Far from the Rhoyne, where the Summer Sea met the burning shores of Dorne, a young dragon crawled from the surf.
Rhaego Targaryen dragged himself onto the wet sand, chest heaving, every muscle screaming from days of flight. His massive wings, still damp from sea spray.
With a strained motion, he rolled one shoulder, then the other. Bone shifted beneath skin. The wings folded inward, shrinking, sinking, until they vanished beneath flesh like something swallowed whole.
For a moment he stayed on his knees, head bowed, then collapsed onto his back in the sand. His sun-burned chest rose and fell rapidly, skin flushed red beneath the faint pattern of emerging scales.
"Damn," he muttered hoarsely. staring up at the endless blue sky. "I thought I would never see land again."
Birds wheeled overhead, crying against the wind. The air smelled of salt and hot stone.
He sat up slowly, sand clinging to his damp skin, and scanned the horizon. Nothing but dunes, sparse grass, and the endless shimmer of the sea behind him.
Where am I? The thought sent a chill through him despite the heat.
Half-dragon in an unknown land… they might shoot me down as a monster before I can speak.
He pushed himself upright, surveying the surroundings. Sand stretched in every direction, dotted only by a sparse patch of grass. The place felt empty, almost deserted.
"Red Waste?" he mused. "No… the Red Waste wouldn't meet the sea like this." He shook his head, correcting himself.
Rhaego rose fully and started walking inland, leaving the surf behind. The sand crunched beneath his feet as he approached a distant shape: a building, tall and imposing, almost like a castle, with patches of green and scattered trees surrounding it.
Rhaego squinted.
"What… is that place?" he whispered, tail flicking nervously.
The sound of hooves reached him before he saw them.
Three riders crested a low dune, bright yellow silk scarves wrapped around their heads and faces against the sun. They wore light ringmail and scale shirts that glinted like copper coins, round shields slung at their sides, and long spears leveled in his direction.
Dornish scouts.
"Ah.. Great." Rhaego muttered under his breath.
The men reined in their horses as they spotted him. Spears leveled, their stance wary, as if preparing for an unknown threat.
Eyes wide above their scarves at the sight of the boy with scales on his arms and a long, sinuous tail.
"Stay where you are!" the lead rider shouted.
"Don't move, creature!"
Creature? Rhaego almost smiled.
Slowly, carefully, he raised both hands, palms open.
"Easy," he said. His voice was rough, dry from salt and sun. "I'm not here to fight."
The men exchanged glances, spears still raised, wary of the tail that flicked behind him.
One of them circled slightly to the side, trying to get a better look at him and at the tail, no doubt.
"Gods…" another muttered. "Look at it."
"I'm not it," Rhaego said, a little sharper now.
Then, catching himself, he exhaled. "Just… give me a moment, will you? I've had a long journey."
The lead rider did not laugh.
"Who are you, then?" he demanded. "And what sorcery is this? Scales and a tail on a boy? Speak true. We've no love for monsters in Dorne."
Rhaego tilted his head.
Fair enough.
Rhaego drew in a steadying breath, forcing a tired but confident smile. "My name is Rhaego," he said. "That much is true enough."
The men did not react.
So he went on.
"I am the son of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen." He paused, watching their eyes carefully. "The Mother of Dragons."
That got something. A shift. A glance between them.
Still wary. But no longer certain.
"I was under the impression my mother and the Prince of Dorne are allies," Rhaego continued, shrugging faintly. "We are friends, are we not?"
The riders exchanged looks. The one on the left lowered his spear, just a fraction.
"That's a hard name to prove, boy." he said.
Another snorted softly. "Harder still, showing up like that," he added, eyes flicking to the tail.
The third man said nothing at first, studying Rhaego from head to toe.
"You speak as though you belong to the world of men," he said. "Not some… creature of tales."
Rhaego drew a slow breath, letting the wind carry it across the sand. His chest heaved, tail flicking once behind him.
"I am no stranger to men," he said quietly.
"My mother, Daenerys Stormborn, sits on no throne here, yet her name carries weight enough to keep me alive… and I would have thought that was reason enough for courtesy."
The second rider shifted in his saddle, muttering under his breath. "Targaryen blood, you say… thought all of her line was scattered or dead."
Rhaego nodded, the faintest smile brushing his sunburned lips. "Scattered, perhaps. Dead? Never. And those who would harm me might wish they had."
The third man finally spoke, voice rough as gravel.
"Then if you speak true, come with us. If not…" He let the threat hang in the air, unspoken but sharp as a spearpoint.
Rhaego's hands rose slightly in a gesture of peace.
"Then I speak true. And I will come. But I am no prisoner. I am a guest, if you intend to treat me as one."
The lead rider lowered his spear fully, though caution still lingered in his gaze.
"Then mount up. And keep your hands where we can see them."
Rhaego smiled faintly, exhaustion still clinging to his bones. "That," he said, "sounds preferable to dying on a beach."
With deliberate steps, he approached the horses, every motion measured, every flick of his tail a promise: he would not fight. Not yet.
Somewhere inside the sun-warmed halls of Sunspear, in the wide guest chamber, Rhaego sat waiting. Dornish guards lined the walls, eyes alert, spears resting lightly on their shoulders
The guest chambers in Sunspear were cool and airy, scented with orange blossoms and lemon.
Rhaego sat on a cushioned divan, freshly bathed and dressed in loose Dornish silks. The fabric was light and flowing, one shoulder and half his chest left bare, while a long panel of orange-gold cloth draped across the other side of his torso, hiding the lined ridges of scale.
His tail rested behind him, occasionally flicking against the cushions.
Quite comfortable, he thought, running a hand over the soft material.
Still, he wondered how long he would have to wait.
I hope my appearance does not shock the prince too badly.
The great doors swung open.
Prince Doran entered, steady and deliberate, Ser Areo Hotah at his side, and a young woman wheeling his chair from behind. The Dornish men bowed in unison.
Rhaego, momentarily startled, he rose quickly, only remembering to bow his head a moment later.
"Prince Doran," he said, trying to sound composed. "It is an honor."
Doran studied him with calm, thoughtful eyes as the chair rolled closer. "Rhaego Targaryen," he said warmly.
"Son of Daenerys Stormborn. Sunspear welcomes you. We have long been friends to your house."
Rhaego bowed his head again, more properly this time.
"Thank you, my prince. Your hospitality is most kind after… a rather unexpected journey."
As Doran came nearer, Rhaego noticed the beautiful young woman behind the prince's chair. She had dark, clever eyes and moved with natural grace.
Who is that? he thought. Perhaps a character I forgot from the story?
Prince Doran noticed his glance and smiled faintly. He gestured with one hand. The woman stepped forward from behind the chair.
"Allow me to present my eldest daughter and heir to Dorne," Doran said with clear pride, "Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell."
Arianne offered a graceful curtsy, her eyes sparkling with open curiosity as she took in Rhaego's scales and tail.
"Well met, Prince Rhaego. Sunspear has not welcomed a dragon in many years."
Rhaego's eyes widened for a moment, but he quickly steadied his expression.
Arianne? The name felt familiar, yet he couldn't quite place it from the stories he remembered.
With Arianne's help, Prince Doran rose slowly from his chair, leaning on his cane. She guided him carefully to a wide cushioned sofa, where both father and daughter sat down.
Once settled, he leaned forward on his cane and regarded Rhaego carefully.
"Only days ago, I received word that you had been taken by the Sons of the Harpy in Meereen," Doran said, his gaze flicking briefly to the small horns that had begun to sprout from Rhaego's head.
"They even cut your horns, or so the letter claimed."
Rhaego stiffened, surprised. Before he could ask how Doran knew, the prince continued with a small smile.
"My brother Oberyn has been most diligent in sending letters from Meereen. He writes many tales of your mother's court, of battles in the streets, and especially of the young dragon prince he has been teaching to fight like a viper."
Doran smiled, the expression warm but weary.
"He seems quite fond of you."
Rhaego let out a soft laugh, relieved.
"Oberyn is a hard teacher… but a good one. I only hope I did not disappoint him too often with my stubborn dragon blood."
Prince Doran chuckled softly. "And how did you escape and find your way to our shores?"
Rhaego sat a little straighter.
"I was on a ship, but I burned my way free," he said confidently.
"Then I flew. The sea was vast… and I became lost. I did not know where I was going until I saw the sand and the green of Dorne."
Doran's eyebrows rose slightly, though he still smiled.
"You breathe fire as well? My brother mentioned you could fly, but he said nothing about fire."
Rhaego gave a small, mischievous scoff.
"I could hardly reveal all my secrets to my teacher in arms. How else was I supposed to have any chance of beating him one day?"
Doran laughed quietly, the sound warm and genuine.
"Well said." He leaned back against the cushions.
"I will send word to your mother at once that you have arrived safely in Dorne. She must be sick with worry."
Rhaego's expression grew more serious.
"Thank you, my prince. I fear for what may be happening in Meereen. My mother cares for me greatly… and I for her."
Prince Doran nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful.
"For now, you should rest. You have flown farther than most men will ever travel. Tomorrow we can speak more of Meereen, of your mother's war, and what help Dorne might offer. The blood of the dragon and the blood of the spear have stood together before. They can do so again."
Rhaego felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. For the first time since crawling onto that lonely shore, he allowed himself to truly relax.
"I would be grateful for that, Prince Doran," he said, bowing his head once more.
Arianne leaned forward slightly, her dark eyes bright with interest. She had been watching Rhaego intently since she entered the room, his scales, his tail, the small horns just beginning to show.
Prince Doran rose slowly with the help of his cane. Arianne stood beside him at once, ready to support her father.
Rhaego rose as well, bowing his head respectfully as they prepared to leave.
But Doran had other plans.
His calm gaze moved between the young dragon prince and his daughter for a moment, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Before you retire to your chambers, prince Rhaego," Doran said warmly, "perhaps my daughter might show you something of Sunspear. The Water Gardens are beautiful at this hour, and it would be a shame for a dragon to become lost again so soon after escaping the sea."
He smiled gently at his own jest, then nodded to Arianne.
Arianne inclined her head sharply, her lips curved into a sly, confident smile as she looked at Rhaego.
"It would be my pleasure," she said, voice warm but edged with something playful.
Areo Hotah stepped forward and helped the prince ease back into his wheeled chair with practiced care.
He gave Rhaego a final glance, measured, calm, assessing.
"You will want for nothing here, Dragon Prince. Trust her guidance, and Sunspear will feel less… foreign."
Rhaego remained standing, a little uncertain.
"I appreciate that," he replied, offering a small bow. "I do have a habit of wandering… sometimes farther than I intend."
Arianne turned to him fully, her dark eyes bright with amusement. A warm, teasing smile curved her lips.
"It would be my honor to escort the dragon prince through Sunspear," she said lightly.
"We cannot have you flying off in the wrong direction again. Come, dragon prince. Let me show you our home."
Rhaego stiffened slightly under her tender, curious gaze.
His tail gave an involuntary flick behind him. There was something in the tilt of her head, the steady warmth of her eyes, that made him pause.
Okay… she's not one of those saintlooking-yet-secretly-evil characters, is she? he thought nervously, studying Princess Arianne.
Arianne noticed his reaction and her smile widened, almost predatory in its amusement.
"Don't worry," she added softly. "I only bite when invited."
Rhaego went very still.
A strange heat crawled up his neck and into his cheeks.
His tail gave one sharp flick behind him before he forced it still again. He wasn't used to this… women speaking to him like that, with that kind of teasing confidence.
In Meereen he had avoided the brothels entirely. After all, part of him… the part that still remembered being a woman in his previous life.
There had never been any need, any desire, any room for distraction. His only purpose had been keeping Daenerys safe.
He cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure.
"I'll… keep that in mind, Princess," he said, the words coming out a little too formal, a little too stiff.
He gave her a small, polite nod instead of a smile. "Though I'd rather not test anyone's teeth today."
Arianne's smile widened just a fraction, though her eyes never left his. "Then we shall see if Sunspear is prepared for a dragon."
The moment lingered, quiet and strangely heavy.
Rhaego felt exposed under her gaze in a way that had nothing to do with his bare shoulder or visible scales.
She's too forward, he thought, a flicker of unease mixing with the awkward warmth in his chest. Can I handle this..?
He still had no clear idea who this woman truly was in the larger story, only that her name felt strangely familiar, like something half-remembered from distant tales.
Rhaego, still wary but intrigued, followed her to the doorway, tail brushing the floor, mind alive with the strange new pulse of Dorne.