Chapter Text
196 A.C
What were the Targaryens without their dragons? They had once been conquerors, gods among men. The dragons had lifted them up, and torn them down. That much power in the hands of one family? It was bound to come crashing down eventually.
Now, the Targaryens were just like all the other great houses. It was frustrating, even for young Taeryn. The last dragon had died long before she was born. The remaining eggs turned to stone. Taeryn would sneak down into the bowels of the Red Keep, when the rest of the castle slept. She’d hold an egg up to a brazier, hoping maybe the fire would wake the baby dragon inside. It never worked. Taeryn would later grow to wonder if even if that trick worked, if the eggs would have hatched for her anyway, or if the dragons within knew she was an imposter from birth.
Taeryn was again down below the Red Keep. The dragons may have been gone, but their skulls remained, a testament to their terrifying majesty, a reminder that they did once very much exist. They were kept up on altars, to be revered, even worshipped. Taeryn walked down the aisle, lighting a candle for each dragon. As she moved from skull to skull, they got bigger. Her father had made sure she had learned all their names. Tessarion, Moondancer, Syrax, Sunfyre, Seasmoke, Meleys. She paused in front of the skull of Caraxes, which was much spinier than the rest. That would’ve been my father’s dragon, she always thought when she saw it. She kept walking. Dreamfyre, Silverwing, Vermithor. Vhagar was her personal favorite, a mean old lady of a dragon when she lived.
At the end of the line was the largest of the Targaryen dragons: Balerion the Black Dread. He had been so large, you could ride a horse down his throat and still not bump your head. His skull was surrounded by old candles, melted wax stuck to the stone. Taeryn lit a candle before kneeling down, whispering a soft prayer to herself. Please, don’t make me go. She looked up at Balerion’s skull again, wondering when she would see it again after that day. She wished the dragons didn’t die. She wished her family hadn’t wasted them. If she had her own dragon, she could be whoever she wanted, not what her family told her to be.
Her father had taught her an old Valyrian lullaby. He said that the Targaryens would sing it to their dragons to calm them. Perhaps now it would calm the dragon within Taeryn.
“Drakari pykiros, tikummo jemiros. Yn lantyz bartossa, saelot vāedis. Hen ñuhā elēnī: perzyssy vestretis, se gēlȳn irūdaks ānogrose.”
Taeryn suddenly jumped as she heard footsteps approaching. She turned and saw her father had been standing a distance away, watching her. He came to her side, joining in her song.
“Perzyro udrȳssi, ezīmptos laehossi, hārossa letagon, aōt vāedan. Hae mērot gierūli, se hāros bartossi, prūmȳsa sōvīli. Gevī, dāerī.”
“Father,” Taeryn greeted, looking away from him. He knelt beside her, resting an arm on the black sword he carried on his belt. Grandfather’s sword.
“Your mother’s been looking for you,” her father said softly. “Your ship leaves soon.” He was sending Taeryn and her older sister across the Narrow Sea with their mother, to their mother’s homeland.
“I don’t want to leave,” Taeryn said. She still refused to look up at her father.
“I don't want you to either, sweet thing,” he sighed. “But it’s for the best.”
“Calla and I should stay,” Taeryn went on. “She’s set to marry Bittersteel anyway.”
“Don’t call your uncle that,” her father warned, but kindly. “He has a name.”
“A name everyone forgets,” Taeryn pointed out. She finally looked up at her father as he chuckled. He’s the perfect prince, she’d always think. How can any of us hope to live up to him? “Will I have to dye my hair?” she asked him.
“If you want to,” her father answered. “Tyrosh is a beautiful country. You’ll be safe there, I promise.” Taeryn said nothing, looking at her father’s long, silver hair. Her own was much like his, and she couldn’t bear the thought of ruining it. In the silence, her father placed a soft hand on her shoulder. They both looked up at Balerion’s skull. “No matter where you go, no matter what your hair looks like, you will always be a dragon.” How can I be a dragon if I’m not among dragons? “Can you promise me something?” Taeryn looked up at her father and nodded. “Never deny who you are. You will hear others whisper about us all your life. Their opinions are of no consequence.”
“Stag, lion, wolf,” Taeryn listed after a moment. “The fish of the seas and rivers, the birds of the mountains. The roses in the fields, and even the sun above. The dragon devours them all alike.” Her father nodded. He had taught her that.
“Remember that,” he said.
Heavy footfalls sounded behind them. They turned around as Taeryn’s uncle approached. He was in his armor. He wore it more and more these dark days. He was a gruff man, who took more after his Bracken mother than his royal father. Taeryn was slightly less scared of him than her father’s other half siblings.
“Daemon, they must depart,” Bittersteel said. “The ship won’t wait forever.” Daemon stood, holding a hand out for Taeryn. She took it, and he helped her to her feet.
“I’ll write when I can,” he promised. Taeryn knew there would be no turning back after her father and Bittersteel put their plans in motion. She didn’t quite understand, but she knew the outcome would change her life, one way or another.
“Will I be able to come back?” she asked.
“This glorious land will be ours,” Daemon said. He placed his hand on her shoulder again. “You shall return one day, when I sit my father’s throne.” He gestured Taeryn forward, ushering her towards Bittersteel. She reluctantly walked by her uncle’s side. As they left, Taeryn looked over her shoulder at the dragon skulls, at Daemon one last time.
It was the last time she ever saw the dragons.
It was the last time she ever saw her father.