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Chapter Text

289. Dragonstone

"My Princes, please step away from the railing." the voice of their exasperated Kingsguard rumbled.

Muffled by the helm and waves the brothers pretended they did not hear. The carrack cut through the waters of Blackwater Bay with a swiftness that defied belief. Racing towards the docks of Dragonstone before they would be forced to wait for the tide on the morrow.

Their anticipation was wearing a groove into the deck of the ship almost as much as their Kingsguard's patience. The knowledge of what lay on the island was so close to their fingertips. Just a few hours ago they had spotted their dragons. Flying in lazy loops over the crest of the isle's volcano.

Well, two of them.

His own mount was missing. Perhaps lounging in some crater or out hunting on the other side of the island.

At six namedays it was thought the dragons old enough to ride. Their father was loathe to allow it despite their pleading. Only after Grandmother Rhaella flew and spoke with him did he relent.

With conditions of course.

"My Princes!" Ser Oswell barked, the face of the helm open now and spittle flew to wet his neck, a meaty hand grasping his shoulder and spinning him around. Aegon joined him, still smiling so widely that the corners of his lips had begun to quaver, "You agreed to act as befitting your status as Princes of the Realm." he gave each of them a stern glare, "We have some minutes until we come ashore. Comport yourself and greet the Lady of Dragonstone."

He felt himself nodding along. Half-focused upon what was going on in front of him and the rest reacting to the strange sensations he felt course through his body. An amusement, a thrill, and a deep burning that pressed into his mind. Nothing like he had ever felt before.

It was welcome.

Dragonstone was for dragons after all.

Much later, Aemon lay abed. Shifting the pillow this way and that he could not find a side that was dry.

His eyes hurt.

The wind whistling through the keep did not help either.

Sliding out of bed he dragged his blanket with him. A treasured gift his mother had given him. Extending its length as he grew. Aegon had one too, far more worn and coloured orange like the sands of his mothers homeland, but left in the safety of the Red Keep; his mother would never make him anything again. Aemon still wasn't sure why and he'd only learned of her name through hushed whispers.

The same sort of whispers he hoped his feet sounded like now.

Only it was not to be. The door handle slipped from his grasp and the wind did the rest. Ser Oswell was hovering at his side in a heartbeat.

"Where are you going my Prince?" the white cloak asked.

"Do you know where my dragon is?"

He hadn't been seen for days. Even before they had boarded the ship in King's Landing.

Aegon had been so excited to fly that he hadn't even noticed that Aemon was left behind. When he came back with windswept hair and an undeniable cheer upon his face he hadn't hesitated to offer a ride. Aemon was quick to accept and before anyone could think to intervene he was bounding over. Only, the blue and white dragon who had been so docile and loving to Aegon, sneered and spat at him, tripping him up as he fell backwards, just as the voices of concern and fear finally reached his ears.

'A dragon will only ever accept a single rider at a time. Even the Conqueror knew to stay away from Vhagar and Meraxes; his sisters and wives or no, they were not his dragons to claim.'

Their House had not seen living dragons in fifty and a hundred years. What little dragonlore still existed was combed over by their Grandmother whilst she waited for her own dragon to be old enough to ride. On the morrow they would have lessons between flying based upon her research. Aemon only hoped that he would be able to join the pair to apply what they learned.

Perhaps it was fate that Tynged was not around this day.

A prelude of what was to come.

295. The Vale

Soaring through the air, Aemon turned to find Aegon close at hand, his close-cropped hair free and wild; unbraided. Below them the cascading mountains of the Vale spread out like the rolling dunes of Dorne. Only there the dunes were far more insidious than they let on.

The Royal Progress had expected to encounter the most resistance on the High Road and the smaller ones that branched off from them. There were many other paths but none of the others were as notorious. Between Ironoaks and Runestone, along the rivers of Coldwater, to Snakewood and Heart's Home. It was easier in many ways that they had arrived in Gulltown and then made their way to the Gates of the Moon. Picking up knights and masters and lords along the way.

With so many in the retinue the mountain clans were loathe to attack. Even if they knew the terrain better than any Crownlander would, one could not so readily counter dragons, who could soar over any obstacle and was not hindered by landslides, trees or arrow fire.

It relieved him of his constant vigilance in guarding the slow moving horses and wagons. That suited Aegon just as well too. Each day they flew further and further afield. All to see sights for the first time together. With Aegon due to squire in a years time they may not get another chance. Not when the duties of being Crown Prince would rear their head more and more.

Of course their father had extracted a promise from them again.

Not to alarm the Arryn's by repeating Visenya Targaryen's feat.

It was easy to agree.

The Eyrie was a sight to behold and they marveled at how small it was. The mountain that it was built upon almost cradling it like water in the palm of one's hand. But what drew the brothers eye was a waterfall in its shadow.

Alyssa Arryn was famed for her tears. The story a tragedy oft spoken of in the Vale for its terrible sorrow. On its face the water were a fine mist much like the saltspray they experienced in Blackwater Bay. The only pain and regret that Aemon felt after soaring through the valley below was that he would never truly be able to walk the land.

Not unless he was willing to risk his dragon leaving him behind. Going off on an adventure that Tynged insisted on taking without him.

The winds were cold this high up but the dragon did much to quell the worst of its effects. Flying behind Aegon he allowed him to lead. All the way to a snowy mountain peak where they landed and ordered their dragons to sit.

Aegon slid off to stretch his legs while Aemon was left imitating him from within the saddle. His brother's lightly tanned skin and dark lilac eyes looked up at him. A faint hint of remorse came through before it was gone.

"Do you really think she'd leave you up here?" his brother asked.

"It's not worth finding out." he answered, shrugging, "I'm curious where she goes. It's not to Dragonstone. If you could follow without having to help me out of disaster that would answer much."

Thrice Tynged had left him in perilous places. Each time he had escaped with nary a scratch. The only wound was his pride. Abandoned by his dragon for reasons he could never ascertain. Not even tugging on the bond worked. Tynged either would not reply or grow irritated. Treating him more like a nagging mother than a partner and friend.

"On the Small Council there are often reports of a red dragon in the Riverlands. Flying north or south, so they say." his brother said helpfully.

Aemon snorted. "The Riverlands borders four other Kingdoms. Besides, I have heard the sources for that information alternates between the Blackwoods and Brackens. Sending their men... and daughters, claiming that Tynged ate their sheep and are owed compensation. Strange that the news is often delayed by a wheelhouse for the daughter's every need. They must think father is Aegon the Fourth."

He and Aegon had been lucky that despite efforts to the contrary bad blood had never developed between them. Certainly the fact Aegon was older and had a dragon of his own helped, but histories spoke unkindly of the Dance of Dragons. Courtiers were not wrong to be wary but their worry could've easily resulted in the brothers being pit against one another and made their fears an inevitability.

The story of the death of Aegon's mother was not for the faint of heart; an evil Grandfather and King. It was not a tale often spoken at court and he had only learned of it when he was eight. Old enough, the King supposed, to know the truth before some mischevious fool thought to mislead him.

Much was unknown after grandfather had been removed from the throne. Their father was pressured to set aside the mourning period but refused to do so; still he married almost as soon as it ended. Dorne and the North seemed poised to hate one another. Two Great Houses and two sons by the same man. All that changed when Tynged had hatched in his cradle days after he was born. A sign, some said, of good things to come.

His brother and grandmother certainly thought so. With dragons of their own to love and raise. Twins from the same clutch that inexplicably hatched when Tynged landed upon their outer shells when he was barely larger than their eggs.

Aemon always told himself it was better this way. That he would not be special. Aegon would remain as heir and there wouldn't be any need for conflict. Nothing for manipulative actors to grasp onto.

"Rhaenys will like it here." Aegon commented after a time.

Betrothed two years ago to the son of Denys Arryn, Rhaenys was meant to recreate the bond that House Targaryen once shared with the Arryn's while they were at their most vulnerable. While the Unlikely had been unable to knit his realm together with his children, the other Great Houses had seen fit to do the same, and now it was only a matter of joining in; without granting them the dominion over their dragons.

A tricky balance to maintain. Luckily House Targaryen had two daughters approaching marriage age.

"She will soar as high as any of them." he agreed.

In the distance clouds formed that spelled trouble. With a look, Aegon mounted and they were flying again, down into the valleys and over the streams. They passed on by the fluttering columns that bore the red and black of House Targaryen.

The Arryns awaited.

299. Highgarden

Light streaming in the window woke him. Groaning, he turned over and tried to press his face further into the blankets, but the endless warbling of doves on the sill had him conceding.

They were rats with wings and thrice as difficult to catch.

Careful to make as little noise as possible, Aemon sat up on the edge of the bed and through bleary eyes took stock of his room and day to come.

Highgarden was the majesty of the south. Naturally, as a Prince of the Realm, he was given a grandiose room at the top of one of the newer round towers. It had gorgeous views overlooking the Mander river and its many pleasure barges. If one looked down into the walls of the castle proper they were faced with radiant stained-glass windows engraved with the ancient Order of the Green Hand. The Sept was one dedicated to Garth Greenhand himself.

His amenities were almost as good as the Red Keep. A four poster bed of mahogany with drawn back curtains of sheer silk. Vines and roots and flowers were carved with exquisite detail to be almost life-like. Intricate detailing that left no surface untouched. Flower petals could be found on the marble floors and brushed into the corners of the room by wind and sweeping. It was a truly hopeless task to remove them all.

Even the water smelled of roses.

The vanity, wardrobe and floor length mirror were gilded and flashy. Were the privy similarly adorned he might've thought he was in Casterly Rock such was the wealth on display.

It was a far more ostentatious experience compared to what he was used to. As a Prince of the Realm he had never gone without but the Red Keep underwent transformations as each King sought to make their mark and he never had this naked display of wealth in his chambers. The only thing truly missing was an adjoining room where one might take a steam bath whenever they desired. While he possessed a copper tub, he would require servants to fill it before he could relax.

Where many Houses of the Reach boasted their martial prowess with weapons of war and hunting trophies proudly displayed upon the walls, Highgarden was different.

Upon bare walls hung tapestries of rolling fields of fruit and vegetables. Peaches and limes and grapes were clear favourites. Winemaking was celebrated with large depictions of vineyards and the vintners at work. Ever a staple of the Reach, tourneys were remembered fondly with magnificently carved and engraved lances in the colours of the House that won, and some even preserved their flower crowns in beeswax to be remembered for decades after.

His own ceiling boasted an impressive tapestry of all the stars in the night sky.

Perhaps the dove on the sill took offense and wished that species of bird were displayed instead. Strutting about as if he were the most dangerous creature in the sky. Unafraid of the man watching it. Aemon dearly wished he had his bow. Removing the intruder that would mock him might improve his mood.

Three moons he had spent in Highgarden. Far longer than intended.

Initially he was meant to represent the Crown in Highgarden for the wedding of Lord Willas Tyrell and Lady Talla Tarly. A moon long affair it would have a tourney to celebrate preceding the ceremony. Afterwards he would return to King's Landing for a sennight before departing North for his cousin's wedding.

It was to be an eventful few moons full of wine and food, rumourmongering, alliance striking and countering. Strictly business for the Crown.

Instead, his dragon had grown bored with the festivities and seen to create her own mischief: abandoning him in the heart of the South with the worst of the scheming nobles. Worse, she hadn't deigned to return when all was said and done, and Aemon was left behind as countless others bid Lord Tyrell farewell and rode back to their keeps.

He wasn't about to join them. Court politics was as much a game as it was presentation. To be a dragon rider and be seen on horseback leaving Highgarden would be the height of shame. No, he would remain as long as it was necessary.

The Tyrells hadn't minded in the least. After all to any lay observer the only reason he would linger was to court the favour of the Lord of Highgarden if not one of the ladies present. An unwed dragonrider was an enticing match indeed.

When word spread of his remaining, suddenly lords who had departed surreptitiously returned. Daughters and sisters and cousins in tow and not so subtly thrust in his path.

Doubtless they would prefer if the dragon stayed away longer.

The start of a new day was a new attempt for any number of ladies to trip over each other in his presence. Many at least gave the presence of trying to curry favour with Lord Tyrell or otherwise attend the court of Highgarden but for every daughter of the bannermen there were two or three roses. All their honeyed words and bobbing heads were stifling any peace and quiet he might've found here.

Coquettish ladies were nothing new to him but Aemon counted himself lucky that he did not need to subject himself. No more than was necessary as his part in a delegation.

Without a dragon to fly away on there was no escaping the courtesies expected of him and second sons were not afforded the protection of a Kingsguard.

Alas, he was at his host's mercy.

It is said the chivalry of the south is born in Highgarden.

He snorted as he recalled a particular encounter with Elinor Tyrell.

The ladies' Tyrell had been flirting with him for weeks with no progress. They had far more exclusive access to his schedule and monopolized his time as much as they could. Giving each other a chance but quick to jump in should it appear one lady was not well liked.

On a stroll through the Godswood he could sense the overeagerness of his walking companion, but when she boldly grasped his cock over his breeches he had reacted on instinct born from years in the training yard. Slapping the hand away and creating space between he and his opponent.

When the moment of shocked had passed the once pleasant lady had accused him of being a sword swallower. Then she proceeded to storm off before he could offer rebuttal.

That had been three days previous.

Aemon had been mortified. For who could have seen. For what it could mean. His own arousal at being touched in such a way by a woman dwindled and died with those thoughts.

He could not explain to her or anyone that he found them all so very pretty. That he had imagined their bobbing heads and sultry sighs being put to better use a hundred times. The looming threat of consequences stayed his hand, and the lingering feeling in the back of his mind that these ladies—while pretty—weren't right.

If I showed the barest hint of interest they would spread their legs in an instant. Chivalry indeed. What are they even teaching them here? The roses may distract with their pretty colours and ripe scents but it is the vine that strangles.

A burning upon his mind had him striding to the window to peer out. The craven dove flew away on his approach. Outside the sky was blue and pristine upon the horizon. Birds chirped and guardsmen moved in the courtyards below. Beneath the third curtain wall a score of visiting nobles lingered in the shade beneath one of the peach trees.

Tynged was not here.

He could feel her amusement all the same. It seemed as if his dragon was having a grand ol' time... somewhere else. And he would be subject to another day of dull and dreariness whilst she was off doing whatever it is she did. For all Aemon knew the dragon had a lover while he was forced to deny his own indulgences. After all these years they had failed to locate the dragon's secret lair. Her secret, whatever it was, remained safe.

Perhaps Aegon ought to have married a rose. It would've been a good match. But then he had his heart set on Aunt Daenerys even in spite of father's warnings.

By the law of the Seven Kingdoms their marriage was not incest but it was near enough anyway. Their father the King had expressed often and publicly a desire to move away from such practices. Even giving his second son leave to marry whomever he wished without his permission provided she was from neither a major nor Great House. Alas, like Aegon V before him, his children thwarted those plans. The only consolation was that Rhaenys had married into House Arryn and not followed in her brother's footsteps and Uncle Viserys had found a fiery lady of House Velaryon.

But then neither of them had a dragon.

And right now neither did he.

Some time later...

The Red Keep had never been darker. Its corridors cast in shadows that were as gloomy and foreboding as Dragonstone when the seas churned and sky flashed. Torches were left unlit and halls silent as a grave. The only glimmer of life came from the Sept across from the spiral stairs but that too would gutter out in time.

Far away in the Great Sept of Baelor those fires were brighter. An incandescent glow that emanated from the stained-glass window above the statue of the Mother. Ever since the royal family had left, other mourners had ensured the memory of their visit and purpose lived on.

Up high the wind was brisk and he pulled his scarf tighter. Surely upon his return the Red Keep would be a bit brighter. Time, his family had discovered, did not heal wounds so much as made them more bearable.

The quiet sulking, somber words and severe black clothing were proving too much for his moods. What had been a place of joy and excitement now seemed to hearken back to his grandfather's reign of late. Reliving days that the Kingsguard spoke of with halting regret. Among the older servants there was a pain behind their eyes that they could not put into words but their invisible presence was a quiet comfort still.

Even if it could not change the outcome.

Aemon could not bear to wear the mourning clothes one more time. He needed to see red. On his cloak, his dragon, even the trees.

Nothing that anyone said would quell the pain.

'She is her mother's daughter' one careless courtier had remarked.

Indeed, the Princess Daenerys was every inch Queen Rhaella reborn. With her soft voice, high cheekbones, the effortless grace with which she comported herself, and the care for those less fortunate. Aerys may have been hated at the end but his wife was beloved and Daenerys was set to be even better. Alas, she took much from the Dowager Queen, even inheriting the propensity for miscarriages and stillbirths.

Before the wedding their father had tried to warn them. Daenerys knew all the stories from her own mother but believed it was the fault of the pair having Rhaegar too young. It may have been so but the problem of stillbirths was hardly unique to Rhaella's generation.

Pragmatism demanded Aegon wed a woman from a lineage where pregnancies often reached term successfully so that he might have many healthy heirs as quickly and safely as possible. Setbacks could not be afforded.

Then again, what man who from birth was told he would be King would listen to others where matters of the heart were concerned?

Aemon could not blame them. Matters of marriage where for dragonriders was a tricky bit of politics and so few people got to experience true love with all its highs and lows.

They would weather this storm.

Soaring through the night skies, the city rapidly faded into the distance, leaving open plains and sparse woods of the southern Crownlands around him.

Tynged rumbled her discontent beneath him, the topic of marriage and the demands of the Crown too troublesome to tackle again. His father had been nudging him to wed. To find a bride. Preferably soon.

Even his mother was pushing him to do the same. Claiming that she was wedded and bedded by his age and while men did not have the same pressing need, it was safer for their House if he did not delay. Besides, on his many trips around Westeros, he must've had his eye on someone even if he did not say.

The truth was he did not; had no true desire to marry.

And despite the troubles that Aegon and Daenerys found themselves in, they were still young and had many years to have an heir. It felt wrong to him. That he would marry and bring his wife and child into the Red Keep. Where his brother and aunt would see all they were denied. Resentment festering in their House was something they could not afford.

They flew for many hours. Across plains and over shallow rivers. Even an enormous lake.

The Gods Eye awaited.

Upon the beaches did his dragon touch down. She seemed unwilling (or unable) to go beyond the shore.

There were tales of this place. The Old Gods had no Septs or organizations that dictated their worship. They had no Septons or Septas who guided prayer through books and hymns and songs. Instead they had sites. Places where believers gathered in quiet company. The older the site, the more power it was believed to hold, and that made this island the most powerful of all.

Beneath his feet the sand was loose as if no other man had stepped upon it in years. Perhaps so. Travelers of the Riverlands oft reported those foolish few who tried to reach the Gods Eye would find their boat turning away on its own accord. Unable to find passage unless someone—or something—allowed them in.

To his ear they were fanciful rumours to make the distant place seem more magical than it was. Though he was raised in the light of the Seven he could not deny the strange power this place held, if not in the land itself, then the hearts and minds of those it touched.

Aemon walked until he no longer felt Tynged at his back. Turning around he saw the dragon had gone.

He would've felt foolish had he not known the dragons habits.

The beach went on for an endless number of steps. For all he knew he had circumnavigated the island and the waves had washed away his prints. Under the sweltering heat of the midday sun he knew a reasonable man would find shelter.

He did not.

Not when he had not experienced true sun in some time. Free of the heavy silences; the weight of tragedy. Here there were no expectations. No pressing need to be anywhere, to be anything for someone. It was just a man with the earth and the sky.

The beach was safe enough but he had not come through normal means. Aemon did not wish to trample inland where he may not be welcome nor wanted. To someone, this island was sacred, and he would rather be a good guest than offend the wrong person. Even those who bore lofty titles must take care.

Finally after walking for a few more minutes he came across an eerie sight. A shadow in the trees in the shape of a man. He debated for a moment whether to approach but the man gestured and made it for him. His gait was wary but the shadow never moved. Never made an attempt to step out into the sun. Instead it spoke with an achy voice.

"Fate swirls around you. No matter how fast it spins the threads never stretch, tangle nor break," the man bowed, still hidden in the copse under darkness, "Rest here, your Grace. We of the Isle shall never harm you and yours."

The words were as confusing as they were alarming. Aemon meant to reply but when he blinked the shadow and the man were gone. As if they had never been.

What was that?

He dearly wished he had paid more attention to the myths and legends of his mother's people. It was said that Green Men, worshipers of the Old Gods still held the Isle under their sway. Their exact purpose was unknown and if the stories from those in the Riverlands were true then they rarely accepted visitors; they rarely had contact with the outside world.

Those in religious orders could pass for skilled courtiers but here in the woods there were no courts, no Septs, no... organization. None that he knew of. And still their tongues were slick.

Perhaps it was an innate skill.

Perhaps he didn't know as much as he believed.

With little else to do and unwilling to enter the woods without explicit instruction, Aemon sat down upon the beach. Far enough from the waves that his feet did not grow wet but he still enjoyed the cool breeze and the warmth of the sands below.

For hours he remained that way. Contemplating this and that. Where he might go next. His joints grew rigid and muscles stiff but he never moved.

Not even when the tremor of Tynged landing upon the beach some distance away was felt. The dragon had been gone most of the day without even a whisper in his mind.

With the setting of the sun he should've welcomed the warm presence of his dragon. That it had not taken her days to return either was a boon. Perhaps it had to do with her greater size than when she was young. Instead of that welcoming sensation he felt off-balance once more. For a reason now that he could not explain.

As his dragon drew ever closer he wondered when the feeling would cease and he could be free.

Chapter Text

289. Island Godswood

Water lapped at a half-submerged rotten log, dislodging a red and black dragonfly. It flew straight at her. Meera ducked and watched it cut through the air and disappear into the endless expanse of swamp.

With the faint buzz ever present Meera hadn't the faintest notion where to find the next one. The insects in the swamp were fascinating. Bodies as small as the end of her littlest finger with clear wings and creepy eyes. So many species. Each distinct from the last but with the same features.

Her head jostled this way and that until one of the hunters stilled her shoulder. Then she was forced to sit and watch the rippling of the water behind them.

The boat was neither swift nor loud. It was large enough to move a small group but inconspicuous enough to conceal their approach. The perfect instrument for their people.

Three huntsman were crowded around her. Meera had complained often and loudly that she was old enough to hunt with the others. Her mother often chided her wilfulness but this indulgence was granted if she listened to her carers.

'Watch and do not touch.'

She could do that.

Stood at the shutters of her bedchamber in Greywater Watch she thought she had seen all the Neck had to offer. Unlike other keeps, her home was not rooted to the ground upon wood and stone, but floated by way of magic down the headwaters of the Green Fork.

She had seen it all from her bedroom window.

The arid grasslands, the domed peats, the sunken forests and turbid waters that gave shelter to the lizard-lion on their banner.

Staring ahead as the island ahead came into view she knew she had never seen something like this.

"Make for the shore and the lesson will begin." one of the men said lowly.

Except for the buzzing of flies around their head, the slight churn to the water, and the creaking of the boat, one might be forgiven to believe the land empty and silent.

When they reached shore a hand shot out to right her before she could fall. Then she was lifted and set upon the dirt of the shore. Turning she smiled up at one of the men who returned it. Her boot sinking into the muck as water rushed in to replace it and then they stumbled further onto what proved to be dry land.

Moving forward towards the Heart Tree that lay in its centre, Meera could not help but gasp at the majesty of the Gods in this place. How the island had risen up out of the horizon as a beacon calling them home. The base of the tree was as wide as three whole men, bulging out with a face of a gluttonous man who had overeaten. There were no offerings except for the depressions in the dirt. Perhaps this was a common gathering place for worship.

That thought did not linger long when one of the hunters knelt all around her. Not to pray, but to speak.

"Nearby is a fesnyng of ferrets. In the boat you shall see little my Lady but in the tree," his gaze lifted upwards to the high branches above, "you shall see much. Watch what we do and I will have questions for you after. Go on. The Old Gods will protect you." another hunter patted a low lying spot on the trunk.

Clambering up was easy. Meera had plenty of experience climbing the netting, ropes and ladders of her home, and her feet did not waver nor slip. The trunk was still as thick as the largest trees she had seen halfway up and she climbed as high as she dared; when she could not see the ground when she looked straight down. Maneuvering about she found a suitable perch where upon she could peer out into the swamp in all directions.

Only then did her protectors depart in the boat. She watched them slip away. Heading in the direction of some tall grasses and if she peered close, she thought she could see something darting about within.

They were not the only thing to look at. High as she was Meera thought she could see for miles in every direction.

Only then did a sound come from behind her. Wings flapping, but there was no large eagle in sight, nor even a frog or one of those small birds that somehow evaded her sight. Then something moved through the water but there were no ripples. Only the occasional bubbling.

Meera squinted as a presence somewhere within the swamps prodded at her mind. Poking as if to ask her to play. Instinctively she poked back and the presence receded.

All was quiet for a time. She resumed watching the hunters. How they too poked and prodded at the grasses. Encircling the ferrets and drawing them where the men wanted them to go.

The sounds around her distracted her then. Something new that she had not heard before.

Turning back, she saw it then.

Stumbling forth on twin claws. It was larger than any other creature she had seen. With glimmering red scales and large blinking yellow eyes, the beast craned its impossibly long neck up to look closer at her.

Shrinking against the branch Meera knew she should flee from unknown monsters larger than her. But she was trapped. There was no easy place to go and doubtless the creature was faster than her.

Standing her ground she jutted her chin at the creature. No words came to mind for how to address it. Men did not speak to beasts and she was no skinchanger.

It did not react as a man would. Certainly not to open defiance. Its nostrils flared and sniffed, releasing a gas that was both hot and choking, but Meera did not cough.

No, she reached out to touch the creature upon its snout, as she had seen some men do, and in turn was graced with a hum so deep it rattled the bones in her chest, shaking the tree and its leaves beneath her feet.

"What are you?" she wondered aloud.

The creature backed away into the swamp. Only when it was across the moat did it flap its wings to take off and disappear into the reeds and mist.

293. Island Godswood

The boat slammed into the shore. Meera did not waste time anchoring the boat as her pursuers would find her before the day was done. Slinging her bow across her back she tightened the cord of her quill. More than half were arrows were gone. From missing her shots, warning away predators, and some to act as distractions to those who might follow the wake of her boat.

A few hours was all she needed.

Kneeling at the Heart Tree she begged for the forgiveness of the Gods. That her father and mother might come to see that she did not leave in a fit of madness but on a quest to find proof.

For years she had told the tale of the beast she saw in the swamp. At first they had humoured her but none recognized such a creature. As the weeks and moons dragged on, the tale she told became fanciful to their ears. The wandering mind of a child. They'd take her cheek between their fingers and coo at her. Treating her as if she had made it up.

Even her father grew dismissive. Telling her that no large birds lived in the swamps save for the eagles and hawks that they had seen aplenty. Whenever she thought to repeat the tale she remembered his saddened countenance and she refrained. In her heart however Meera knew the truth.

Her friend was real!

She just needed to see him again.

But it had never come 'round to her home though sometimes she thought she could feel the rumble in her chest. Never showed its face anywhere. None except this one place.

Perhaps if she waited it would come.

Climbing up to the spot where she had sat as a child she thought to wait there. Older now though, she could reach higher, and so Meera did. If only to delay her pursuers that much longer.

Looking out over the Neck she could see little for the mist that had settled across the land after the evening rain. It blew in great clouds and she imagined that this must what it would be like to soar in the heavens above. As only the birds and her friend could.

As the sun moved across the sky Meera's hope began to dwindle. The land around her stirred as it always did but it was nothing extraordinary. Nothing that would prove beyond doubt that what she saw was anything more than the overactive imagination of a distracted girl.

An hour after the mist cleared she saw it.

Swooping down from the east it was silent except for the crunch in the earth. It moved over to her in that unnatural way and for the first time Meera saw it had four claws, not two. Its legs were enormous and powerful and larger by ten times than even the largest lizard-lions.

When the beast reached the edge of the moat to the island it stopped and did not need to cross. Instead it extended its impossibly long neck all the way to where she sat.

Smiling widely she touched the same brilliant red snout she remembered. It was warm. Far warmer than anything but the hottest fires yet this act did not threaten to burn her hand. Under her touch the beast trilled, eyes closing as a weight settled upon her again, familiar and comforting.

"Do you have a name?" she wondered.

It didn't answer. Perhaps it didn't have one.

She would think of a name in time.

None of that mattered though.

Her friend was real.

299. Winterfell

A gust of wind blew across the battlements. It battered all it touched and threatened to pull her hair from her cloak and hood.

The greatest castle in the North at the centre of Northern power and prominence yet Meera found herself bored. She had accompanied her father to attend the wedding of Robb Stark. Meera had mistakenly believed that it would be an exciting affair. Instead in one fell swoop she was exposed to court politics and all that came with it. The endless chattering of voices that wished to be heard over another.

Meera counted herself lucky that she would not be missed.

Here in the close quarters of the castle walls there were few places to be truly alone.

At least back home she could spare a trip and return to that Godswood to meet her friend. Meera had never managed to give it a name. Somehow feeling that the beast did not wish for one; only wanting to know her. It had taken her nearly a year to get her hunting privileges back and every few moons she would go find the beast there. It grew larger as she did. And the last time, a sennight before they left for Winterfell, she had met the beast at the very top of the Heart Tree.

It, on the other hand, was so large that before she had seen Moat Cailin and even Winterfell her mind could not begin to quantify it. At least a hundred feet, perhaps more, and its wings were twice that length. When it flew the air produced below flattened the landscape all around.

Meera was not frightened of it.

The beast was her friend.

Inexplicably she held a connection with it and while no one else believed or reported sightings of the creature, Meera no longer cared, as this was her secret alone.

"What do you suppose the Lady Sansa will wear?" a high-pitched voice asked somewhere nearby.

"She has favoured baby blues to match her eyes of late. Perhaps with the Tully delegation she will pick a grey-white to better align with the Starks sigil?" another woman responded.

Their chattering continued to interrupt Meera's thoughts. It was not the talk of hunting or fishing or trapping but simple inanities. Colours and symbols and underlying meanings in something as simple as a glance were things that she cared little for. Meera longed for home. Where her true friends resided, human or otherwise.

She wished she had never agreed to come.

Descending down to the courtyard below to escape the conversation she made a left, under the bailey tower, and out through the open Hunter's Gate. She passed by carts and wayns full of salted meats, barrels of fish and other goods, all being driven by knights of House Manderly. None would say that Lord Wyman was not generous.

Perhaps he would be afforded a room in the Guest House. Were any still remaining. Even the Wintertown, near-empty still as winter had not truly set in, was bursting at the seams. All the inns were full and new arrivals were erecting tents in no particular order. Meera wondered if the tent city was what an army camp looked like.

Ignoring the milling about of people she wandered into the fields until she did not see anyone anymore. Her long cloak dragged upon the knee deep snow and grew wet. Breathing deep she sighed against the pale blue sky, the sun towering above and reflecting off the endless expanse of white snow. Pressing her hands into the pockets of her cloak she breathed deep.

A rumbling had her pausing.

Looking to her right she saw nothing but trees and snow. The Wolfswood with its pines and oaks and towering ironwoods.

Looking to her left-

She dropped to the ground as fast as she was able. A moment later the enormous form of her friend careened over her head and the wind in its wake slammed into her full tilt, kicking up snow into a whirling cloud. By the time she spotted the beast in the air it had rotated around to land at her side.

Meera laughed in spite of it all.

Leaning against her friend she allowed her body to go limp. The beast was always warm beyond sense and somehow knew when it was wanted. One of its wings settled near her feet as the beasts neck and front claw curled around her body. Nuzzling into her as it did with its snout back home.

Their reunion was short lived with the rumbling and snorting of horses and the growing tenseness of her friend. An interruption that the beast misliked as much as she.

Meera turned to see the grey whiskers of Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Master-at-Arms of Winterfell; as well as the large forms of Lord Jon Umber and The Wull. The Master-at-arms carried his usual sword and shield while the other two boasted huge longbows. Their horses shifted uneasily beneath them. Dwarved by their enormous riders and the beast that was incomprehensibly larger.

"My Lady please step away from the dragon." the kindly master-at-arms called out.

The what? she gaped for a moment.

"It means me no harm." she replied after comporting herself.

Meera could see that her words had not hit their mark. She carried a disinterest for her safety that defied belief when faced with a beast that had teeth as long as she was tall. But then, these people did not know, could not know, nor would they trust her. Not when all their senses screamed to the contrary.

Perhaps she might've been able to talk down a hunter or forager at home but Meera was not in the Neck where her name carried authority as well as respect. The proud lords stood before her would not be dissuaded. Not when they believed a maiden at risk of harm. Their pride would demand they see her safe.

Turning back to her friend she rested her forehead against its scales. She did not wish for it to go just yet and as if answering her thoughts the beast snarled at the men.

"Go. I'll find you back home." she patted the scales and stepped back a few paces.

Her friend softened at once and trilled. Then, it stood and covered her for but a moment with its enormous wing before running forward to take off.

Meera watched it go and with it, any hope of peace.

Some time later...

Feet slammed into floorboards as another set trailed behind her. Breathing hard she ducked into the rooved structure she wasted no time vaulting over the low railing and into a boat. Taking upon the oar she cast off from Greywater Watch.

Turning back just as her mother's shadow appeared in the entrance way.

"You can't make me!" she yelled.

A loud huff came in response.

"Meera! Get back here this instant!" wild green eyes bore into hers, imploring she return but moments later they mellowed. A soft gentle breeze alternating to harsh anger when crossed. Meera counted herself lucky that she was seldom on the receiving end of Jyana Reed's ire. "Every girl must wed eventually. You know this."

The tone was more conciliatory. Inviting her to return and lose herself in her mothers arms and scent.

"Not me." she answered, paddling out along a familiar path. Meera could've done it with her eyes closed.

Along the way she could not help but recall the conversation. Of her impending betrothal. That her father had been oh so generous to wait until she was nine and ten to see a match made. Satisfied seemingly by Meera's insistence that she found men vile creatures with ill-formed habits and contradictory sensibilities. Especially where their wives were concerned.

Meera was not blind to her own aching desires but the involvement of any man proved to wither those aches to nothing and the harsher reality of marriage loomed large on her mind.

It was not a worthwhile trade. She'd rather remain a Reed forever.

Somehow her father knew that Meera would vehemently protest such a betrothal. Three days the talks had gone on for before word slipped to her of what was to occur.

She should've known when visitors from a minor house in the Barrowlands came to visit. Her father wouldn't even let her go hunting as was her norm. Anything to keep her within Greywater Watch while the deal was finalized. Doubtless, her husband-to-be would ensure she had no time for her favoured activities.

Meera hadn't even seen her friend of late.

A dragon, apparently.

It had been all the talk of Winterfell after and even threatened to overshadow the wedding. Most thought her extremely fortunate that the beast had not harmed her. Even the Crown Prince agreed.

Prince Aegon was the very image of grace and courtesy. He claimed the dragon had followed him all the way from King's Landing for reasons he could not ascertain. He was quick to dismiss that the dragon had come for her as non-Valyrians were not known to possess links with their dragons, only stating that the dragon often had a mind of its own.

Meera was in no rush to correct him.

Especially when he paid her no more interest in her and through it, encouraged others to cease their prattling.

The more she met with the dragon the easier it became to call upon it whenever she wished. At some point she had learned the dragon's name was Tynged. What it meant, she did not know, but thinking the dragon's name loudly in her mind often brought the beast to her. Even now she knew it was on its way. Perhaps it had been from the moment she grew anxious in her home.

And what a sense of timing it had.

No sooner did the hull of her boat dig itself into the shore than did the dragon break through the morning mist. Its claws reached out and landed upon the island Godswood with an earth crunching thud. Outside Winterfell the dragon had been enormous but here in the Neck it seemed almost normal.

Rushing to her friends side she was met with warm scales and a trill of welcome. Of home, safety and comfort, all the things her real home was set to deny her.

Meera was no Valyrian but inexplicably this dragon cared for her in so many ways others did not.

"Take me away from here. Let us be free." she whispered against its scales.

To her surprise the dragon moved and its wing was lowered; an invitation.

Climbing up she paused as she found a saddle already in place. It was not overlarge but sturdy with straps for her legs. Attached to a pack behind it was a cloak and gloves.

"Did you plan this?" she asked her friend.

No sooner had she donned each and sat within the saddle than did Meera have to brace. Sitting upon a dragon's back was very different to the tallest place in the weirwood tree. Weirwoods never moved, nor did they rear back.

It took all her strength to hold on when the dragon took to the skies. Soon however, Meera was laughing at the absurdity of it all, and found the sensation in her chest growing. A bond--not unlike that the skinchangers she knew--ever deepening as each reacted to the others movements and moods.

They flew for hours due south. Past the Peats, the Bogg lands and the Twins. Even from above those dank towers looked dilapidated. On she went past Fairmarket and Stone Hedge. In the evening glow of sunset over Harrenhal she might've been forgiven for thinking the Conqueror had just departed. Still they flew and Meera's tummy ached. The dragon continued on heedless of her human needs.

All the way out over a lake to the island in its center.

The Gods Eye.

A familiar tale in her fathers youth and an important symbol of the Old Gods in Westeros. Few ever ventured there.

When they landed she slid off onto a warm and barren beach. The sand collapsing beneath her boots. Stiff lands and unstable sand made for a poor combination. Meera's first impressions of the famed island were poor. Except for the dragon at her back there was nothing to see here. The occasional piece of driftwood, a shell for some water life, impossibly smooth stones, and an uncountable number of grains of white-yellow sand.

With the dragon no help Meera took off down the beach. On her right the brush was thick and impassable. Perhaps if her friend lingered into the night she would sleep beneath its body. Otherwise she would need to find shelter and food soon.

Further and further she went. Behind her, the dragon made no attempt to move. Instead it watched her and some distant point. The more Meera focused, the more she realized that the thread that tethered her to the dragon was split in twain. There was another piece nearby.

She walked for some minutes listening only to the soft crunch of sand underfoot and the low tumble of waves on the shore. Meera wasn't sure what she expected to find. When she rounded a bend she stopped short, her breath caught in her throat.

A person sat upon the shore. With long tumbling ringlets Meera might've mistaken them for a woman but their frame was too much of a man's.

The cloak Meera wore might've been his twin if not for the collar flecked with red. He paid no mind to her arrival, sat upon the beach without care, his legs spread out before him.

Behind her, Meera felt the tremors of the dragons arrival.

"You leave me and fly off on a whim," the man remarked and the dragon snorted in turn. Meera struggled to remain quiet, his throaty voice causing strange feelings in her body, "Will we ever stop searching, Tynged? Sometimes I wonder what the point is."

Meera was well versed in understanding the dragon's moods. So when it gave a pleasing trill, it was in mocking, for the man's unwillingness to turn and greet the beast he shared some relation with left him in the dark about her.

She could not claim to know this man yet her heart ached. Ached as much as the pain of being parted from the dragon for all those terrible moons during her punishment. This close, her legs felt like a loose bowstring and she might've collapsed in the sand if not for the dragon's anchoring presence.

Finally the man seemed to sense that something was amiss. He turned of his own volition. Surprised, perhaps, to see another living and breathing person upon the Isle, or in such close proximity to the dragon without any alarm.

The man's eyes were dark. So dark in the twilight hours that she wasn't certain they held any colour at all. The only thing Meera knew was that when his eyes met hers, that half-formed connection snapped taut, and the world made sense in a way it never truly had.

His eyes widened at the same moment hers did.

Without uttering a word she strode over and plopped herself down in his lap. His mouth was hung open to gape at her and with a smile and raised hand, closed it shut, squeezing his cheek like some errant boy.

"So, who are you then?"

Tynged soared around the island men called the Eye of God.

Higher and higher she flew until land was little more than a speck far below. In the pre-dawn hours the dragon's rumbling presence and warm embrace was unneeded. Her riders finding unparalleled contentment with another person as they hadn't before.

Two halves of the same whole drawn together at long last. Only here in the emptiness of the heavens did the dragon cry out its joy. No longer was she pulled across the continent to soothe a hurt that could not be healed. The emotions that dwelled in their hearts confusing and unexplained; longing, loneliness, isolation.

To be apart was to suffer. To be together was eternity. Even when their flesh rotted and bones ground to dust they would remain hand in hand. Reborn in countless lives. Destined to find one another against all odds.

Even beings of magic and fire such as she could not pierce beyond-the-veil but this place was different. Thinner somehow. The voices of the past echoing through if one knew how to hear.

Tynged could feel their origins were an oath and a prayer. Spoken between a man and a woman who were bound by friendship but not love; each seeking their own path in the holiest place on the continent. Now the fruit of their diverging answers found themselves entwined.

Far above Tynged looked down upon the lovers nestled on the rim of the eye. As the rising sun struck across the lake, a tear seemed to form within, radiant and beautiful.

For the first time the world would not need to hold its breath.