THE NIGHT QUEEN'S RETURN: FURY OF RAENAR TARGERYAN

7: LOVE AT FIRST FIGHT

"Mom, did you see these eggs Drogon brought?" said young Raenar excitedly, holding the large dragon eggs in his small hands. Daenerys gently took the eggs from him, and as her fingers brushed against the smooth surface, they began to glow with a soft blue light.

"I only sent Drogon to find eggs," Daenerys said thoughtfully, her voice filled with wonder. She looked at Raenar with a soft smile. "These three... they're like your brothers. They'll be there for you when you need them most."

Raenar's eyes sparkled with excitement, but before he could respond, Drogon let out a low growl and stretched his wings wide, as if understanding the importance of what had just transpired.

Meanwhile, on Bear Island, now under the control of Raenar's men, the night was eerily silent. Ships glided into the shore like ghosts, their sails catching the wind without making a sound. Bran's soldiers moved with the stealth of a hunting cat, creeping onto the island under the cover of darkness.

One by one, the guards stationed around the island were silently butchered, their throats slit before they could raise an alarm. Those who were asleep never woke again, and those who were awake fought valiantly, but they couldn't match the precision of Bran's well-planned assault. Within four hours, the entire island had fallen.

The old sigil of House Targeryan , the proud three-headed dragon, fell from the walls, replaced by the cold winds of the North.

Alcott Mormont, a long-lost relative of the old bear Jeor Mormont, stepped forward, his face etched with sadness. He thanked the soldiers for liberating Bear Island, but his voice trembled with emotion.

"My son," Alcott said, his voice breaking, "he is still a prisoner of Raenar. Please... help me free him."

Far to the south, in the sweltering deserts of Dorne, two figures trudged through the scorching sand. They were covered from head to toe, looking like wandering nomads, but they were none other than Raenar and Baxter, weary from a long and arduous journey.

"I was raised in the ice and snow of the North," Raenar muttered, pulling his cloak tighter to shield himself from the relentless sun. "I've never even seen summer before. How does anyone live in this godforsaken place?"

Baxter chuckled, his face hidden beneath the folds of his headscarf. "The people here are unbreakable. Even Aegon the Conqueror couldn't take this land. You won't conquer Dorne with brawn. You'll need your wits."

Raenar grunted in agreement. "I've heard it's now ruled by Elsa Sand, the bastard sister of Oberyn, after the fall of House Martell. She governs this hot, barren desert now."

After a long day of travel, they finally reached a bustling market on the outskirts of the palace. The air was thick with the fragrance of exotic spices from all over Westeros and beyond. As they made their way through the crowded stalls, they were suddenly intercepted by a young woman. She had lustrous black hair that flowed like a waterfall and eyes the color of deep brown arrows, sharp and piercing. Raenar found himself momentarily stunned by her beauty.

"Who are you?" Raenar asked, snapping out of his daze. "Please, step aside."

The woman smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I know why you're here. Come with me. I'll take you to the queen."

Raenar narrowed his eyes. "How can we trust you? What if you're leading us into a trap?"

She shrugged casually, but her fingers brushed the hilt of a dagger concealed at her waist. "I know a secret path to the palace. If you're brave enough, follow me."

Raenar noticed the hidden blade but nodded, deciding to take the risk. He motioned to Baxter, and they followed her down a narrow, secluded pathway. The market's noise faded behind them, replaced by the quiet echo of their footsteps.

Without warning, the woman spun on her heel, her dagger flashing as she lunged at Raenar. He narrowly dodged the strike, his instincts taking over. Baxter tried to rush in, but she kicked him hard in the head, knocking him out cold.

Raenar drew his own dagger, parrying her swift attacks. She was fast, her movements fluid like a dance, but Raenar kept his focus. He managed to push her back against the wall, pinning her with his body. Their faces were inches apart, both breathing heavily.

"You're skilled," Raenar muttered, his voice low. "But I know who you are. You're Elsa Sand, aren't you?" He glanced at the locket she wore around her neck, the symbol of House Martell-a cobra. "Only a member of the royal family wears that."

Elsa smirked, her eyes glinting. "So you're sharper than you look," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear as she spoke. "I was testing you. I needed to see if you were really Raenar, and if you were capable of convincing me to join your war."

Raenar blinked in surprise. "How did you know who I was?"

She laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down his spine. "Your cheap dye gave you away. Your silver hair is already starting to show."

Raenar's confidence faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained it. "So, did I pass your test?"

Elsa's smile turned wicked. "Not quite." She gestured to his arm, where a deep cut had begun to bleed. "My dagger was coated in a highly venomous poison."

Raenar's eyes widened in shock as the world began to blur around him. "Am... am I going to die?" he asked weakly, before collapsing into unconsciousness.