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Chapter Text

The Gods are cruel.      

They love their creations so much, they want them free, they want them begging for mercy, they want to be adored, but they can't stand being witnessed so in the end... they are pets.   

They make mistakes.   

Shrykos knows it well, she was the beginning and the end.   

They had tried so hard.   

They were the Fourteen Flames, the Ancients, they were nature and light, darkness and emptiness.   

And when their creations created the Great Other, they had all been so offended that they had left them to die.   

They had not realized that as the world died, the Great Other would come for them.   

He had destroyed them one by one, until he reached her.   

But he was faced with a worthy opponent, outside of time as they were, Shrykos decided she would create a protector, someone who would defeat the Great Other, she sent him and he won, but in the end history twisted and repeated itself, like an infinite cycle.   

Evil had been unleashed and could no longer be contained.   

She tried to create many heroes, all brave and powerful, so that they would end up in Ellaya's pantheon long before she managed to defeat evil once and for all.   

She tried to undo his creation, but it was impossible, it was too late.   

Then she found a family, a bloodline with so much potential, faithful and royal worshipers, dominant in a way that few were, but without the arrogance that had doomed the heart of the world when it tried to access its power.   

They had all the potential to be the ruling house of the greatest Freehold, Valyria, but they stood on the edges, powerful but silent.   

They protected each other in such an unusual way, keeping their family together and free from the fights that other families saw as their daily bread.   

No kinslaying.   

Babies were protected creatures, an egg given at birth and a dragon to protect it, a symbiosis, because in turn the rider protected the dragon.   

Other Dragon Lords treated their fire creatures with cruelty, bound them with magic, dominated them...    

This sweet little family treated them like family.   

She sent them dreams of danger that they knew how to interpret.   

They escaped in time to avoid being destroyed.   

And then she sent them visions of the new rebirth of the great evil.   

It had been almost 10,000 years since the last confrontation, but she knew it was fast approaching.   

They united seven kingdoms into one.   

And then they made a mistake.   

A weak man was carried away by the teachings of false Gods.   

She watched in horror as her last chance slipped away with one weak King after another.   

She then decided that she needed a woman, a Queen, a true dragon, who saw the kingdom as her child, there was nothing fiercer than a mother.   

All to see her die from a thousand small wounds, slowly killed by everyone around her, jealous of her brilliance.   

Moving on, she decided she would need a new one.   

Years later, another of the same lineage, more ferocious, more protective, more powerful.   

To be stabbed in the back by her protector.   

The end was approaching.   

But that stab, she decided, was a true sacrifice. It gave her strength to return, along the same path to the crossroads.   

She gave the King dreams in an attempt to make him act and protect the Queen that would one day be, from whom the promised hero would come.   

Only to ruin it, believing them to be dreams of what was to come and not what they were: warnings.   

The Queen's end was even worse and she lamented about it, continuing her line until reaching the day of sacrifice again, so that everything would happen the same.   

She decided that the King was not the one to receive the dreams and sent them to his brother, only for him to take control of everything and the kingdom to end up in ashes even before the Queen was born.   

Without her, there was no line to follow and she watched in horror as the world was consumed endlessly. From her came the hero, she realized, she was the spark.   

Without the sacrifice, she was forced to allow the Great Other to kill the entire kingdom in order to gather enough power to be a sacrifice and return.   

Then she sent the dreams to the girl... to the Queen.    

Without stopping to think about the cruelty of showing her children dying one by one until she saw herself being consumed by the fire, without thinking for a second that it would unleash madness.   

That day she doubted if there would be an end, she had lived the same moment a thousand times, heroes and heroins, all failing in the end, when she found hope... she herself had broken it, she had extinguished the spark that created the hero.   

In a desperate attempt, she sent one last dream to the one who might be the only one who could save the Queen and watched once again in horror as the line continued. Bloodier than ever.    

And then the spark ignites and a freely offered blood sacrifice, a wish is made and she watches in amazement as everything blossoms.   

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra knew she was not a loved or wanted child.   

Her parents had begged for a boy.   

The Kingdom had prayed for a child, and all they had gotten was her.   

The Realm’s Delight .   

Nice way of saying the Realm’s Disgrace.   

She soon discovered that the only person who truly loved her was her uncle, Daemon.   

But all too soon she found herself constantly abandoned by him, always exiled for one offense or another. Sure, he came back with gifts and stories, but that didn't replace the nights crying, the afternoons alone with her septas for company and not a soul to ask if she was okay.   

When she was betrayed by her uncle when he stole her dead brother's egg, when she was abandoned again... it didn't matter how many thousands of men swore loyalty to her, not when everyone was waiting for the announcement that now that there was a child who had lived more than two years, he would be the new heir.    

Alicent's betrayal had been as unexpected as her uncle's, but far more profound when it had resulted in the hell that was now her life, her uncle's had been of his own making, but not of his choosing, Alicent's had been.   

Isolated as she was, with only a septa for company, one who particularly enjoyed corporal punishment, no ladies, no friends.   

Rhaenyra wondered what was left for her once more.   

She had not been allowed to ride Syrax since she became the heiress.   

Her lady was becoming more and more desperate to take to the skies.   

The surprising arrival of her uncle after his war had been a balm that soothed her wounds... until he abandoned her in a brothel.    

Her night with her sworn protector had done nothing but make her feel empty, and to think that's how she would feel for the rest of her life...   

The flames dance and call out to her. Moon tea proves that the only thing that matters about this is her royal womb.   

And now her uncle, the only person she thought loved her, had left her alone, vulnerable, as always, no one cared...   

Why should she continue?   

The flames dance so close to the rug.   

Rhaenyra decides she would like to sleep near the fire, she pulls up her pillow and one of her blankets, the blanket is dangerously close to the fire, but there is comfort in it.   

For the first time she sleeps, wondering if it's one of the herbs in the moon tea that makes it so easy.   

Because she doesn't wake up when the fire covers the blanket, jumps onto the carpet, spreads...   

Only to watch in horror as she dies, consumed by flames as her last child cries, her stepbrother laughs and then the memories of her children's deaths hit her, one betrayal after another until she opens her eyes and is once again wrapped in the blanket that burns around her.    

She jumps up and walks away from the fire, the blanket had barely started to burn.   

But it had left behind something worse than a burn.   

It left the void.   

Madness.   

The pain of a mother, of seeing her children die one by one.   

She has nothing left.    

Her soul is broken, her mind is left in tatters, shattered by loss, by pain, by betrayal.    

She tries to jump out of the window, tries to drown herself in the bathtub, tries to stab herself with a dagger...   

Golden bars cover the windows, hallways and doors, now three maids bathe her, with barely enough water to clean her, any sharp objects are prohibited.   

The princess in the tower, they begin to call her, not knowing why she was suddenly locked away, isolated and guarded so fiercely as her wedding day approaches.   

Dreams are a torment that comes and goes, some are clear, unbearable... but others are hazy, full of symbols and tragedies so great that they drive her crazy.   

It feels like her body, but it isn't, because she shouldn't be thin, her abdomen shouldn't be firm and flat, there are no marks of the children who grew there... memories of births full of pain and followed by agony.    

She sees a dragon fly towards the deer only to be attacked by a tower and his body vanishes into the ocean.    

A seahorse being consumed by flames.   

A wolf being attacked by gray rats.   

A dragon poisoned by chained rats.   

She sees herself walking down a hallway, a lump in her arms and blood leaving a trail behind her as she grows smaller with each step and the lump larger, eventually being burned by green fire.   

She wakes up burning, fire consuming her every night.   

But the worst are the ice ones.   

A dragon torn apart by lions, another by a shower of gold and finally, a dragon that falls under a deer.   

After that, she sees death advance like a black cloak, a wolf with dragon wings fights and fights, only to die alone and abandoned.   

Three united dragons fight at the end, the black cloak defeats them and ice-blue eyes freeze the blood in their veins.   

She becomes consumed by dreams and what they mean, overwhelmed by them every night.   

Until they start to stop.   

One dream at a time, little by little, they stop reaching her.   

The memories continue to torment her, but the dreams have stopped.   

And then she sees the scroll on her desk, announcing her marriage to Laenor Velaryon.    

She remembers the dream of a dragon being consumed by the sea and it terrifies her. She can't allow it.    

She won't.   

Death seems like a sweet dream.   

One day she fought for her life.   

Now… she fights to die.   

Chapter Text

Rhaenys considered herself a Queen.   

She should be, simply because she is the heir's firstborn.   

But she wasn't.   

She never hated anyone as much as she hated her grandfather.   

For stealing her birthright and handing it over to her weakling cousin, Viserys.   

But she was a good actress, she had practically convinced everyone that she had forgiven and put everything behind her.   

Not even when they called her the Queen Who Never Was to her face could they see behind her mask.   

But it hurts.   

Every damn time, it hurts.   

A stab.   

A dagger twisted in an open wound.   

She should have a crown on her head.   

Now she only had elaborate braids that no one understood.   

It was ironic that only one man understood her hairstyles.   

But Daemon had always been different from the rest.   

She had created her own kingdom, free from the weakness of her cousin's realm.   

Except her husband wanted more. Sometimes Rhaenys wondered if he would have agreed to marry her if he had known the future.   

His wounded bitterness and pride were another dagger.   

Sometimes she wished she could separate herself from the seven kingdoms just to be free from that curse.   

She hated every mention of the crown.   

Today her anger was focused on another woman.   

Rhaenyra.   

Who had all the support that her grandfather denied her.   

A foolish girl who didn't know the power she wielded and wasted it all.   

But she was more foolish to believe it would last. She should take advantage of it, as she had done in her time, marry the most powerful lord she could find, so that when she was eventually supplanted, she would have a roof over her head and food on her table.   

The worst thing is that she was dragging her son into this mess.   

Her precious son, who should be free on the back of a dragon as he flies over the ocean.   

And now this.   

The girl was trying to kill herself.   

Viserys had been careful in his wording, but his plea for help made it obvious.   

Insanity.   

It was the perfect opportunity to break off the engagement.   

If only her husband would let her.   

But Corlys had refused her pleas.   

And his word carried more weight than hers in the eyes of the lords of the kingdom.   

Furthermore, it would be fair if her son were to regain the title that was stolen from her.   

The advantage of the letter sent discreetly was that she could refuse to go.    

And besides, she had the perfect excuse: with the war barely over, her house was still recovering... sure, the treasure obtained had filled their coffers to the brim, but they still hadn't finished rebuilding the fleet that had suffered so many casualties. Their sea routes were still fragile.    

She had no time to go and comfort a spoiled child.   

Why would she help the daughter of the man who stole everything from her?    

The blood between them was non-existent, Viserys had refused to hand over the crown after the old King's death and Rhaenys' hands had been tied by Daemon's support for his brother.   

There was no way she could beat Daemon.   

Even with her son gaining a dragon, he was too small and by the time he was an adult the playing field would still be level, because Rhaenyra had been born along with her dragon.   

Another offense.   

She had been forced to claim her dragon as an adult, having been denied an egg in her crib.   

And then her son too. Only thanks to their grandmother, who had secretly taken them to the Dragonmont so that Laenor could claim a whelpling. Seasmoke had bonded with her son quickly, but it was too late, for Rhaenyra had bonded with her dragon the same day they were born together.   

She wondered again how Daemon had done it.   

The King had forbidden any woman from having an egg in her cradle and could not claim dragons until they were married to one of House Targaryen.   

But on the day the girl was born, Daemon had placed a golden egg in her cradle and it was born the instant the girl touched it.   

He had then convinced the King that taking the hatchling from her would kill the girl, their bond was too strong, and she was Viserys's only daughter.   

Baelon had supported his son and Viserys had thanked Daemon, the hatchling was probably the only reason Rhaenyra had survived when none of her siblings did.   

Alyssane had helped her sneak Laenor to Dragonstone a year later, after months of begging for permission to no avail.  

Unfortunately Laena was without a dragon.   

But her daughter would soon claim Vhagar, the dragon had been spotted near Driftmark a few days ago and everyone was tracking her to help Laena.   

She wouldn't let her daughter not know the magic of a dragon bond.   

The advantages of her cousin's weakness, who had no dragon and did not prohibit them from anything.   

Despite Daemon's protests.   

By the time of Rhaenyra's wedding, the Velaryons would arrive in force, three dragon riders and nothing to stand between them.   

She would take advantage of the girl's weakness, Laenor would be the perfect husband, understanding, kind, a leader.   

When her niece needed a guiding hand, her husband would be ready, he could carry the title of consort thanks to marriage, but it had always been his birthright to have the title of King.   

She just had to find a way for Rhaenyra to give her grandchildren, perhaps with her current state it would be a mercy to drug her for consummation, Ser Joffrey was adventurous, he was sure to help his son spill his seed in the right place when the time came...  

She just had to be patient.   

Rumors in te capital spoke of an assassination attempt.   

But Viserys had explained better in his letter the reasons for the princess's confinement.   

He was desperate.   

When the time came, they would arrive as a saving grace, she would take control of Rhaenyra from her cousin's trembling hands and he would thank her.   

Fathers never knew what to do with their daughters.   

That is why they rushed to marry them, finding relief in that they would be taken off of their hands and in exchange they would obtain alliances and benefits.   

The women, on the other hand, knew very well what to do with the wayward daughters-in-law, the foolish daughters, but above all, with the beautiful intelligent daughters.   

“Vhagar was found. She is sleeping on a small island two hours from here.” The servant's whisper was quick.   

“Let's prepare the boat, we will leave in half an hour.”   

She hurried to look for her daughter.   

Her riding leathers were ready, of the best quality available, they fit her perfectly.   

Her sweet girl, who was already eighteen years old and the most beautiful woman of all.   

She helped her braid her shiny silver hair so she could have a clear view on her first flight.   

“I'm ready, mother.” They both smiled.   

There is no greater pride than seeing your daughter fly for the first time.   

Accompany her at her side, on her own dragon...   

Rhaenys was a Targaryen by blood, a Queen, it was time she took back what belonged to her and her children by right, but she was a Velaryon by marriage and her children wore that with pride, perhaps it was time she prioritized house that welcomed her with open arms instead of the one that betrayed her.   

Chapter Text

Is she a dragon? 

The golden chain rattles. 

No. 

She is not. 

She has human feet. 

Her hands have fingers. 

But she is chained. 

Did they mistake her for Syrax? 

Syrax is dead. 

It's probably the Usurper. 

He treats her like a beast. 

Where is her son? 

No no. 

Syrax is alive. 

She focuses on that part of her mind, where she can feel her dragon. 

She is. 

She is not. 

She is. 

Yes. 

Syrax is alive. 

Of course she is.  

She is also chained. 

A rider cannot live without its dragon. 

Maybe that's why her dad is sick. 

Can't continue without Balerion. 

Without his magic, his illness consumes him. 

That's why Daemon looks so young when he's not. 

But grandfather died young. 

Ah, he lost his twin flame. 

It means that there is no way to survive without your twin flame either. 

Is she turning into a dragon? 

Is that why they chained her? 

She wanted to fly. 

With Lucerys. 

With Daemon. 

One last time. 

Now she will never see them again. 

They are all dead. 

Their children. 

Her daughter. 

Her husband. 

Is she dead? 

It is her penance for her cruelty at the end of the war… Is that why she is chained? 

No. 

They are not at war. 

It is a moment of peace.

She is turning into a dragon. 

She's cold. 

Needs to get to the fire. 

She still can't call the fire inside of her. 

She is very young. 

Although Syrax is her age and already can. 

The chains rattle. 

The cold recedes as the fire advances. 

She sighs contentedly. 

Yes, she is surely turning into a dragon. 

She lies down on her bed. 

The flames making it much hotter than the sheet ever could. 

Maybe she could fly with Syrax later. 

Their connection is strong. 

Feel her calling. 

Her fierce lady... roars loudly, waking everyone up. 

They will be able to fly together. 

Maybe she can fly with her children. 

She hopes they remove this chain soon, she feels her skin stinging. 

Dragons shouldn't be chained. 

Maybe she should keep Syrax unchained. 

Yes. 

She grew up a lot like that when she was in Dragonstone. 

They are both dragons. 

They belong to the skies. 

To the fire. 

The fire. 

It is so warm. 

The flames are so beautiful. 

Dancing in red and orange, yellow and white. 

It's not cold anymore. 

She is a dragon. 

Chapter Text

Daemon wanted few things in life, he had learned early on that as a second son of a second son, even a prince, there was little that was given to him, so he had to earn everything, he began his training as a warrior, becoming a knight as early as possible, at just sixteen years old. 

But with the possibility of injury, he didn't want to end up like the one-handed Servos, he knew he had to have a backup plan for his future. 

So he began to invest small amounts in businesses that most people ignored, brothels were his favorites, but he also had some basic necessities, some bread and wine shops. 

When he miraculously became the heir apparent to his brother, the new King, he decided that he wouldn't risk being left out in the cold anyway, and continued with his investments, and it worked out wonderfully for him. Especially since his brother loved to exile him.  

He had money to buy the most beautiful jewelry to adorn his niece. 

His adoration. The apple of his eye. 

Really, he didn't know what it was about the girl that drove him crazy, made him docile, in her presence he turned into putty, he would kill for her, but more importantly, he would die for her. 

Daemon had found his purpose: to make Rhaenyra happy. 

When his brother became aware of their mutual adoration, Daemon was exiled, and from then on, any slight was enough to justify his immediate departure. 

He suffered... but his sweet girl suffered more with each separation, it didn't matter that when he returned it was full of stories, gifts and hugs, his girl just wanted to be with him. 

Every time he returned it was like coming back to life, both for him and for her. 

Except this time it was more complicated, his sweet girl was no longer a girl, she had become the most beautiful woman of all, her kisses were as sweet as they were addictive... and he had made the unforgivable mistake of doubting... and now they were entangled, she would marry Laenor just as he had finally killed the Bronze Bitch. 

It was so unfair. 

But he would find a way. 

The wedding was approaching, and he was forbidden to leave the Valley, but he knew that if he arrived just in time for the wedding his brother would have no choice but to keep quiet and accept it if he didn't want to make a fuss. 

His brother hated scandals. 

But scandal would come, he swore, because he would not let his niece marry a sword-swallower. And he knew that the wedding was still more than a fortnight away, but something kept calling him to King's Landing, and he knew what it was, but it was too soon... 

But when Caraxes began to stir, as if he were physically in pain, when his connection was filled with panic and for a moment he thought the Blood Wyrm would leave without him.  

He let himself be carried away by his dragon, it seemed that Caraxes felt something that he didn't, so he let himself go with him, even though his dragon's desire was to go to the capital. 

His heart had never beaten so fast, not when fighting in war, not when fiery arrows pierced his skin. 

Because the sight in front of him was the most terrifying. 

The Red Keep was in flames. Maegor's Keep glowed engulfed in flames higher than the tower itself, he allowed his dragon's panic to envelop him as they both made their way down as close to the fortress as possible. Without caring about terrorizing the people who fled from the fire like ants. 

The Godswoods welcomed him as the only place from which he could get off his dragon without crushing anyone. When he got off, he saw the collective effort that had been made to try to quell the flames, a line of people passing buckets and buckets of water. while soldiers ran, carrying out wounded nobles and servants alike. 

He found his brother with his small family shouting orders while crying in a jumble of words and pleas. 

“Where is Rhaenyra?!” he shouted as soon as he approached. 

For once, his brother seemed completely relieved to see him. 

Just then two white cloaks arrived, supporting each other. 

Ser Criston had deep burns all over the right side of his body and it was obvious that his armor was more of a hindrance than protection, his cloak completely singed. One of the twin guards no longer had a cloak and half of his armor was missing. 

“Could they get her out?” Viserys asked, ignoring him. 

Both guards shook their heads. 

“The fire is too strong, we found several servants burned on the way, we were able to find the septa who had the key and we managed to get it, but we couldn't get through the fire.”  

The knight explained, handing him a golden chain with a key at the end. 

The key was small and it was obvious to Daemon that it was hot because as soon as his brother took it, he hissed, noticing the imprint of the key on his hand, it would soon blister. 

“Where is Rhaenyra?” he asked again in panic, desperate for answers. 

His brother looked at the key and handed it to him, Daemon was grateful for his leather gloves and took it without hesitation. 

“I beg you Daemon, do what you can to bring her! You'll need the key, she's in her room…” Viserys hadn't even finished speaking and Daemon was already running. 

Two soldiers ran after him, joining his rescue attempt. 

He noticed that they were both Gold Cloaks... 

Harwin Strong was one of them. 

"What happened?" he shouted as he ran towards the burning fortress. After seeing the wall of flames, he turned towards the nearest entrance to the passages, the secret did not matter, not when he needed to get to Rhaenyra quickly. 

Both soldiers looked at each other with a look of suffering and surprise before entering the passage after him. Daemon was grateful that the fire had not yet reached them and quickly ran, knowing the direct path to his niece's chambers.  “We don't know how the fire started, it started near the princess's chambers, but when we realized it it had already consumed the entire floor.” Harwin began with a hardened look. 

The three of them were sweating profusely as they ran through the hallways, the infernal heat beginning to seep in. 

Daemon didn't let himself think that his niece wasn't alive. 

Because if she succumbed, he would too. 

He couldn't bear to think that the last time he had seen her was when he abandoned her at the brothel. 

He had barely had enough control to go out and order one of his men to make sure she arrived safely. 

But Daemon sensed that there was something more. 

His men were hiding something. “Speak clearly Harwin.” he mumbled, taking another turn. 

“If the King hadn't locked up the princess, she would have gotten out in time.” the knight growled. 

“Locked in?” His question was left unanswered, a moment later they suddenly stopped, one of the doors had collapsed and the rest of the hallway in front of them had begun to burn. 

“Clear it as best you can.”  Daemon shouted as he jumped over the flames and continued running. 

The flames danced at the edges, beginning to increase in intensity. 

Daemon felt his lungs burn, the wound on his shoulder and neck feeling uncomfortably hot. 

He ignored everything and continued running until he reached the door behind which his life was located. 

It was clear that the room was on fire on the other side, the door was hot and the handle was slowly starting to melt. 

Daemon felt his heart stutter. He kicked the door until it banged open. 

The worst thing was the silence, this part of the castle was free of the screams that the other halls still had as everyone tried to flee. 

When he managed to enter he felt his throat close. 

The edge of his vision blurred. 

The room was completely on fire, all the wooden furniture had collapsed, the fabrics increased the fire, although they were practically ashes. 

The bed was destroyed, the mattress on fire and all the sheets on fire, the edges completely consumed. 

“Rhaenyra!” His throat burned at his scream, but only the crackling of flames answered. 

He felt his feet burning. 

He ignored everything again and jumped into the fire, as he approached the bed he observed with horror a body there, a maiden, her hand stretched out grabbing something golden and trying to reach the bed, her skin had disappeared, consumed by the fire, blood burning. Around her, the hair was dark, but it was only noticeable because of the long braid that burned, illuminating the remains. 

He felt panic erupt in his chest, if this lady was like this, chances are his niece was in the same state. 

He felt his clothes start to burn. 

But he couldn't leave her there, even if her body was already burning, he had to get her out. 

He grabbed the burning sheets and stared in complete shock and disbelief at his sweet little girl. 

His little dragon. She seemed asleep, engulfed in flames, but her flesh was still intact, the flames dancing over her, but not consuming her. 

A dragon. 

Without realizing it, he dropped the key as he hugged her, body covered in ashes. 

And when he tried to lift it, something suddenly stopped him. 

As if something was holding his niece back. 

He pulled again, desperate to get out of there and that's when he noticed it. 

The golden chains that wrapped around her ankles and tied her to the bed. 

He felt fury burn in his chest, suddenly understanding Ser Harwin's words. 

“Shit, shit, Rhaenyra, shit.” His niece was still alive, the only indication was the heaving of her chest, but he knew that although Targaryens had greater resistance to fire, they were not immune, and his time was running out. 

He felt his pants starting to burn. 

He could already imagine the blisters and skin peeling off in a few minutes. 

He turned his gaze to the window, eager to see if he could call Caraxes and get out that way, only to stare in horror at the window covered in gold bars. 

He pulled his niece again, but the chain was resistant and he noticed in horror how a trickle of blood fell as he pulled it again. 

He needed the key. 

The fucking key. 

Which he had dropped. 

He didn't have time to search, not that he could support Rhaenyra anywhere, everything was burning. 

He let go of her legs, hating to watch the flames dance over her feet, but he needed to free one hand, he grabbed the pommel of his sword and with strength and precision broke the chain with Dark Sister's Valyrian steel edge. 

Without thinking further he rushed towards the entrance of the passage, now also on fire. 

He ran with his niece in his arms while their clothes were burning, he felt his boots give in at some point and the hot floor caused the blisters that were already forming on the soles of his feet to burst. 

It didn't matter, as long as he got Rhaenyra out alive, it didn't matter at all. 

He noticed with horror his niece's nightgown burning on both of them and he had to stop to take it off, leaving her only with the thin inner nightgown and with nothing else to cover her, until he was almost getting to the exit, when he also had to take it off because it was also aflame. 

He looked morbidly at her breasts stuck to his leathers, his arms were burning, the flames consumed the fabric of his clothes while his leathers were destroyed little by little. 

By the time he reached where the door had collapsed, only his doublet covered him, his pants completely consumed in the fire, he felt in horror his cock sway. 

Gods, he didn't want to burn his dick. 

His golden cloaks had at least cleared the door and the debris was on the edges, but they clearly couldn't take it anymore and had left it. 

He felt anger consume him, how dare that bastard chain his niece! 

He noticed the back of his doublet burning and had to stop to take it off, completely engulfed in flames. His shirt was already torn.  

When they reached the end of the hallway and finally emerged from the flames, there was a small group waiting for them, half of them throwing water in wooden and iron buckets towards the flames that were getting too close, the other half waiting expectantly if the prince managed to get out, either alone or with the princess. 

When Harwin Strong noticed it, it was obvious on his face, he immediately turned around, taking off the cloak that was half burned and launching himself to the mouth of the hallway to receive the princess who was completely naked. 

Daemon was terrified to let go of her, but his arms were about to give out and he felt his legs collapse. 

Harwin took the princess, wrapping her in the cloak and Daemon felt as if he too fell. 

“Luthor!” Screamed Ser Harwin. 

An instant later he felt cold armor rubbing against his wounds as the man helped him walk. 

As soon as they touched the grass of the Godswoods he felt himself collapse, his boiling feet were no longer able to support him. 

“Maester! A maester! Prince needs a maester!” screams surrounded him as he felt himself finally beginning to descend into unconsciousness. 

“Your majesty, Prince Daemon managed to rescue the Princess!”  

He felt panic at that scream, he couldn't fall asleep! He couldn't let them hurt Rhaenyra. 

The ground shook when Caraxes landed on the wall that surrounded the Godswoods; he noticed that it had collapsed under the abrupt landing of his dragon. 

“Give me Rhaenyra!” Daemon shouted, sitting up suddenly. 

The man next to him tried to sit him down again, but Daemon prevailed. 

Ser Harwin still had the princess in his arms, afraid to put her on the floor. 

But seeing his commander desperate for the girl, he approached him, placing her next to him. 

"Luthor, go get my healer, I don't want the maesters near me or Rhaenyra." He demanded when he finally managed to stand up straight. 

A servant approached and handed him an ashen apron. Daemon looked at it with contempt before grabbing it tightly and letting it fall into his lap. 

It was bad enough being naked and burned. Full of ashes.  

He looked at his legs in horror, his feet were bleeding and completely destroyed, burned, bleeding, the burning was as unbearable as it looked. 

He noticed that, on one side, his last two fingers were so mangled that they probably wouldn't be saved. 

The burns ran up his calves, becoming more gradual and lighter until he reached his thighs. 

He thanked the Fourteen Flames because his cock was complete and from what he felt, no burns. 

His arms were not as lucky, just as his feet were burned, his shoulders were burning and his back felt as injured as his feet. 

People began to surround them, trying to help them. 

Daemon took Rhaenyra into his arms, anxious that they would try to take her away from him. 

He wouldn't allow it. 

In a reflex, he brought his hand closer to his waist and realized that he didn't have Darksister tied to him. 

Shit.  

He had dropped it in his rush to get out of the fire. 

He looked at his niece, still amazed at how intact her skin was. 

Where his was blistered, split open, and shattered, hers had only ash stains on it. 

The only injuries were those caused by the shackles on her feet. 

The chains still dragged. 

The King came running, panting and screaming, he was as full of ash as the rest of them. 

His brother’s little slut followed him with a robe wrapped around her dress. 

Several nobles surrounded them. 

One of Lord Baratheon's daughters removed her own robe and approached them, handing it to them carefully and showing on her young face how horrified she was to see his wounds. 

When a maester tried to approach to check them, his dragon's own fury defended them, driving away any intruders. 

As helpless as he felt, he couldn't imagine how much worse Rhaenyra would feel. 

Imagining her waking up engulfed in flames, only to be unable to run, and passing out either from lack of air or pain. 

His brother attempted to approach only to be sent back by Caraxes' roar. 

People surrounded them, too terrified of the dragon. 

But Daemon refused to let go of Rhaenyra. 

Looking in wonder at her beautiful, intact face. Relief was the only thing that allowed him to breathe, relief to see her alive. 

No injuries. No burns. 

His own skin burned raw. 

But he was more terrified of letting go of Rhaenyra, the pain was more unbearable than that of his own burning skin. 

“Daemon!” The screams of his brother trying to get closer were heard like distant echoes. “Daemon! RHAENYRA!” 

Nothing mattered more than the person in his arms. 

“My prince!” Luthor's shout was raised by the shouts of the others. “I bring the healer.”  

“Caraxes. Let them pass, only them.” Valyrian spoke out loud, as much as he sent the feeling to his dragon, he needed the healer, he wanted her to check on his niece, to confirm that she was alive and it wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him. “Come closer, just the two of you.”  

They both took hesitant steps, but seeing that the dragon did nothing but glare at them, they walked towards it. 

“My prince, you are very hurt.” Myrana began, trying to check his bleeding feet. 

“First check the Princess.” His firm tone made the healer turn to see the woman cradled in his arms. 

Carefully, they uncovered the robe and cloak to see that as Daemon suspected, only her ankles were injured. 

“How is that possible?!” Myrana shouted in complete amazement, twisting Rhaenyra's arm in both directions. "Her skin... is intact, I don't even see blisters, I don't understand..." 

“I don't know, I found her chained to her bed, completely engulfed in flames, her nightgown was practically ash.” Daemon murmured, gently cradling her head. “Unburnt.” 

Suddenly screams and chaos erupted again as they saw one of the towers collapse, a chain reaction. They had to get out of there. 

“My Prince, let me take the princess for you.” Ser Harwin approached slowly, looking carefully at the dragon leaning against the collapsed wall.  

Daemon held on to her for a moment longer before nodding as he watched the fire continue to consume the keep, the risk of the stones falling being greater than the risk of the fire at this point. 

Harwin carefully reached down and wrapped the robe around her even more before lifting her up and carrying her. 

Four men approached with a stretcher and helped Daemon lie down on it before lifting it up and walking after Rhaenyra, the gold cloaks had taken control of the city in chaos and a few had set up a makeshift camp on the way to the dragonpit, but they had decided to stay on the fortress grounds, away from the keep and bordering the east side of the grounds. 

The collective effort to put out the fire seemed futile, as they watched the tower burn furiously, as if a dragon was constantly unleashing its fire on them. 

It seemed that every step away from the fortress was one closer to sweet sleep, away from pain. 

Daemon gave one last order before succumbing. “Don't let them take Rhaenyra away from me, I want three guards with her at all times.” He mumbled. 

And the pain overcame him, his mind going black.