Chapter Text
Rhaenyra stood in the courtyard of Dragonstone. Staring at the burned face of her half-brother, Aegon. And his dragon, Sunfyre.
"Mother— please, flee!" Her son, Aegon, begged, but he was quickly detained by her traitorous knights. Ripping him from her arms, and dragging him back towards the crowd. They kept him secured tightly, enough so he could not approach her.
"Sister." Aegon, her half-brother this time, spoke. His voice was raspy, likely thanks to the burns that lingered up his throat and part of his face. Such a ghastly thing to look at.
Rhaenyra straightened her back, lifting her chin. "Brother. I had hoped you were dead."
She wondered quietly, what had happened to Baela. Who had gone after Aegon. Rhaenyra's eyes glanced towards Sunfyre. Injured, it seemed. Which meant they had clashed.
She could only hope she made it.
Prayed for it really. House Targaryen's legacy did not need to fall to Team Green... it couldn't.
Aegon shifted in his seat. "After you." He rasped. "You are the elder of course."
Rhaenyra's heard her son sob. "I see that you remembered." She could not help but quip out, satisfied to see the scowl return to her half-brothers disfigured face.
Aegon leaned forward as best as he could, which wasn't a lot thanks to the injuries that littered his body.
"Sunfyre." He called out. His dragon, a beautiful shade of yellows, golds and pinks shifted forward. Its eyes trained on Rhaenyra's frame.
The resemblance to Syrax made her heart ache. To think such a dragon birthed by her own, had been given to her traitorous half-brother.
"The ones loyal to Team Black will come for me." Rhaenyra told him, shifting her gaze.
Aegon simply smiled. "Then they will have to search the hells for you."
He shifted, wincing as he motioned towards Sunfyre. "Dracarys, Sunfyre."
But the dragon did not burn her. No— it stared. It's yellow eyes stuck on Rhaenyra's face. Despite the warm puff of air it gave at the command. No dragon-fire engulfed her.
Aegon's face twisted at the notion, and motions with his hand for a guard to step forward. Rhaenyra does not flee, nor does she step back. Allowing the guard to pull out a knife from his belt.
Her son cries out. "Mother—!""
The blade sliced across her breast.
Rhaenyra's teeth clenched together. But she did not flinch away as the Guard steps back and Sunfyre's head lowers.
The dragon sniffs the air, its eyes locked onto the blood now soaking her dress. Its jaw opens, and Rhaenyra is consumed by flames.
—
It was a quick death.
At least, it had felt quick. The fire had not burned hot against her skin. No— it had been almost freezing cold. Rhaenyra closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do but accept her death at the hands of her usurper half-brother.
She could only hope, somewhere deep in her half-brother's heart. He would not take out his hatred for her, onto her son.
Forgive me Aegon. She thought of her little boy. Of Viserys, all the way across the sea. To the girls, Baela and Rhaena— who would take care of them? Someone she hoped.
Rhaenyra paused her fleeting thoughts.
Her body still felt solid. Solid enough for her to take a step forward. Perhaps into deaths cold embrace— when her foot struck something.
Rhaenyra's eyes shot open as she lost her balance over something, a log? And she tumbled from the fire. Not dragon-fire, no this was different. This one burned— curling around her ankles and climbing up.
Her hands pressed into stone, not grass. She breathed in air that wasn't fill with smoke. What? Her ears rang, yet she could make out voices, footsteps.
Rhaenyra's lifted her head. Meeting the eyes of a man. His expression was as shocked as her’s was— one hand in the hilt of his sword strapped to his belt. The other, out, as if he was going to offer it.
"Fucking— devil woman!” The man rasped out.
Rhaenyra pushed herself up. Her skin felt raw, knees wobbling like the could not hold her full weight. as she stood to her full height. The mysterious, oddly Targaryen looking man, let the blade of his sword be unsheathed. A warning.
“Do not move, woman.” He said, his brows pinching together.
“Where am I?” Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. The man’s eyes kept darting down, then back up. Yet somehow he couldn’t meet her gaze. Were his cheeks red as well?
She took a step forward. “I said don’t fucking move.” He said again, and she stopped.
“Did you do some sort of fucking sorcery?” The man continued. Rhaenyra blinked.
“No— no do not ignore my question. Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?” Rhaenyra lifted her chin.
“I know I am speaking to a naked woman, who, mind you, just walked out of the fucking fireplace.” Was her reply.
Naked? Fire place?
Rhaenyra spun around firsts, and like the man said, there was a fireplace. The thing that she had kicked was there— and it was indeed a log. The ambers were still burning on the wood, flickering off onto the ground.
Then her eyes glanced down. Her breasts were out, her waist bare. Though a few pieces of fabric that had survived, seemed to be melting into her skin. The pain barely registered.
Rhaenyra covered herself the best she could with her arms as she turned back around. The white-haired man was already unclipping his cloak. The black/red fabric was held out for her to grab.
Which she did.
It engulfed her body, which covered her form from his eyes. She opened her mouth and faltered— glancing down to the sword he had slowly began to release.
“Your name?” She asked.
The man’s lips thinned. “Maekar.”
Rhaenyra blinked. That was a very Targaryen name. Yet she did not know a Maekar in her family. And nobody in their right mind would name a bastard Targaryen that. So close to Maegor.
“Thank you, Maekar. For the cloak.” Rhaenyra managed to get out, crossing her arms over her stomach.
“That doesn’t—“ Maekar scowled. “How do you even explain walking out of the fucking fire, witch.”
Witch? Rhaenyra’s felt her eye twitch despite the question being valid. How did she? Even she didn’t know.
“At least allow me a change of close. Perhaps a Maester to tend to my wounds.” The burns were catching up to her. Rhaenyra was feeling rather faint.
More than faint. Her vision blurred, and her knees grew weak. Shit— she would not pass out would she?
But the adrenaline was wearing off. Her knees buckled once, twice. Before giving out completely. And all Rhaenyra saw before her body hit the floor, were arms grasping her shoulders. Then darkness.