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It is foolish.
Her actions.
She knows that and she does it anyway.
Rhaena is no fool, she is painfully self-aware and over-reflective. But she is also sad and there’s a hole in her chest where Lucerys’ laugh once remained. She was not in love with the boy when he died, how could she be? He was so young and pure.
But she had hoped that maybe one day when they were both ready to say their vows that love would come. When he was a seasoned sailor and she a confident lady of the sea. He was good and kind, true and honorable and he would’ve made a fine husband with time. He would’ve made an equally as fine lord of Driftmark given the chance.
Yet he wasn’t. He was dead.
It wasn’t enough for Aemond Targaryen to steal the last living legacy of her mother’s entirely too short life. It wasn’t enough to steal the last living connection of her mother that was meant for her. He had stolen a piece of her past away and now he had taken a promising future too. One of comfort and prestige ruling by her future lord husband and maintaining the legacy of her family. The legacy of her mother which would’ve brought her great honor in death.
He had taken that from her. She had done nothing to him and he had taken so much from her.
It is the devastation from Storm’s End, the word of her betrothed’s death, and the rage that follows that takes her here. It is the deep sorrow that keeps her from turning back.
These caves are forbidden.
She’s been warned against venturing into their darkness since she first stepped foot on Dragonstone at a young gentle age, still waiting for her dragon to hatch. (Any day now, her mother would say. That day never came.)
She had been visiting, a short trip their father had taken them on to visit their ancestral home back before he lost a taste for it. Before they settled in Pentos and before her mother died. When she first touched foot on Dragonstone, she had wandered. Then she had been snatched up before she could even see the rocks of the caves but still, it had called to her.
She wasn’t sure if it called to her now. She didn’t feel entranced she just…ached. For something. For more.
She was a Targaryen with no dragon, all the fire made flesh with no means of releasing the burn that ached within. She was grieving a friend. She was grieving her family and all the loss that awaited them in this senseless war driven by the selfishness of her cousins. She was grieving herself.
Every time Rhaena thought she had found a companion that would be bound to her for the rest of her days, they were ripped away from her. It was cruel and she thought the gods must’ve loved to see her mourn what never was.
It is late and it is foolish what she’s doing.
But Rhaena is lonely.
As lonely as she was when her mother died. As lonely as she was when Vhagar was taken. She had her sister whom she loved deeply but Baela had Moondancer. She could never know what it meant to feel truly alone among their family when she had a dragon bond. She didn’t know what it was like to feel like an outsider who didn’t belong. Like an imposter who blended because by some chance she had been given silver and violet eyes.
Baela did not know Rhaena’s loneliness. Nor did she know what it meant to burn for a connection that had never been there.
The ache is intense tonight and she cannot cry anymore. She won’t.
So she leaves. Leaves her rooms, leaves the castle, just leaves and she doesn’t realize where she’s going until she sees the darkness of a dragon glass cave ahead.
She is far from where she belongs now.
She does not turn back.
She should.
But she does not.
She thinks of her sister and her wild edge always begging for a challenge. Rhaena hopes to will some of her bravery as she pushes on.
She could die.
She does not turn back.
She can’t.
She hears the beast, a deep rumble against the sand as she edges her way down the narrow halls. She walks in the dark without fire to light her way, like a fool. She’s going to die. She does not turn back.
Rhaena almost trips on the steps leading upward to where she should not be.
She does not turn back.
The ache in her chest grows as her eyes adjust to the lack of light. She can feel him, here. His breaths are heavy in the night air and it sends goosebumps up her arms and spine. When her eye manages to make out the shape of the dragon she freezes and the fear strikes through her like a lightning bolt. Her heart is in her throat as it huffs, shifting in the night.
She should run. She can feel the panic building in her chest and she feels afraid. Truly afraid as the beast leans forward, Rhaena gulps when the heat of his breath brushes against her body. When she can hear him breathing so close to her.
She’s going to die because of her loneliness.
But Vermithor does not attack her. Not yet. He continues to breathe and Rhaena does not move. She can’t move. She can’t close her eyes. She can’t do anything. She is stricken by her fear and her eye burn as the regret begins to seep through her skin.
She’s going to die because she chose to be a brave fool.
Then she feels it.
It is sudden and weak, a dull feeling in her chest that is not quite her own. She recognizes it though. The loneliness…the call for companionship after spending so long alone and hidden in the dark. She knows the feeling well.
They called him The Bronze Fury in his day.
Her grandfather rode him. King Jaehaerys. The people speak of him with warmth even now. He and Alysanne were beloved rulers and they rode all over the seven kingdoms. She imagined there was a time when people saw the flap of Vermithor’s wings in the sky and their hearts sang. So beloved by all then and yet here he lies, alone in the dark now.
“I bet you miss the light…the sun…” She whispers and her voice shakes. She cannot hide her fear.
He does not answer. Of course he doesn’t, he’s a dragon, but she thinks he might understand her.
“I bet you’re lonely.” She says it quickly. Because she’s lonely and she wants to know that he understands. “I’m lonely too,” she raises a hand to the dragon before her with no thought behind him. Just the sudden urge to touch him. To be closer.
He is warm beneath her fingertips and she fights a gasp at the feeling of his scales on her palm. Powerful and ancient. She hopes he doesn’t kill her.
“They sing of you in the songs. You and the old king.” She’s caressing the skin warily now and the dull ache in her chest grows. Like yearning.
He can understand her.
“This is no place for a beast of your greatness.” He hisses and Rhaena flinches. But he does not move from her touch. He does not spread his mouth and unleash dragon flames that burn through her flesh and bone. He shakes his head but doesn’t move.
Even in the dark, he is a beautiful creature. She can faintly make out the gold of his skin. He is so large she can only see his head from where she stands.
“The old king is dead…has been for years. I know you grieve him.” She can feel Vermithor’s heartache for his companion who no longer walks this earth. “I grieve too,” she whispers idly.
Her muscles have loosened as she strokes the leathery skin gently. There are tears in her eyes and they fall before she can fight them back. She thinks of the unhatched eggs that lie on her nightstand, she thinks of Luke…she thinks of her mother.
She is vulnerable and sad, the emotion makes her feel small and unworthy.
Perhaps this dragon is taking pity on the pathetic girl who stands before him. Perhaps pity is the only thing saving he-the thought dies before it can fully form as Vermithor pulls away from her completely.
Rhaena feels cold and she stands still. She can feel his presence, looming over her even though she can no longer see him.
This must be what men feel like when they stand before the statues of the seven. But this is real, this god of a dead civilization is real before her.
She’s going to die. The thought is quieter now. It holds less weight. Rhaena’s hand falls as she waits, swallowing thickly wondering what he’ll do next. And then the room is lit ablaze.
The fire pours from his mouth and Rhaena watches in awe as pits on either side of them light up. Vermithor breathes his flame and the darkness is gone. She is no longer cold.
She can see him now. She can see everything. Which includes stars above them and she realizes these caves do not confine him. Not truly. He’s chosen to stay here. All this time. Waiting for a rider.
The cave is more expansive than she thought and Vermithor…he is awe-inspiring. He stands proudly before her and Rhaena can do nothing but look. A smile forms on her lips as she takes in the beauty of this dragon. This large beast that has gone overlooked for far too long.
Just as she has.
He ventures back to her and she watches, her fear forgotten as wonder takes its place. They stare each other down and Rhaena steps closer. Confident and sure as she moves, entranced and drawn to the magic of this being before her. She feels him, in her chest. His heart beating alongside hers as a connection she has waited for all her life begins to take hold. An invisible string begins to form, tying their very beings together.
Her hand touches his snout and both their eyes shut. A silent understanding sounding between them. She is the rider he has longed for since the old king died. He is the dragon she has prayed for since she was a girl.
Their eyes open in sync and she can see in the depths of his black eyes. Deep, soulful, and at ease. She smiles and it only then does the warm wetness of her tears streaming down her cheeks register.
The hole in her chest that mourned for what never was feels so much smaller now. The sorrow and grief are present but not all consuming.
And Rhaena does not feel alone anymore because she stands before fellow fire-made flesh. A companion with whom she is bound.
He is a true dragon of old valyria, one the people will rejoice to see soar in the skies above again.
For the first time in her life, she feels like the pure Valyrian blood her grandfather always reminds her they are.
Vermithor is strong, mighty, ancient, and powerful. He is beautiful and tender and he aches for light just as she does. They are more alike than she ever imagined. He is hers and she is his.
And they are bound.
When he leans down, pulling a wing back Rhaena fights back a sob as emotions overwhelm her.
Then she is laughing like a mad woman as she runs to where he awaits.
There is a saddle and for a moment she feels sad that it’s been there all this time but her sadness wavers when she realizes it's been there for her. It takes time and her dragon is patient as she climbs onto his back. She is grateful.
Only when she is secured, only when he feels her security through their newly shared bond does he stand tall again. Rhaena can feel her heart beating as she takes hold of the reins. His wings flap and her cheeks hurt from smiling.
Then he is flying.
And Rhaena…she is free.