STORM'S END 

The Baratheon stronghold was composed of pale grey stones, surrounded by a massive outer curtain wall. What made it truly impressive was the hundred year old dragon situated between tower blocks, amidst smoke and shadow. 

Aemond had gotten here first.

Hira's heart pounded in her chest, in tune to the thunder that raged. Storm's End indeed, no wonder they called it so.

Hira jerked Luke by the back of his cloak.

"When I say run, you run." There was a bite to her words, and so she sent a reassuring smile to the nervous boy. "Leave your uncle to me."

Frantic, he nodded, understanding the dire situation.

Vhagar gave another roar, to which Zhurong answered just as loud and menacing. She left him across the courtyard, too large for the castle grounds. The walk had her drenched in rain. Gods, she missed her sun-soaked lands. She mourned the cloak Rhaena and Baela made.

The Princess of Leng and the future Lord of the Tides entered the hall. Back straight, hands folded behind, Hira's gaunt was leisurely, taking note of her surroundings and the path and turns they took.

Boros Baratheon sat on his makeshift throne. Right of the Lord were courtiers and three young ladies, assuming they were his daughter.

The hall was bare.

Which made Aemond, dressed in leathers and steel stand out all the more. His hair as pristine as ever, unmatched against hers which looked as though it was submerged in water and her clothes left little to be desired.

He took a step forward, before he gained his bearings, eye shifting to Luke as both nephew and uncle stared each other down. One menacing, the other feigning controlled calm.

A young, plain-faced woman bearing Baratheon colours was a foot from Aemond.

Hira's eyes narrowed.

Thunder belted.

"Lord Borros." Luke addressed, voice echoing in the sparse hall. "I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen."

Hira tapped her foot against the stone floor.

There was a man back home who reminded her of Lord Borros. A sexist, proud pig who enjoyed the labours of those who came before him yet all the same excused himself when time was rough.

He was killed by her mother's hand, when he ran his province, inherited from mother, to the ground.

This was evidence enough that House Targaryen had fallen so far, to be mocked by a stag, when the dragons made Orys Baratheon Lord of Storm's End decades ago.

"Remind me of my father's oath." He questioned lowly. "King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact."

Ah.

The Baratheon woman.

Aemond.

Unwedded, of marriageable age, Aemond. The spare son besides Daeron with a duty to uphold. A prince who came to bargain for a lady's hand in exchange for support for his brother's campaign. It was logical that Aemond was sent to barter.

That didn't stop the longing in her heart that grew deeper.

Have you chosen your side, then, Aemond?

"If I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?"

"My lord, I am not free to marry." Luke answered, steel toned. "I'm already betrothed."

"So you come with empty hands."

"And you empty oaths." Hira interrupted, "Your father swore to Queen Rhaenyra. You feast, raise your cup in his halls, jest and slander in the castle Lord Boremund bequeath you, yet you, Lord Boros, stain his vows, in his very home."

The Lord grew red with fury, as was his house words. His face puffed and he stood.

"Who are you, girl, to interrogate me in my halls?"

Her smile turned razor-sharp. "I am the Rogue Prince's daughter. And you are an oath breaker. If you wish for your house's demise, then so be it. The Queen will know who sided with her, and whose house we will destroy right after the Hightowers."

Lord Boros' grunted, slamming his fist against the stone armchair, "I will not be threatened by a foreign, outlandish bitch. Go home, pup. Tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes. And you, if I see your face on the battlefield, you'll be dead first."

Hira cocked her head, "My dragon and I will look for you in the fields, Lord."

"Careful how you speak, Lord Boros." Aemond's voice rang across. "The Princess' bite is sharper than her bark."

Luke swiftly turned and began to walk, Hira trailed after, casting a dark look over the Baratheon Lord.

"Wait..." Aemond's silky voice spoke. "My Lord Strong."

Oh Aemond, if only you were smart as you are pretty.

Hira contemplated throwing Luke over her shoulder and making a run for their dragons. The princess shook her head at him, yet the prince pivoted to face his uncle.

"Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"

"I will not fight you." Luke responded, firm as Jace, resolute as Rhaenyra.

Hira stepped beside Luke, a pillar of support, of defence. Rhaenyra trusted her to care for her son. Her mother honoured her with an army. Laena entrusted her daughters to her. Mothers and their vows. The death of her.

As Aemond tore his eyepatch, her eyes darted to the sapphire. How could her gem look so intimidating and striking on such a handsome, smirking, idiotic man?

This was between uncle and nephew, the child who lost an eye and the child who took it. As Aemond bellowed and strode forward, Hira found her blade pressing against Aemond's neck. His own against her stomach.

"You promised," She murmured, the hurt leaking out, "that you would not jeopardise us. There is no greater liar than you, Aemond Targaryen."

His eye widened and he staggered back, the dagger falling short to his side.

His impulsiveness was his downfall, his greatest weakness. Which made him a danger. To himself, to Hira, to Luke, who was just a boy following his mother's bidding, seeking to prove himself to the realm and as the future Lord of Driftmark.

"Not in my hall!" Lord Boros pressed, to which Aemond and Hira ignored, still intently gazing at each other. "The boy came as an envoy. I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof."

"Return to your traitorous family, cousin." She spoke firmly. "Judgement will be upon them."

She sheathed the blade, turning to Luke who was white as a sheet. Thunder rumbled. Or perhaps it was Zhurong and Vhagar battling outside. She pushed the boy forward.

By the time they reached Arrax, Vhagar was nowhere to be seen.

"Now we run?" Luke yelled under the pouring rain.

"And now we fly."

Arrax and Luke took shelter under Zhurong's underbelly, flying below the two. The storm grew worse, rain pelted them in harsh waves and grey clouds covered their sight. It was only a short flight back to Dragonstone, yet Hira feared the journey.

Zhurong growled. Hira tipped her head up, already knowing what was in sight.

Vhagar's body was high above them. Until she wasn't.

"Lucerys." Hira shouted against the wind.

Vhagar swooped in the other direction, causing Luke to divert Arrax under the she-dragon. Hira reared the straps, finding some resemblance of control against the wind and rain.

"Protect Luke and Arrax." She spoke to Zhurong, knowing he would understand her panic, her need to protect.

In response Zhurong flapped his wings, gaining speed to reach Arrax.

Vhagar made haste, controlled by Aemond, giving chase to Arrax who attempted to flee from the maniacally laughing dragonrider and his equally crazed, battle-worn and battle-won she-dragon.

Arrax was smaller, thus faster than Vhagar, whilst Zhurong matched Vhagar in strength and speed, yet Hira was helpless in a storm. Panic rose inside her, forcing its way past her throat until it seeped over her white, pale lips.

(Zhurong growled, like thunderbolts. He would not let anything, anyone harm his mother. And so he took over the reins.)

Luke found safety through a canyon, plunging into the rocks, losing both Aemond and Hira from view.

Zhurong, at Vhagar's heels, nipped and mawed, aggravating the old bat, until she turned her sights to the six-limbed dragon.

"That's right." Hira snarled. "Eyes on us."

This was a risk.

Hira stopped caring a long time ago.

Aemond changed course, flying over the canyon.

No!

"You owe me a debt." Aemond growled loudly. "Boy."

The sky erupted in flames of orange and red.

Arrax spewed hot fire into Vhagar.

Luke yelled and fled.

Vhagar chased.

Aemond lost control of his dragon.

A dragon is not a slave.

It was time Targaryens learnt this lesson.

Over skies of clear blue and white clouds, Luke found silence.

He panted, searching for Vhagar, for Aemond, for Hira and Zhurong.

Over the peak, he spotted the black scaled dragon.

Zhurong was the second to shoot molten flames at Vhagar when her jaws opened and snapped shut, killing Arrax in one bite.

"Luke." Hira screeched. "No, no, gods no."

Arrax, like paper, was torn in half.

Little Luke was falling.

Zhurong dived down.

It shouldn't be possible, but her dragon, her blessed dragon was head to head with little Luke and when Hira caught his hand, pulling him up into the saddle.

Her shoulder cried out in exorbitant pain.

An eye for an arm.

Blood spurted from the stump of Luke's arm, just above his elbow. Everything below that dropped to the ocean, with Arrax's corpse.

Luke cried,  "Arrax. No, Arrax."

"Your arm." Hira mumbled, trembling. "Luke, you need to ... you need."

Gods, what was she saying? What was she doing?

"Zhurong. Home."

Wind was knocked out of Hira when Luke abruptly shoved into her. Zhurong gave a wail, as Vhagar's claws digged into his left hind, the one that always gave him trouble. The one she smoothed with oils and herbs, to lessen the pain and ache.

"No, no, no, stop it, Aemond!" Dragonrider cried. "Stop it!"

Zhurong captured Vhagar's wing with his teeth and pulled.

Luke was faint, grey and haggard. Blood poured from his wound.

Zhurong was trapped.

When Hira roared, Zhurong echoed.

"Dracarys."

Vhagar loosened her claws and Zhurong ripped away.

The she-dragon blasted Zhurong, smothering them in amber.

Aemond begged, shrieked, demanded for control.

Hira pulled the rope taunt and heaved Zhurong up, higher in the skies, away from Vhagar, fleeing Aemond.

Aemond continued to fight his dragon. He was desperate. He was afraid.

Hira blamed her heart.

She detached the clasp that held her to the saddle and demanded Luke to sit in her place.

It was easy to manoeuvre the boy, shocked to the bone and losing blood. Strapping him tightly, locking the metal until it wouldn't budge and break. She tied the ends of his tunic over the stump. It was all she could do.

"Bring him back to his mother." She spoke softly, only for Zhurong. Hira spoke in Lengii. It never mattered whether she spoke common, Lengii or High Valyrian. Zhurong knew.  "Promise me you'll obey me."

(Zhurong howled, wings like a hurricane and tempest rolled in one beast. The nights he spent desolate and isolated, cold and dark, until mother came and opened her warm arms. The days when swords dug into his flesh and his wings torn and claws clipped were no more. Mother saved him. He kept his oath to mother, to obey, to punish, to kill, to save. To help.)

Hira knew the moment Zhurong agreed.

"Thank you, my love, my greatest gift."

Zhurong rose and vaulted up in the sky, until Aemond was below.

Hira doesn't think.

She moved.

(Aemond glanced up, covered by the shadow. Fear finds itself home in the boy.)

As Zhurong flew forth, Hira scaled down his hind and leaped. It wasn't the same as flying, it felt more like falling. Was this how Luke felt? Cut off from Arrax and plunging into his death, below the ocean.

The landing was unsteady, she broke her ankle but hobbled to Aemond anyway.

Vhagar hadn't ended her screeching, her body twisting and bending uncomfortably.

Aemond looked at her with horror in his eye. The eyepatch returned to his face. He was all anguish and despair, not the demented man who chased Luke for an eye, for a debt that was already paid for by a dragon.

Hira settled behind him, steel hidden and hands empty.

Mixed with Vhagar's flames and growls, it was Aemond who spoke first. "I didn't mean to."

"But you did. And it happened. Now calm your mount, or we will both die. Speak to her, calm her. You are bonded. Do not fear her, let her in."

And pray you do it well, Hira knew not where the humour came from, perhaps from her twisted mind where trauma nestled in, or Daemon will bring me back to life to simply kill me again.

Aemond closed his eyes.

It may have taken a second, or a minute, mayhaps even an hour, but Vhagar's growls turned into grumbles and Aemond had a hold on her again.

Hira breathed a sigh of relief, unable to help herself from resting her forehead on Aemond's back.

Luke was long gone, on top of Zhurong who fled to safety.

That was all that mattered. She kept one promise to a mother, at the very least.

As the wind brushed against her hair, Aemond panting in front, her hands gripping her thighs and forehead settled on leathers, she closed her eyes.