"Beast. Tyrant. Merciless. They whisper these names behind my back. But when I say, I love you, it is not out of desire, nor out of denial. It is not for my sake at all. I love you for what you are, for what you do, for how you fight. I have witness...
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The morning sun rose with a hush, gilding the waters of the Narrow Sea in liquid gold. A gentle breeze danced over the waves, lifting sails and carrying the scent of salt and smoke to the distant shore.
Birds wheeled in the sky, singing their welcome to the day. Below them, a grand warship bore down upon King's Landing, its masts tall and proud, the silver seahorse of House Velaryon snapping in the wind.
Behind the ship, slicing through the clouds, soared a great shadow. The Red Queen.
Meleys, the ancient she-dragon with scales of gleaming scarlet and wing membranes of pale pink, circled the port like a stormbird in heat.
Her copper-bright horns, crest, and claws glinted fiercely in the morning light. Despite her age, she remained swift, cunning, and battle-hardened. No dragon in the realm matched her grace or wrath when provoked.
With a thunderous roar, Meleys swooped downward, wings carving great gusts through the harbor.
Below, the Sea Snake was docking at White Harbor, its oars drawn and sailors securing lines. Meleys landed just outside the Dragonpit's vast outer vaults in a whirlwind of dust and fire. Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was, dismounted, stroking the dragon's warm scales to soothe her.
Dragonkeepers, clad in thick leather and reverent silence, approached. They bowed low to Rhaenys before cautiously guiding the beast into the echoing vaults.
Awaiting nearby was a grand wheelhouse, surrounded by knights and guards in Velaryon and royal livery. Rhaenys made her way to the carriage, composed and regal, waiting patiently until her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon, joined her.
With a nod to the guards, they set off toward the Red Keep, where the King awaited.
The castle gardens stirred with the hush of morning. Leaves rustled in the breeze. Flowers stirred gently in their beds.
Maegor Targaryen descended the stone path leading toward the deeper gardens a place rarely tread by courtiers and whispered tongues. Here, near the maze of marble and green hedges, he could see Blackwater Bay stretching freely beyond the city's chaos.
And from there, he saw the Velaryons approaching.
"Your Grace," Lord Corlys greeted, bowing his head.
"Your Grace," greeted Princess Rheanys.
"Lord Corlys." Maegor smiled, embracing the moment with rare openness. "Princess Rhaenys." He turned to her with more warmth. "I'm glad we could meet. Tempers ran hot at the last council. I want to assure you both how much I value the bond between our houses. Rhaenys, you remain my favorite cousin."
Rhaenys offered a polite smile. Lord Corlys stood firm, his silence speaking volumes before he finally replied.
"I wish to apologize for the tenor of my words, Your Grace. It was not my intent to give offense."
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