Early morning. Fog shrouded Dragonstone in chaos.
Among the ruins, people were clearing away the bodies. One by one, the charred corpses were carried out and piled on an open patch of ground. There were soldiers, servants, handmaidens, and children. No one spoke. No one dared to speak. Only the muffled sound of bodies being dropped to the earth.
On the shore of Dragonstone, a pyre was being stacked.
A huge pyre, as high as a man, made of dry pine wood and soaked in oil. On the pyre lay Rhaenys.
She had been changed into clean clothes, her long silver hair neatly combed, her hands folded on her chest. Her face was calm, as if she were asleep. The tragic dragon battle had left many wounds on her body, but all were covered by her garments.
Beside her lay Meleys's dragon head. The crimson dragon's head, its eyes closed. Those golden pupils would never open again. Her scales still glowed in the sun, but the light was lifeless.
Queen Rhaenyra stood before the pyre, saying nothing. She wore a long black dress, her hair simply tied up, no crown on her head. There were no tears on her face, but her eyes were frighteningly red. Something swirled in them, but she held it back, refusing to let it fall.
Prince Daemon stood beside her, also dressed in black. He was silent, looking at the woman on the pyre. She had died as a dragonrider. Died on her dragon's back, died in battle, died before the enemy.
Corlys stood at the front.
The Sea Snake was old. Now he looked much older. His back was bent, as if crushed by something heavy. His eyes were red and swollen; the tears on his face had not yet dried. He stood there, looking at his wife on the pyre, motionless. He had stood for a long time. Since sunrise, he had stood there. No one dared to disturb the grieving old man.
In the distance, Sara stood beside Silverwing, her head bowed. She dared not look at the pyre.
She remembered that when Daemon had asked her to chase, she had deliberately slowed down. She thought of Aemond's distant back. She remembered the fear in her heart. She was a bastard. She had known from an early age that she was not a brave person. She feared death, feared pain, feared losing everything she had now.
But she also had her own child. Jacaerys's posthumous son was still in Tyrosh, waiting for her return. If she died, what would become of her own child? She had no other kin. Queen Rhaenyra had not acknowledged the child. So she wanted to live. Even if she was looked down upon, even if she was called a coward, she would stay alive.
---
Corlys finally moved.
He stepped forward, step by step, slowly. When he reached the pyre, he stopped. He reached out and gently touched Rhaenys's face. That face was cold, cold.
His lips moved; his voice was so hoarse it was barely audible.
No one spoke. Only the sound of waves crashing against the reef.
"You promised me..." Corlys murmured, his voice broken. "You would return... you said... you said..."
Rhaenys did not answer. She would never answer.
Corlys's shoulders began to tremble. He bent, laid his head on the edge of the pyre, and wept quietly. No sound. Only his shoulders shook.
Rhaenyra stepped forward.
She looked at Rhaenys and was silent for a long time.
"Aunt," she finally spoke, her voice very soft, as if afraid to disturb something. "Thank you."
She paused.
"Thank you for standing firmly by me... Thank you for always being at my side. Thank you..."
She could not continue.
She looked at her dragon, Syrax. The yellow she-dragon lowered her head. Feeling her master's sorrow, Syrax keened softly.
Then she loosed a mouthful of flame.
The fire fell on the pyre and instantly blazed as high as the sky. Crimson fire reflected across half the heavens; even the sun lost its color.
Rhaenys's body was consumed by the flames. Meleys's dragon head was consumed by the flames. The fire blazed, and the faces of all present flickered bright and dark.
Corlys stood, watching his wife in the flames, his whole body trembling.
He remembered many years ago.
He remembered when she married him at fifteen, wearing a white wedding gown, a confident smile on her face. "I chose you, Corlys, not the other way around." He had always remembered those words from the proud Targaryen.
He remembered the night of their wedding, riding the Red Queen Meleys, as excited as a child, tumbling through the sky. He had stood on the walls of High Tide, looking up until his neck ached, waiting for her to finish their wedding flight.
He remembered when she gave birth to Laenor, holding the child in her arms and smiling. "Look, he looks like me." He had leaned over to look, and the child did look like her—the same silver hair, the same violet eyes.
He remembered when she lost Laenor—though he knew it was a false death, she had wept for a long time. He had held her, not knowing how to comfort her.
He remembered how she had always stood by him, accompanying him through the storms.
How many years had passed?
Now she was gone. Gone ahead of him.
He was a completely lonely old man.
"Rhaenys..." he murmured. "Rhaenys..."
The fire burned ever brighter.
---
At that moment, Daemon approached Corlys.
He stood for a while, then said, "My condolences."
Corlys did not speak.
"A dragonrider," Daemon said, "the most glorious death is to die in the sky."
Corlys finally turned his head and looked at him. In those eyes—anger, sorrow, too much else.
Suddenly, he reached out and seized Daemon by the collar.
"Why didn't you come sooner?!" the old man roared. "If you had come, she would not have died!"
Daemon did not move. He simply looked at Corlys, saying nothing.
What could he say? That his wing had been bitten by Sunfyre? That he had tried his hardest to come? That his heart had also bled when he saw Rhaenys dying?
He said nothing. Simply stood and let Corlys grip his collar.
Corlys looked at him for a long time.
Then his hand slowly released.
The Sea Snake stepped back a pace and shook his head.
"House Velaryon is half destroyed," he said, his voice full of despair. "I am a sinner to my house."
Daemon was silent a moment.
"Corlys," he spoke.
Corlys looked up.
"We still have a dragonrider."
Corlys was stunned. "What?"
"The rider of Seasmoke," Daemon said. "He is not yet dead."
Corlys's face changed. "You..."
"Laenor." Daemon spoke the name. "I believe that if he knew of his mother's death, he would take up the responsibility."
Corlys stared at him, fury burning in his eyes.
"You are so ruthless," he said, word by word, each word seeming forced through his teeth. "You won't even spare my only son?"
Daemon looked at him with a calm gaze.
"Now we need to win this war," he said calmly. "At any cost, we must win."
He paused.
"If we lose, you know what will happen to House Velaryon."
Corlys's face changed.
"Do not forget Moonspire," Daemon continued. "Your tens of thousands of islanders—your people—are suffering there."
Corlys was silent. He dared not think what would happen to House Velaryon if Aemond won...
"The whereabouts of Seasmoke," Daemon said, "I know. He is in the Disputed Lands."
Prince Daemon smiled grimly.
"Those Volantenes, those nobles in the Black Walls, vainly tried to tame a dragon. I hear many were burned alive. They think dragons are horses? Do those wild beasts know how to ride?"
Corlys did not speak.
Daemon reached out and took him by the shoulder.
"Trust me. We can win."
Corlys looked up.
"Aegon is dead," Daemon said. "The Green king is dead. That hurts them more than what we have lost."
He paused.
"The Greens are only held together by Aemond. And we have many people."
Corlys looked at him and was silent a long time. Then he closed his eyes and nodded.
---
At that moment, Rhaenyra approached.
She looked at Daemon with complicated eyes.
"Is Aegon dead?" she asked.
Daemon nodded. "Sunfyre fell. Falling from such a height, it will be hard for him to live."
Rhaenyra was silent a moment.
"Aunt Rhaenys..." she said, her voice trembling slightly. "She might have survived. If you had come earlier..."
Daemon looked at her.
"My dragon was bitten," he said. "Sunfyre bit him."
Rhaenyra was stunned. "Sunfyre?"
Daemon said, "That beast went mad and bit Caraxes's wing. If not for that bite, I would have come earlier."
He paused.
"I did everything I could."
Rhaenyra was silent.
Suddenly, Rhaenyra did not know whom to blame.
She looked into the distance. There stood Sara beside Silverwing, head bowed.
Her eyes flickered.
Daemon followed her gaze.
"That bastard," he lowered his voice, "has her own motives."
Rhaenyra turned to him.
"I asked her to chase, and she deliberately flew very slowly," Daemon said. "There is no way Silverwing is so slow she could not catch up. I saw it with my own eyes."
Rhaenyra was silent a moment.
"She has a child," she said. "Jacaerys's child."
Daemon sneered. "So what?"
Rhaenyra looked at him.
"She is that child's mother," she said. "If she dies, what will become of the child?"
Daemon said no more.
Rhaenyra looked away.
"Leave her for now," she said. "She is still useful."
---
The flames gradually died down.
The pyre had turned to a pile of ash.
Rhaenys and Meleys together had turned to ash.
Corlys stepped forward, crouched, and took a handful of ash in his hands. The ash sifted through his fingers and was carried away by the wind.
"Rhaenys..." he murmured.
No one spoke.
Only the waves crashed against the reef.
One after another.
Never stopping.
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