The Realm's Fright | HOTD S1 | Fem!OC x Aemond Targaryen Fanfiction

Chapter Nineteen

The mare came to a sudden halt before the colossal structure of the Dragonpit, its massive form rising like a mountain from the crest of Rhaenys's Hill. Alysanne’s gaze swept upwards, her eyes tracing the towering dome, an engineering marvel that seemed to pierce the very sky. The Dragonpit loomed like a monument to the past, a reminder of ancient power and bloodshed. It was a fortress built for dragons, a cage of stone and iron. Five times the size of the dragons' lairs on Dragonstone, it was a place where beasts of flame and fury could be kept, contained, and controlled.

Inside the cavernous building, a labyrinth of tunnels snaked through the stone, carved deep into the hill's slope. Forty vast undervaults, each one a monumental arch, were arranged in a great ring beneath the dome, sealed off by enormous iron doors. The outer gates faced the rolling hills, while the inner doors opened onto the arena—an endless expanse of sand where dragons had once soared, their wings casting great shadows over the crowd.

The pit itself, where so much of history had been written in fire, held eighty benches, each one a silent witness to the death and glory of the dragonlords. The main gate was so wide that thirty knights could ride through at once, their armored forms gleaming like silver in the midday sun. The bronze and iron doors, adorned with intricate carvings of long-forgotten kings and queens, stood firm, as if daring any to challenge the power they guarded. Smaller gates, made of oak and iron, were scattered around the structure, their purposes unknown, their presence an enigma.

At night, the Dragonpit became alive with a different kind of energy. The windows would glow with the light of torches and candles, casting eerie shadows over the arena below. And when the dragons were in residence, the air would shake with the sound of their roars, the earth trembling beneath their weight. Alysanne had heard those sounds many times in her youth, the echoes of dragons bellowing into the night, their voices a reminder of the power that once was.

She thanked Addam with a quick nod, the words of gratitude slipping easily from her lips, though her mind was elsewhere. As he turned Seasmoke around and rode off into the distance, Alysanne found herself staring up at the looming silhouette of the Dragonpit once more. The sight stirred something in her—a longing, a hunger that she had buried deep within herself for far too long. She had not come here to revisit old memories, but to confront something far more pressing.

With a deep breath, she set her feet firmly on the ground and began the climb up the winding steps of the Dragonpit. The stairs, steep and unforgiving, seemed to stretch endlessly before her, each step a reminder of the weight she carried on her shoulders. She had grown accustomed to such climbs—having spent most of her life in castles and keeps, her lungs had become strong from the exertion. She had made them so, after all, by holding her breath during long, hot baths, as if defying the very air itself. It was a small comfort, a secret pride she allowed herself to keep.

But it had been seven years since she had done any truly rigorous climbing, save for the occasional ride upon her dragon, and even that had not been enough to prepare her for this. Alysanne’s mind drifted back to her childhood, to the days when she had been the wild child of the realm—the "Fright," as they had called her. She had been feared by the septas, for she had never cared for their songs of knights and gods. Instead, she had listened to the stories of her Northern bedmaid, tales of warriors and wraiths, of battles fought in the cold. She had climbed trees and stolen away to the shores, her heart beating with the fierce, untamed rhythm of the world around her.

If only she had not been so stubborn in her youth, so obstinate in refusing the sword and the training that had been offered to her. If only she had not rejected the idea of becoming the wife of her spiteful little uncle, the very one who had now become a dangerous beast in his own right. But that was the past. The present was something else entirely.