THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

A Bow That Shook Old Bullshit

The flapping of wings intensified as the dragons began their descent, the shadows growing darker and more menacing. The assembled crowd watched with awe and trepidation, their murmurs drowned out by the deafening roar of wings cutting through the air.

Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, landed with a ground-shaking thud, his immense bulk dwarfing everything around him. His rider, Sirion Targaryen, slid off with practiced ease, his raven-hair glinting in the faint sunlight that managed to pierce through the ominous clouds. He ran a hand down Vermithor’s neck, murmuring words of thanks before the great beast took to the skies again, his roar echoing across Harrenhal like thunder.

Silverwing was not far behind, her descent as graceful as her rider. Visenya Targaryen dismounted with a playful leap, her brother Sirion catching her effortlessly. Her storm-violet eyes sparkled with mirth as she brushed off invisible dust from her gown. Together, the siblings stood like a vision from the past, evoking memories of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne.

Alicent’s heart swelled at the sight, her smile faint but proud.

Daemon leaned closer, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. “Our children know how to make an entrance.”

Alicent chuckled lightly, her composure as poised as ever. “They are our children, what do you expect?”

The crowd barely had time to recover from the awe inspired by Vermithor and Silverwing when the rest of the dragons began to land. Sunfyre, resplendent in gold, landed with Aegon perched upon him, looking every bit the golden prince. Tyraxes followed swiftly, his emerald scales shimmering as Aemond slid down, his stormy-Violet eyes, scanning the crowd with his characteristic intensity.

Then came Shyrkos, the majestic purple she-dragon ridden by Alysanne, her presence as regal as her mount. The triplets dismounted almost in unison, their movements graceful yet commanding.

Finally, the youngest two, three-year-olds Daenyra and Daeron, clapped their hands excitedly from where they stood with Hermione and Draco. Their delighted laughter rang out, a bright contrast to the somber setting, as they watched their older siblings dismount one by one.

“Look, Mother!” Daenyra called out, her small hands pointing toward the sky. “Big dragons!”

“Yes, my sweetling,” Alicent replied, her tone warm despite the calculating glint in her eyes. “Big dragons indeed.”

The halls of Harrenhal trembled under the weight of history as the dragons landed, their roars reverberating through the ancient stone walls. For the first time since the castle had been scorched by Balerion’s flames, dragons once again claimed dominion over its grounds.

The tension in the air was palpable as Sirion strode forward, his steps steady and deliberate. His Raven-black hair gleamed in the faint light filtering through the looming clouds, and his emerald eyes were sharp with determination. They found Rabastan Lestrange, whose face wore a mix of smugness and misplaced pride—a twisted devotion that mirrored what Sirion had once witnessed in Death Eaters for Voldemort.

This time, however, Sirion felt no fear, no compulsion to bow to that lunacy. Instead, a sickening satisfaction curled in his chest as he watched Rabastan’s features shift in confusion. Wait until you see this, Sirion thought, his lips twitching ever so slightly.

Without hesitation, he moved forward, bypassing King Viserys entirely. Gasps echoed across the crowd, whispers breaking the silence like leaves in the wind.

Sirion’s path led directly to Alicent, his mother. Stopping before her, he dropped into a waist-deep bow, his movements fluid and reverent. Taking her hands gently in his own, he kissed her knuckles before placing them against his forehead in a gesture of respect so intimate it startled even her.