Back in the Sea Tower.
Rhaego lay in his chamber at night, wide awake in the large, soft bed.
Moonlight filtered through the lattice windows, casting pale silver patterns across the tiled floor, but sleep refused to come. He stared at the ceiling, one arm draped over his eyes, his tail curled loosely beside him on the sheets.
How long am I supposed to stay here?
The question had been circling his mind for what felt like hours.
The thought refused to leave him.
His chest tightened.
Mother.
Every passing day he spent in these sun-warmed halls was another day his mother fought alone in Meereen. He could feel the weight of time pressing on him. The Harpies were already active, the city was bleeding, and he was stuck on the wrong continent.
How am I even supposed to get back?
He couldn't simply ask Prince Doran for a ship.
Even the fastest vessel would take months to reach Meereen at that pace. And after what had happened over the Summer Sea, he knew better than to trust his sense of direction.
Even in his past life, I couldn't navigate my way out of a market street without getting lost…simple instructions got lost in his head, and he had relied on others to guide him more times than he cared to admit.
His past life…
Sometimes he wondered if someone back there was still thinking of him. If anyone in that world was worried, searching, or lying awake at night the same way he was now.
Even in this case, he wasn't sure. The thought felt distant, almost unreal, like a half-remembered dream.
A new thought came to him, sharper than the rest.
He was already in Westeros.
This wasn't just a random shore he had washed up on.
This was the continent where the real game was being played. This might be a good opportunity, a chance to take a breath, to recall everything that was happening in Westeros right now, to write it down before the details slipped away.
Rhaego pushed himself upright, the sheets falling away as his feet met the cool stone floor. His tail followed, dragging lightly behind him as he crossed the chamber.
If he could not return yet…
Then he would not waste the time given to him.
His gaze moved across the room until it found a low desk set near the window. It had gone unnoticed before, as so many things did when his mind had been elsewhere.
He crossed to it and pulled open the drawer.
Searching inside, hoping to find a quill, ink, and paper or something, anything, to write on.
He found them quickly.
Rhaego sat down on the chair at the desk, the candle flickering beside him, casting warm, dancing light across the parchment.
He dipped the quill and began writing in the common language only known in his old world and its.. ******* , quick and messy so no one else could read it.
[Current timeline… Meereen arc???]
[Dany has reached Meereen… the near death of the freed slave Mossador… the Harpies… yes. I think Dany is taking hard measures to punish the masters by now at this moment.]
[Season five, perhaps? Or nah???]
The quill scratched faster now.
[ King's Landing ]
[ → Cersei empowering Faith Militant (BIG mistake) ]
[ → Tyrell siblings imprisoned ]
[ → High Sparrow rising ]
He paused, the quill hovering above the page.
But who is this woman I met in Dorne? He recalled Arianne, the eldest daughter of Doran.
He had thought Doran only had Trystane… yet there were three children at that dinner table.
Something clicked.
Is this world already diverging from the story I remember?
His eyes drifted to the edge of the page.
Was it even accurate?
He frowned.
He hardly ever read the books. Except for the time he only read the fun facts about them. And he could only recall a few of those.
Slowly, he wrote again.
[ Books ≠ Show ??? ]
If somehow this world was shifting if it was not exactly like he imagined, then it would be hard to rely on the current knowledge he had for the future of this story.
Rhaego stared at the uneven lines of text, the candle flame flickering lower.
The weight of uncertainty settled heavily on his chest. He had come to Westeros by accident, but now that he was here, the idea of simply flying back empty-handed felt wrong.
His mother needed more than just him returning. She needed allies. Real ones. Strong ones.
But how could he be sure his memories were still accurate?
He set the quill down slowly, the scratch of it against the parchment the only sound in the quiet chamber. Outside, the fountains of Sunspear continued their soft, eternal murmur, indifferent to the dragon prince's racing thoughts.
Rhaego leaned back in the chair, tail curling around the leg of it, and exhaled a long, tired breath.
The night stretched on, and with it, the heavy realization that the story he thought he knew might already be changing around him.
Rhaego closed his eyes for a moment.
That meant every decision from now on carried weight. Real weight. Not the kind you could rewind or fix by "knowing the plot."
There were no second takes here. No scripts.
Just consequences.
His fingers tapped lightly against the desk.
If this world was truly following the books now, then Dany in Meereen could do well and hold on her own for a while. What she needed was allies. Dorne stood with them now, but they needed more than that.
He slapped his face with both hands, trying to focus, his palms stinging against his cheeks.
Come on. Think.
He dipped the quill again and wrote once more, the strokes quick and messy.
[ Goal: Allies for Mother. ]
[ Tyrells of Highgarden. ]
[ With their support…. resources, ships, men… it would be HUGE!!If I can get on the good side of Olenna Tyrell… perhaps there's a chance. ]
[ That chance is saving her grandchildren… Margaery and Loras are trapped by the Faith Militant. ( I think? ) The High Sparrow has them.]
Rhaego paused, staring at the words.
The candle flame danced, casting long shadows across the parchment. He could almost picture it… the Great Sept, the trials, the growing tension in King's Landing.
If he could reach Highgarden and offer real help… the Tyrells might listen. Olenna was sharp, ruthless, and fiercely protective of her family. Saving Margaery and Loras could be the key to securing the Reach.
He set the quill down and rubbed his temples, tail curling tightly around the leg of the chair.
But how?
I can't just fly north blindly again. I got lost over the sea once already. And I'm still recovering from that flight.
Even if I could get there… would they believe me?
A half-dragon boy with scales and a tail showing up claiming to be Daenerys's son? They'd probably think I was a trick or a monster.
He leaned back, exhaling slowly. The weight of it all pressed down on him.
What would Prince Doran think of all this?
The question came unbidden, slowing his hand before it could reach for the quill again.
Rhaego sat back in his chair, eyes lingering on the page. Ink had bled slightly where his thoughts had moved too quickly, the words crowded and uneven.
Like everything else in his mind, nothing quite settled into place.
He could not simply leave Sunspear in secret. Not in a place like this. Not under Prince Doran Martell's roof.
The man was patient. That much was clear even without Oberyn's letters or the careful way he spoke. Patience in Doran Martell did not mean weakness, it meant planning. Layers within layers.
And men like that did not allow pieces on their board to move without noticing.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
Doran had a goal.
That much was certain. Even in the stories Rhaego half remembered, even in the fragments of history he thought he knew, the Prince of Dorne never acted without reason.
Never without weighing consequences most men would not see until it was too late.
Would he approve of this? Of searching for allies in his mothers name? Of moving beyond Dorne's borders while still under his protection?
Or would he see it as interference? As recklessness? As a boy overstepping his place?
Rhaego's fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the desk.
He did not know.
But then again… he would not know anything if he never tried.
Slowly, he pushed back from the chair. The tail scraped softly against the stone floor.
The candle beside him bent as a faint draft moved through the chamber, the flame wavering once before steadying itself again.
Rhaego glanced once more at the parchment at the scattered names, the half-formed plans, the fragile lines of a future that might not even be real.
Then he turned away.
His tail shifted behind him as he rose fully to his feet.
For now, thinking would not give him answers.
Only action would, he stepped toward the door and pulled it open.
And the Sea Tower's quiet corridors waited for him in silence.