Daemon crossed his arms as his sharp eyes flicked from Jeanyx to the enormous black dragon resting behind him on the frozen sea. Nyx shifted slightly at the sound of their voices, mist curling lazily from her jaws as her violet eyes watched them with quiet intelligence.
"Care to explain that one?" Daemon added.
Jeanyx only gave a small, amused shrug.
"You'd have to ask the islanders," he said. "They came up with the title on their own."
Rhaenys studied the dragon thoughtfully for a moment, her gaze lingering on the unnatural sheen of Nyx's crystal-black scales before the conversation drifted elsewhere.
Over the next several minutes Jeanyx was brought up to speed on a number of developments across Westeros—though one piece of news in particular caught his attention.
"The Blackwoods," Rhaenys said carefully. "Or… the Blacks, as they call themselves now."
Jeanyx's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Yes?" he asked.
Daemon gave a small grunt before explaining.
"The Riverlands are tense," he said bluntly. "The Brackens are claiming your… adoption of the Black family has stirred trouble. They're accusing them of murdering James Bracken."
Jeanyx blinked once.
Then he let out a short laugh.
"That fool is very much alive," he said casually.
Daemon and Rhaenys exchanged a glance.
Jeanyx continued as if the matter were obvious.
"James abandoned House Bracken willingly," he explained. "Walked away from the name and the politics that came with it."
Daemon raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"And he founded a new house," Jeanyx said.
"House Potter."
The name hung oddly in the cold air.
Jeanyx continued before they could question it.
"He's… different from the Blacks," he added. "I didn't adopt him the same way."
Instead of making him a direct member of House Targaryen's growing circle, Jeanyx had taken a different approach. James had been granted authority to form a secondary house tied to the Targaryens but not fully within their bloodline.
"A kind of auxiliary branch," Jeanyx explained. "Close enough to serve the crown, but independent enough to move where we cannot."
Rhaenys tilted her head slightly.
"And the Blacks?"
"They remain as they are," Jeanyx replied. "Adopted under my protection."
He gestured briefly toward Sirius, Regulus, and Bellatrix nearby.
"But they aren't the only ones."
Jeanyx's gaze moved toward the horizon as he continued.
"My children have already begun forming two additional houses."
Daemon's interest sharpened immediately.
"Slytherin," Jeanyx said first.
"And Gaunt."
The names sounded older than the kingdoms of Westeros themselves.
"These houses," Jeanyx continued calmly, "will be direct branches of House Targaryen. Bloodline houses. They'll carry royal privilege and stand beneath the crown itself."
Daemon slowly nodded, beginning to see the structure forming in Jeanyx's mind.
"And the others?" Rhaenys asked.
Jeanyx's expression shifted slightly.
"House Black and House Potter serve a different role."
"How so?" Daemon asked.
Jeanyx glanced briefly toward Nyx, then back to his cousin and brother.
"They act as a shield."
The wind drifted across the frozen sea as he spoke.
"A shield that stands between my bloodline and the knives of the world."
Daemon's mouth curved slightly at that.
It was a strategy he understood very well.
Rhaenys had been quiet for most of the conversation, watching rather than speaking. Her violet eyes kept drifting back toward Nyx, studying the dragon with the calm, analytical focus of someone who had ridden dragons for most of her life.
Finally she spoke.
"There's something that's been bothering me," she said, her tone thoughtful.
Jeanyx glanced over at her.
Rhaenys nodded toward Nyx, who lay stretched across the frozen sea behind them like a living obsidian mountain.
"How," she asked plainly, "did that dragon reach this size in barely twelve years?"
Daemon glanced back at Nyx again.
Now that the shock of her arrival had passed, the scale of the creature was impossible to ignore. Nyx was enormous—her wingspan rivaling that of Meleys and Caraxes, dragons that had lived for more than eighty years.
And Nyx…
"…should be about the age of Syrax," Rhaenys continued. "Perhaps a little older."
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"But Syrax isn't even close to this size yet."
Jeanyx scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully.
"That," he admitted, "is going to take some explaining."
Daemon gave a dry snort.
"Then start explaining."
Jeanyx nodded once, then shifted slightly on the ice, gathering his thoughts.
"First," he said, "you need to understand something called the Force."
Daemon's expression immediately turned skeptical.
"The what?"
"The Force," Jeanyx repeated calmly.
He crouched down slightly, picking up a shard of ice and rolling it between his fingers while he spoke.
"Magic and the Force have different names depending on where you're from," he explained. "But at their core… they're the same thing."
Rhaenys' attention sharpened instantly.
Jeanyx continued.
"They're the same energy, flowing through everything. Through every living creature, every breath of air, every drop of water, every piece of food you eat. Everything carries traces of it."
He gestured slowly toward the ocean, the sky, and the dragons around them.
"The world is saturated with it."
Daemon frowned slightly but remained silent, letting him continue.
"The Force has two major sides," Jeanyx said. "The Light and the Dark."
He raised one hand.
"The Light side focuses on control. Discipline. Protecting others. Letting go of destructive emotions and mastering attachments."
Then he raised the other.
"The Dark side is the opposite. It feeds on emotion—anger, passion, ambition, desire. It rewards selfishness and power."
Daemon smirked slightly.
"That one sounds more interesting."
Jeanyx chuckled.
"Most people say that."
He stood again.
"But it's not as simple as good versus evil," he continued. "Both paths depend on the person wielding them. The mindset determines how the power manifests."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"Someone might walk the middle path. Balance. Using both sides."
A faint grin crossed his face.
"Though most people naturally favor one more than the other."
Daemon folded his arms.
"And you?"
Jeanyx didn't hesitate.
"I favor the Dark."
Daemon laughed under his breath.
"Shocking."
Jeanyx shrugged.
"For Targaryens it actually works better."
That caught Rhaenys' attention again.
"Why?"
"Because of dragons," Jeanyx said simply.
"The bond between a dragon and its rider is deeply emotional. Passionate. Volatile. That kind of connection naturally feeds Dark-side techniques."
He gestured toward Caraxes and Meleys resting nearby.
"Targaryens also have… a reputation for emotional instability."
Daemon grinned wider.
Jeanyx continued.
"The Light side is harder for us to train in. It requires emotional restraint."
His gaze drifted briefly northward.
"Starks, on the other hand…"
Daemon blinked.
"Why are we suddenly talking about Starks?"
Jeanyx looked back at him.
"Because House Stark may be the only bloodline in Westeros capable of mastering both magic and the Force as a family."
Both Targaryens went quiet.
"Most people who have potential," Jeanyx explained, "can only access one or the other. Either magic… or the Force."
He held up two fingers.
"But the rarest bloodlines can use both."
Rhaenys narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.
"And the Starks?"
"They're one of them."
Jeanyx nodded toward the distant north.
"They've kept their bloodline unusually pure. Most of their marriages were with other First Men houses."
He shrugged slightly.
"Andals diluted their potential generations ago."
Daemon frowned.
"And their gods?"
"That matters too."
Jeanyx's expression grew thoughtful.
"Some gods favor certain bloodlines. Either at birth… or later if they find someone interesting enough."
Rhaenys tilted her head.
"Which gods?"
"The Old Gods," Jeanyx said first.
"The Valyrian gods. The Many-Faced God."
He paused.
"And probably a few others."
Daemon raised an eyebrow.
"The Seven?"
Jeanyx snorted.
"I doubt it."
Then he continued.
"The Force itself is structured around four principles. Every technique comes from one of these aspects."
He began counting them off.
"The Living Force. It connects all living beings and flows through them. It focuses on the present moment."
"The Cosmic Force. The energy that binds the universe together and carries the will of the Force itself… including life after death."
"The Unifying Force. That one deals with destiny. Seeing the larger picture. The future."
"And finally…"
Jeanyx lifted the piece of ice again.
"The Physical Force."
The shard suddenly lifted from his fingers and floated in the air.
Daemon's eyes narrowed.
"That's the part most people think of when they imagine Force users. Moving objects. Manipulating the physical world."
The ice slowly rotated between them.
"And every technique," Jeanyx finished, "draws from one of these principles… though some require understanding more than one."
Jeanyx let the piece of floating ice drift back into his palm before flicking it aside, watching it skid across the frozen sea.
"Anyway," he said, brushing frost from his gloves, "that's enough about the Force for now."
Daemon folded his arms again, clearly still digesting everything he had just heard, while Rhaenys watched with the same calm attentiveness she used when studying a new dragon.
"Now we get to magic."
He glanced between them before continuing.
"Magic is… easier to train, in some ways. And far more versatile than the Force."
Jeanyx crouched down, drawing a faint circle in the frost with his finger as he spoke.
"The simplest way to understand it is this—magic is life itself."
He tapped the ice.
"Every living creature carries a fragment of it. No being can survive without at least the smallest sliver of magical energy flowing through them. It's essentially the force that sustains life."
Rhaenys' brow furrowed slightly.
"But it doesn't stop with living things," Jeanyx continued.
He gestured outward toward the ocean, the dragons, even the frozen air around them.
"Everything carries some form of magic. Stone. Water. Fire. Wind. Even things we don't fully understand yet."
Daemon glanced down at the ice beneath his boots.
"So the world is just… filled with it?"
"More than filled," Jeanyx replied. "Drowned in it."
He stood again.
"There are countless forms of magic—far more than anyone could catalog. Fire magic, blood magic, storm magic, shadow magic… the list goes on."
He exhaled slowly.
"And I won't even pretend to know them all."
A faint smirk crossed his face.
"Explaining every type properly would take days."
Daemon snorted. "Try weeks."
Jeanyx shrugged.
"Probably."
He began pacing slowly across the ice as he continued explaining.
"The real difference between magic and the Force lies in how you train them."
He tapped his temple lightly.
"The Force trains the body first. It teaches your physical self to feel and channel the energy already flowing through living things."
Then he tapped his head again.
"Magic trains the mind."
Rhaenys nodded slowly.
"Knowledge is power," she said.
Jeanyx pointed at her.
"Exactly."
"With magic, knowledge is power. The more you know, the more options you have in a fight or a problem. If you understand more spells, more structures, more theory than your opponent, you can counter nearly anything they try."
He paused briefly.
"That doesn't mean talent doesn't matter."
He shrugged.
"A gifted mage with half the knowledge can still defeat someone more studied."
Then he held up a finger.
"But ninety-five percent of the time?"
"Knowledge wins."
Daemon tilted his head.
"So why doesn't everyone learn it?"
Jeanyx chuckled.
"Because the mind is fragile."
He tapped his temple again.
"If you push too much knowledge into it too quickly, you overload yourself. The brain simply can't handle the strain."
He spread his hands.
"Learn too slowly, though, and your growth stagnates."
His expression turned slightly thoughtful.
"Finding the right balance is… difficult."
Rhaenys looked toward the horizon.
"And there aren't many places left to study it."
Jeanyx nodded.
"That's the other problem."
He kicked lightly at the ice as he continued walking.
"When the Andals invaded Westeros, they destroyed most magical knowledge they could find. Anything tied to the old ways, the Old Gods, or ancient practices—they burned it."
Daemon grimaced.
"That sounds like them."
Jeanyx continued.
"What survived was scattered. Forgotten libraries. Old archives hidden in castles that were built before the Andal invasion."
He glanced northward again.
"Winterfell still has some of the oldest records in the realm. A few other keeps from the same era do as well."
Rhaenys considered that quietly.
"And Valyria?" she asked.
Jeanyx gave a small, bitter laugh.
"If Valyria hadn't fallen, it would have been the greatest center of magical knowledge in the world."
He shook his head slightly.
"But the Doom erased most of it."
Daemon leaned back slightly.
"So magic is knowledge and study."
"Yes," Jeanyx said.
"But it's also more delicate than the Force."
He picked up another shard of ice and held it between his fingers.
"With the Force, brute strength sometimes works. With the right technique and enough power, you can force an outcome."
He crushed the ice easily in his hand.
"With magic?"
He opened his palm, letting the crushed fragments fall.
"You need precision."
He began counting on his fingers.
"Beginners usually require a conductor—something to focus their magic through. Most commonly a wand."
"Then you need the correct movement for the spell."
"Proper pronunciation."
"Clear intent."
"And sometimes other conditions depending on the magic involved."
Daemon frowned slightly.
"That sounds slower than what you showed us earlier."
"It can seem that way," Jeanyx admitted.
"But in truth…"
He brushed the frost from his gloves again.
"…magic and the Force are roughly equal."
He glanced between them.
"One isn't stronger than the other."
"They simply excel in different situations."
Jeanyx rolled his shoulders slightly, as if shaking off the weight of everything he had just explained, then gestured lazily toward Nyx where she rested across the frozen sea like a living piece of night carved into the world.
"Now that's out of the way," he said, voice easing back into something more casual, "we can get deeper into all of that later. For now, the reason my darling Nyx is this big—despite barely being more than a hatchling by dragon standards—comes down to something much simpler."
His gaze drifted outward, past them, toward the endless horizon where sea met sky in a dull, frozen line.
"Her environment."
There was a quiet weight to the word.
"The island I've been living on…" he continued, "…it's saturated. Not just with magic, not just with the Force—both. Thick enough that you can feel it in the air if you know how to look. It's in the soil, in the water, in the wind itself. Every plant that grows there, every creature that breathes, evolves under that influence."
He paused briefly, almost as if realizing something mid-thought.
"…it really does need a name," he muttered, more to himself than them, before continuing without missing a beat.
"That saturation changed everything. The ecosystem adapted. Animals grew larger, stronger, denser with energy. Even the smallest creatures carry more life force than anything you'd find in Westeros or Essos."
His eyes flicked toward the ocean beneath the ice.
"The whales, for example. The ones Nyx hunts? They're easily five times the size of anything I remember from when Father took us to sea. Their bodies are packed with magical energy—dense, rich, almost overflowing."
Daemon's brows lifted slightly at that, but he said nothing, letting Jeanyx continue.
"And dragons," Jeanyx said, tone sharpening just slightly, "are the pinnacle of magical evolution. They don't just survive on that kind of energy—they thrive on it. Every hunt, every meal… it feeds her growth in a way normal creatures couldn't."
He let that settle for a moment before adding,
"And it's not just the diet."
His hand lifted, gesturing loosely toward Nyx again, who shifted slightly in the distance as if acknowledging the attention.
"I don't chain her."
That landed heavier than anything else he had said.
"I don't confine her. I don't restrict her movement, her hunting, her instincts. She flies when she wants, hunts when she wants, rests where she wants. That freedom is just as important as what she eats."
For a brief moment, neither Daemon nor Rhaenys spoke.
Then Daemon slowly glanced toward Rhaenys.
She had already looked at him.
There was something uncomfortable sitting behind her calm expression now—something tight, something quiet.
Guilt.
Rhaenys had always considered herself more generous than most dragonriders. The chains she had used for Meleys at Driftmark had never been overly harsh, never cruel in her eyes. They were loose, allowing movement, allowing some freedom.
But they were still chains.
And now, standing here, looking at Nyx—at her size, her presence, the sheer vitality rolling off her—it was impossible not to compare.
Meleys, who was older by years, stood not far from Caraxes in size.
And Caraxes…
Caraxes was still growing.
The realization stung more than she would ever admit aloud, her pride taking a quiet hit as the truth settled in her chest.