Dragons of Destiny (Completed)

Hardhome 350 AC.

Morag.

He held the bow in his hand, stalking the elk as he moved quietly past the trees. Where Elisa was, he knew not, only that it had fallen to him to ensure the hunt was successful. Breathing deeply, Morag lined up the shot and loosed the arrow. Smiling when it hit home and the elk hit the ground. Running to it, he had already taken out his knife and slit the injured elk's throat to put the animal out of its misery by the time Elise made her way to him.

"By the Old Gods, he's a big 'un," Elise said, offering him one of her true smiles as she watched him remove the innards and begin to dress the elk.

"Aye, he should be more than enough for our offering at the feast."

"That he will," Elise said, kissing his cheek before she too began to work on the elk.

It took them almost an hour to ready the elk for their journey back to Hardhome. Another hour to actually undertake that journey and when they reached it, Morag almost swaggered by the guards at the gates. He welcomed all the looks and the nods he received and felt his pride rise as people acknowledged him. The warm looks and respectful glances were far different from those he would get when he'd first begun to be allowed to go on the hunts. Then he'd not known his arse from his elbow as Elise was oft found of telling him. Now, he was among the very best huntsmen that Hardhome had to offer. Something that he was rightly proud of.

Moving through the streets, dragging the sacks that contained the elk meat behind them, he and Elise soon made it to the great keep. They were granted entry quickly once it was seen that they'd been successful on their hunt. Morag certain that their offering would gain them pride of place at the night's celebration. Something that he and Elise along with every man, woman, and child at Hardhome were truly looking forward to.

Forty years the city had now stood for. Rebuilt by the White Wolf and Tormund Giantsbane after it had been destroyed in the Great War. Now it stretched beyond the old gates and housed more than fifty thousand if the Singers were to be believed. Almost half the size of the greatest army the North had ever seen, or so the tales would tell. Morag had as a boy wondered just what that would have looked like. He wagered that an army that had been supposedly filled with Giants, Mammoths, Free Men, and Spearwives would have been a wonder to behold.

Not that they had need of such anymore. Though they still had guards and men at arms just in case. Their relationship with the Lands south of the Wall was now a much different one than the one the songs of old alluded to. The feared Crows, the Lords of the North, and the Southern Kneelers were all no longer their enemies thanks to the battles they'd fought together.

" We find our true friends on the battlefield, young Morag." King Crow had said on his last visit to Hardhome five years earlier.

After speaking with Kara the butcher and taking their own share of the spoils back to their home, he and Elise readied themselves for the night to come. There would be feasting, drinking, tall tales spoken, and songs sung. He and Elise would dance together and be somewhat feted for their contribution to the feast and over the past year. In this, they'd not be alone, as any who had contributed to Hardhome's supplies and success would have their names spoken aloud.

No matter whether that contribution was by way of hunting as with him and Elise. Fishing as with Mithe, Bolrand, and Dogni. Or trading with the South like Ragwynd and Ragand did. Those who built and maintained the homes, gates, and walls, or who furnished them with their arms, clothing, or armor. The bow and arrow makers as well as those who looked after the children and taught them how to read and write. All would be honored at the feast. Though none more than the White Wolf and Tormund Giantsbane whose tale Morag would once again hope to hear.

Time seemed to stretch on and he thought the night would never come. Then, much to his relief, Elise finally rose to her feet and took him by the hand. They walked from their home and through the largest of the Free Folk settlements and it's one true city. Harhdome's torches burned bright and easily illuminated their path. Giving their names to the guards at the doors of the Great Keep, Morag and Elise were ushered inside and he smiled to see where it was they'd be sitting. No sooner had they taken a seat than they were given an ale each and as they drank and waited, Morag looked around at those who'd been honored just as they had.

"There are more this year," he whispered to Elise.

"Aye, trade was good and the new buildings were much needed."

Before he got the chance to speak further, the clan leaders entered and took their seats. The Singers soon joined them along with the Weavers of Tales. Around the hall, voices quietened as the chieftain rose to his feet and offered his thanks first to the Old Gods and then to the people of Harhdome. Joramun then drew everyone's attention to those who were being honored and thanked them all for their contributions over the past year.

When his and Elise's names were called out, they rose and accepted the plaudits. Welcoming the cheering and clapping before taking their seats and joining in when it was someone else's turn to be feted. It was their way, their tradition, to thank those who'd played their part and be thanked for their own. To be given seats of prominence at the feast and earn the respect of their people. Something that from an early age everyone at Hardhome was brought up wishing to know at some point in their lives. Morag looking to the children and seeing the seeds of their own desires being planted. Just as his own was when he was but a boy.

The songs were next and he and Elise sang along as did almost everyone in the hall. Dancing was to follow and soon enough he and his love were moving about the floor. Morag was happy to see that as it had been from when he'd first stolen her, their eyes were still only for each other. After a few more ales, the hall once again hushed as the Weavers of Tales began to speak. Stories of Mance Rayder and his army were the first ones being told as was again tradition.

"Tells us of the White Wolf."

"The Tall Talker."

"King Crow."

Around the hall, the chants rang out and as the old woman raised her hands, those chants quietened once more. Every man, woman, and child now listening intently as the tale was spoken aloud.

"He came as an enemy. A Crow. Yet in his heart, Jon Snow was as free as we all wish to be. The first time he met The Tall Talker, he actually knelt and named him king." The old woman said to loud laughter. "Though none of them would have named it so, not then, a bond was formed that day. A bond that not even death could break."

Morag felt Elise move closer to him and rest her head on his shoulder. His arm went around her back to hold her tightly against him. Together they listened as the tale was weaved. The climbing of the Wall, the oath that King Crow had sworn that forced him to return to the Crows. A battle at Castle Black and the Greatest Army the North had ever Known being broken beneath the Wall.

They listened as the old woman spoke of the journey to Hardhome that was undertaken by King Crow and the Tall Talker. The first encounter with the dead and the King Crow's fight against one of the White Shadows. Elise shivered against him as Morag held her close. Around the hall, Morag could see the children's wide open mouths and fearful expressions as the old woman spoke of King' Crow's death. Then, as it had always been, those very same children cheered loudly when she spoke of his rebirth.

Soon it was the march on Winterfell and how the Free Folk and Tormund Giantsbane showed they were King Crow's true friends. The battle against the dead and the bending of free men and women's knees. Even he laughed when the old woman spoke of Tormund being bored and missing his friend and so traveling further south than any Free Folk man or woman had ever done before. Then he felt his breath still as the old woman got to both the best and worst parts of the story.

"Against the Crows that killed his truest friend, the Flayed Men that murdered King Crow's brother, the dead that sought to enslave us all, and then in the deserts and lands far from here, wherever King Crow had a fight to fight, Tormund Giantsbane fought it right there by his side.

It's said that on the day the Old Gods called the Tall Talker to their side, King Crow's pained cry was louder than the mighty beast he flew atop of. For three days and nights, he alone stood vigil over Tormund's body and cared not for anything else but that. So many tears did he weep that he'd none left to shed until the Dragonqueen herself was called by those very same gods."

Morag closed his eyes, as he was oft wont to do at this point in the story. He was among the lucky ones to have met both men during his life. The Tall Talker was as big and boisterous as people had named him and King Crow was as resolute as any man he'd ever known.

"After the pyre was lit and the funeral rites were over and done with, it was King Crow himself who gathered the ashes. It was here in Hardhome, by the Great Weirwood Tree that he spread them and though he did so alone, I was one of the few who heard the words he spoke that day."

There wasn't a single sound in the hall. Not even the breaths people took could be heard as each and every person there waited to once again hear the words that the old woman named King Crow's own.

"No man ever had a truer friend or one more loyal. No people ever had a greater champion than you, Tormund. They may say I saved the Free Folk by mine actions. Or that Dany, Arya and so many others played their part. But none did so more than you did. You were the true King Beyond the Wall, my friend, and mine own knee bent only to you."

After the feast had ended, drunk and joyful though he and others were, they still made their way to the Great Weirwood Tree. Each of them looked to the face that King Crow carved in it that day and though none of them could be certain, all of them named that face as Tormund's. The truest friend of the King Who Saved Them All.

Volantis 350 AC.

Prince Aemon Targaryen.

He looked out at the crowd as the games began. The celebration of his twentieth year as High Governor of Essos. Emperor in all but name and second only to his sister Rhaella in the empire's hierarchy. Twenty years where peace had reigned and nothing more than a roar from Caraxes had been needed to quieten even talk of rebellion. From the Shivering Sea to the Great Sand Sea, the empire knew no bounds. Essos and Westeros were both united by bonds of blood and under one single banner. The Three-Headed Dragon now flew high over every great city there was other than Yin.

They'd faced some small skirmishes with the YiTish Empire in his first few years as High Governor. His father had told him that they were testing his resolve and Aemon had begged for leave to deal with them himself. Something his father and sister were only too happy to give him. In the end, it had taken very little for the message to be sent, and other than Caraxes' arrival at the gates of Yin, it was Aemon's words that ended their strife. A small smile on his face now as he remembered his father, mother, and sister's expressions when he told them what he'd said.

" Our ambition stops at these gates. These lands are not ones we seek power or control over. Yet were we to wish it so then Yi Ti, like Westeros and Essos before it, would find themselves kneeling to a dragon. Be certain that is what you wish to bring down upon you before you pull too hard on the dragon's tail."

It had been more than enough to usher in a new and truer relationship with their YiTish neighbors. The Yellow Emperor and his successor were only too happy to know that they sought not to extend the empire's reach. His father and mother had both left him in no doubt about their pride in how he'd handled the situation. Rhaella too was only too happy to know that she could count on him to do what was needed without worrying that he'd go too far or not far enough.

Thinking about his family made his smile soon fade. The passing of his mother a year earlier had almost broken him and his sister. Though none had taken it as hard as his father had and Aemon had been loathe to return to Volantis after the funeral. His sense of duty had however won out. Knowing that not only was it what his mother would wish of him but that his sister needed him there and not in Westeros, was in the end enough to force his hand.

"Let the Games begin." the herald shouted out and Aemon shook away the sad thoughts that had threatened to take hold and instead focussed on what was going on in front of him.

Other than the anniversary of his appointment as High Governor, he had more than one reason to celebrate this set of games. His son and heir, Duncan, was competing in the joust. While his nephew Arthur would compete in the melee. Sitting in the crowd in pride of place, both their future brides would look on and cheer them. All of them, he knew, were more than happy in the knowledge that by the end of the games their betrothals would be made public.

Turning to his wife, Aemon chuckled to see how nervous Visenya was. Her hands holding a strand of her silver hair in them was a telltale sign of such. It was more than could be said for their twin daughters, Daena and Dyanna both having given their favors to men that he and their mother approved of. Both girls were now watching eagerly and needling each other as they named their own crushes as the winners of the day to come.

As the loud roars rang out, Aemon looked to the crowd first before he tilted his head upward and looked to the sky. The dragons soon made themselves known to one and all and performed their own mummeries as they flew over their heads. Six in all with Caraxes the largest of them, though not by much. Visenya's own mount Vhagar had hatched but a week after Caraxes had and was nearly of a size with the red dragon. The promise that his father, mother, and aunt had one day feared they'd never be able to live up to had more than been fulfilled.

"You're most quiet, my love," Visenya asked after the dragons had flown by. His wife's nerves had been calmed down some by the sight of her dragon in the sky.

"It's naught to worry about, my love," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his and place a soft kiss upon it.

Later that night they feasted and Aemon felt an overwhelming sadness come over him. His daughters both rushed to his side and between them, they forced it away. So much so that by the time he and Visenya went to their beds he had forgotten that he'd felt anything at all.

For five more days the games continued. Arthur proved himself unmatched on the field with a sword in hand and Aemon could only wish his father was here to see his nephew take the plaudits. Duncan found it tougher going in the joust and yet his son's resolve was unwavering. Even when it looked like he was outmatched in terms of strength or skill, Duncan somehow managed to find a way to win. So it had been no surprise to Aemon when he'd finally taken the day. Nor to see the beaming smile on Visenya's face when their son rode to crown his queen of love and beauty. The match they'd made for him was one that was as true to their son's heart as it was to the empire's stability.

With the games over, Aemon turned his thoughts to other matters. He spent the next few days dealing with trading deals and solving petty disputes that threatened to turn into more serious conflicts. Then answered queries from all corners of the empire, and organized visits to some of the great cities by him, his wife, their children, or their nephew. A lesson from his father and mother that he'd taken to heart was that they needed to be seen by those they ruled over. To be above them and yet part of them at the same time.

"Father you work too hard," Dyanna called out to him as they ate they broke their fast. Aemon looking over papers as he ate and not endearing himself to his wife or children in doing so.

"Forgive me, little dragon," he said, enjoying the roll of Dyanna's violet eyes as he named her how he had when she was but a babe.

"Can we fly today, Father. All of us?" Daena asked and he looked to see his wife smile at the idea.

"Duncan, Arthur, what say you?" he asked his son and nephew. Both of whom no doubt had their own plans for the morning and yet immediately they canceled or at the very least, postponed them.

Within an hour they had mounted their dragons. All six of them soon took to the sky and welcomed the peace and contentment that flying together always brought them. Again this was something he'd learned from his father and mother. Each of them had told him separately that no matter what was going on in their lives or what pressing matters were at hand, they should always take time to simply enjoy what being a Dragonrider meant.

The morning's flight was not enjoyable for him, however. That self-same feeling of sadness that had come over him during the games had now swept over him once more. This time feeling a hundred times worse and not even being atop Caraxes' back or with his family was enough to force it away. Aemon felt his heart beat wildly in his chest and tears ran down his cheeks. Even finding that they were still flowing when they had finished the flight and had landed. His wife and daughters rushed to his side and offered him the comfort of their arms which finally managed to lighten the heaviness in his heart.

It was a week later when the reason for his sadness was finally made clear to him. A moon after that before he found himself able to return to his work. To be who it was his family and the empire needed to be. Duncan and Visenya had between them filled in for him and allowed him the time to grieve that he needed. Not that he'd not carry that grief with him for the rest of his life.

Winterfell 350 AC.

Robb Stark.

The great and the good of the North had gathered once more for the Harvest Feast. Winterfell was as full as it had been for many a year as Robb readied himself for the night ahead. Laughing and japing with his wife as he did so. Dacey was only too happy to take the piss out of him and keep him on his toes.

Their children would no doubt be up to some mischief or other with their nieces and nephews. While his sister and brother would be busy with the Northern Lords and Ladies no doubt. Rickon and Lyanna he knew were far too dutiful not to engage in talk about the state of the North. Putting on his shirt, Robb turned to look at his wife who was already dressed. Dacey, somehow managing to not only do so more quickly than he did but to look as if she'd taken an age to get ready at the same time.

"I know not how you do so," he said, shaking his head as she moved to him and helped him with his shirt and overcoat.

"Because unlike you, Robb Stark, my mother wasn't a savage." she chuckled.

"No, only sometimes."

"Aye, only sometimes." Dacey winked.

It was a little game they played. Both of them would name the other's mother as responsible for something they currently were lacking in doing. The She-Bear of Bear Island and the She-Wolf of Winterfell had been firm and true friends and yet it wasn't because of that, that their children had wed each other. Both Lyanna Mormont and his own mother had allowed them to choose each other without input from either of them.

Thinking of his mother, Robb for once didn't get lost in thoughts or caught up in melancholy. They'd not heard of her for years and yet most times he thought of her, he pictured her and his father sailing on their ship and finding far-off lands. Only occasionally did those thoughts darken or did he blame them for leaving him and the North so they could go and sail off on their adventures. Robb instead, tried mainly to remember the many years they'd been here with him and not the few they'd not.

"Come no doubt the feast is already in full swing." his wife said, taking him from his thoughts.

Kissing his wife's cheek, he took her arm and together they made their way to the Great Hall. Sitting at the High Table already awaiting them was his Goodmother, his brother and sister, his son and heir, Ned, along with his betrothed and her father. The Manderlys were happiest of all this night, as they had been since the betrothal had been made public. Their House had long wished to be joined with the House of the Wolf and now through Ned and Wynona, they would be.

Taking his seat, Robb smiled at his goodmother and tried not to chuckle when Lyanna Mormont scowled back at him. The fierce She Bear was not one for japes and silly games and rarely had he seen her show any true emotion other than annoyance. If it was not for Dacey, he'd have believed that she'd never offered anyone a smile and had never laughed aloud. Yet his wife had said she'd often done both and he knew far better than to argue with a woman from Bear Island. Putting all thoughts aside for now, he rose to his feet and readied to officially start the feast.

"My lords and ladies of the North, I welcome you all to the Harvest Feast of 350 AC," Robb said loudly.

At the High Table, he listened as Rickon spoke about the Moat. The rebuilding work had taken nigh on thirty years to complete and had mostly been done under his mother's rule. Lyanna spoke of Sea Dragon Point and the Northern Fleet, his sister proud of her own role in seeing their navy grow. Ned whispered sweet nothings into Wynona's ears, his son not as circumspect as Robb would wish him to be. Dacey quickly noticed the look on Robb's face and let Ned know how close he was to earning his father's disapproval.

It wasn't that he feared his son would dishonor the girl. More that he knew others had hoped that it would be their daughters that would earn Ned's favor and so were not best pleased that they did not. To sit the girl and her family at the High Table once the betrothal had been made was one thing. Wiping it in the faces that this was a match based as much on love as it was on politics, was very much another. Ned turned and looked at him before he nodded his head which showed that he understood that now at least.

The feast was in full swing and the ale was flowing. Robb even managed to get Dacey to dance with him and teased her about asking her mother to do the same. His wife just raised her eyebrow and dared him to do so. Something he in the end thought better of. Moving around the floor with his wife in his arms, Robb couldn't help but think back on Harvest Feasts of old. His mother and father dancing with each other as he and his siblings looked on. Petting the wolves and feeding them under the tables, even though they'd been told not to do so.

He remembered how excited he'd been the first time that his Uncle and Goodaunt, as well as his cousins, had joined them. To have the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms sup in their halls and act as if they were no better or worse than anyone there had been eye-opening to him as a boy. As it had been to spar with the greatest sword not just in the North or the Realm, but, as his mother would oft say, the entire world itself. Smiling as he thought of it, he shook his head when his wife asked what amused him so. Happy to continue dancing and then take his seat once the music ended. No sooner had he done so than the Maester arrived bearing the raven's scroll in his hand. The sigil that it was sealed with brought another true smile to his face. However, this one was quickly wiped away once he read the words.

"Robb, my love, what's wrong?" Dacey said as Robb did his best to compose himself. Somehow he managed to fight back the tears that he knew he'd shed before the night was done.

"I… it's…" he looked around at those celebrating in the Great Hall, to his family sitting at the High Table, and finally to his wife.

Where he found the strength to do as he did, he knew not. Yet he rose to his feet and held his hand up as he readied to deliver news that would change the mood in the Great Hall completely.

"My lords and ladies. I have news I must share. Terrible news." he said as the voices hushed and the music stopped. "The White Wolf has fallen, my lords and ladies, the Old Gods have called him home."

Robb barely heard the words his wife spoke to him. Nor did he see the tears shed by his brother and sister, or even those shed around the hall. None of them had been prepared for this. All of them believed his uncle was the one person in the entire realm who could never die. He'd beaten death once before and though the raven said he died peacefully and went to his gods happy, Robb doubted that was true. For no man had loved his life as much as Aegon Targaryen had.

Readying to speak some more and tell those present that his uncle's death had been a peaceful one, Robb caught sight of Lyanna Mormont out of the corner of his eye. His goodmother wept openly. Her tears streamed down her face and Dacey embraced her as she offered her whatever comfort she could. Robb finally lost the battle with his own tears as he reached up and did his best to wipe them away. Before then raising a mug and looking out to each of the lords and ladies in the Great Hall.

"To the White Wolf."

"The White Wolf."

Outside the wolves howled their own eulogy for his uncle. The sound was haunting and beautiful as their melody played over the silence inside the Great Hall. Robb for the first time found himself happy that his mother and father had left the North after he'd come of age. Relieved that neither of them was here to weep and feel the sadness that he and others now were forced to go through. It was better that she and his father sailed the seas and discovered new lands. Better that they knew not the pain of his uncle's loss and remembered only the days they had together. Days that Robb hoped to remember soon enough.

King's Landing 350 AC.

Rhaella Targaryen.

Twenty years and yet it felt like mere days ago that she was but a girl running around the Red Keep hiding from her father. Their games played as her mother sat and heard petitions from atop the Iron Throne. Rhaella was almost able to picture the smile on her mother's face as she listened to Rhaella's excited yelps once her father had caught her. Her mother knowing full well that on the morrow it would be her that was doing the chasing while her father sat and heard the petitions.

As the two horses raced down the tiltyard, Rhaella let that be the only memory of her parents to intrude on her thoughts. She wished not to remember her mother's last days and feared that soon enough she'd know her father's. Closing her eyes, she reached out for Lyarhaex and welcomed the peace that her bond with her dragon always brought her. Then by the time she opened them, she was the Queen of Westeros and High Empress of Essos once again.

Out on the tiltyard, her youngest son, Aegon, unhorsed his opponent. While in the stands the girl who everyone knew he'd crown his queen of love and beauty looked on eagerly. The Lioness of Lannister's golden hair shimmered under the light of the afternoon sun and her green eyes sparkled as Aegon rode his horse to where the garland awaited. All other eyes in the jousting arena looked to her son and his horse as they made their way to where his queen awaited.

"Lady Cerenna, I would name you the Queen of Love and Beauty," Aegon said and the lady shed true tears of happiness as she took the garland and put it on her head. Rhaella looked at her husband and saw that Rhaegar was more than happy with the turn of events.

Rising to his feet, the Herald brought the tourney to an end and Rhaella then took Rhaegar's offered arm. Her husband and cousin by birth, smiling that smile that so enchanted her as they made their way from the tourney grounds and to the awaiting carriage. No sooner had they taken their seats than the questions began. Rhaella was not yet ready to fully accept that it was to be a Lannister that her son would name his bride.

"Lord Stafford awaits an answer, my love," Rhaegar said as Rhaella contemplated on how much she wished the Lannister Lord's father still lived.

"What of his mother?" she asked.

"Lady Joy would be most pleased by the match, my love, as would Aegon himself."

"My father named Lord Daven good and true and yet he's never spoken much of his son," she said. The one hesitation she had in allowing her son to follow his heart finally laid bare.

"It is the match he wishes for, Rhaella. Are we to deny him his heart when we allowed Daeron and Daenerys to follow their own?"

She knew she could not do so. Her son and heir had married the woman he loved even though they needed not to shore up relations with the North. A Mormont princess had been something that her father had been most in favor of, as few Houses had meant more to him than the one from Bear Island. Daenerys had the good fortune to find love that suited them politically too. The Royces were an old and valued House and their relationship with the Vale, though good, could always be better.

"I should fly," she said after a moment, the sound of her husband's laughter ringing out as soon as she spoke the words.

"So it's to be Lyarhaex's counsel and not mine own you listen to." Rhaegar winked, making her laugh a little.

"You know I think better when atop a dragon."

"Very well, I'll see it arranged that we speak to Lord Stafford a little later. For now, I'll entertain the man as best I can."

"Put him on his arse in the sparring yard you mean."

"Well, I find that most entertaining do I not," Rhaegar said, his smile now having turned far more into a smirk than ever.

A kiss was shared between them and soon enough they were at the Dragonpit. Lyarhaex waiting for her as soon as she entered the rebuilt home of the dragons. The design was far different than it had been before and its use was now only for the dragons and their guards, nothing less or more. Her father and mother had learned well the lessons from the Dance and so had made it so. Rhaella smiling brightly as she saw just how eager her dragon was for her to be on her back.

"Come, my love, it's time we fly once more," she said as despite wearing a dress, she climbed up Lyarhaex's wing easily.

They flew for less than an hour. Rhaella even forwent the urge to fly to Dragonstone and see her father and son. She'd be travelling there soon enough as it was and so for now, she could wait to do so. Atop Lyarhaex's back, she found the decision an easy one to make. Her doubts about Lord Stafford's character were assuaged by the way she felt about his mother, by who his father had been, and by the love she knew her son shared with his daughter.

Landing and speaking soft words to Lyarhaex, Rhaella promised her dragon that they'd be traveling to Dragonstone soon and they'd see their father soon enough. Leaving the Dragonpit, she found she truly looked forward to a bath and a change of clothing. Within an hour she had enjoyed both and together with Rhaegar, she took a seat in their solar and awaited Lord Stafford and Lady Joy to join them. The negotiations took little time and Rhaella believed that the smile the lord wore when they were over was a true one. Still, she promised herself that as close as she was letting the Lannisters to the Iron Throne, they'd get no closer. Lessons she'd learned from the White Lion many years earlier. Ser Jaime had told her in confidence that while he loved his family, at times they could not be trusted. Words that Rhaella had taken to heart, as she had those from the others who'd been close to her mother and father. All of them now passed, she was sad to say.

The feast they were due to have that night, ended up being canceled. Rhaella was unable to face people after the raven arrived and plans to travel had needed to be made in haste. Not night falling or her husband's pleas to wait until the morrow was enough to stop them flying to Dragonstone instead of drinking and making merry. She found herself fearful that they'd be too late and that she'd not get to say her goodbyes. That to her was more of a pressing concern than the dangers of a nighttime flight. Not that she ever felt any danger atop Lyarhaex's back.

"Where is he?" she asked her son after she'd dismounted. Rhaegar, Aegon, and Daenerys all taking a little longer than her to do so.

"He's with the twins, mother."

"The babes, Lyra?"

"Are well, Mother," Daeron said and Rhaella smiled before kissing her son and heir on the cheek. "I'll see to Father and the others." her son added, something she was grateful to him for.

She heard the words but had already moved toward the keep. Two members of Daeron's Dragonguard now standing as her guards, though she needed none in this place above all. Walking as swiftly as she could, she was relieved to hear the sound of her father's voice a few moments later. While the sight of him playing with the twins was even more welcome.

His hair had greyed over the years, yet he still wore it as long as ever. Loose now though it was. The scar on his face had been joined by the aged lines of the years he'd lived. Yet her father looked young and healthy and far from his age. Fit and virile, she wagered there still wasn't a swordsman alive who could keep up with him, should he wish to wield a sword that was. It had been years since he'd done so, however. Longclaw now rested on Aegon's hip while Daeron wielded Blackfyre.

"Look, my loves, Grandmother has come to play with us." her father said. His voice was light and yet looking into his dark purple eyes, Rhaella saw sadness and worry there.

Despite wishing to speak to her father and to hear why he'd been so certain his time was near, Rhaella couldn't resist playing with her grandchildren. Jaehaerys and Alysanne seemed happy for her to join them and yet it was her father who they looked to more often than not for their fun and games.

Thankfully when Rhaegar, Aegon, Daeron, and Daenerys arrived, her father brought an end to the day's fun and soon enough, she, her husband, and their children were sitting listening to the words she had feared would one day come.

"My time is almost at an end." her father began and though she moved to question him, he held up his hand and so she kept her seat. "Rhaegal and Drogon are for the twins, Daeron. They will bond with them and none else. Be sure to bring them to the grove often."

"Can you be certain it's to be them, grandfather?" Daenerys asked. Her daughter was more knowledgeable than any of her family when it came to dragons and their lore.

"Aye, I know it to be so."

"You look fit and well, uncle. I can see no signs of illness and the Maester's letters named none." Rhaegar said and Rhaella was glad of her husband's words since she could barely speak her own.

"Yet my time is close and I've had longer than I ever dared to hope for." her father said. Rhaella then lost the battle with tears she'd been fighting since hearing the news. "Give me and your mother some time, there is much we must speak on."

She barely noticed them leaving the room. Nor her that her father had moved closer to her. Were it not for his arms embracing her, then Rhaella would have sat in silence. Yet the moment he did so, her sobs began. Less than a year ago it had been her mother who'd passed. Her death had almost broken her and would have, had it not been for her father's embrace. The words he spoke to her belied the grief that he himself somehow managed to overcome. Or so she'd thought at the time.

"I've had the life I wished for, Little Dragon." her father said, his words stirring up memories of days long passed and ones she wished she could go back to. "Yet since your mother has passed I've longed to join her. To be with her and by her side and only that I knew you needed me, or I'd have done so afore now."

"You would take your own life?" she said challengingly. "You would do such a thing?"

"Life is far too precious to be just thrown away thus, Little Dragon." Her father's words confused her and then she felt him kiss her forehead softly as he readied to speak some more. "My time is at an end, Rhaella. I see them now in my dreams. I hear them when they call for me to take my place by their side."

"Who?"

"Tormund. Davos. Ghost. Rhaenys. And above them all, your Mother."

"I… I don't want you to leave…"

"I'll never leave you, my sweet daughter. Even when I'm long gone from this world I'll always be with you." he kissed her again, this time on the cheek before he spoke softly in her ear. "Look for me in the trees, Rhaella. In the eyes of my grandchildren and great-grandchildren. In your own eyes when you look in the looking glass and in Aemon's when he comes to visit. Look for me in your heart and I promise that you'll always find me there."

Her father held her for some time. Long enough for the tears to stop falling and then to her surprise, he rose to his feet and bid her to join him. They ate as a family that night. Rhaella and the others soon found her father's mood to be as good as she ever remembered it to be. The children, her grandchildren, her husband and herself, her father gave each of them equal attention. All of them laughed fully as he told the tale of his first visit to Dragonstone and his meeting with her mother.

"The Mighty Dragonqueen as Tormund would call her. Me a king who wore no crown and Her, a woman who led the largest army the world had ever seen. I loved her from the first moment I met her and yet it took until we traveled to the North for me ever to speak the words aloud." her father said, smiling warmly at her as he told a tale he'd told often and yet never as well as he did right now.

Later it was to the cliffs that he made his way and only she and Daeron were allowed to join him. The three of them stood there alone as her father looked out on the sea and smiled when he saw the green dragon fly toward him. Rhaegal didn't land and though the dragon looked sad to her, the sound he made was one she could only name as joyful. Her father then turned to her and Daeron and bid them both to close their eyes.

"I lived as a wolf, my love. For far too long it was the life I knew. And yet for the best and truest part of my life, I've lived only as a dragon. I thank the gods for allowing me to die like one."

Time seemed to stand still. No sound could be heard and even the wind stopped blowing or so it seemed. Rhaella stood there with her eyes closed for the longest time and then she heard the last words her father ever spoke. Words that though they almost shattered her heart because of what they meant, managed to fix it at the same time. To mend it and let her be ready to face the days, weeks, moons, and years to come. Years where she'd know naught but peace and the memory of the love her father and mother had for her.

"Dany, I've come home." her father said as he breathed his last, Rhaella happy in the knowledge that her mother and father would be reunited in the next world and that one day she'd join them both there.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read it. It means a lot you stuck with this story to the end and I can only hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it.