When the blood of the dragon meets the soul of the dragon, the continent begins to burn.
The Baratheons are steadfast, strong, and formidable. Leanna Baratheon is no different. She is the storm, and no one, Targaryen or other, will bring her down.
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Aerys, at thirteen, is a tall and strong boy. Renowned for his skill with a blade already, and an excellent dragon rider. His presence in King's Landing, he knows, is to support his mother and his cousin.
Aerys spends most of his time in the Dragonpit, even when night draws near and he knows his horse grows impatient outside. Enough time that he knows the wings beats of each of the dragons in this keep. Dreamfyre, young Sunfyre, and even Melelys at times. So, when the sleek golden dragon lands outside the doors of the pit, his attention is peaked.
Rhaenyra has spent most of her time on Dragonstone, away from her new siblings. Reluctant to face the queen, and the unfriendly faces from lords who would wish her a male heir. The last time Aerys saw her was when he first moved to the Red Keep, at seven. The heir is fifteen now. A dragon rider, just like him.
She slides from the dragon Syrax, her blonde hair loose down her back. Aerys leans against Vermithor's leg, watching her lead the dragon inside with a single word. In Valyrian, he calls to her.
"I didn't expect to see you here." Rhaenyra jumps slightly, turning quickly. As if she didn't see the massive bronze dragon in the shadows. A measure of surprise crosses her face as her eyes light on him.
"Aerys?"
"The very same."
She grins, the expression lighting her elegant features. Nothing like Viserys, he thinks. The king is weak and shallow at times. But Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra's eyes are alight with a fire he recognizes all too well.
"Is my uncle here, then?"
"Just I, for now. My parents returned to Storm's End some months ago to be with my siblings."
"Well, I'm glad I caught you here then. I was just about to visit Leanna. Syrax grew hungry, or else I would have flown straight there. It seems that her appetite has favored me."
"Are you asking me to accompany you?" The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
"Perhaps," she answers. "Unless you can't keep up. After all, Vermithor is much older than Syrax."
"And you are older than I," he retorts. "I suppose that makes us even."
Rhaenyra accepts the teasing, starting to turn for Syrax once more. The dragon has already approached the pile of freshly deposited sheep carcasses, gorging herself. Pausing, the princess turns back to him.
"Tell me something, Aerys." He extends his hand, motioning for her to continue. "Are tensions still high here? Do they still curse my name over wine and swear I am not worthy?"
"They do not dare to when I am around."
"But when you are not?"
"I'm everywhere, Princess," he answers darkly. An edge of a storm in his words that has Rhaenyra considering him with a new light.
