receded. The ancient magic withdrew. Silence lingered throughout the throne room. Not the silence of uncertainty. Nor the silence of disbelief. It was the silence reserved for moments so sacred that words could only diminish them. No king had bestowed those crowns. No queen had granted them. No council had voted. No decree had been proclaimed.

The Dragonfire Thrones themselves had spoken.

And before every lord, lady, knight, servant, and witness gathered within Dragonstone's great hall, they had declared Laenor Velaryon and Guardian Rhaenyra to be honored members of the Family of Dragons.

Before another word could be spoken, the Dragonfire Thrones awakened once more.

The Dragonfire Eye Stones resting within the jaws of the six guardian dragons blazed brilliantly, their quiet glow erupting into living dragonfire. Golden light surged from each stone before racing through hidden channels woven throughout the polished Valyrian steel. The sculpted flames that formed the six Dragonfire Thrones came alive once more, crimson, silver, black, and molten gold coursing through the ancient metal until the thrones themselves seemed forged from living fire.

The deep hum of Old Valyria rolled through the throne room. It resonated through the polished stone beneath their feet, through every towering pillar, and through the hearts of every soul gathered within the hall. Outside, dragons upon the Dragonmont answered with deep, echoing roars that rolled across Dragonstone like distant thunder. Conversation ceased immediately.

Every eye turned toward the Dragonfire Thrones.

The ageless voice echoed throughout the hall once more. Neither male nor female. Neither young nor old. It carried the authority of a civilization thought forever lost. "As those chosen to lead the Dragon Guard... receive the mark of your charge." Ancient dragonfire rose from the six Dragonfire Thrones. Rather than remaining separate, the streams intertwined as they crossed the throne room before dividing once more into four brilliant ribbons that came to rest before the newly appointed leaders of the Dragon Guard.

Lord Commander Harrold Westerling. Deputy Commander Harwin Strong. Commander Laenor Velaryon. Commander Guardian Rhaenyra. The dragonfire slowly folded upon itself. Golden, crimson, black, and silver light wove together with graceful precision until four identical objects slowly emerged from the fading flames. When the last embers drifted harmlessly into the air, four magnificent sword belts remained suspended before their destined wearers.

Each belt had been crafted from supple black dragon-scale leather.

Every scale overlapped naturally with the next until the leather appeared less crafted than grown, as though taken from the hide of some ancient dragon. Strong enough for war yet elegant enough for ceremony, each belt reflected the same balance of beauty and purpose that defined the Dragonfire Thrones themselves.

At the center rested an ornate buckle unlike any forged by mortal hands.

A pair of dragon wings spread outward in perfect symmetry, their long wing bones gracefully arching away from one another while finely crafted membranes stretched between them. Every membrane bore delicate engravings of dragon scales so intricate they caught the torchlight individually. The buckle itself had been forged from Valyrian steel.

Yet it was unlike any Valyrian steel blade or suit of armor known within the Seven Kingdoms. Crimson and black flowed endlessly through the metal in graceful swirls, neither color overpowering the other. Instead, they moved together like dragonfire captured forever within steel. The belts drifted forward. Harrold watched in quiet wonder as the first settled naturally around his waist before fastening itself with a soft metallic click. Moments later, Harwin's followed. Then Laenor's.

Finally, Guardian Rhaenyra's.

Each fit its wearer perfectly, as though measured for them centuries before their birth. Soft murmurs spread throughout the throne room. None present had witnessed the making of the belts. No craftsman had entered carrying them. Like the crowns before them… The Dragonfire Thrones themselves had bestowed the gifts. Princess Daenys smiled quietly from her throne. Beside her, Princess Rhaenyra studied the craftsmanship with unmistakable admiration while Princess Visenya's calm expression softened ever so slightly as she regarded the four new leaders of the Dragon Guard. Neither of the three sisters had summoned the belts. The ancient magic bound within the Dragonfire Thrones had acted of its own accord.

The ageless voice echoed once more.

"These belts mark those entrusted with the leadership of the Dragon Guard." The Dragonfire Eye Stones pulsed together. "Wear them with honor." Another pulse. "Lead with wisdom." The dragonfire glowing within the six thrones brightened. "Let your strength be measured not by the power you command... but by the lives you protect." The words settled over the throne room with the weight of sacred law. No one questioned them.

No one wished to.

Every lord, lady, knight, and servant gathered within the great hall understood precisely what had just taken place. The four standing before the Dragonfire Thrones had not merely joined the Dragon Guard. They had become its leaders. Ser Harrold Westerling stood as Lord Commander. Ser Harwin Strong served beside him as Deputy Commander.

Laenor Velaryon and Guardian Rhaenyra completed the leadership of the order as its Commanders, their authority granted not by king or queen, but by the Dragonfire Thrones themselves. Some among them rode dragons. Others did not. Some carried the blood of Old Valyria.

Others did not.

The Dragonfire Thrones had made no distinction. They had judged neither birth nor station. Only loyalty. Only honor. Only the willingness to place the lives of New Valyria's rulers and the realm they served before their own. No greater honor… And no greater responsibility… Could ever be bestowed.

Shrykos, Dragon Goddess of Beginnings, appeared in a gentle bloom of golden dragonfire. No roar announced her arrival. No blinding flash sought to overwhelm those gathered. Instead, warm light blossomed at the foot of the Dragonfire Thrones like the first rays of dawn breaking across the Fourteen Flames. The dragonfire drifted upward in graceful ribbons before gathering into the unmistakable form of the goddess herself.

Every soul within the throne room immediately lowered their heads. Even the dragons beyond the walls of Dragonstone answered her presence with deep, respectful calls that echoed across the island. Shrykos smiled warmly as her gaze settled upon the young woman seated upon the central Dragonfire Throne. "Princess Daenys," she said, her voice carrying both the gentleness of a loving mother and the quiet authority of a goddess. "Princess of Westeros and Valyria... step forward."

The throne room remained utterly silent. "Receive your Dragon Queen's Crown." Daenys rose without hesitation.

The sapphire flames embroidered upon her black ceremonial gown shimmered softly as she descended from the central Dragonfire Throne. Every measured step carried quiet confidence rather than arrogance. Reaching the foot of the dais, she stopped before the Dragon Goddess and bowed deeply. "It is an honor, Divine One." Shrykos inclined her head. "And now…" The Dragon Goddess lifted one hand. "...make your oath to these Dragonfire Thrones... and to every land, every soul, and every generation that shall one day look to you for guidance." Golden dragonfire gathered above her open palm. Unlike ordinary flame, it neither flickered nor consumed. It moved with purpose, weaving graceful circles through the air as though guided by unseen hands. Streams of molten gold merged with silver, crimson, and black until the dragonfire itself slowly solidified. Gasps spread quietly throughout the gathered court. Before them, a crown was being born.

As the final wisps of dragonfire drifted harmlessly into the air, the Dragon Queen's Crown remained suspended above Shrykos' hand.

It had been forged from polished white silver Valyrian steel whose mirror-like surface reflected the dragonfire dancing throughout the throne room. Though unmistakably regal, its design possessed an elegant restraint befitting New Valyria.

Rather than countless points and elaborate ornamentation, the circlet flowed in smooth, graceful lines. At its center rose the sculpted head of a dragon. Its expression was neither fierce nor threatening. Instead, it stood watchful.

Protective.

Its proud head lifted as though forever guarding the realm entrusted to its queen. The dragon's jaws remained gently parted. Cradled securely between its fangs rested a magnificent Dragonfire Stone unlike any seen before. Its heart glowed with the rich blue of ancient Valyria. Not merely sapphire. Not merely dragonfire.

But both together.

Deep currents of brilliant Valyrian blue flowed endlessly within the gemstone like living flame beneath crystal, occasionally giving way to flashes of silver and gold that shimmered through its depths before disappearing once more.

The stone seemed alive. It pulsed gently in time with the ancient magic flowing through the Dragonfire Thrones. Its light reflected across Daenys' face, bathing her in soft sapphire fire. For several long moments, neither princess nor court moved. They simply admired the masterpiece the Dragon Goddess herself had called forth. Shrykos smiled.

"This crown is not a symbol of dominion." Her gaze swept across every lord and lady gathered within the hall. "It is a reminder." She looked once more to Daenys. "A queen does not stand above her people." The goddess gently rested her hand over her own heart. "She stands before them." Her voice softened. "She bears their burdens."

Another pause. "She protects their future." Then, with a tenderness that only a goddess could possess, Shrykos lifted the Dragon Queen's Crown. "Bow your head, Daenys Targaryen... and accept not only the honor of this crown…" The Dragonfire Stone blazed brilliantly. "...but the duty that shall accompany it for every day of your life."

"I, Daenys of House Targaryen, with the blood of the Dragonlords of Old Valyria flowing through my veins, swear this oath. I swear to stand before my people as their shield and their sword. I swear to stand beside them as their guide.I swear never to place myself above them, just as I would never place myself above my family. I swear this to the people of Essos, Westeros, New Valyria, and every land that shall one day stand beneath our protection. I swear to listen as readily as I speak, to let my people teach me how to guide, how to guard, how to comfort, and when it is time to let go. This task I accept not as a duty forced upon me, but as an honor freely embraced. From this day until the end of my days, I shall strive to earn the trust of those I serve. This oath I swear before the Dragonfire Thrones, the Dragon Gods, and every ruler who has come before me. This vow I speak is the promise I shall keep."

For one long heartbeat, nothing happened.

The Dragonfire Thrones stood silent as every soul gathered within the throne room watched and waited. Even the dragons beyond the walls of Dragonstone fell strangely quiet, as though the very island held its breath.

Then brilliant blue dragonfire erupted from the Dragonfire Throne to Daenys' left.

The sapphire flames did not burn with destructive fury. Instead, they rose in graceful ribbons, illuminating the great hall in a wash of brilliant azure light. The polished Valyrian steel of the six Dragonfire Thrones gleamed beneath the radiance as the Dragonfire Eye Stones nestled within the jaws of the guardian dragons answered the ancient magic, each blazing with the same vibrant blue. The light reflected from the polished Valyrian silver crowns worn by the three princesses, causing the Dragonfire Stones suspended beneath each downward V to shimmer like living stars.

The hall grew utterly still. Every eye turned toward the Dragon Goddess. Shrykos smiled gently before turning her gaze toward the second of the three sisters. "Rhaenyra of House Targaryen," the Dragon Goddess called, her voice carrying effortlessly throughout the throne room. "Princess of Westeros and Valyria... step forward."

Princess Rhaenyra rose gracefully from her Dragonfire Throne.

The black gown she wore seemed almost to drink in the torchlight, while the crimson flames embroidered across its skirts and sleeves shimmered with every step she took. Upon her brow rested the polished Valyrian silver crown of an heir, its single Dragonfire Stone glowing with the rich crimson of dragonfire. Around her neck, ears, and wrists, the matching ruby jewelry caught the blue light filling the hall, the gemstones blazing like living embers against the darkness of her gown.

She descended the dais with calm confidence before stopping several paces before Shrykos.

Placing a hand over her heart, she bowed deeply. "I stand before you, Divine One." Shrykos inclined her head with a warm smile. "Step forward and receive your Dragon Queen's Crown." The Dragon Goddess slowly lifted her hand. "And swear your oath before the Dragonfire Thrones, the Dragon Gods, and the people whose future has been entrusted to your care." At once, the sapphire dragonfire swirling around the throne room began to gather above Shrykos' outstretched palm once more.

A second crown slowly emerged from the dragonfire.

Like Daenys' crown, it had been forged from Valyrian white silver, its luminous surface gleaming with a soft radiance beneath the dragonfire filling the throne room. The ancient metal possessed the warmth of white gold intertwined with delicate currents of swirling silver, giving it an almost ethereal beauty unlike any metal known to the smiths of Westeros. Its design remained elegantly simple. At its center rested the sculpted head of a dragon, its noble features watchful rather than fierce, the polished scales catching the light as though the creature itself still lived. Only one detail differed.

Nestled gently within the dragon's open jaws rested a magnificent Dragonfire Eye Stone. Unlike the brilliant Valyrian sapphire borne by Daenys' crown, this gemstone blazed with the deep crimson of a ruby. Black dragonfire drifted in graceful spirals through its heart, and every few moments the light pulsed so naturally it seemed as though the dragon itself slowly blinked. The gathered court watched in reverent silence. No mortal craftsman could have fashioned such a masterpiece. The Dragonfire Thrones themselves had brought it forth.

Rhaenyra stepped forward as the Dragon Queen's Crown hovered patiently within Shrykos' waiting hands. Reaching the Dragon Goddess, she lowered herself gracefully onto one knee, bowing her head in reverence before placing a hand over her heart.

For a brief moment, silence settled across the throne room once more. The crimson Dragonfire Eye Stone cradled within the dragon's jaws pulsed softly, its living light reflected in Rhaenyra's eyes as she lifted her gaze toward the Dragonfire Thrones. There was neither hesitation nor uncertainty upon her face.

Only quiet confidence.

When she began to speak, her voice carried effortlessly throughout the great hall. It was calm and measured, yet beneath its gentleness rested the unmistakable authority of one born to lead. Every word rang clear within the ancient chamber, spoken not to impress those gathered, but as a solemn promise offered to the Dragon Gods, the Dragonfire Thrones, and every soul she would one day guide and protect.

With unwavering conviction, Rhaenyra swore the same sacred oath her sister had spoken only moments before.

"I, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, with the blood of the Dragonlords of Old Valyria flowing through my veins, hereby swear this oath.

To the people of Westeros, Essos, New Valyria, and every land that shall one day rest beneath our protection, I pledge my life, my honor, and my devotion. I swear to stand before my people as their shield and their sword. I swear to stand beside them as their guide, never seeking to rule through fear, but through wisdom, compassion, and justice. I swear never to place myself above those I serve, just as I shall never place myself above my family, for together we stand as one.

I swear to listen with an open heart, to learn from my people as readily as I teach them, to guide with patience, to guard with courage, to comfort with kindness, and to know when mercy is the greater strength. This task I accept not as a duty forced upon me, but as an honor freely embraced. From this day until the end of my days, I shall strive to earn the trust my people place in me. This oath I swear before the Dragonfire Thrones, the Dragon Gods, and every ruler who has come before me.

This vow I speak is the promise I shall keep."

Crimson dragonfire swept gracefully throughout the throne room.

It did not race with the fury of a wildfire, nor did it burn with destructive heat. Instead, it moved with quiet purpose, flowing like a living river of flame among the gathered lords, ladies, knights, and servants who had assembled to witness the birth of New Valyria's first queens. The dragonfire circled each soul in turn. For a single heartbeat it lingered before every witness, searching not their words but their hearts. It looked beyond titles, beyond bloodlines, beyond ambition itself, seeking only one truth. Acceptance.

One by one, the dragonfire found it.

The gathered court had witnessed the vows sworn before the Dragonfire Thrones. They had heard the promises made by the woman who would now wear the crown of a Dragon Queen. There was no fear within their hearts, nor resentment, nor doubt. Only hope for the future now unfolding before them. Satisfied, the crimson dragonfire withdrew from the assembled witnesses. It returned to the Dragon Queen's Crown still resting within Shrykos' hands, circling it in slow, graceful spirals. As the flames embraced the circlet, the ruby Dragonfire Eye Stone nestled within the dragon's jaws awakened.

Its deep crimson light flared brilliantly.

Within its heart, black dragonfire swirled in elegant currents until the gemstone appeared to blink, like the watchful eye of an ancient dragon opening for the very first time.

The Dragon Goddess smiled. With infinite care, Shrykos lifted the crown and gently lowered it onto Rhaenyra's bowed head.

The instant the Valyrian white silver touched her brow, the ruby Dragonfire Eye Stone blazed with radiant crimson light before slowly settling into a warm, steady glow. Shrykos rested her fingertips lightly upon the new queen's shoulders. "Rise, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen." Her voice carried throughout the throne room with the quiet authority of the Dragon Gods themselves."Rise... not as a princess…" A gentle smile touched the goddess's lips. "...but as a Queen." For the first time since the Doom of Old Valyria…

A Dragon Queen stood once more.

The Dragon Goddess smiled as she looked upon the two newly crowned queens standing before the Dragonfire Thrones. Daenys stood crowned in sapphire, Rhaenyra in ruby, their oaths still echoing through the ancient hall.

For a long moment, Shrykos remained silent. Then her gaze drifted toward the youngest of the three sisters. A warm smile touched her lips. "Two Dragon Heads now stand before the Dragon Gods," she proclaimed, her voice carrying effortlessly throughout the throne room. "Yet the Three-Headed Dragon is not complete." The Dragonfire stirring within the six ancient thrones pulsed gently, as though the thrones themselves awaited the final moment of the ceremony.

"There is one who has not yet been called." Her golden eyes settled upon the remaining princess. "Visenya of House Targaryen…" The Dragon Goddess extended one hand toward her. "Come forward."

The throne room remained utterly still.

Every lord, every lady, every knight, and every dragonrider watched as the youngest of the three sisters rose from her Dragonfire Throne. The silver flames embroidered upon her black gown shimmered beneath the dragonfire filling the hall, while the polished Valyrian silver heir's crown resting upon her brow reflected the warm golden light surrounding Shrykos.

With quiet confidence, Visenya descended the dais.

Each measured step carried neither uncertainty nor pride, but the calm resolve of one who understood the weight of what awaited her. Stopping before the Dragon Goddess, she bowed deeply, placing one hand over her heart. "I stand before you, Divine One." Shrykos inclined her head. "Swear your oath." Her voice softened, yet somehow carried even greater authority. "Swear your oath to the Dragon Gods..."

She gestured toward the six Dragonfire Thrones. "...to the Dragonfire Thrones…" Finally, she looked beyond Visenya toward the countless witnesses gathered within the hall. "...and to the people you now guide, guard, and protect." The Dragon Goddess slowly raised both hands. "Receive your Dragon Queen's Crown."

Visenya, like her sisters before her, lowered herself gracefully onto one knee, the silver flames embroidered across her black gown pooling softly around her. She bowed first to Shrykos, Dragon Goddess of Beginnings, before turning to bow her head toward the Dragonfire Thrones.

Lifting her eyes once more, she rested a hand over her heart. "I, Visenya of House Targaryen, pledge this oath of my own free will.

I swear to stand before the people under my protection as their shield and their sword. I swear to stand beside them as their guide. I swear never to stand above them, just as I would never stand above my family. I swear to learn from them with as open a heart as that with which I would teach them.

I swear that no fear, no darkness, and no enemy shall find my people standing alone while I yet draw breath. This task I accept not as a duty forced upon me, but as an honor freely embraced. From this day until the end of my days, I shall strive to be worthy of the trust my people place in me. This oath I swear before the Dragonfire Thrones, the Dragon Gods, and every ruler who has come before me.

This vow I speak is the promise I shall keep."

Silver dragonfire blossomed from the Dragonfire Throne before sweeping gracefully toward the Dragon Queen's Crown awaiting its rightful bearer. The ancient flames did not consume.

They embraced.

As crown and dragonfire became one, brilliant ribbons of silver light flowed outward into the great hall, bathing every carved pillar, every banner, and every face gathered within the throne room in a gentle celestial glow. The polished Valyrian white silver of the six Dragonfire Thrones reflected the sacred light until it seemed as though the very hall had become part of the ancient magic.

The silver dragonfire continued its silent journey.

It drifted among the gathered lords and ladies, circled the assembled knights, lingered beside the servants, and even passed before the children who stood watching with wide-eyed wonder. Like the sapphire dragonfire before it and the crimson dragonfire that had followed, it sought only a single truth.

Did these people accept the oath? Did they accept the queen who had spoken it? The dragonfire searched beyond titles and beyond blood. It looked past ambition, fear, and pride, reaching instead for the truth that rested within every heart. One by one, it found its answer. It found hope, it found trust, and finally, it found within every heart acceptance.

The people of New Valyria had listened to the vows sworn before the Dragonfire Thrones. They had heard the promises of wisdom, compassion, and now protection. They had witnessed three sisters accept not power, but service. Satisfied, the silver dragonfire slowly withdrew from those gathered.

Returning to the Dragon Queen's Crown, it wrapped itself lovingly around the Dragonfire Eye Stone cradled within the dragon's open jaws. The brilliant white gemstone awakened, its silver light swirling gracefully within its depths until, for the briefest of moments, it seemed as though the dragon itself had opened its eye. The Dragon Goddess smiled.

The final Dragon Queen had been accepted.

Just as reverently, the Dragon Goddess lifted the Dragon Queen's Crown and gently lowered the Valyrian white silver circlet onto the brow of Visenya Targaryen. The brilliant Dragonfire Eye Stone nestled within the dragon's open jaws shimmered softly, its silver light pulsing once before settling into a steady, comforting glow.

For a long moment, Shrykos simply looked upon the youngest of the three sisters. A warm smile touched the goddess's lips. Placing one hand over her own heart, she bowed her head ever so slightly. Then, with infinite care, she rested that same hand upon Visenya's shoulder.

"Rise, Visenya of House Targaryen."

Her voice echoed throughout the throne room with the authority of the Dragon Gods themselves. "Rise no longer as a princess…" The silver dragonfire flowing through the six Dragonfire Thrones flared gently in answer. "...but as the Third Dragon Queen."

The Dragon Goddess' gaze swept across the assembled court before lifting toward the dragons whose distant calls echoed across Dragonstone. "The lands of Westeros, Essos, and New Valyria…" Her smile widened. "...and every land that shall one day look to you and your queen sisters for wisdom, compassion, and protection…" She gave Visenya's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "...shall know you as their queens." Outside the walls of Dragonstone, the silence lasted only a heartbeat.

Then the island shook beneath the thunderous roar of dragons.

From every peak, every cavern, and every ledge carved into the Dragonmount, dragons lifted their heads toward the heavens. Great wings unfurled as one voice became hundreds, then hundreds became thousands. Their joyous cries rolled across the island like living thunder, carrying far beyond the shores of Blackwater Bay.

The celebration did not end there.

Across Westeros, dragons answered the call. From mighty Balerion, the Black Dread, whose roar still carried the power to shake the earth itself, to the great war dragons Vhagar and Meraxes, every dragon that called Westeros home lifted its voice in answer. Their cries echoed from Dragonstone to King's Landing and beyond, each recognizing what had taken place upon the ancient island.

Then came a sound unlike any heard since before the Doom. From the reborn lands of New Valyria rose thousands more voices. The countless dragons that had awakened when their homeland stirred once more answered their western kin with roars that rolled across the Narrow Sea itself. Young dragons and ancient dragons alike joined the celebration until the skies of two continents seemed united beneath one magnificent chorus. Yet even those mighty voices were surpassed.

Far beyond the sight of mortal eyes, the Fourteen Flames answered.

Their ancient peaks blazed with living dragonfire as a roar unlike any uttered by mortal dragons rolled across the heavens. It was deeper than thunder, older than kingdoms, and filled with a joy that seemed to shake the very foundations of the world. Every dragon fell silent for a single heartbeat. Then, as one, they answered the voices of the Fourteen Flames. The skies of the world had not witnessed such a chorus since the glory days of Old Valyria. Now...

They sang for New Valyria.

Before the echoes of the dragons' celebration had fully faded, another light blossomed within the throne room. One by one, pillars of dragonfire appeared beside Shrykos, each burning with the colors and essence of the deity stepping forth from within.
The first flames burned with the brilliance of the sun itself as Arrax, God of Fire, King of the Gods, and Father of the Eternal Ember emerged. Beside him came Aegarax, Goddess of Blood, Queen of the Gods, and Mother of the Eternal Ichor, her crimson light radiating warmth rather than menace. Vhagar followed, the Goddess of War, Wrath, and Destruction, whose very presence embodied strength and protection. Caraxes, God of Conquest, Victory, and Achievement, stepped from scarlet dragonfire, followed by Meraxes, Goddess of Art, Music, Dance, and Poetry. Then came Vermax, God of Exploration, Travelers, Heralds, and Merchants; Meleys, Goddess of Wisdom, Knowledge, and Strategy; Balerion, God of Death, Transformation, and the Afterlife; Draxtar, God of Life, Creation, and Nature; Onixa, Goddess of Sorcery, Witchcraft, and Vengeance; Syrax, Goddess of Passion, Love, and Harmony; Tyraxes, Goddess of the Hunt, Fertility, Harvest, Compassion, and Generosity; Tessarion, Goddess of Foresight, Dreams, and Prophecy; and finally R'hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow.

Together, the Fourteen Dragon Gods stood within the throne room of Dragonstone. Their divine presence filled the chamber until the air itself seemed alive with ancient power. Every lord, lady, knight, servant, and dragonrider instinctively lowered their heads in reverence. Even the dragons gathered upon the slopes of the Dragonmount quieted, their thunderous celebration giving way to an expectant silence.

No one knew what would happen next.

Then, without a word being spoken between them, Shrykos smiled softly toward the three newly crowned queens. She placed one hand over her heart before gracefully lowering herself onto one knee. The movement was echoed immediately by Arrax. Then Aegarax followed. Vhagar bowed her head before kneeling, followed in turn by Caraxes, Meraxes, Vermax, Meleys, Balerion, Draxtar, Onixa, Syrax, Tyraxes, Tessarion, and finally R'hllor. One after another, each of the Fourteen Dragon Gods knelt before the Dragonfire Thrones.

A collective gasp swept through the throne room. Never in the oldest histories of Old Valyria had such a moment been recorded. Kings had knelt before the gods. Queens had knelt before the gods. Entire empires had humbled themselves before the divine. Yet never had the Dragon Gods themselves knelt before mortal rulers.

The three sisters stood in stunned silence, their crowns gleaming beneath the light of the Dragonfire Thrones as they looked upon the impossible sight before them. The gods had not lowered themselves out of submission, nor had they surrendered their authority. Rather, they honored the sacred covenant the three queens had willingly accepted—the promise to rule with wisdom, compassion, and protection, placing the needs of their people before themselves for as long as they drew breath.

In that moment, every soul gathered within the throne room understood they were witnessing more than a coronation. They were witnessing the renewal of a bond that had been broken since the Doom of Old Valyria. The Dragon Gods and the rulers of New Valyria once again stood together, united in purpose, each recognizing the sacred duty accepted by the other.

Behind the three newly crowned queens, the three princes rose from the Dragonheart Thrones, the ancient seats reserved for the kings who would one day stand beside the Dragon Queens. Prince Aegon, Prince Daemon, and Prince Rhaegor stood together in silent reverence, each lowering his head as he looked upon the women he loved.

To one side, Prince Viserys stepped forward. Princess Aemma moved with him, their hands brushing together before they released one another. Pride shone openly within their eyes as they looked upon the daughters they had raised. They had watched three spirited girls grow into remarkable women, and now, before the Dragon Gods themselves, those women had become the first Dragon Queens of New Valyria. Without hesitation, Viserys lowered himself onto one knee. A heartbeat later, Aemma knelt beside him. Their actions were not those of parents kneeling before their daughters, nor of subjects kneeling before rulers. They honored the sacred responsibility the three sisters had willingly accepted. The Dragon Gods themselves had knelt before the covenant the queens had sworn. It was only fitting that their family should do the same.

Prince Aegon was the first of the three princes to move.

The younger brother of Prince Viserys stepped away from the Dragonheart Thrones and crossed the short distance separating him from Queen Daenys. His violet eyes never left her face. He did not see only the Dragon Queen's Crown resting upon her brow or the authority bestowed upon her by the Dragonfire Thrones. He saw his wife. He saw the woman whose wisdom had guided not only kingdoms, but his own heart. The woman he had chosen long ago to spend his life beside. Their marriage had never been forged for power, nor for politics, but for love. The crown she now wore changed nothing between them. If anything… It filled him with even greater pride. Placing one hand over his heart, Aegon bowed his head before lowering himself onto one knee before Queen Daenys. He knelt not because she stood above him, but because he honored the sacred task she had accepted.

As Aegon knelt before his wife, Prince Daemon stepped forward.

He stopped before Queen Rhaenyra, his expression softening into the familiar smile she alone could draw from him. Since she had been a little girl, she had been his little dragon, and though the Dragonfire Thrones had crowned her a queen, nothing would ever change that in his heart. He did not love her because of the crown she now wore. Nor would he soon marry her because she ruled. He loved the woman who had stood beside her family without hesitation, whose compassion had touched every soul fortunate enough to know her, and whose heart remained as warm as it had always been despite the burdens she now carried. The crown upon her brow did not make her worthy of his love. She had always been worthy. Resting one hand over his heart, Daemon bowed his head. Then he lowered himself onto one knee. Not because Rhaenyra stood above him. Never because of that. From childhood, she and her sisters had been taught that rulers were never meant to stand above their people. They stood before them as shields, beside them as guides, and behind them as unwavering support. A Dragon Queen existed to protect, to teach, to comfort, and to ensure justice was given without fear or favor. Daemon knelt because he honored the sacred promise Rhaenyra had willingly embraced.

Finally, Prince Rhaegor stepped forward.

He came to a stop before Queen Visenya, his silver eyes meeting hers without wavering. Before him stood the woman with whom he would soon bind not only his hand in marriage, but his very soul. Strength radiated from her without arrogance, calm without hesitation. She had sworn herself to stand as the protector of New Valyria, and he knew no one more worthy of that charge. For a long moment neither of them spoke. Words were unnecessary. Everything that needed to be said had already been spoken in the vows she had sworn before the Dragonfire Thrones. Placing one hand over his heart, Rhaegor bowed his head. Then he lowered himself onto one knee before Visenya.

Around them, Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma remained kneeling. Before Queen Daenys knelt her husband, Prince Aegon. Before Queen Rhaenyra knelt the man who would soon become her husband, Prince Daemon. Before Queen Visenya knelt Prince Rhaegor, who would soon bind his life and soul to hers.

Throughout the throne room, no voice broke the silence. The Dragon Gods remained upon one knee. The royal family remained upon one knee. Every lord, lady, knight, servant, and dragonrider looked on in reverent silence as the adults of House Targaryen became the first mortals to honor the Three Dragon Queens. Not because the queens stood above them.

But because the sacred covenant they had accepted deserved nothing less.

Though every soul gathered within the throne room had just witnessed what was surely the first time in the history of the world that the Dragon Gods themselves had knelt, an even gentler moment followed. From behind one of the great pillars stepped three small figures. Baelon. Little Aegon. And their little sister, Helaena.

Hand in hand, the three children quietly crossed the great hall toward their family. No one called them forward. No one instructed them what to do. They simply looked upon their parents, their uncles, the Dragon Gods, and finally the three queens who stood before the Dragonfire Thrones. For a long moment they simply smiled. Then Baelon lowered himself onto one knee. Little Aegon followed his elder brother without hesitation. Finally, Helaena carefully gathered the skirts of her gown before gracefully kneeling beside her brothers.

A quiet murmur swept through the throne room as more than one lord and lady found tears welling within their eyes.

Unlike the adults surrounding them, the children could not yet fully understand the weight of the ancient covenant that had just been renewed. They knew nothing of the centuries that had passed since the Doom of Old Valyria. They could not yet grasp the burden that rested upon the shoulders of the three Dragon Queens.

But children possessed a wisdom all their own.

They had watched their three elder sisters throughout their lives. They had seen Daenys offer wisdom when others were uncertain. They had seen Rhaenyra comfort those who carried heavy hearts. They had seen Visenya place herself between others and danger without a second thought.

To Baelon, Little Aegon, and Helaena, their sisters had already proven who they were.

They had proven they would protect. They had proven they would teach. They had proven they would comfort. They had proven they would rule not with anger, nor with arrogance, but with kindness, justice, wisdom, compassion, and unwavering hearts. Never would they demand that others bow before them. If the day ever came that their people needed them… They would be the first to bow beside them. To the innocent hearts of Baelon, Little Aegon, and Helaena…

That was enough.

Arrax stepped forward first.

The God of Fire, King of the Dragon Gods, Father of the Eternal Ember looked upon the kneeling members of House Targaryen before his gaze finally settled upon the Three Dragon Queens. Though his presence alone was enough to make mountains tremble, warmth filled his fiery eyes. Before him stood not merely rulers, but a family who had willingly accepted a burden few would ever choose.

A proud smile touched his lips. "My little dragonlings…" His voice rolled gently through the throne room like the steady roar of a great forge, powerful enough to command the heavens yet warm enough to comfort a child.

"You have accepted not a crown of privilege, but a mantle of sacrifice. From this day until the end of your days, let the Eternal Ember burn brightly within each of your hearts. May your fire give warmth before judgment, hope before fear, and courage before despair. Let it remind all who look upon you that the greatest flame is not the one that destroys... but the one that gives light to those lost in darkness." He slowly raised one hand. A single ember drifted from his palm before dividing into nine smaller flames. One settled gently over the heart of each member of House Targaryen before disappearing without pain, leaving only a comforting warmth behind.

"My blessing goes with you, my children. Tend the fire within one another, and it shall never fade." As Arrax stepped back, Aegarax moved gracefully to his side.

The Queen of the Dragon Gods smiled upon the family with all the warmth of a loving mother. The crimson light surrounding her seemed almost alive, flowing gently around her as though it possessed a heartbeat of its own. "My beloved dragonlings…" Her voice carried through the hall like liquid velvet, rich with affection. "The blood that flows through your veins is not what makes you strong." She slowly shook her head."It is the love that binds your hearts together."

Her crimson eyes rested first upon Daenys, then Rhaenyra, Visenya, Aegon, Daemon, Rhaegor, Viserys, Aemma, Baelon, Little Aegon, and Helaena. "Guard that bond above all else. Kingdoms may rise and kingdoms may fall. Dragons may come and dragons may pass into legend. Even the greatest cities may one day become dust." Her smile deepened. "But so long as your family chooses one another before pride... before ambition... before power... the blood of the dragon shall never truly be broken." Stretching out both hands, she released a ribbon of crimson dragonfire that gently wound itself around the entire Targaryen family before fading into countless sparkling motes of light.

"My blessing is this..."

"May your hearts forever beat as one family."

Vhagar, Goddess of War, Wrath, and Destruction, stepped forward next.

The towering goddess carried herself with the confidence of one who had stood upon countless battlefields since the dawn of creation. Yet there was no hunger for war within her crimson eyes. Instead, they held the quiet resolve of a guardian who understood that true strength was measured not by the enemies one defeated, but by those one kept safe. Her gaze rested upon the whole of House Targaryen. She looked first to the Three Dragon Queens before allowing her eyes to pass over Prince Aegon, Prince Daemon, Prince Rhaegor, Prince Viserys, Princess Aemma, and finally the three young children who still knelt beside their family. A faint smile softened her otherwise stern expression.

"My little dragonlings."

Her voice was deep and steady, carrying through the throne room like distant thunder rolling across the mountains. "Many shall know me as the Goddess of War, of Wrath, and of Destruction. They shall pray to me when battle comes and call upon my name when their enemies gather at their gates." She slowly shook her head. "But those who truly know me understand that war has never been my greatest gift." She rested a hand over her heart. "Strength is." Her gaze settled upon Queen Visenya. "A shield is not forged so that it may one day be admired." Then upon Queen Rhaenyra. "It is forged so another may stand safely behind it." Finally, Queen Daenys. "And wisdom is knowing when that shield must remain raised... and when it may finally be lowered."

Looking once more upon the entire royal family, Vhagar's voice softened. "May your strength never become cruelty. May your wrath never outrun your justice. Fight only when peace has been exhausted, but when the innocent call for your protection, stand without fear. Let your enemies know your fury... but let your people know only your love." Silver dragonfire drifted from her outstretched hand, flowing gently around every member of House Targaryen before settling over their shoulders like invisible cloaks.

"My blessing is this."

"May your strength always give others the courage to stand." As the silver flames faded into the air, Vhagar stepped back with a respectful inclination of her head.

Caraxes stepped forward in her place. Where Vhagar carried the quiet confidence of an ancient protector, Caraxes radiated the infectious determination of one who believed no dream lay beyond reach. His amber eyes sparkled with purpose as he regarded the family before him. "My little dragonlings," he began, a warm smile spreading across his face, "many hear my name and think only of conquest." A soft chuckle escaped him.

"They misunderstand."

His gaze swept across the throne room before returning to the kneeling family. "The greatest conquest is never that of kingdoms." He looked toward Queen Daenys. "It is the conquest of ignorance through wisdom." His eyes shifted to Queen Rhaenyra. "It is the conquest of hatred through compassion." Finally, they came to rest upon Queen Visenya. "And it is the conquest of fear through courage." Caraxes folded his hands behind his back.

"Victory is not measured by the crowns you wear, nor by the lands your banners may one day fly above. It is measured by every child who sleeps peacefully because of your choices... every family that laughs without fear... every soul who finds hope because you refused to surrender to despair." His smile widened as he looked upon Prince Aegon, Prince Daemon, Prince Rhaegor, Prince Viserys, Princess Aemma, and the three children. "Dream boldly, my dragonlings. Build fearlessly. Let your ambition never seek glory for yourselves, but a brighter tomorrow for those who place their trust in you. The greatest achievements are never accomplished alone, but together." Golden-red dragonfire flowed from his hands, weaving gracefully around the royal family before dissolving into countless shimmering sparks.

"My blessing is this."

"May your courage inspire others, your victories bring peace, and your greatest achievement forever be the lives you lift beside your own." Caraxes stepped back beside Vhagar, a proud smile upon his face as the blessings of the Dragon Gods continued.

Meraxes stepped forward next.

The Goddess of Art, Music, Dance, and Poetry moved with effortless grace, every step seeming to flow like a beautiful melody only the gods themselves could hear. Her smile was bright and welcoming, and the warmth within her eyes brought an answering smile to more than one face throughout the throne room. She looked upon the House of Targaryen with unmistakable affection.

"My little dragonlings."

Her voice was soft and melodic, each word carrying the beauty of a song composed before the world itself had been born. "Many believe kingdoms are built with stone... defended by swords... and ruled from thrones." She smiled gently. "They are mistaken." Her gaze swept across the three Dragon Queens before embracing the rest of their family. "A kingdom is built by the songs its people sing, the stories they tell their children, the laughter that fills their homes, and the dreams they dare to chase together."

Her eyes sparkled with delight.

"Never allow war to silence your music. Never allow grief to steal your laughter. Dance when your people celebrate. Weep beside them when they mourn. Fill your libraries with stories, your halls with music, and your streets with joy, for a people who continue to create are a people whose hope can never truly die." Raising both hands, Meraxes released countless tiny motes of shimmering dragonfire that danced through the throne room like glowing fireflies. They twirled around every member of House Targaryen before dissolving into the air like notes carried away upon a gentle breeze.

"My blessing is this."

"May your hearts forever inspire, your voices forever comfort, and your lives become the greatest story ever told." Meraxes inclined her head before gracefully stepping back.

Vermax stepped forward in her place.

The God of Exploration, Travelers, Heralds, and Merchants looked upon the royal family with bright, curious eyes that seemed forever fixed upon the horizon. Adventure itself seemed to surround him, as though every road ever traveled and every sea ever crossed welcomed his presence. A warm smile spread across his face.

"My little dragonlings."

His voice carried the excitement of discovery, yet beneath it rested the calm confidence of one who had walked every path the world had to offer. "The world is far greater than any map can ever show." He slowly extended a hand toward the gathered family. "Do not fear what lies beyond your borders. Welcome those who arrive in peace. Learn from those whose lives differ from your own, and share your wisdom just as freely." His gaze drifted across the gathered lords and ladies before returning to the Three Dragon Queens.

"Open your ports before you open your swords. Let merchants carry friendship alongside their wares. Let your heralds bear truth instead of fear. Let your travelers return with knowledge rather than conquest." A quiet chuckle escaped him. "The greatest discoveries are seldom new lands." His eyes twinkled. "They are new understandings." Streams of emerald and sapphire dragonfire flowed from his outstretched hand, weaving gently around the House of Targaryen before stretching outward into the gathered court, touching every lord, lady, knight, and servant alike before returning to him.

"My blessing is this."

"May every road lead you to wisdom, every voyage strengthen friendship, every message carry truth, and every door opened in peace become the beginning of a lasting bond." Vermax smiled one final time before returning to stand beside the other Dragon Gods, his blessing lingering in the hearts of all who had heard his words.

Meleys stepped forward next.

The Goddess of Wisdom, Knowledge, and Strategy carried herself with quiet dignity. There was no need for grandeur or display. Wisdom had never demanded attention; it earned it. Her violet eyes shone with kindness as they rested upon the House of Targaryen.

A gentle smile crossed her lips.

"My little dragonlings." Her voice was calm and reassuring, carrying the comforting certainty of a beloved teacher. "Many will one day seek your answers." She slowly shook her head. "Never believe that means you have nothing left to learn."

Her gaze rested first upon Queen Daenys before embracing her sisters and the rest of the family. "The wisest ruler is not the one who believes themselves to know everything. They are the one who continues asking questions long after others believe the answers have been found." She walked slowly before the Dragonfire Thrones. "Seek knowledge wherever it may be found. Listen to your scholars, your builders, your healers, your soldiers, your farmers, and even your children. Wisdom speaks with many voices, and truth often comes from the place least expected."

Her expression became thoughtful.

"Do not fear change simply because it is unfamiliar. Innovation is the child of wisdom, and progress is born from those willing to ask, 'Can this be made better?' Yet let every new path be guided by justice, for knowledge without compassion becomes arrogance, and strategy without mercy becomes tyranny." Golden-violet dragonfire flowed gently from her hands, circling every member of House Targaryen before briefly touching their brows like a blessing of understanding.

"My blessing is this."

"May your minds remain forever curious, your judgments forever fair, and your wisdom grow with every life you touch." With a graceful inclination of her head, Meleys stepped back among the Dragon Gods.

Balerion stepped forward.

The great God of Death, Transformation, and the Afterlife towered above those gathered, his black robes seeming to drink in the torchlight around him. Yet there was nothing frightening in his presence. Instead, a profound peace settled across the throne room, like the quiet stillness that follows a long-awaited sunrise. His ancient eyes regarded the House of Targaryen with deep understanding. "My little dragonlings." His voice was rich and gentle, carrying neither sorrow nor dread. "Many shall fear my name." A faint smile touched his lips.

"They need not." He looked upon the Three Dragon Queens. "Death has never been the end." His gaze swept over Prince Aegon, Prince Daemon, Prince Rhaegor, Prince Viserys, Princess Aemma, and finally the three young children. "It is the closing of one chapter... and the opening of another." For a moment, the entire throne room seemed wrapped in perfect silence.

"Mourn those who leave your side, for love deserves tears. But do not allow grief to chain your hearts. Honor those who came before you by carrying their lessons into tomorrow. Let every ending become the foundation of a new beginning, just as Old Valyria's ashes have given rise to New Valyria." Soft black dragonfire threaded with silver drifted from his outstretched hand, flowing gently around the royal family. The flames carried no heat, only a sense of comfort, as though reminding every soul present that those they loved were never truly lost.

"My blessing is this."

"When your journeys in this world are complete, know that you shall never walk your final path alone. Until that distant day, live fully, love deeply, and leave this world brighter than you found it." Balerion bowed his head respectfully before returning to stand beside the other Dragon Gods, leaving behind not fear...

But peace.

Draxtar stepped forward next.

The God of Life, Creation, and Nature smiled warmly upon the House of Targaryen. Around him, the air itself seemed to awaken. Tiny blossoms unfurled between the stones of the throne room floor before gently fading once more, while the scent of fresh rain and spring filled the hall. Though he ruled the Celestial Lands, there was nothing distant about him. His presence felt like the embrace of an old friend returning home.

"My little dragonlings."

His voice carried the gentle strength of an ancient forest stirred by a summer breeze. "Life is the greatest gift the gods have ever entrusted to this world." His emerald eyes settled upon the Three Dragon Queens before embracing the rest of their family. "Protect it." He spread his hands, and for a heartbeat every soul present felt the heartbeat of the world itself.

"Let your dragons soar without stripping the skies of wonder. Let your cities rise without silencing the forests. Let your people prosper without forgetting the lands that sustain them. A ruler who nurtures life shall leave behind a kingdom that flourishes long after their own footsteps have faded." A warm smile crossed his face. "Creation is not measured only by what your hands build. It is measured by every child who grows in safety, every friendship that is born, every harvest gathered, every dragon that hatches, and every life given the chance to become more than it was yesterday." Brilliant emerald dragonfire intertwined with threads of gold drifted from his outstretched hands, circling the House of Targaryen like living vines before dissolving into countless sparkling leaves of light.

"My blessing is this."

"May life flourish wherever your shadows fall, and may every generation leave the world more beautiful than the one they inherited." Draxtar inclined his head before stepping back beside the other Dragon Gods.

Onixa stepped gracefully into his place.

The Princess of Shadows and Mistress of Schemes moved with quiet elegance, her dark robes flowing like midnight smoke around her. Violet dragonfire danced between her fingertips, neither threatening nor inviting, but alive with endless possibility. There was an intelligence within her gaze that seemed to look beyond appearances, seeing not only what was, but what could be.

She smiled knowingly. "My little dragonlings."

Her voice was smooth as velvet, every word measured with deliberate care. "Many shall fear magic because they do not understand it." She slowly closed her hand around the violet flames until they vanished. "They are mistaken." Her eyes rested upon the royal family. "Magic is no different than fire. It may warm. It may heal. It may illuminate And, if wielded without wisdom... it may consume."

She paced slowly before the Dragonfire Thrones. "Never seek power for its own sake, for power without purpose is an empty prize. Let your gifts serve others before yourselves. Let wisdom temper every spell, compassion guide every choice, and restraint become the greatest magic you shall ever master." For a moment, the throne room grew still. "As for vengeance…" Her violet eyes became thoughtful rather than hard. "Do not confuse it with justice. Justice restores what can be restored."

"Vengeance seeks only to repay pain with pain." She offered the Three Dragon Queens a gentle smile. "When justice must be delivered, let it be swift, fair, and free from hatred. Leave vengeance to the gods, lest it poison the hearts of those who carry it." Deep violet dragonfire laced with shimmering silver spiraled around the House of Targaryen, settling for the briefest of moments upon each of their hands before fading into the air.

"My blessing is this."

"May your wisdom always exceed your power, your justice always overcome your anger, and your hearts forever remain stronger than the shadows that seek to claim them." With a graceful bow of her head, Onixa returned to stand among her fellow Dragon Gods, her blessing lingering within the hearts of all who had heard her words.

Syrax stepped gracefully forward.

The Goddess of Passion, Love, and Lust smiled with such warmth that every soul within the throne room felt as though they were looking upon someone who had loved them all their lives. Golden dragonfire danced around her like sunlight upon calm waters, and her eyes shone with endless kindness as they settled upon the House of Targaryen.

"My little dragonlings."

Her voice flowed through the hall like liquid silk, rich with warmth and affection. "Love is the greatest gift ever bestowed upon this world." She looked first to Queen Daenys and Prince Aegon, their hands resting gently together. Then to Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon. Finally to Queen Visenya and Prince Rhaegor. Her smile widened before her gaze embraced the whole of their family. "Never be ashamed to love with your whole heart. Let your passion inspire those around you. Let your love become the foundation upon which your family, your friendships, and your kingdom are built."

She slowly extended both hands.

"Love your people as fiercely as you love one another. Rejoice with them in times of celebration. Grieve beside them in times of sorrow. Let every child know they are cherished, every elder know they are honored, and every soul know they belong."

The goddess' eyes sparkled with gentle amusement. "And when love finds you…" She chuckled softly. "...do not fear opening your heart. The strongest dragon is never the one who stands alone, but the one who finds another willing to share the skies beside them." Golden dragonfire drifted from her fingertips, circling each member of House Targaryen before settling briefly over their hearts. The warmth was comforting, like being embraced by those they loved most. "My blessing is this. May your hearts never grow cold, your bonds never be broken, and may love forever remain the greatest strength your family shall ever possess."

Syrax stepped back, her radiant smile lingering as the golden flames slowly faded into the air.

Tyraxes stepped forward. The Goddess of the Hunt, Fertility, Harvest, Compassion, and Generosity carried herself with quiet confidence. Around her, the scent of fresh earth, wildflowers, and ripened grain filled the throne room, while emerald dragonfire shimmered gently about her feet like blades of grass stirred by a summer breeze.

She smiled warmly upon the royal family.

"My little dragonlings." Her voice was gentle, carrying all the comfort of a harvest festival shared among family and friends. "A kingdom's greatness is not measured by the wealth within its treasury." She slowly shook her head. "It is measured by the fullness of its tables... the laughter within its homes... and the kindness its people show one another." Her eyes rested upon the three queens. "Rule with open hearts." Then they drifted to the rest of the family.

"And teach your people that generosity is never weakness. A hand extended in kindness often accomplishes what an army never could." She spread her arms as though embracing the whole of New Valyria. "May your fields always yield abundance. May your dragons hatch in health. May your children grow surrounded by love. May those who hunger find food, those who wander find shelter, and those who despair find hope." Her smile became almost maternal. "The strongest harvest is not gathered from the earth."

She rested a hand over her heart. "It is gathered from the compassion we sow within one another." Emerald dragonfire intertwined with soft gold flowed around the House of Targaryen like a gentle summer wind, carrying with it the scent of blooming orchards and freshly gathered harvests before disappearing into countless motes of light. "My blessing is this. May your hands always be open to give, your hearts always be open to forgive, and may the seeds of kindness you plant today become the forests beneath which generations yet unborn shall find shelter." With a graceful bow, Tyraxes returned to stand beside her fellow Dragon Gods, her blessing settling upon the hearts of all who had witnessed the sacred moment.

Tessarion stepped gracefully from among the Dragon Gods.

The Goddess of Foresight, Dreams, and Prophecy seemed almost ethereal, silver and violet dragonfire drifting gently around her like countless stars suspended within the night sky. Daughter of Balerion and Onixa, and twin and beloved sister-wife to Shrykos, her luminous eyes held neither mystery nor distance. Instead, they carried the quiet comfort of one who had witnessed every possible tomorrow and still found reason to smile.

Her gaze settled lovingly upon the House of Targaryen.

"My little dragonlings," she began, her voice soft enough to soothe the weary yet clear enough to reach every soul gathered within the throne room. "Many throughout the ages have sought me, believing prophecy to be an unbreakable chain and the future to be a path already walked. They could not have been more mistaken." A gentle smile touched her lips as she looked first to Queen Daenys, then to Queen Rhaenyra, Queen Visenya, and finally to the rest of their family.

"The future is never written in stone. Every choice made with wisdom, compassion, courage, and love has the power to reshape tomorrow. Prophecy is not a prison. It is but a lantern, revealing what may come while leaving every soul free to choose another road." Her silver eyes shimmered with quiet pride. "Trust the instincts gifted to you by the Dragon Gods. Dream without fear. Listen when your heart speaks with gentle certainty. There will be those who claim your fate has already been decided. Smile kindly... and prove them wrong."

Silver dragonfire flowed from her outstretched hands, surrounding every member of House Targaryen in a constellation of tiny lights before dissolving into the air above them like stars greeting the coming dawn. "My blessing is this. May your dreams forever inspire your future, may your instincts guide you when reason alone cannot, and may every choice you make become a beacon of hope for those who follow after you."

With a graceful inclination of her head, Tessarion stepped back beside her twin. Shrykos smiled warmly before stepping forward.

The Goddess of Beginnings, Transitions, and Gateways regarded the royal family with unmistakable affection. Around her, pale blue dragonfire danced gently across the polished floor, carrying with it the quiet wonder of every sunrise, every dragon's first breath, and every new chapter ever begun. "My little dragonlings," she said, her voice carrying all the warmth of a loving mother, "today is not the ending of your story. It is the first page of a new one."

She looked upon the Three Dragon Queens with unmistakable pride before embracing the rest of the family with her gaze.

"Every joy you have celebrated... every sorrow you have endured... every lesson you have learned... and every sacrifice you have made has led you to this very moment. None of it was wasted. Every step prepared you for the path now opening before you." She slowly extended both hands toward the Dragonfire Thrones. "You stand not only at the beginning of your own reigns, but at the beginning of a new age for dragons and for mankind alike. Walk forward without fear. Growth asks much of those willing to embrace it, yet every great journey begins with a single courageous step through an unfamiliar doorway." Blue-white dragonfire blossomed from her fingertips, circling the House of Targaryen before gently disappearing into the Dragonfire Thrones themselves. "My blessing is this. May every ending become the doorway to a greater beginning. May every trial strengthen rather than diminish you. May every road you walk lead your people toward hope, and may you always find the courage to step through whatever gateway destiny places before you."

The Goddess of Beginnings stepped back, her hand finding Tessarion's once more. At last, R'hllor came forward.

The Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow stood before the gathered family, golden-white dragonfire dancing gently about him. Though born from fragments of the Eternal Ember and the Eternal Ichor through the craft of Onixa, he possessed a light entirely his own. It was neither blinding nor overwhelming. Instead, it brought comfort, as though the first rays of morning had broken after the longest winter.

Looking upon the Three Dragon Queens, their family, and every soul gathered within the throne room, he smiled.

"My little dragonlings," he said, his voice carrying the warmth of a welcoming hearth, "light has never existed because darkness failed to appear. It exists because someone chose to kindle the flame."

His gaze swept across the royal family.

"There will come days when grief weighs heavily upon your hearts. There will be days when fear whispers louder than hope. There will even be moments when the path before you seems lost within shadow." His smile never faltered. "In those moments... be the light." He slowly lifted one hand, and a single golden flame appeared above his palm. "Let your kindness warm those who have grown cold. Let your wisdom guide those who have lost their way. Let your compassion comfort those who believe themselves forgotten. Never believe your light too small to matter."

The tiny flame divided into countless golden sparks, drifting gently throughout the throne room until every person present felt its comforting warmth. "The smallest flame has always possessed the power to begin driving back the greatest darkness." The golden light slowly settled around the House of Targaryen before disappearing into their hearts. "My blessing is this. May the light within your souls forever outshine the darkness beyond your walls. May hope remain your constant companion, love your greatest strength, and may the fire entrusted to your family never again be extinguished."

As the Lord of Light fell silent, the Dragon Gods looked upon one another with quiet satisfaction.

Together, the Fourteen inclined their heads toward the Three Dragon Queens and the House of Targaryen. Ancient dragonfire surrounded each deity, their divine forms slowly dissolving into pillars of radiant light. One by one they vanished until only Shrykos remained.

The Goddess of Beginnings looked upon the royal family one last time, her smile filled with both pride and love. "Our little dragonlings…" Her voice was little more than a whisper, yet every heart within the throne room heard it clearly. "...make us proud." Blue-white dragonfire blossomed around her, and in a gentle flash of light, she too was gone. Silence settled over the throne room once more. It was not an empty silence, but one filled with peace, hope, and quiet joy. The blessings of the Dragon Gods lingered like a warm embrace, while the Dragonfire Thrones continued to burn with their eternal flames. A new age had begun.

And with it, the reign of the Three Dragon Queens of New Valyria.

A week later, Dragonstone had transformed into a castle consumed by joyful chaos.
Preparations for the wedding of Prince Daemon Targaryen to Queen Rhaenyra had begun in earnest. Every corridor echoed with hurried footsteps, every chamber bustled with servants carrying bolts of cloth, polished silver, flowers, and enough parchment to fill an entire library. Seamstresses hurried between fitting rooms, cooks argued cheerfully over recipes worthy of a Dragon Queen's wedding feast, while stewards seemed to appear from every direction carrying yet another list requiring approval.
No matter where Queen Rhaenyra turned...
Someone had another question.
"Your Grace, what flowers would you prefer lining the processional?"
"Should the Dragon Roses be woven with moon lilies or silver jasmine?"
"Would Your Grace prefer white silk banners or black and crimson?"
"Should musicians perform as your carriage approaches the ceremony?"
"Would Your Grace wish to walk the final stretch herself, scattering dragon rose petals among the people, or would you rather remain within the carriage until reaching the Dragonfire Thrones?"

"Would Your Grace prefer an open carriage so the people may see their queen, or something more enclosed?" The questions came one after another, scarcely allowing her time to answer one before another replaced it. Even the royal seamstresses surrounded her with sketches spread across tables. "How many embroidered dragons upon the train, Your Grace?" The Seamstress asked "Would you prefer pearls woven into your veil? Should the sleeves match Queen Daenys' coronation gown or be entirely your own? What jewelry shall accompany the Dragon Queen's Crown?"

Rhaenyra laughed despite herself, covering her face for a moment as yet another sketch was gently placed before her. "I believe," she said with an amused smile, "if one more person asks me to choose between three nearly identical ribbons, I may ask my dragon to decide for me." The chamber erupted into warm laughter. Yet Rhaenyra was far from the only one surrounded by endless decisions. Across the castle, Prince Daemon found himself enduring much the same fate. Armorers wished to know whether he desired ceremonial armor or formal court attire for the procession. Tailors debated fabrics worthy of the future king standing beside a Dragon Queen. The master of feasts requested the final seating arrangements for the hundreds of guests expected from every corner of Westeros and the newly reborn lands of New Valyria.

Meanwhile, Ser Harrold Westerling, Ser Harwin Strong, Laenor Velaryon, and Guardian Rhaenyra focused upon matters far less festive.

Security.

With each passing day, more sworn brothers of the Dragonguard arrived upon Dragonstone, their growing numbers allowing increasingly detailed plans to be drawn for the wedding. Maps of the castle lay spread across long tables. Guard rotations were rewritten. Dragon patrols were assigned. Escape routes were discussed. Every possibility, no matter how unlikely, was considered. One question, however, continued to return. "Your Grace," Ser Harrold said respectfully during one such meeting, "would you consider recommending that Queen Rhaenyra travel within a closed carriage? None have made any attempt upon the lives of the Three Dragon Queens, but caution remains our duty." The chamber fell thoughtfully silent. All eyes turned toward Daemon. He considered the question for several moments before slowly shaking his head. "A closed carriage would certainly offer greater protection," he admitted, "but it would also send the wrong message."

He rested one hand upon the map before him.

"The people have only just welcomed their queens. To hide Rhaenyra behind wooden walls on the very day she marries would suggest we fear our own people." His expression softened as another thought came to him. "Several years ago, during my travels across Essos, I encountered a master craftsman who showed me a remarkable design. At first glance, the carriage appeared completely open to the sky, allowing those within to greet the crowds without obstruction."

A small smile crossed his face.

"In truth, the roof and sides were fashioned from crystal-clear glass." Several members of the council looked at one another in surprise. "The passengers could see the people...The people could see their queen...yet the carriage remained fully enclosed." Daemon nodded. "I commissioned such a carriage years ago, thinking it too beautiful not to own, though I never imagined the day it would prove so useful." He looked toward Ser Harrold. "Have someone send word immediately." A grin slowly spread across his face. "I think it's time Dragonstone borrowed my carriage."

Even the other members of the royal family found themselves carrying lists of questions that seemed to stretch nearly three dragon wingspans in length. No sooner had one matter been settled than another appeared, each decision somehow leading to three more.

Princess Aemma had scarcely finished helping one group of seamstresses settle the placement of embroidered silver dragons upon ceremonial banners when another pair of attendants hurried toward her carrying sketches of floral arrangements. "Princess Aemma," one of them asked with a respectful bow, "which flowers should we recommend to Her Grace for the wedding procession? Should the arrangements favor Westerosi roses from the Vale in honor of your house, or should they be fashioned entirely from Valyrian Dragon Roses to celebrate the rebirth of New Valyria?"

Before Aemma could answer, the second attendant spoke. "We know Her Grace has already chosen Dragon Rose petals to be scattered before her carriage. The planners are now debating whether the petals should be cast by young maidens or by adult ladies of the court." Aemma smiled kindly, taking the sketches from their hands. "I believe both traditions deserve a place within the ceremony."

The attendants exchanged curious glances as she continued. "The Dragon Roses should remain the centerpiece. This wedding celebrates Queen Rhaenyra and the future of New Valyria. That should never be overshadowed." She gently turned one of the sketches toward them. "However, let the roses from the Vale be woven among the arrangements surrounding the Dragonfire Thrones and throughout the banquet hall. They honor both my family and the path that brought us to this day, while the Dragon Roses remind everyone of the future we now build together."

Both attendants nodded eagerly, quickly making notes. "And as for scattering the petals..." Aemma said thoughtfully, "I believe the honor should belong to the young girls." One attendant blinked. "The young girls, Princess?" Aemma's smile softened. "Yes. Let them walk before the carriage." Her eyes drifted toward the windows overlooking Dragonstone's courtyard. "They represent the generations who will grow beneath the peace these queens hope to build. There is something beautifully symbolic about children leading the way into a future shaped by wisdom, compassion, and protection."

The attendants smiled. "I believe Her Grace will love that suggestion."

"So do I," Aemma replied warmly. "Now, if that is all…" She paused as yet another steward appeared carrying a ledger nearly as thick as a history book. "...I suspect someone else has another question." The steward offered an apologetic smile. "Three, actually, Princess." Aemma laughed despite herself." I had a feeling."

"My Prince."

Prince Viserys looked up from the growing stack of parchments spread across the table before him as one of the attendants approached with another carefully rolled scroll tucked beneath his arm.

The poor man wore an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid the Dragon Keepers have another question requiring your guidance."

A faint chuckle escaped Viserys. "Only one? We must be making progress." The nearby scribes laughed quietly while the attendant bowed his head. "The Dragon Keepers wished me to ask about the wedding ceremony itself." Viserys motioned for him to continue. "They wished to know whether the roof of the Dragon Temple should be opened during the ceremony so the dragons of the bride and groom may take part." Viserys leaned back thoughtfully. "The dragons?" The attendant nodded. "Yes, Your Highness. They say it was the custom of Old Valyria that when two Dragonlords or Dragonladies were joined in marriage, their dragons also bore witness to the union."

Several of those gathered around the table looked at one another with interest.

"The Dragon Keepers say the dragons rarely entered the temple itself," the attendant continued. "Instead, they would gather upon the great roof overlooking the ceremony. Some would simply watch in silence. Others would answer the vows with joyous roars." A smile began to spread across Viserys' face. "And occasionally," the attendant added with an amused expression of his own, "particularly enthusiastic pairs would unleash great bursts of dragonfire into the heavens." The room fell quiet for a moment. Finally, Viserys laughed. "That sounds exactly like dragons." More than a few around the table shared his amusement.

The prince rested his elbows upon the table, considering the tradition. "It would seem wrong to deny them their place." He looked toward Guardian Rhaenyra, hoping to confirm the ancient custom. "If this was truly the tradition of Old Valyria, then it should remain the tradition of New Valyria." The guardian inclined her head. "It was, Your Highness. A dragon's bond is not merely with its rider, but with the family that rider builds. The dragons witnessed the vows just as surely as the gods, for they too became guardians of the union."

Viserys smiled warmly.

"Then the roof shall be opened." He glanced toward the attendant. "Ensure the Dragon Keepers have ample time to prepare. Syrax and Caraxes shall have their place in the ceremony." The attendant quickly made note of the decision before hesitating. "There is... one final matter, Your Highness." Viserys laughed again. "I suspected there might be."

"The Dragon Keepers ask whether Their Graces would object if the dragons responded naturally." A knowing grin spread across Viserys' face. "I don't believe anyone has ever successfully told a dragon how to behave." The laughter that followed echoed throughout the chamber. "I think," he said with an amused shake of his head, "we shall simply trust Syrax and Caraxes to decide for themselves."

"Guardian Rhaenyra," one of the attendants asked as he looked up from the growing stack of notes in his hands, "is it true that the dragons of the bride and groom wear wreaths woven from Dragon Roses and Flame Breath flowers? I was told another part of an Old Valyrian wedding was for the bride and groom to weave them together with their own hands before placing them upon their bonded dragons."

For just a moment, Guardian Rhaenyra said nothing.

The bustling chamber faded from her sight as memories over a thousand years old returned with remarkable clarity. She could almost smell the sweet fragrance of Dragon Roses carried upon the warm Valyrian breeze. She could hear the laughter of young dragonlords and dragonladies as they wandered through fields gathering blossoms beneath the watchful eyes of dragons resting nearby. A gentle smile touched her lips. "Yes," she said softly. "It is one of House Targaryen's oldest traditions, dating back to the very founding of Valyria."

The room fell silent.

Even those who had not intended to listen found themselves captivated by the ancient guardian's memories. "In the days before the wedding, the bride and groom would leave behind the bustle of the palace and journey together into the fields surrounding the capital. There, with only one another and their dragons for company, they would gather as many Dragon Roses and Flame Breath flowers as they could carry."

Her smile deepened.

"There were no servants to gather them. No gardeners preparing the blossoms beforehand. It was a quiet tradition shared only between the couple, allowing them a few precious hours away from the duties that awaited them." One of the younger attendants tilted her head curiously. "So the flowers became necklaces for the dragons?" Guardian Rhaenyra chuckled softly and shook her head. "No. That is one of the few details that has become confused over the centuries."

She folded her hands before her.

"The flowers were woven into matching wreaths—not necklaces. On the morning of the wedding, before either dragon took flight, the bride would gently place the wreath she had woven upon her dragon's head, while the groom placed the other upon his own dragon."

Several attendants smiled at the image. "The dragons accepted the wreaths willingly," Guardian Rhaenyra continued. "Many would lower their heads before their riders had even finished weaving them, as though they understood the importance of the day." A warm laugh escaped her. "Some were more patient than others." That drew quiet laughter throughout the chamber.

"The tradition began with King Valerys and Queen Nymera during the founding of Valyria. They believed the people should witness not only the majesty of dragons, but the love and trust shared between dragon and rider. A dragon allowing itself to be crowned with flowers by the one it had chosen was every bit as meaningful as the vows spoken between husband and wife." Her eyes drifted toward the windows overlooking Dragonstone, where the distant roar of a dragon echoed across the island. "It reminded the people that dragons were never created to be instruments of fear alone. They were companions... family... protectors. The wreaths symbolized that even creatures capable of shaking mountains with their fury possessed hearts capable of gentleness." The attendants hurriedly wrote every word. One finally looked up. "Then Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon should continue the tradition." Guardian Rhaenyra smiled. "I believe they should."

She could already picture Syrax lowering her golden head with quiet dignity while Rhaenyra settled the wreath between her horns. Caraxes, she suspected, would endure the tradition with considerably less patience, though no less loyalty. Another soft chuckle escaped her. "Though I would recommend weaving the wreaths tightly." Several puzzled expressions met her. "Caraxes," she explained with an amused smile, "has been known to mistake flowers for a midday snack." Laughter swept through the chamber, the sound warm and genuine as scribes hurried to add yet another ancient Targaryen tradition to the ever-growing plans for the first royal wedding of New Valyria.