The dragon’s hoard Pt. 6
Summary: The Dragon Prince returns to the Freehold.
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen & Ravella Whitmore (OC)
Warnings: Fluff. Smut and horror. Unedited. ESL, please be patient.
Word count: 10k+
Disclaimer: I’ve been preparing for this since before they went to the Wall. Apologies for taking so long, but I needed time to make this right (every word I typed, I hated and started from scratch several times). I hope it’s worth the wait.
***
Ravella looked down at herself and smiled in silence — fully dressed, in the blue gown Aemond liked so much, the same one she’d worn the day she was kidnapped, modified to make up for the piece she ripped off to make him a makeshift eyepatch. Getting married made one of those nightmares of being naked in public recurrent. They made love almost every day, and when either was too tired for that, they found relief in snuggling together, skin-to-skin. He’d ripped to shreds enough nightgowns of hers that, one day, Ravella simply decided to cease buying them.
Except for the see-through black silk one she’d found in the city and still had to wear. That would drive Aemond mad, she thought with the pleasure of a woman well-loved.
The Red Keep was oddly silent. She couldn’t find Aemond, Helaena or Alicent anywhere. Rosey had faded from view, probably accosted by another servant. The Small Council chamber was empty, as was the Throne Room, where the Iron Throne, like a single rose in a lifeless garden, commanded attention.
Every hair on her body stood on end, the sight of the throne, envisioned by Aemond’s ancestor and forged by dragon’s breath, disturbing as very few things had been in her life. She turned to leave, but as she tried to walk away, the doors to the room closed with a loud bang.
The candles lighting up the room were snuffed out by a fast, chilly gust of wind, one by one.
The sensation that she had to get away intensified. Reaching out in the dark, squinting against the shadows? that didn’t let her see her hands she held out, she took a step forward— and screeched. The ground was falling beneath her feet.
She jumped back, and the falling seemed to stop. She raised her head, trying to see — nothing. Down below, hundreds of leagues down, ran a river of molten lava, a bright red gash that bubbled and blasted. She could feel its heat, but the toxic vapors couldn’t reach her, so she let out a sigh of relief, clutching harder at the thing between her fingers.
It was pitch-black, so she couldn’t rely on her eyesight, but she knew, without being told, she was holding a weirwood seed on a hand.
And a sharp shard of obsidian on the other.
A gasp escaped her mouth when something exploded with a loud crack above her head. A candle. Then another, and another, until the throne room was, once more, cast in light.
Only there was something wrong about these candles, and moreover, about the lights. The candles weren’t the white beeswax found everywhere, including hers and Aemond’s quarters, but glossy black points that looked a lot like obsidian… or Vhagar’s teeth. She really felt the ceiling would close down on her, as if she were a tasty piece of meat defenseless in a ravenous mouth. And the flames—
“Ravella,” she heard a woman’s voice. It was a sweet voice, and made her want to cry, it was so full of heartbreak.
Someone walked behind her. She whirled around, but found no one.
“Who’s there?” she shouted. Her voice echoed around her. Though nobody answered back, the flames became bluer, the light-gold of them disappearing completely.
She shivered at that, and glanced back down once more. It didn’t take a peek to become more frightened — the lava was equally blue. Only, now it didn’t bubble up and explode, but climbed over the bared stone of the ground, dripping upward. A stream of it reached the soles of her feet, and she jumped away. Her toes would freeze.
Or they would burn, she didn’t know. It was too cold. She hated the cold.
“Ravella, go!”
She quickened her steps, running toward that beloved voice, the river of ice closing in on her heels. Of course he’d be near the throne — her dragon prince took pride in being a dragonrider, and felt right at home wherever dragons had been. The Iron Throne had been forged by a dragon, perhaps it still carried the memory of Balerion’s fire.
Why wasn’t the ice melting?, she thought, hysteric. Aemond was hot, because of the dragon blood running in his veins. “Aemond, I can’t see!” she shouted.
He laughed — the sound echoed around her, mocking and… but his hand shot out of the darkness, and closed around hers, so she couldn’t bear to be irritated by his derision, or frightened anymore. He’d make it better. He’d find the way out and fight all the way back to safety, as he always did.
In her frenzy to hold on to him, she let go of the weirwood seed.
“I can’t—” the sudden brightness made her blink. Her eyes tearing up threatened to blind her; even her tears were cold.
“What— Aemond, what’s happened?” His lips were an unbecoming shade of gray-purple. It remembered her of rancid wine. Old blood.
Death.
She ignored that.
“Aemond?”
He smiled, and the smile looked like a garish cut, but blood didn’t seep out. “Let’s find the way,” he held out a gloved hand when she took a step back. The icy river didn’t bother her anymore. “Come with me, Ravella — it’s just a bad dream.”
Truly, that’s what it was. One of those nightmares that started out as a perfectly pleasant dream and changed directions once the dreamer got comfortable.
This Aemond wasn’t her Aemond, but she took his hand anyway, because Aemond would never hurt her. He’d always protected her from anything that wasn’t the lashes of his tongue — and in that regard, she gave as good as she got. Her nightmare wouldn’t turn him into a monster. Mind made up, she bent and retrieved the weirwood seed, holding it between tense fingers that were also holding the dagger.
Something creaked and broke beneath her foot when they began climbing, Aemond leading the way. From this place, his hair looked almost white. She forced herself to smile up at him when he turned to peer at her, his hand as cold as a block of ice around hers. His eyepatch broke apart due to the cold and fell, and though her heart threatened to stop when the sapphire in the eye socket all but exploded in a cloud of blue dust — could sapphires even do that? —, to be substituted by a bright blue flame, she did nothing. Nightmares about the Wall were a constant in her life since the day she and Aemond had faced the Others.
Aemond had fought. She had fled, like a coward. Now her mind was playing tricks on her.
“Please, stop,” she asked when the skin on his left cheek came undone, flaps of it falling over his shoulders and exposing decomposing flesh. “Aemond?”
“Shh,” he smiled again. The right side of his face remained intact, and the left was a ruin, but it more expressive. She didn’t care for what she could read on his face. His single eye — still purple — spoke more than it usually did, and the words it had to say were terrifying.
“What’s this?” she asked when another large rock broke beneath her foot.
“The path we must walk in my dream,” he spoke, and she realized the smile on his face wasn’t a smile, but a muscle spam that had literally frozen in place.
She arched a brow, looking straight up ahead over his shoulder. The Iron Throne loomed in the distance. Of course it was his dream — the crown, the confirmation of his worthiness. Aemond’s elder sister was the heir to the throne. Then came his older brother. His other sister, if King Viserys’ decree was to be followed. Aemond should come next, but all his siblings had children of their own. He wasn’t the fourth in the line of succession anymore, but the… she scrunched up her face, deep in thought… the thirteenth?
The number made a shiver run down her spine, but she didn’t know why — couldn’t remember why, and didn’t want to.
Not being acknowledged hurt Aemond’s pride. So, naturally in his dreams he had the throne. He had complete dominion over everything.
From this spot, Westeros was at the center of the world. She couldn’t see in details, but its lights shone bright. Every single one was as blue as the one burning on Aemond’s face, or on the candles.
“Where’s everyb—?” She let out a little scream when the rock underneath her sole gave away. Covered in frost, it made her stumble and lose her footing. Air rushed out of her lungs from the surprise.
It turned into a scream when she looked down, staring at Aemond’s mother. Only, instead of the usual dark hazel of Alicent’s gaze, the warm light-gold of her skin, Ravella could only see equally blue flames, blood running down her mother-in-law’s cheeks. “Go away,” the head moved to stare at Ravella, even though it was unattached from the neck.
She was trying to get away, but Aemond dragged her up, and she looked down. Her feet were bloody. She wasn’t stepping on rocks, but on heads. Though they were maimed, she could identify them: Alicent — the voice calling out in the darkness and telling her to go away was Alicent!, her mind screamed —, Helaena, Aegon, Rosey, the King… Everyone. They were all heads, and there were things scrambling in the dark.
“W—?”
“My dream,” the Aemond-who-wasn’t-Aemond said.
“A nightmare,” she tried to get away, and run down the stairs. Ahead, the Iron Throne changed, the dragon-blackened blades that made it the Iron Throne turning into ice. The Others’ swords. “I want no part in this.”
“You do. You love me.”
“Not you!” she yanked at him.
“Me,” he laughed and tossed her around. “It’s cold, Ravella. Warm me.”
His voice made her open her eyes. The man in front of her was the one she loved. His head was tilted to the side in concern for her, though the veins showing through his skin, a sign of his own coldness, gave away Aemond was out of his element. His sapphire was normal, instead of that distressing flame. It wasn’t an Other staring at her, wearing Aemond’s face, but her husband.
She didn’t stop to think. She brought his head down, her fingers clenching at his hair so she could kiss him, willing every shred of her warmth onto him.
The first time, it was Aemond warming her. Now it was her turn to repay the favor. No one and nothing would take Aemond from her, not even the Others in a nightmare.
His lips were almost freezing when they ran down her face, to her neck, but she didn’t care. She was burning. They would generate enough heat between them, she knew — they’d done this before. His hands were equally cold as they undressed her, though she remained strong. It wasn’t his fault. Her own hands ran down his skin, and she smiled in delight at the warmth spreading on his chest and back.
Something moved to her left, and she looked. Two children stared at her — both of them had the same Valyrian looks as Aemond, but the boy had several black tresses that, mixed with the pale-silver, made his hair appear pure silver. And he looked much younger than his companion. Physically, they were about the same age, but the girl, with hair of pure pale-silver, had an aura that made her look more experienced. As if she’d lived — and died — a thousand lifetimes in spite of her young age.
Aemond seemed oblivious to them. He ignored Ravella’s attempts to push him away. They couldn’t make love in front of children. “Aemond, look—” her voice went silent when she saw the blood covering him, steam rising in the air.
Her blood, from a cut on her palm.
“No!”
“Ravella, what’s taking you so long?” the girl asked, a thousand screams in her voice. Suddenly, she was much closer, and Ravella saw the worms wriggling their way out of her pores, falling all over Aemond’s back. Fumbling with his breeches, he didn’t seem to care.
“Stop,” she punched at his shoulders. “Aemond, look! The worms!”
Bastard looked down and smirked.
“Help me,” the girl said close to her ear, bending down from pain. Her skin boiled all over. “You have to save me!”
“I can’t,” Ravella whispered. “I want to. But I can’t.”
She couldn’t save herself. Nor could she save Aemond.
“You must. Please. It hurts,” Aerea Targaryen pleaded, then let out an eardrum-bursting scream before her eyes exploded in her skull.
“You! Help me!” Ravella asked the other child. The one with white-gold-and-black hair, so similar to those of Aemond’s cousin the Princess Rhaenys.
“I can’t. It isn’t time yet. Soon,” the boy said with a sad smile that made his eyes glint. It was when Ravella realized they — both of them — were made of gemstones, like Aemond’s, though the boy could see her. How was that possible if he was essentially eyeless?
Before she could ask, a gust of wind swept over him, taking him away with a whisper of sound.
Her guts in knots, she tried to reach out and hold on to him. Seeing that boy go… it was like losing a limb. Her fingers closed around the mountain of crackling bones that used to be Aerea Targaryen, and clamped shut. On the ground, defenseless against that monstrous version of Aemond, she couldn’t help anyone. She couldn’t even fight when he spread her legs open, his cold fingers all but freezing her flesh.
“Stop,” she said, but lacked the strength to make him pause. “Please, stop.”
“Why?” he lifted his head to peer at her. A heavy crown studded with diamonds perched on his brow, reflecting the glint of the flame in his eye. “Kings need queens,” his hand found the flesh between her legs, and she shouted with revulsion. He was so cold.
“Who are you?” This wasn’t her Aemond. He would never hurt her. This man wearing his face looked like him, but he wasn’t Aemond. Not even the Aemond he’d been before they fell in love.
He smirked. “You know.”
She shook her head, denial making her try to slide out from underneath him. But no matter how hard she fought the words, she knew he was telling the truth — the black leathers he had on, that fucking bloody cursed number… the blue lights shining in his eyes… the crown. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” he tilted his head, the crown remaining in place. With a smirk, he quoted Ravella’s old nursemaid, “He stalked her and found her and loved her. The night king and his corpse bride,” his lips found hers; when they brushed against her mouth, she screamed in pain. “My dream, Ravella.”
“No!”
“Yes,” his cock was erect. Looking down, she realized the hardness wasn’t a result of excitement, but of pooled blood — the shaft black, the rest of his skin a pure white that looked like the Wall under the snowy sky. He pushed into her, and she froze. His smile widened, while she grew more frantic beneath him.
She was giving in to despair, but then she remembered. “I don’t want this.”
“You love me,” he gave her a quizzical glance.
“I love Aemond,” she corrected.
“Aemond is dead. You will see things my way,” he promised with a deep, almost ecstatic smile, bringing a crystal-like shard down, aiming it at her eye.
Before he could twist it home, she raised her own arm, sinking the rest of the obsidian deep into his empty eye socket. His agony-filled scream was still echoing in her ears when she was roused to consciousness.
***
“RAVELLA!” Aemond shouted in a desperate attempt to wake her up. She was screaming loud enough to bring the Red Keep down.
After a particularly forceful shake of their bodies, she opened her eyes. “My love,” he breathed, bringing her closer so he could kiss her brow. “What did you dream of?”
He tried to soothe her, his heart splinting into a million pieces as she sobbed against his chest. Someone knocked on their door. “Don’t leave me,” she asked, desperate.
“I won’t, butterfly. People are worried about you. I’ll just send them away. I’ll be back,” he kissed her brow again, and naked, left their bed. He strode to the door, but didn’t mind about a robe, the eyepatch or the sapphire.
“What’s Ravella screaming about?” his mother demanded as soon as he yanked it open.
He looked around. His family was assembled on the corridor, as were some bystanders. Even his father was there, Berry close, looking like an extra limb as he stood between Viserys and Rhaenyra. The sight of the black hole on his face made more than one person recoil and sneak away.
“Ravella’s had a really bad nightmare,” he forced himself to be calm. “She needs me right now, Mother.”
“Should I send for a cup of sweetsleep—?”
He shook his head. He was grateful his wife and mother loved each other like family, but right now, Ravella needed a tranquility the concoction wouldn’t offer. He’d spend the rest of the night awake to make sure she didn’t have nightmares. “Thank you, but she won’t take it.”
A child cried out loud. Aegon glanced in the way of his children’s room, where his sister-wife Helaena and an army of nannies had to be trying to lull them back to sleep. “They woke up with Ravella’s screams,” he held out a hand, rubbing at his eyes. “I know she didn’t mean it. Tell her to speak to us tomorrow, will you?” With that, his brother walked away, everyone who wasn’t a Targaryen following.
“I’ve convinced her to drink a cup of wine,” Alicent announced, having using his brief conversation with Aegon to slip into the room. Aemond took the robe she handed him, and put it on out of their sight. “If she gets worse, don’t hesitate to call,” she instructed.
“I promise, Mother,” he nodded and, satisfied they were going away — his father helped back to his chambers by the Cargyll twins —, glanced down at Berry. “Was it a nightmare or a vision?”
“Both,” Berry replied with a troubled frown. “Even dreams carry a hint of reality to them, Dragon Prince. Go stay with her.”
Aemond sighed. “Good night, Berry,” he closed the door behind himself and went back to Ravella.
She was wrapped up in three blankets, but still naked beneath them. He could see only her head and a hand, which was clutching at an empty cup. He took it from her. “Tell me,” he asked.
She took a deep breath. “Call me your little butterfly.”
“Little butterfly, you worried me sick,” he kissed her cheek. “Please, tell me what happened in your dream.”
“… you were dead. It was horrible,” her voice was calm, but there were tears running down her face.
Weary, Aemond sat on the bed and reached out for her. He needed the comfort only she could offer, too. Wordless, she sat on his lap, blankets and all, hugging him by the waist.
“I have nightmares about the north, too. Flashes of memories that don’t belong to me,” he was forced to confess. Ravella didn’t know of the moments he was startled out of a restless sleep, hand clutched around the staff… only the lack of the bright-red glow on the obsidian blades made him rest tranquil — that, and the sensation that came from taking her into his arms so she’d be safe.
The wounds given him by the Others were taking a while to fade. Orwyle had said they were healing slow, and once they did, would resemble burns instead of stab wounds. And yet, in his dreams, Aemond sustained more injuries than the ones he had, and they weren’t his — he had to remember the entrails being cut out and steaming in the cold weren’t his, but of a nameless wildling not much older than him; that the head being separated from the neck with a quick, sharp swing of an ice sword couldn’t be his because it would be impossible to look down at his own decapitated head; that it wasn’t him falling to the coldness, smiling weakly as it spread all over him and froze his blood in his veins until his feet and hands turned as black as his and the other crows’ cloaks, because he’d added extra lumber to the fire, for Ravella hated the cold, and men of the Night’s Watch couldn’t take wives.
But then, he shouldn’t get up in the morning and have strange bruises on his body.
Ravella believed the bruises had been made by her hands when they made love, but he knew better. Too bad what he knew defied reason. He tried to find logic in what happened, but when no maester, not even his father’s elderly Archmaester of an uncle could give him answers, he tried to find reason in faith. Another failure, to the point that not even Berry was of much help. All he could tell Aemond was that his ‘third eye had opened’, which always made Aemond smirk — he still had only one eye.
“What’s happening to us?” Ravella asked.
“I don’t know,” he had to be honest. “I was thinking of searching for answers on the library of Dragonstone. Maybe then we’ll be able to—”
“We won’t,” she shook her head. “I’ve been having nightmares since we came back. There’s a girl with silver-gold hair and purple eyes, thin as a corpse, screaming at me to free her. She’s being eaten away by an army of maggots. Their teeth bring forth her blood, and it boils as it runs down her flesh, making her scream in agony. In the beginning, I thought I was just impressed. I thought it’d fade. But as the days have passed, she started to stare at me, asking what was taking me so long. Her tone was that of a person who holds me accountable for her suffering. I’m the only one who can see her, so I’m the only one who can save her. She’s in hell though she did nothing wrong,” she inhaled. “Aemond, I can’t bear to think of that girl trapped in agony for another second. I can’t.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want to find the people who hurt her and kill them,” her voice broke, and she covered her face with both hands.
“Me too,” he confessed. Not knowing what to do, Aemond embraced her. He wanted to find Aerea’s killers as well, but that would be a fruitless search. Aerea Targaryen’s had died almost a hundred years ago. The people who’d hurt her had to be dead by now.
And they weren’t the Others. Even if they could give the young princess justice… the Others were still lurking up north.
“And there was a little boy…” Ravella’s body rocked on his lap. “A sweet little boy who smiled when he saw me. He wanted to help me, but couldn’t.”
He took a deep breath. “Maybe… I think we’d benefit from a trip. Some time away could do us good,” he wasn’t entirely sold on the idea, but he couldn’t bear to see Ravella like this. His beautiful butterfly should soar, see the beauty in the world, not the evil of the Others or whatever danger lurked in her nightmares.
Visions, he corrected himself after thinking back on Berry’s words.
“I’ll work out the details, hm?” he kissed her brow. “Vhagar and I should meet our homeland, don’t you agree?”
***
There was a certain rancidity to the air as Vhagar dove in a circle looking for a place to land. The smell didn’t improve when they finally made it down, at the edge of what could generously be described as a forest.
Aemond descended first, sword in hand as he swept his gaze around the dark-green woods. These woods weren’t normal; the trees didn’t have that rich green color due to nature, like the sentinel trees up north, or the luxuriant greenery found in the reach or the kingswood. These trees were wrong.
Twisted, a voice deep in his mind supplied the definition. And not twisted like the Nightfort’s weirwood, which Ravella vowed canalized the magic that had built the Wall. No, everything here was a deformation of nature.
But then, they were on the outskirts of Valyria.
He was an idiot for letting his own fear talk him into bringing his wife here. It was bad enough he’d come, but to bring Ravella? Unforgivable. And yet, leaving Westeros had worked wonders on her disposition. First, they spent two weeks at the Park, which she’d solely missed. Then, upon his father’s request, they flew to Pentos, where they spent three days before setting off for Braavos. It was Aemond’s opinion that the Crown didn’t need to send an envoy to the Iron Bank, however, his disgust was due to having to leave Vhagar behind. Braavosi disliked dragons.
“How far into Valyria is this place?” Ravella asked from his right.
“We’re on a strip of land between Mantarys and Elyria,” he looked at her. “Elyria’s built on an island. This place is part of the Valyrian peninsula, but not part of Valyria itself.” At least, he thought so. The map he’d consulted was very old.
“I imagined as much,” she grinned. “I don’t see monsters.”
He didn’t smile back. “There are rumors of Mantarys being overrun. I wouldn’t give them credit, because the people of Westeros are—” he shrugged. In their countrymen’s minds, everyone who wasn’t from Westeros was a monster; even the wildlings were, if not deformed, then close to it. “That was before, though. We’ve landed because Vhagar needs to hunt. We’ll go to Volantis.”
“Is it too far?”
“Two hours or so. It’s to the west,” he grinned when she groaned. “I want to see the Black Wall.”
“And…?” she wiggled her eyebrows.
“Father wants to know if his aunt Saera lives. She’s one of Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s youngest children, not too older than Father. He wants to welcome her back into the family fold or something.”
“Aemond,” she scowled.
“I’m sorry, I can’t pretend bad ideas are actually good. Saera has spent years away of her own volition. Bringing her back would only muddle the waters further.”
The woman had at least three bastards. What if his gullible Father’s offer of friendship was met with a demand for dragons for her children? Viserys wasn’t strong enough to say no. And if Saera and/or her children had ambitions… things would get bad.
“I liked going to Braavos,” Ravella said instead.
“Me too.”
“I understand the need to leave Vhagar behind, but I missed her. I’m unused to traveling on horseback, and that’s your fault,” she laughed.
He’d let her blame him for every woe that befell the world as long as that smile remained pasted to her lips.
“Vhagar is returning!” she said suddenly, pointing.
Aemond bit back a smile when his dragon landed, dropping a huge shark on the ground between them. With her snout, she pressed at it, then stared at Ravella with intent. “What… Aemond, does this mean?”
His shoulders shook as he wiped at his lips. “Vhagar is feeding you.”
“No!” she covered her mouth with a hand, but there was a look of absolute adoration on her face. “Is she? For real?”
“Yes, for real. She—” he frowned. “Vhagar sends me images of eggs. I don’t understand why, but she wants you to eat. She knows you like fish.”
“My sweet, beautiful, Vhagar…” Ravella said, exchanging Valyrian and the Common Tongue so the old dragon would know her efforts were appreciated. Closing her eyes, Vhagar grumbled, ecstatic. She let out a stream of fire when Aemond directed her to, heating up the meat and cooking it enough for Ravella to eat.
Satisfied to see Aemond’s mate partaking of the offering, his dragon clamped her jaws shut around the shark, all but inhaling it.
“Needs some herbs,” Aemond said, swallowing.
“Yes, but we can’t break Vhagar’s heart,” she agreed, holding up a canteen. “Water?”
He shook his head. “Thank you.” Any more water and he’d have to delve further into the forest. He didn’t trust to leave Ravella for even a second, even under Vhagar’s guard, not in this place. He’d wait until they got to Volantis.
Once Vhagar was done eating, he took the time to watch Ravella play with her. It warmed his heart — dragons knew the souls of their riders, was what his Father had said several years ago. He didn’t remember why, but Alicent had grown calmer, as if assured. Aemond remembered the words because of his mother’s reaction; the queen didn’t like dragons, so she shouldn’t look so pleased.
Because of that soul-bond between him and Vhagar, he knew what he felt for Ravella was reflected on the dragon. Vhagar saw her as his mate — Viserys even insisted she’d picked Ravella for him. Berry agreed in parts — they were mates brought together by the gods. His dragon could feel it and acted accordingly.
Another vision of an egg flashed in his mind, and Aemond looked up. Vhagar was blowing hot air in Ravella’s direction, but her eyes were fixed on him. With a grin, he nodded. Let Ravella connect the dots herself. He’d love to see her face when she realized Vhagar wanted to be a grandmother, perhaps to the point of laying a clutch of eggs herself, something she hadn’t done in decades, since his grandfather, Prince Baelon, lived.
This wasn’t the right time for children. He knew that. Only, there was a yearning deep in his soul… he wanted everything. The sun and the moon. It was selfish to satisfy his desires knowing what waited for them, how dangerous things were. But he wouldn’t lie to himself. And Ravella wanted children as well.
His lips curved as he watched his wife play with his dragon, and he admitted to himself that her wishes mattered more than his misgivings. Ravella ached for a baby, and Aemond had vowed to give her all her heart desired.
***
Vhagar’s arrival caused an uproar amongst the Volantene. Ravella laughed when the dragon perched upon the great Black Wall, a stone-like structure forged from dragon fire, was thicker than the walls guarding Storm’s End. She could picture dragons flying over the city and landing here. Back then, before the Doom, the air must’ve been hotter and drier. Vhagar looked like to be sucking off moisture into herself, but that was fine. Ravella enjoyed the heat.
She took Aemond’s help to dismount. He kept her firmly tucked between himself and the dragon, and she knew, from previous experiences, that Vhagar would attack and then move to protect her if necessary. She hoped it wasn’t. She loved the dragon, but didn’t look forward to getting reacquainted with the hot, slobbery interior of her mouth.
A low warning sound came from the back of Vhagar’s throat when three people approached. The older man’s eyes were wide. He and the woman were of Valyrian descent — they had the common traits, and she couldn’t help but wonder if, like the majority of House Targaryen, the Volantene also committed incest —, but the other, dressed all in red and with several flames tattooed on his face, was a red priest. A shiver ran down her back. Of course the worshippers of R’hllor would come. Dragons were fire made flash, and the red priests worshipped fire.
“Prince Aemond Targaryen,” the light-haired man said, accent thick. “Welcome to Volantis. I’m Tessario Edoryen. This—” his lips curled when he glanced at the red priest, “is Alios, the High Priest of the Red Temple.”
“Well met, good men,” Aemond replied, charming and diplomatic. “This is my wife, Lady Ravella.” The men bowed, and she nodded in acknowledgment. Better to let him do the talking. “We’re on a honeymoon of sorts, and I hoped to be able to meet my great-aunt, Princess Saera?”
At that, the woman laughed, voice full of derision. “What do you want with me, child?”
Ravella blinked. The woman didn’t look older than King Viserys. She didn’t look younger, either. It was like she’d frozen in time in her mid-40s. Well, except for her hair. It was fully white, no hints of that Valyrian silver. There were very thin lines of displeasure around her eyes and mouth while she all but scowled at Aemond, but that aside, Saera Targaryen was a very beautiful woman who didn’t look her age.
Aemond ignored her rudeness. “Princess, I have questions I’m afraid only you can answer,” he said in the Common Tongue.
“Do you, now?” Queen Alysanne’s last living daughter asked with a smile, venom under the sweetness.
“Yes. If you could spare a few hours of your time, of course.”
The princess watched Ravella. Then, seeming to dismiss her, snapped something to the men. Tessario Edoryen nodded and bowed, walking away after saying something in High Valyrian. The red priest did the same, though he didn’t bow — he addressed Aemond, but his gaze was fixed on Ravella.
“Naturally, the religious fanatic liked you,” Saera said with a roll of her eyes. Perfect eyes the color of amethysts. Like the boy’s, Ravella thought, recalling her dream. Picturing the boy again made her heart skip a beat. She watched Saera’s eyes go up, past them. “My mother hated this beast.”
“Whatever Queen Alysanne felt for Vhagar, it didn’t stop Prince Baelon, my grandfather, from claiming her. Silverwing and Vermithor—”
“Do not speak of them to me!” the Princess snarled with a hand imperiously held out.
That was… interesting. Ravella thought of everything she knew about the children of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. Sadly, there wasn’t much to be known about Saera, since she’d left Westeros before she was twenty and never returned. Everything they knew of her came from gossip made by sailors or foreigner dignitaries.
“As you wish, Princess,” Aemond acquiesced. “Are you going to talk to me?”
“And your wife, is she mute?”
“Not mute, merely not a Targaryen,” Ravella replied.
Saera showed her teeth. “Are you a Stark? A Blackwood?”
“I’m a Whitmore of—”
“I know,” again with the dismissive hand gesture. “I knew you had First Men blood in you. You smell of it, girl.”
Ravella burst out laughing. “Are you trying to offend me, Princess? Because, if you are, at least I don’t get lost while explaining my family tree to anyone. I know exactly where it begins, since it isn’t a circle.”
Beside her, Aemond stiffened — she couldn’t tell if he was offended or enraged at her flippancy.
After a minute of stunned silence, Saera burst out laughing. “To have met you when I was younger!”
“I’m relieved you didn’t,” Aemond mumbled under his breath.
Lips twitching, Saera said, “I might be willing to speak to you, nephew, if I like the answers to some questions. Is your father still a dimwit?”
“As much as I wish to say he’s matured with age, he didn’t. Yes, he’s a dimwit,” Aemond said, ignoring Ravella’s gasp.
Saera nodded. “He was more Alyssa’s than Baelon’s, you know. My brother shared his nature with me. He wouldn’t have fathered a weak-willed, dimwitted child like your father,” she looked up, sounding wistful. Ravella blinked several times. Was that good? Every account about Saera’s nature said she was mean-spirited, downright evil. Her sisters had hated her. Queen Alysanne knew she was false. “He asked our sister Alyssa to fight Vaegon once. He wanted to ‘man him up.’ Alyssa won. Does Vaegon live?”
“As an archmaester of the Citadel,” Aemond supplied.
“The old man’s bones must be rattling in a pile of dust to know Vaegon and I are the only ones left,” she laughed, merrily.
“Queen Alicent said King Jaehaerys called your name in his deathbed,” Ravella cut her off.
Saera sobered. “I know. I received the missive.”
“The… missive?” Aemond asked, inclining his head.
“I still lived in Lys. One day, one of my slaves—” she said the word so casually, Ravella’s hands fisted “—said there was a Targaryen demanding my presence. It was your father’s brother, Daemon. That one is Baelon’s son,” she praised. “He’d been dispatched by the Small Council to fetch me so I could say my farewells. The letter said that bastard had lost his mind and attacked your mother while she read to him. After Ser Clement Crabb was able to pull her free, he reached for her again, in tears, this time, sweet apologies on his lips.” Saera laughed with derision. “I told your uncle to turn away and not bother me anymore. He was furious that I dared deny him.”
“But he left,” Aemond guessed.
“Yes. He didn’t have a choice. The letter was a summons disguised as an invitation, and I reminded him I wasn’t a slave of Jaehaerys’s whims anymore. Years before, after my son’s return from Harrenhal, he’d tried to tell me of Jaehaerys, of the rumors he missed me and would take me back. I threatened to cut his tongue off if he continued that stupidity,” a frown. “Your uncle arrived not too long after we had the last argument about it. In hindsight, I wish I’d gone back. I’d have liked nothing more than to tell him with my own lips that I was as great a whore as he’d called me. Pissing on his corpse would’ve been much better. Does it shock you?” Saera asked, all sweetness, when Ravella gasped.
“My wife considers it desecration,” Aemond supplied.
“It is desecration. Which is exactly why I wish I’d done it,” Saera shook her head. “I had to debase myself to escape that man.”
“I heard Queen Alysanne missed you a great deal,” he said.
“Not enough to fight for me. Or for any of her daughters, either. I was exiled, Alyssa and simple-minded Daella killed in childbirth… Viserra preferred to die rather than marry that disgusting fat oaf… and Gael—”
“There aren’t reports of King Jaehaerys mistreating your younger sister,” Aemond supplied, his voice sympathetic.
“He couldn’t use her, so he forgot all about her,” Saera scowled. “That’s mistreatment, too.”
“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Princess,” Aemond said. Ravella gave him an askance look. Her poor husband!
“Gael’s death destroyed my mother. I begged him to let me go to Dragonstone to be with her, but he wrote back that a whore like me couldn’t be of service to a queen,” her face contorted with hatred. “Then they dared to summon me to King’s Landing because that coward wished to make peace before he died. The Others take him.”
“Don’t say that!” Ravella shrieked.
Circling her shoulders with his arm, Aemond brough her closer. He kissed her temple. “My wife’s a patroness of the Night’s Watch. She really dislikes the Others, especially after our visit to the Wall.”
“She isn’t as stupid as she appears,” Saera smirked.
“I don’t understand. What does it mean?”
“It means nothing,” Saera shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve just heard tales from sailors who’d escaped the Watch while trading with wildlings. They had some colorful stories to tell. Dead things in the water, blue-eyed shadows walking under the snow, screaming caves…” she giggled at each one. “This last one came from my second-born son. My septas would often threaten to send me north, as a sacrifice to the Others, if I didn’t behave. I dared them to do that.”
Ravella wondered what Saera Targaryen would’ve turned out as if she’d had adults better suited to deal with the likes of her.
Probably still spoiled. But she’d have been with her family, instead of living in isolating for the better part of her life.
“Do you have many children?” she forced the words out.
“I had seven. Three boys and four girls. One from each father,” she smiled, but there was no venom in it. It was a normal smile, but then got serious… sad. “It’s because of my youngest that I knew my mother was dying.”
“Why? Did they have dragon dreams?” Ravella asked, leaning forward.
“Dragon dreams like Daenys the Dreamer?” Saera arched her brows. “Gods above, no! They weren’t cursed like that. It wasn’t that. None of my children looked like me. They had my hair, or my eyes… sometimes, my eyes and my hair, but they looked more like their fathers. Had their tempers. We argued a lot because of that,” she conceded. “I knew my youngest would be mine. Then she got sick, when she was seven, and died within a day and a half. I knew then I had to be with my mother.”
Ravella had heard that story before. “Why?”
“My daughter’s name was Alysanne,” Saera closed her eyes. “When I held her in my arms the first time, I was surprised to be holding a copy of my mother, so I decided that, if I couldn’t have my mother back, then I’d have my daughter, and she would be mine. No one would take her away from me. Only the gods, and they did.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Princess,” Aemond said, solemn. “I know it doesn’t help much, especially because she passed many years before I was born, but I know Queen Alysanne thought of you often.”
“Yes, I know. One of the men she hired to watch over me was Alysanne’s father,” Saera smiled. “He believed she’d wear my father out someday. He never let me second-guess my mother’s love for me.”
There was more depth than Ravella would’ve been led to believe Saera had. The older woman sighed. “After our daughter died, I asked him to sail to Dragonstone and ask my mother if I could visit. I was willing to hide if that’s what it took. I just wanted to see her again. But Jaehaerys was there, visiting. He said she begged on her knees to let me come to her and he said no. Then he threatened to send Anders to the Wall if he returned there again. After the news of my mother’s death reached me in Lys, I decided I had to get farther away.”
“When my mother told me of King Jaehaerys’ last years, I used to think it was a sad story,” Aemond started, “now I’m glad he died in agony.”
Saera smiled a watery smile. “Now, you are Baelon’s grandson. I can see him in you. And Alyssa, too.”
“What about your other children?” Ravella asked. “Are they alive?”
“My eldest disappeared in a foolish attempt to sail the Smoking Sea. His father was a sea captain… from the ship I fled Westeros on. My daughters are well and married, with children of their own, though none live in Volantis. My second son lives here with his family. My third…” she tilted her head. “You must’ve met him. At least I hope so. You said you went to the Wall?” she inquired of Aemond.
“Some months ago,” he confirmed.
“My youngest son travelled to Westeros with his older brother when Harry went there to press his claim. He came back only to tell me he was going to join the Night’s Watch. His name’s Davos.”
Aemond stiffened. He exchanged a glance with Ravella. “Is your son around his mid-forties, with honey-blond hair and blue eyes, and a wine-colored stain on his jaw?”
“Yes. He my mother and daughter’s coloring,” Saera’s eyes lit up, though her brow was furrowed as she shared, “He used to write. His letters made it to Volantis every two or three years. But it’s been five years since I’ve last read a word from him, though the Maester of Castle Black sent word that Davos was alive, but injured after a ranging, when I sent a messenger. Davos must’ve loved seeing your dragon. He was so curious about them.”
Ravella’s heart was beating so fast, she almost didn’t hear Aemond’s reply. “Aunt Saera, we must talk.”
***
Aemond was relieved to be brought into Saera’s house behind the Black Wall — her actual home, not the brothel she owned in the depths of Volantis. The relief was partially because he worried about Ravella’s reputation — the snake-tongued of Westeros would have a lot of fun slandering her if rumors were spread, and then he’d have to burn the Seven Kingdoms to the ground —, partially because she’d have a stroke if she came across a bed slave. Weeks ago, she’d nagged at Aegon for taking Aemond to a brothel when Aemond was thirteen, even though Aemond assured her he’d agreed to be taken to the Street of Silk (he insisted the bad part of the whole thing came from being close to Aegon, not from using the services of a prostitute. She didn’t believe him and challenged him to say he wasn’t lying for her benefit. He merely rolled his eye). Slavery offended Ravella down to her soul, and she’d consider making a slave a prostitute as an even worse violation of that person. He was sure she’d feed his aunt to Vhagar herself then.
“Leave us,” Saera told her slaves in High Valyrian, tone clipped. Platters and platters of food were put on a center table between them. She’d asked for refreshments, but her people brought a feast. He wondered if his father’s aunt had hoped a relative of hers would visit. She must’ve felt lonely.
Alone, she asked, “Tell me about my son, nephew. Is he—?”
“Davos is alive,” Aemond said, preparing a plate for Ravella. Once she had it in her hand, he crossed his legs and said, “Physically, at least. This isn’t easy.”
“Just open your mouth and get the words out,” she growled.
“It isn’t simple,” Ravella intervened. “Aemond had no idea Davos was your son. We spent some weeks at Castle Black and no one said anything, not even him. He avoided us.”
He nodded. “Princess, you must’ve heard my father is sick. He’s getting worse with each passing second, and since he was beyond human healing, we decided to find a magical cure. The Wall is…” he shrugged. “Ravella was very concerned about the Night’s Watch ability to protect the Seven Kingdoms, and about the fact that I was risk to my nephew’s continued existence. Since the little shit had maimed me and all,” he caressed his left cheek with a sardonic smile his aunt would appreciate. “So I took her to the Wall, thinking we could research about magic and renew House Targaryen’s endorsement of the Watch. When we landed in Castle Black’s courtyard, however, we were met with reports of missing rangers. Some had come back, but their companions hadn’t — your son was one of those who made it back. But he wasn’t himself. The Brothers thought he’d lost his mind from a hit to the head or something that made him hallucinate he’d seen the Others. It’s been almost two years.”
Saera swallowed. This was the first time she didn’t have a reply, so Aemond went ahead. “My wife had told me the Others were real. I met a child of the forest on the Isle of Faces. The wildling man who taught my wife about the Others — he’s a Black Brother, too — also insisted they were real. Even if I hadn’t met the child or Thoren, I’d have believed my wife. She had seen them as a child. I had to do something, anything to make her calmer. I tried to speak to your son, but it seemed like he had eyes on the back of his head, because whenever I was able to locate him, he’d disappear in a blink. The only time I did manage to cross paths with him, he shouted an Others had crossed the Wall to kill him,” he shook his head. “If I had known Davos was family, I’d have done more for him. But I had no idea. And having realized I frightened him, I decided to leave him alone.”
“Otherwise, you’d have hopped on your dragon and flown all the way here,” Saera demanded.
“Not immediately, no,” he said. “I had the feeling something strange was happening. I also knew it’d take more than my word to convince the others, so I waited. Eventually, the Others did attack. Your son serves under the master-at-arms, training new recruits when his mind is clear. The Lord Commander has done everything in his power to help him, including not sending him north again.”
“Now he doesn’t send anyone north,” Ravella said and took a sip of wine.
Saera glanced from her to Aemond. He nodded. “So, as you can see, the Others are real. I believe seeing you might be good for your son. And seeing your son might be good for you. My father wanted to invite you to King’s Landing, so you’ll be safe if you decide to take it. The journey is long, but I believe a dragonrider could be sent to Volantis for you.”
“I…” Saera coughed. “I’ll have to consider it,” she reached for her goblet, and Aemond saw that, beneath her bravado, she was trembling. “You said you had questions about House Targaryen. What are they?”
“You didn’t meet Princess Aerea, did you?” Ravella asked.
His aunt’s eyes widened. “Why, no. Aerea died ten years before my birth. We weren’t allowed to speak of her. Jaehaerys got upset, and my mother cried. It was always like that when Aerea’s twin sister visited us. I met my aunt Rhaena once, and she flung herself at me and… sobbed. My hair got all wet and I didn’t know if it was because of her tears, snot or slobber. It was nasty,” a grimace. “But I couldn’t wriggle out of her hold. It felt wrong. After my poor, sweet Alysanne died, I understood exactly how my aunt felt,” she rubbed a hand over her breast.
Ravella held his wrist, touched, and Aemond rubbed her hand. “Where did you meet Queen Rhaena?” he asked.
“Harrenhal, of course. My mother was worried about her sister, and took all of us there, hoping Rhaena would be persuaded to take one or two as ward or cupbearer. Rhaena held me, cried and called me a ghost sent to haunt her, though she wasn’t angry. I hated Harrenhal, and in light of Rhaena’s distress, Mother told Aemon to take me to King’s Landing on Caraxes, with the excuse that Jocelyn needed us.” Saera gave Ravella a droll look. “Jocelyn was Aemon’s wife and our parents’ younger half-sister.”
“Your family tree has branches in the soil, not roots,” Ravella answered.
“True,” his aunt conceded the point. “And if you think yours won’t, you’re mistaken.” At Ravella’s look of surprise, she clarified, posed like a queen, “If you think my nephew isn’t planning to marry your firstborn back into House Targaryen, either to a cousin or a sibling, you haven’t been around the Targaryens long enough. Your husband rides Vhagar, girl. His father won’t let a future dragonrider go. It isn’t how we do things.”
“King Viserys wouldn’t do that. He knows how I feel about incest. Besides,” Ravella put her platter on the table, then leaned back on her own throne-like chair, “Aemond has agreed our children will carry my name, not his.”
“Aemond isn’t the king,” Saera replied, impatient. “I assure you, Viserys is already working out the details. The only thing he needs to spring this trap is knowing what you’re having.”
“It won’t happen for many years yet,” Ravella said with a shake of her head, “and I’d rather give my child away to the Faith,” she gritted out.
“Is that so?” Saera arched a brow. “Because— Gods, you don’t know, do you?” Jaw dropped, she glanced at Aemond, “And you didn’t understand.”
“I have to be honest and say I didn’t,” he agreed.
“Do you know what Aelios said? The red priest?” Saera asked Ravella.
“My High Valyrian isn’t very good. He spoke too fast, and since I’m still learning, I could only identify some words: dragon, fire, entrails. I assume Vhagar’s belly was bright while she threatened to blow at you…” Ravella’s voice weakened with each word she spoke with neither of them answering.
In Aemond’s defense, he was dizzy.
“… But that’s not what he meant, is it? Aemond?” she asked.
He shook his head. Aegon at his drunkest had better use of his wits than Aemond did now.
“Oh this is rich! No, that’s not what Aelios meant. I’ll tell you what he said.” She leaned forward, “‘Welcome to Volantis, Blessed Warrior and Soul-giver. The children of the light have hungered for your return, and you’re here, at last, to defeat the darkness and make the Lord’s will prevail. Azor Ahai, with his mighty arm, and Nissa Nissa, who has a dragon’s fire licking her from the inside out, Lightbringer forged at her entrails.’”
Absently, Aemond felt Ravella’s eyes on him. But he couldn’t… do anything. His temples were hurting. He couldn’t breathe. His throat was dry. His mind reeled. He felt like his entire body was made of cotton.
That explained it.
Vhagar had—
“What does it mean? What’s a soul-giver?” Ravella asked.
“You are,” Saera answered for him. “You truly don’t know, child? How far along are you?”
“I… don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“You’re pregnant,” his aunt said, voice gentle. “That’s what a dragon’s fire licking your insides means. That’s how the people of the Freehold said women expecting Valyria-blooded children were. The dragon’s fire made them bold.”
“I’m not…”
“The red priest must’ve seen it in his fires,” Saera shrugged.
“Just because he’s seen me pregnant doesn’t mean I’m pregnant now. I would—” Ravella covered her mouth with both hands, a shocked gasp piercing through the haze in Aemond’s head. “The boy!” she said when he glanced at her.
He was forced to nod. He remembered. The boy from Ravella’s dream, with his black-and-silver hair. His and Ravella’s son. He would have hair like Princess Rhaenys’, the daughter of Prince Aemon and his wife Jocelyn Baratheon.
It made sense.
Vhagar hadn’t been telling him she wanted to be a grandmother. She wasn’t feeding Ravella just because she loved her. She’d been telling Aemond there were dragon eggs reserved for his children, one of which at least was inside Ravella’s body, and Vhagar considered it her obligation to keep Ravella well-fed. No doubt she’d done the same for Visenya, he thought, dazed.
But… the girl. Was it possible Ravella had seen their daughter? Were the children twins? If so, would their daughter suffer the same fate as Aerea?
No, he shook his head, running a hand over his face. Berry had confirmed the nightmare had been a dream and a vision. Ravella had dreamed about the past. Aemond rubbed at his good eye. He had to—
“Well, I’ve always wanted to be a mother,” Ravella was glowing. She was worried about him, too, because he was in shock, but not for the reason she thought. “I thought it’d take years, but now that I’m pregnant, I shall enjoy it. I—”
“I need her cleansed,” Aemond cut her off. “You must know someone who can perform an abortion,” he told Saera.
“Abortion? Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” Ravella got to her feet.
“No. You can’t be allowed to get pregnant,” he stood up as well. “That was a prophecy, Ravella. The red priest said you’ll die in childbirth.”
***
Aemond’s legs were longer, and usually, he was faster, but right now, Ravella was more scared. There was too much at stake, and even if she identified with his fear — she didn’t want to die; she wanted to be safely delivered of many children and raise them into adulthood —, she wouldn’t let him make that decision. Kill their baby. No, he wouldn’t. No one would harm her child.
“RAVELLA!” he shouted from behind her. Risking a glance, she noticed he was closing in on her. “RAVELLA!”
The crowd parted for them. Funny, he sounded just like the night of her nightmare when he woke her up. As soon as dawn had broken, they went to the godswood. Berry seemed to have been expecting them. Even now, she remembered the severity on his face as he confirmed she’d dreamed of Aerea Targaryen… and the night king. The child of the forest had assured her Aemond wouldn’t be turned into the traitor of legend, though he’d also said it was essential that Aemond lived.
That was why they were here. So they could relax and deal with at least one part of her disturbing dream.
Only to be living a real-life nightmare.
She took a sharp turn to the right, hoping that would take her to the Black Wall. “Thank the gods,” she smiled, sliding to a halt. In the distance, she could see the thing, and Vhagar was close, too. Her roar was different, probably because she could feel Aemond’s distress.
“Ravella! Stop!” he shouted from behind her.
She screamed, her steps hardening. She held her coat on her hands, which she’d retrieved in silence while Aemond and Saera discussed “the proceeding”, debating whether to give her a cup of moontea or call for a surgeon. While they talked, Ravella had slipped out, thinking only of getting to Vhagar. She hoped the dragon would make Aemond see reason.
“Sorry, my love,” she looked down briefly at her belly. “Daddy loves you. But he also thinks Mommy is his world. He doesn’t want you to die, not really. But you must know how he gets when he’s worried. Don’t worry, Mommy will keep us safe.”
“Ravella!” Aemond’s voice sounded closer. “Wait!”
Again, she looked back. There were less than a hundred feet between them. She was lucky people hadn’t sprung upon her to hold her in place for him, and unlucky they hadn’t held him in place, as well.
With a frown, she took askance looks at both sides. Volantis was huge, dozens of times bigger than King’s Landing. Each street was incredibly long, and— she knew those people. She’d seen some of those men in Saera’s mansion. They were surrounding the paths leading to the Wall, intercept her before she could leave.
She shook her head, bile rising to her throat. She released her coat, then, locating a fruit seller, took a handful of apples and threw them at Aemond. He dodged each one, and shoved the angered man to the side when he tried to get on the way.
“Don’t,” her husband warned, a maddened glint in his eye.
“You want to kill our baby.”
“I don’t want that! I don’t want to lose you, that’s all. Please, come back and let’s talk,” he stopped running.
She shook her head. “We’ll talk home.” In Westeros, Alicent and Viserys would keep her safe. She’d be secured in her quarters and then smuggled out of the capital, either to the Park or, better yet, Dorne. After she gave birth, Ravella would return to Aemond, and his father would decree that, anyone who spoke of Aemond’s madness to their child would lose their tongue. It was a perfect plan.
She shrieked when three of Saera’s slaves closed the way. If she ran straight to them, they would hold her for Aemond. But going back wasn’t an option.
The dragon roared again. The Volantene people, no matter how great their fascination at their lapse of royalty, were frightened and fled from the scene. It was just Aemond, Saera’s slaves and Ravella. She looked back when the men behind her shouted, seeing only them throwing themselves at a corner. She smiled, relieved, when Vhagar landed. She could feel her scalding heat permeating the air, making the baby in her belly come awake. It was like her child knew there was a dragon close, and was trying to reach out, until something snapped in place.
This one is your father’s, my little dragon, she thought, placing a hand over her flat stomach.
When she looked back up, Aemond was walking slower, fear distorting his paler-than-usual face. “Please, Ravella. Come here. You’re putting yourself and the baby in danger.”
“Am I? You’re the one who wants to abort the baby,” she couldn’t fight the tears anymore.
“I won’t. I swear I won’t. I’m afraid, but I’d never hurt you or our child. We can find a way out of that prophecy. Please, come here,” he held out a hand. “At least, stop walking. The dragon—”
Her back hit the dragon’s paw then. She could only see Vhagar’s black claws. “Come with me,” she asked, reaching behind her to pat Vhagar.
“Ravella—” if possible, Aemond’s got whiter.
“I’ll tell you this, Aemond: I don’t want to fight with you. But I don’t want to mistrust you. I want your vow you won’t do anything harsh—”
“You have it!” he took three steps forward, almost sprinting toward her, and then the dragon rumbled. He stopped. “I won’t do anything. Just come with me, please. We’ll find a way to keep you and the baby safe. Saera says an abortion is as dangerous as childbirth, so even if I really wanted to try that, I wouldn’t. You’re more important. Ravella, please…”
She believed him. She believed he wanted the baby and didn’t wish to harm it. But she also knew Aemond, and how fiercely protective he was of those he loved.
He loved her best. If the stupid man felt anything, even their child, was a danger… he wouldn’t be reasoned with. Her best hope was reaching Alicent and having his mother persuade him. Not that she really believed Alicent could. Still, it was worth a try. It was much safer than hopping up on Vhagar and hoping the dragon took her away, when no bound dragon accepted another rider but its owner. The day Vhagar saved her from the wights, Ravella hadn’t tried to ride her — and she doubted she’d be able to now.
Maybe she could spend the next nine months in the hot, dark confines of Vhagar’s mouth, she thought, slightly hysterical. When she next saw Aemond, she’d have a baby in her arms, instead of molten snow covering her.
“I have to go, Aemond. You aren’t being yourself,” she said, walking to the left of Vhagar, Aemond coming closer. “Tell Vhagar to take me to the Red Keep and then come for you.”
“I know. I know. Please, Ravella. The dragon—”
“You’re so different you can barely form words. Can’t you see? You aren’t sane right now!”
“I’m losing my mind here,” he agreed. “Ravella, get away from the dragon. It isn’t Vhagar!”
At that, she burst out laughing. “You think I’ll fall for it? Please, Aemond,” she shook her head. “She won’t let you do anything harsh. She wants to be a grandmother, remember?”
“Vhagar does,” he nodded, then pointed at the dragon. “That isn’t Vhagar, however. That is—”
“Can you believe it?” she asked, turned to look at the dragon, laughing. “He says you aren’t—” the words and the laughter died in her mouth, substituted by a gasp, because Aemond was telling the truth.
The dragon wasn’t Vhagar. It wasn’t Dreamfyre or Sunfyre, either.
Ravella didn’t know that dragon.
***
Part. 7 coming on Saturday!