Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 75

Rooks rest

The sun blazed high in the morning sky as Meleys soared above the battlefield, her vast wings beating against the wind, lifting Rhaenys higher over the slaughter below. From her vantage point she saw the clash of steel, the frenzy of soldiers locked in desperate combat, their cries carrying on the air. Directing Meleys downward, she brought the Red Queen into the heart of the chaos.

Below, waves of men collided, armor flashing in the sunlight. The shrill sound of battle rose like thunder, relentless and consuming. With a thunderous roar, Meleys dove, torrents of fire cascading from her jaws. Rows of men vanished in an inferno, screams drowned in the roar of flames. Again and again she struck, burning swathes of the enemy to ash. Victory seemed close, almost within reach. But war never yielded peace for long.

A roar split the heavens, deeper, sharper, unmistakable. Rhaenys blood ran cold. She turned, eyes narrowing as Sunfyre burst from the smoke, golden scales blinding in the sunlight. Aegon. His dragon's fire cut the air, scorching past Meleys by inches.

"Dracarys!" she bellowed, and Meleys answered, her fire colliding with Sunfyre's in a storm of heat and smoke. For a heartbeat, Rhaenys thought she had driven them off—until Sunfyre reemerged from the haze, striking from her blind side. The golden dragon's flames seared Meleys flank, licking across Rhaenys's armor, burning into her flesh. She bit back a scream, teeth gritted as agony spread through her body.

She had two choices—flee or fight. And Rhaenys Velaryon did not flee.

Through the pain she spurred Meleys onward, the bond between them burning as fiercely as the fires around them. They wheeled in the sky, bearing down on Sunfyre, when the air shifted again. A new roar rolled across the field, lower, heavier, and it froze Rhaenys where she sat. From the smoke behind Staunton Castle, a monster emerged—bronze-scaled, vast as a mountain, wings beating with murderous purpose. Vermithor.

Her stomach dropped. She searched for his rider, glimpsing only a shock of white hair, but the face was no kin she knew. A dragonseed. Aenyra's words struck her mind like lightning. Rage and disbelief warred in her chest, but there was no time to think. Vermithor was already upon them.

The bronze beast lunged for Meleys' wings, jaws snapping, and Rhaenys jerked aside at the last instant. The sky became a deadly chase, two dragons hounding one. Sunfyre struck from the side, Vermithor from behind, the air filled with fire and fury.

"Dracarys, Sunfyre!" Aegon's voice rang, triumphant in the chaos. Golden fire swept past, scorching hot, narrowly missing.

Meleys answered with her own fury, flames searing across Sunfyre's face. The golden dragon shrieked, reeling, and Meleys struck like a viper, claws raking into his wing. Flesh tore. Bone cracked. Sunfyre roared, spiraling, dragging Aegon down with him.

Rhaenys did not look away. She hoped he would die in the fall.

But Vermithor was not finished. From the smoke above, he descended with brutal speed. In a single devastating motion, his jaws locked around Meleys neck. The Red Queen screamed, a sound that tore the heavens. Rhaenys felt the shudder through her bones, felt the drag as her dragon's life was wrenched from her. Meleys turned her head, locking eyes with her rider. In that gaze, Rhaenys found her end. Dragon and rider—together, as it was always meant to be.

Meleys's body went limp. Vermithor released his hold, and they plummeted. The wind roared in her ears as the world rushed upward. Through the smoke she caught one last glimpse of Vermithor's rider—their face twisted, not with triumph, but with something darker, something fractured. Hatred, yes, but tinged with regret. It chilled her to the marrow.