Chapter Text
Dragonstone
The breeze rolling in from the sea was ripe with salt, stirring the thick ropes of Rhaena’s hair around her shoulders and sticking damp and cool to her skin. Rhaena took a deep breath, basking in the feel of the seaside. It may be a long while before she returned to Dragonstone.
As she slowly made her way down the beach towards the Dragonmont, she reread Father’s letter, and even the sinking cushion of sand beneath her feet couldn’t diminish the little jolts of excited pride in her every step.
Earlier that day, Jace had called her to the solar, and she had pushed open the door to see her cousin with his cheek squished against his palm, glaring down at the parchment before him.
“Jace?”
At her voice, Jace had looked up, and Rhaena could see him trying to put his face back into a pleasant expression.
“Hey cuz,” he said, sounding tired. He gave her windswept appearance a once-over. “Good ride?”
“Mhm.” Rhaena could still feel the breeze crisp against her scalp. She was still getting the hang of things where Vermithor was concerned, and sometimes he did as he pleased in the air, despite her commands. Still, it felt as if she’d been dragonriding all her life, and she couldn’t imagine now how she’d spent sixteen years of her life without Vermithor taking up half her being.
“Luke and I were just running more drills.” She slipped into the chair across the desk and tried to smooth her hair down, watching curiously as Jace seemed to wince at her words.
“Um…Ser Alfred said there was raven for me?”
“Yes. Right.” He handed her a little scroll.
“Daemon sent this alongside Mother’s letter for me, right before they left for Duskendale,” he explained as Rhaena picked at the little string, cursing her short nails.
“Mother says they’re summoning you to Harrenhal on Vermithor. To patrol the Riverlands against dragon threats. I expect that’s what Daemon’s letter writes of.”
Her hand stopped, and her head shot up.
“They want me there?”
Jace raised a brow.
“Luke still won’t let me tell them about the Cannibal, so as far as they know, you’ve got the biggest dragon among all of us now.” Rhaena felt her face flush with pleasure at that particular revelation. Jace grinned back and shrugged.
“Besides, it seems it’s mostly for the sake of placating the Riverlords. The old mount of King Jaehaerys should more than impress them.”
Jace had explained to her then how Daeron upon Tessarion had become rather an unsettling nuisance to the Riverlords. And when she finally managed to undo the string on Father’s letter, the contents had been mostly as Jace predicted.
“Well, I don’t see how any of this is bad news,” Rhaena had said, narrowing her eyes at Jace. “Why did your face look like that when I walked in?”
Jace heaved a great sigh. He thought a moment before answering.
“Well, I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you. But promise you won’t tell anyone else.”
Rhaena frowned.
“You’re being very mysterious.”
He shot her an intent look.
“Alright, alright. I promise.”
Nodding then, Jace slid another little scroll towards her, this written in Muña Nyra’s hand. The underlined sentences stood out on the parchment, and at once, Rhaena understood Jace’s predicament.
The rest of you are to stay put upon Dragonstone. We have more than sufficient dragon power at Duskendale, and Dragonstone must remain well-protected. Daemon is particularly worried that Baela may wish to come join the battle. As Prince of Dragonstone, I expect you to keep your brothers and cousin safely at home.
“You see?” Jace asked, exasperated. “And Baela’s not even the one I need to worry about most.”
Well, Jace was right about that. Since Luke had claimed the Cannibal, he’d been training as if his life depended on it—which, Rhaena supposed, must be what it felt like.
“Luke wants revenge,” she said, very quietly, and met Jace’s concerned eyes.
Luke had told none of them his plans, but it was plain to see that he intended to fly to Duskendale soon. He wanted to meet Aemond and Vhagar in battle, and he wanted both their heads. And Rhaena didn’t think even her father could dissuade him from that particular drive. This was a side of Luke she’d never seen in all their years living together.
Still, she gave Jace what she hoped was a comforting pat on the hand.
“You should talk to him,” she said. “Wait a few days, plan what you’ll say, and show him your mother’s letter.” She hesitated. “You…you are his older brother, and the queen left you in charge. He’ll listen to you, surely.”
Jace gave her that patronising, ‘I’m older than you and you know nothing’ look. Normally, she would have bristled, but this time, Rhaena couldn’t even bring herself to believe in her words.
“Right,” Jace said, very dryly. “Like you always listen to your big sister?”
And Rhaena had to concede that her cousin did have a point. She certainly didn’t envy Jace his position.
Yet, as she walked along the beach now to find Baela and tell her the news, her concern over Luke melted away in the face of the glowing pride that had nestled behind her sternum.
Again, she reread Father’s letter, grinning to herself at his suggestion that she bring books to entertain herself.
I don’t expect you to encounter any sort of danger, he’d written. Nonetheless, you are not to engage with any enemy should there be one, be that human or dragon. At any sign of danger, you must return to Harrenhal and write me at once.
Alright, so this trip to patrol the Riverlands was not precisely going to war. Still, she was finally going to play a role in Queen Rhaenyra’s cause. Finally, finally, she would not be the only one without a dragon, forced to sit in her chambers, useless to everyone.
It was important, what Father was sending her to do at Harrenhal. He’d written as much, for the Riverlands were an essential base to the war effort going forward. Rhaena was to keep the lords and soldiers feeling confident and secure, and surely that was one of her strengths. Well, most of the time, (not counting Jace’s current predicament).
As she rounded a bend, the soft crunching of footsteps made her look up. Ahead, at the base of the path leading to the Dragonmont, was Addam of Hull, tall and broad, walking with a sack over his shoulder.
Rhaena froze mid-step, a wave of heat washing over her face and ears. And then she stumbled forward as one foot sank sideways into the sand, barely managing to catch herself before she fell flat on her nose.
Hearing her little scuffle, Addam stopped his ascent and turned around. He caught her eyes for a tiny second and immediately looked away. She cursed under her breath.
Rhaena knew full well that she’d been staring at this newfound uncle of hers the moment he’d stepped foot on Dragonstone, just as she knew full well that her staring was becoming a bad running joke for her cousins and sister.
But really, they didn’t have to make such a big fuss over it. So what if she stared?
Addam of Hull was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, with his wide, full mouth and thick brows and heavy-lidded purple eyes that slanted down just so, giving his bold face a touch of softness.
She was allowed to be an admirer of beauty, wasn’t she?
Indignant that the others sought to fluster her by making her talk to him, she’d lifted her chin and accepted the task of conveying Jace’s message about questing the Yronwoods. Addam of Hull was just a beautiful human being who happened now to work on the defence of Dragonstone. It wasn’t as if there was anything improper going on between them. There wasn’t anything going on at all, and there was decidedly no ‘them’ to speak of.
She’d show them all that there was no reason to keep teasing her.
And so, some days ago, she’d marched herself down to the docks.
Addam had been helping some dock hands lift a dingy, and she’d made a point of not gawking at the way his shirt stuck damp to his sweat-beaded skin, showing the outline of his arm muscles bunching as he hauled the boat over his shoulder.
Posture straight and expression schooled to perfect, respectable courtesy, Rhaena had called him ‘Master Addam,’ as formal and business-like as she could manage, and conveyed Jace’s message with not a single stutter. She’d been rather proud of herself for managing to be so normal in the face of such overwhelming beauty, and she’d expected him to react as any normal person would.
Yet as it turned out, this man was infuriating.
He’d seen it was her coming from yards away, and immediately, he’d found everything else around him more interesting than her. The entire time she’d spoken, he’d not once looked at her. Had not once met her eyes or glanced up from his hands or done anything to acknowledge her presence. If he hadn’t mumbled his agreement when she’d finished conveying Jace’s command, she might have thought herself mute and invisible.
In the following days, she’d found herself staring—no, glaring—at him more than ever. Only, now she was not admiring him, but scrutinising, trying to figure out what it was that made her so underserving of acknowledgement. He seemed normal enough when speaking to Jace or Joff or the other men around the docks. Surely it wasn’t just because she was a girl.
And a small, resentful part of her stared now, too, because she hoped it would make him uncomfortable. Uncomfortable enough that he would look up and meet her eyes. He never did. It really was like she was invisible.
Now, on the beach, seeing him react precisely as he did at the docks, her annoyance seemed to bubble over like the Dragonmont. Before she could think better of it, Rhaena was stomping over the shifting sands towards him.
As she neared, she could see the bushy tail of a dead sheep poking out from the sack he carried. Rhaena narrowed her eyes.
“You’re taking that sheep up to the Dragonmont?” she asked, finding she had no more patience for pleasantries with this man.
She knew Addam was going to try and claim a dragon of his own. Jace had invited them to do as much at dinner the night he returned, and he’d later told her it was what Grandfather hoped for.
Addam made a bobbing motion with his head and shoulders, not looking at her, not replying. Rhaena ground her teeth.
“Which dragon are you trying to approach?” she tried again. This time, he had no choice but to speak.
“Silverwing.” A pause. “Prince Jacaerys says she’ll be easiest to claim.”
The flat, broad vowels of his Hull accent sounded like the steady lapping of waves.
Rhaena raised a brow, remembering all she’d read in Queen Alysanne’s diaries. Silverwing was the only tame, riderless dragon left on Dragonstone, but that sheep wasn’t going to endear Addam to her.
“Are you sure that’s going to work?”
“No idea, m’lady. But it can’t ‘urt to try.”
He spoke to the air above her right elbow. Another surge of annoyance.
“You know, you shouldn’t call me ‘my lady’.”
Silence.
Then he threw down his burden, his eyes flickering to her face before looking away again. He showed no real emotion, but there was something brooding and stormy about his demeanour—like a whirlpool at sea, threatening to draw hapless boats into its depths.
“And what should I call ye then?”
“You’re the son of my uncle. And even if Grandfather had not made that clear, a blind man could see that we’re kin. You should call me cousin.”
He made a non-committal scoffing sound and bent to pick up the sack again.
“Ye’re a lady, and I’m a bastard. That’s the truth of it. Doesn’t matter if we’re kin.”
Rhaena felt irritable heat rise to her cheeks.
“Perhaps you should call me niece, then. If you want to be perfectly truthful.” The words were out before she’d had a chance to bite her tongue. The bundle fell again with a thud, and this time, his gaze swung to hers and stayed there, wide with surprise.
Despite it all, Rhaena felt a thrill of satisfaction that finally, finally she held his attention.
“I’m not a fool, you know,” she continued when it became clear Addam was only going to stare. “And Grandfather all but confirmed it to my sister. If my uncle Laenor had any interest whatsoever in women, there’d be no questions about my cousins’ paternity.”
A bolt of anger for Grandmother’s sake shot down Rhaena’s spine, but it was hardly Addam’s fault he was the product of Grandfather’s faithlessness.
Addam was before her in two steps, and up close, Rhaena became sharply aware how much he towered over her. It was a strange feeling, being looked at from this angle. Not many men could do it to her, and the sensation wasn’t at all unpleasant.
And still, he didn’t look away again, the violet of his pupils vivid against the black fringe of his lashes.
“Should ye be sayin’ that aloud, m’lady?” His voice had dropped, and it rumbled through her like summer thunder.
Absently, Rhaena licked at her suddenly dry lips, and when his eyes flicked to her mouth at the motion, a hot flush surged to her cheeks.
Still, she tilted her chin up, refusing to feel discomfited. She had no reason to be.
“Here, it’s only you, me and the sea.” The thought was too thrilling.
He took another step closer, and Rhaena tried not to notice the deep gleam of his chest at the open collar of his shirt.
“May’aps we are alone, niece,” Addam said, his gazing hooking into hers. “But it’s best to be careful. Never know who’s watchin’. Listenin’.”
Rhaena realised she had stopped breathing, but she didn’t know how to start again. All she knew to do was lean in towards the forbidden heat rolling from his body. She couldn’t bring herself to wonder why.
One heartbeat. Two. Three. They were painfully fast, pounding in her throat. When at last she remembered how to draw breath, the scent of him was hot with salt and sweat and a dark musk that spoke of devious, delectable things. Rhaena wanted more. She should definitely not want any of it.
“I don’t see why it matters whether people know the truth. You’re of Velaryon blood either way,” she heard herself say, barely above a whisper.
“And besides, I don’t think dead sheep can talk.”
And the spell was broken. A gust from the sea swirled around them, swirling clothes and hair and dissipating that delicious, forbidden haze.
After a surprised silence, Addam laughed, booming and low, and Rhaena felt her indignant annoyance return to drape her like a worn old shift. Comfortable and familiar.
She didn’t know what had come over her just now, and she did not care to find out, so she made a great effort to avoid looking at the way his laughter ran all the way up to his eyes and revealed two boyish gaps between his front teeth.
Clearing her throat, she smoothed down her cloak and stepped away.
“Now then, uncle, I think you’d be wise to seek my help. Because if you’d done your research, you’d know Silverwing hates lamb.”
~~~
They’d left the sheep in a crevice in the rocks and gone back to the castle to fetch a fat pheasant. Then, Rhaena had led the way up the Dragonmont, Addam carrying both sheep and bird along the ragged path as if they weighed nothing.
As they climbed, Rhaena filled the silence by recounting all she’d learned from Queen Alysanne’s diaries when she had thought to claim Silverwing herself, though she made sure to leave out that bit of history.
And though Addam fell silent once more, the whole way up the mont, she felt his eyes boring into her back as he listened to her every word. He was certainly not ignoring her anymore. This attentive silence didn’t bother her nearly so much.
Outside Vermithor’s cave, her dragon poked his great bronze head out, sensing her presence. She approached him with hand outstretched, smoothing her palm over the hard, mottled skin on his snout, just beside the deep scar that marred his lip.
Vermithor made a growling purr and followed Rhaena out to the rocky clearing. Walking back over to Addam, she bent down for the sack that held the dead sheep.
“M’lady, you can’t carry that,” he protested. “It’s ten stone, easy. ‘Ere, let me—”
“I wasn’t planning on carrying it,” Rhaena scoffed. “And I’d stay back for now, if I were you.”
To her immense satisfaction, he did step back. Wrapping the end of the sack around her hand, Rhaena dragged it behind her back to where Vermithor now roosted, watching them both with curious amber eyes.
She was out of breath having dragged the sack only a few yards, but she certainly wasn’t going to let Addam know that. Tugging the blood-stained hemp back from the dead animal, she presented the sheep to Vermithor.
“It’s not a calf,” she said in Valyrian, stepping aside so Vermithor could sniff it. “But it’s fresh, and you’re not so picky, are you?”
He wasn’t. After another sniff, Vermithor drew back, then let loose a small blast of flame upon the carcass before scooping it into his gaping maw, his wayward, ancient teeth reflecting a dull yellow as he scoffed down his meal. Rhaena grinned, squinting at the hot smoke that still lingered in the air. Sometimes, her dragon very much reminded her of those wizened alley cats she’d seen in the streets of Pentos—brutal in his practiced efficiency.
She turned back to Addam to see that he stared at them with round eyes, no doubt shocked at his first sight of dragonflame up close. Her grin widened. This was the second time she’d managed to stun him this day, and Rhaena didn’t think she’d been this satisfied with herself since that morning when she’d flown upon Vermithor for the first time.
No doubt lured by the scent of roasting meat, Silverwing snaked her sleek head out from the cave as well, lacing the air with the sharp sound of her sniffing. Rhaena gave another rub on Vermithor’s snout, then made her way back to Addam, who had his eyes fixed now on Silverwing’s gleaming horns.
“D’they share a cave?” he asked as she neared. Rhaena raised a brow.
“Didn’t I tell you just now? Vermithor and Silverwing are a mated pair. Sometimes, I come up here to find the two of them coiled together in the cave as if they’d rather be one dragon, not two.”
For a split second, she felt Addam’s eyes on her, and all at once hot blood rushed up her neck to the tips of her ears. In the next moment, he’d turned back to the silver dragon, and Rhaena blinked very quickly, not knowing (and certainly not wishing to know) why it felt like there was fire pricking under her skin.
Behind her, Vermithor let out another grumbling purr, lumbering toward Silverwing, who nudged at his neck.
“Now then,” Rhaena said, sucking in a deep breath to compose herself. “Hold the pheasant out in front of you and approach her slowly.” Addam shot her another glance, then he, too, took in a breath before complying.
“And if she draws her neck back and bares her teeth,” she continued as Silverwing swung her sleek head around to watch Addam, “you’d best jump put of the way.”
Addam shuffled forward, his head held high, fixing his gaze on Silverwing’s eyes as he approached. When he was only paces away, he broke the pheasant’s neck with practiced ease, then laid it on the ground at his feet, allowing Silverwing to sniff first it, then his hands, then all around him.
Slowly, it dawned on Rhaena that Silverwing was paying more attention to Addam of Hull than she’d ever paid to either her or Luke.
Vermithor had come to nudge a Rhaena’s shoulder again, and she reached her arm up around the thick column of his neck.
“What do you think,” she whispered, watching the exchange. “Will he do, my uncle?” In reply, Vermithor dragged one gnarled claw over the ground, half enveloping Rhaena in his leathery wing. Rhaena looked into his old, amber eyes, and if dragons were capable of amusement, she would have sworn that’s what she saw there.
A few moments later, Addam ducked out of the way, and Silverwing roasted the pheasant with a long, slender stream of fire. As she plucked up the charred bird in her mouth, she stopped once more to cast a long look at Addam, who stood still as stone, watching her. Then she slipped back into the cave, and soon, Vermithor followed.
“You can ask one of the dragonkeepers to come up with you once I leave,” Rhaena told Addam as they picked their way back down the Dragonmont. Addam nodded, staring intently at the path before them.
“Are ye bound for somewhere, then?”
“Mhm, to Harrrenhal,” she hummed, not bothering to hide the pride in her voice.
“My father’s summoned me to patrol the Riverlands while he and the queen are at Duskendale.” She turned to him, watching as a bead of sweat slipped down the sloping curve of his nose. He’d appeared so stoic when presenting Silverwing with the pheasant, but now she saw that his whole body seemed to vibrate still with tension.
“Don’t worry too much,” she said. “I think Silverwing liked you, but still, it’s best to have at least one other person present, at least the first few times.”
Again he nodded.
“Is there…anything ye don’t know about dragons, m’lady?” he asked, surprising a laugh from her.
“There’s plenty I don’t know,” Rhaena said. “I haven’t even gotten through half the old dragon books in the library.” She thought a moment. “But it’s alright if you can’t read Valyrian. The dragonkeepers are a font of knowledge too.”
They continued on in silence, and Rhaena found that, in fact, when he wasn’t actively ignoring her, she rather enjoyed the silence around Addam of Hull. And though she didn’t dare walk too close to him, for fear of summoning back whatever strange insanity it was he’d stirred in her on the beach, his presence beside her was large and warm and very steady, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she could grow quite used to this.
Upon the beaches once more, he stopped to take her leave.
“You should come back to the castle to sup with the family tonight,” she said, tightening her cloak against the late-afternoon chill in the breeze. Though Jace had invited him to supper on more than one occasion, Addam had always found reason to beg off.
Sure enough, he said,
“I’d better not. The Martell ships still need fixin’ up. They’re new cogs all, but they took a beatin’. ”
Rhaena frowned.
“New ships? All of them?” Hadn’t Princess Aliandra said the Martells had barely any fleet to speak of? Why would it be that all three ships used to spirit away them were new?
“Aye. I ‘ad a look at the arrow holes on the hull. Those ships've not been in saltwater more than six months.”
Her frown deepened.
“Have you told Jace?”
“I’ll get a report to the prince once I’ve seen all the damage.”
Slowly, Rhaena nodded. Something didn’t sit right about this, but Addam was proving to be a careful, attentive captain, and she’d no doubt that if something was amiss, he and Jace would figure it out.
“Well,” she said, “best of luck with Silverwing.” She smiled up at him, trying to find a balance between politeness and warmth.
At her smile, he went very rigid, then quickly looked away again. Before she could decide what it was that she did wrong this time, he said,
“I uh…thank you, m’lady. For yer help and all. With the dragon.”
Her returning annoyance that he once again seemed to speak to her elbow and not her face loosened her tongue.
“Of course,” she said, unable to keep the edge of her voice. “But once again, you really ought not call me ‘my lady,’ uncle.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, watching as his gaze darted about, almost like he was hiding from her.
“I told ye,” he said, his voice at once gravelly and smooth like the sand beneath her feet.
“Ye’re a lady, a prince’s daughter. I’m just a sailor who got meself promoted.”
“And I thought I told you. You’re of Velaryon blood. That means we’re family.”
She thought there was a hint of colour lightening his cheeks, and when his mouth tightened, his bottom lip suddenly looked so soft that she was possessed by an unhinged desire to trace her finger over it.
That thought shocked her enough to make her choke, and Rhaena very quickly stepped away again, coughing into her elbow.
His head shot up, his eyes now gentled with…was that concern?
“Are ye alright?”
Rhaena blew a frustrated breath through her nose and straightened her spine.
“Yes. Perfectly fine. It’s just getting windy.” She wrapped her cloak even tighter around her self, as if that could put a much needed barrier between her and her demented thoughts.
“Right. If I can’t convince you to come to supper, I’ll take my leave of you here. Goodnight. Uncle.”
And she turned on her heel and stalked back toward the castle, wondering how she could have thought he was anything but entirely vexing.
She’d walked quite a ways before his voice carried to her on the wind. For a moment, she kept walking, but his footsteps crunched behind her, and Rhaena heaved another frustrated sigh before turning around.
As he hastened toward her, she saw him pull something out of his shirt and over his neck.
“‘Ere, take this, would ye?” Stopping before her, he extended his open hand. On his calloused palm lay a little silver pendent stamped with the image of a four leaf clover.
Rhaena looked between his indecipherable face and the pendant in his palm.
“You…want to give me this?”
“Since yer goin’ off to war. It’s good luck, the clover. Keep ye safe, aye?”
Rhaena’s jaw went slack.
“No, but…I…I can’t just…”
Without another word, he reached for her hand and slipped the pendant into it. Rhaena gasped at the searing heat of his skin on hers, heat that shot from his hand straight into her belly, but in a flash, it was gone.
“Look after yeself, m’lady.”
And before she could utter another word, he’d made a quick bow and headed back in the direction of the docks. Too stunned to do anything else, Rhaena stared after his retreating back, feeling the silver pressing into her hand, still warm from the heat of his chest.
She hadn’t any idea how long she stood there, her mind too jumbled to form thought, but suddenly, she was broken out of her haze by a screeching dragon cry so filled with grief she thought it might tear her heart to shreds.
Again she gasped, snapping her head back to search the sky. There, soaring from the southwest, gilded by the yellowing light of late afternoon, was the silhouette of a dragon.
Rhaena squinted as it drew near, harbouring no doubt now that it’s heartrending cries were that of a mourning song. And as it flew overhead, she caught the vibrant rose that tipped its sea-blue wings and spotted the unmistakable tuft of horn at its chin.
It was Seasmoke, soaring in from Driftmark where he had nested ever since Uncle Laenor’s death. But Uncle Laenor had died nearly seven years ago. Who, now, was Seasmoke mourning?