Alicent Hightower raised a bastard - The Stranger's Child.
Except she didn't.
Naenyra looked nothing like the Targaryen beauty that her father expected. She was, as her mother always wished, a Hightower at heart, and how she looked only proved it...
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Having Daeron at her side had only eased spending her years in the Reach, surrounded by new family and widening their circle of friends. Wherever Nyra went, Daeron followed and for the first time in years, it felt like things were right with the world. He was like a shadow, wherever she went, he was close at hand always two steps behind. It didn't matter what it was for, whether they went for breakfast or attended classes, it was usual that both Targaryens were with each other.
Nyra knew that Rosie begrudged it slightly, that with Nyra's actual brother being there, she didn't have as much time with her friend. But the tension and uncertainty over Daeron soon disappeared, and he became a solid member in the group of girls.
The only time they were ever apart was when Daeron was training in the yard and Nyra spent the time with her aunt, the two choosing different skills to master. Nyra loved having her brother there; he was someone to rely on, someone who could relate to what it meant to be a Targaryen. And when they were in the skies, the world below no longer mattered.
She was pleased to see Tessarion had grown, she wasn't quite as large as Dreamfyre had been when she left but she was catching up quickly. Nyra's hand reached out to the cobalt beast, feeling the sharp stab of scales against her palms as she ran them along her neck. The dragon preened, almost smiling with her wolfish mouth as copper spines bristled in the sun. "A beauty." Nyra whispered to her, feeling the darkening eyes of Veraxes behind her as he rose from the grass, a deep rumble echoing from him.
He wasn't used to sharing her attention when it came to dragons, but he always allowed Tessarion to curl up into his side when the night descended. She wasn't used to the outdoors, too spoilt as a Dragonpit baby. The thought had Nyra's lips curling, moving to run her hand along Tessarion's jaw and gently smooshing her nose with her thumb. The dragon withdrew, snorting as the ground began to shake beneath Nyra's feet.
He was a jealous boy, that much she knew. Turning, Nyra glanced up to her dragon. His neck was raised high, his head towering metres above her as his lips pulled back over his teeth and the warm glow began to build in his throat. It was the colour of the Hightower beacon, a vivid green that was nothing but comforting. "If you kill me, Veraxes, you won't get any more goat meat... It'll strictly be cow."
At ten-and-six, she felt like she knew him well. Their years together had only solidified an invisible bond that had bound them from birth. She knew not to smile, that if she dared crack a grin the game would be over for the dragon, and he would be in a huff with her for the rest of the day. He liked to try and intimidate her, but it did little to work.
Veraxes was large, far larger than she remembered any of the other dragons to be in the Dragonpit. His wingspan was enough to shroud half of Oldtown in darkness when he took to the sky, and his height close to that of Vhagar - perhaps even bigger. He had done well out here, thrived amongst the fields and sea of the Reach, and cost a pretty amount to keep him well fed.
