The Dragon's Legacy

Chapter Ninty-Eight

Sly had never seen Dragonstone this silent. It only had been hours since the funeral, yet his absence was felt.

King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had left as silently as they had come to the funeral, with no exchange of words between them and their older sister, the Lady of Dragonstone.

But yet Lady Rhaella and her family remained in Dragonstone.

Sly calmly cracked the door to their— no, now only Lady of Dragonstone's personal chamber, open and calmly walked inside.

She was sitting by the window of their chamber, no candles were burning. She still was wearing the black dress she had worn hours ago, holding to the long black leather coat of his, and his ashes in her other hand.

"Mistress?" Sly said softly.

Rhaena did not turn her toward him. She did not even flinch at the sound of his voice inside her chamber. Rhaena only asked soullessly. "What is it, Sly?"

Sly took a breath in his lungs. "I am leaving Westeros."

He had expected her to stand up, to curse him, to protest, but yet she only continued looking outside of the window, not bothering to look at him or even raise her voice, a voice that once roared and demanded command. Rhaena asked with no emotions, care or shock in her voice to. "Where to?"

"To Yi-Ti... Hoping to rejoin my men whom I left behind, and Empress Amethyst, if she accepts me." Sly said calmly. "It is calling for me."

"Safe travels." Rhaena said as she looked outside of the window.

Sly calmly nodded and turned to leave.

"And Sly?" Rhaena's voice came calmly.

Sly turned and looked at her.

Rhaena turned softly in her armchair, looking away from the window. Her pale lilac eyes were puffy and swollen, but her face calm and less expressive.

"Thank You." was all Rhaena whispered,

But yet Sly felt her thanks into his heart,

Sly looked at the Black Leather coat that was still in her hands, and slowly only nodded softly and left the chamber softly.

As he pushed the heavy oak door open, the chill of the corridor swept over him, and there, standing in its dim glow, was Visenya Targaryen.

Fifteen years old, yet she carried herself with the poise of a Warrior Queen long ascended, same as her great grandmother, Queen Visenya the Conqueror. Her silver hair framed her sharp features, her deep violet eyes colder than the wind howling through the halls of Dragonstone. For a moment, they simply stared at one another. Sly could see Daemion in her—the sharpness, the fire. And yet, there was something entirely her own: an edge that even her father never bore.

"You're leaving." Her voice cut through the silence like a blade. It wasn't a question.

Sly slung his pack over his shoulder and nodded and spoke calmly. "There's nothing left for me here."

Visenya's gaze narrowed. "And what of my father? Thirty years you spent at his side. Is this how you honor him? By abandoning his blood?"

Sly placed his hand on his shaved head. "Your father was my brother in all but name. But he's gone, Visenya. Staying here won't bring him back." Sly said calmly with a hint of coldness.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "He trusted you. He believed in you. And now, when we need you most, you're running to the other side of the world? I heard it what you said. Yi-Ti. Is that what you do?"