Back in the Reach, deep within the heart of Highgarden, night had settled over the castle like a silken veil.
In a private chamber high above the gardens, Rhaego sat upon the stone balustrade of a terrace overlooking the gardens, balanced with the casual ease of soone who had never feared a fall. One leg hung over empty air while the other rested against the carved stone behind him. His tail swayed idly from side to side as he gazed upward at the stars.
Moonlight washed across his silver hair and caught upon the faint scales that traced his neck, lending them a pale sheen.
In that sa silver light, his violet eyes seed almost luminous.
He should have been asleep.
The journey from King’s Landing had been long, and the days before it were longer still. Most n would have collapsed into bed and slept until noon.
Yet sleep would not co.
His body felt the weight of exhaustion, but his thoughts refused to rest. Again and again they returned to the conversation he had shared with Arianne earlier that day, circling the sa questions without finding answers.
She was right, he thought, replaying his conversation with Arianne earlier that day.
The Northn are stubborn. Proud. They’ve hated Targaryens for generations. How am I supposed to convince them, or even the Tyrells tomorrow about adding them into the board, when I barely understand the ga myself?
He ran a hand through his silver hair, exhaling slowly.
They rembered old grievances long after the rest of the realm had forgotten them, and they had little love for dragons or dragonlords. The na Targaryen carried as much bitterness there as reverence.
Yet he needed them.
He needed them because of the Wall.
Because of what waited beyond it.
His fingers tightened unconsciously against the stone railing.
The Others.
Even now, the word felt strange in his thoughts. A tale from an old book. A nightmare whispered beside winter hearths. Yet he knew they were real.
That was the cruelest part of it all.
He knew.
No one else did.
How was he supposed to convince an entire continent to prepare for a war they could not see? How could he persuade proud lords and skeptical maesters to believe in monsters from children’s stories before those monsters were standing before their gates?
n never believed in disaster until it arrived. By then it was usually too late.
His thoughts drifted, as they often did, toward Sansa Stark.
She was another uncertainty.
At first he had believed the future was a map laid open before him. Not a perfect map, perhaps, but clear enough to guide his steps. Now that confidence was beginning to crack.
If his mory served him correctly, Margaery’s imprisonnt by the Faith should place the realm sowhere around the events he rembered from the books. Yet the books and the show had diverged so wildly by this point that he could no longer trust himself to separate one from the other.
In the show, Sansa had been dragged north and married to Ramsay Bolton.
In the books, it had never happened.
Jeyne Poole had taken her place, if he rembered correctly.
A different story.
A different path.
So where was Sansa now? Hidden in the Vale? Or Still under Littlefinger’s protection?
The question lingered unanswered... Worse, it reminded him of another uncomfortable truth.
When he had first arrived in this world, the na Arianne Martell had ant nothing to him.
Not nothing, perhaps. It had sounded vaguely familiar, like a half-forgotten na glimpsed in passing years ago, but he could not have said who she was or why she mattered. He had spent so many years with the television series that much of the books had blurred together in his mory.
Only later had the realization struck him.
Arianne Martell. The Princess of Dorne.
The heir to Sunspear.
Rhaego let out a slow breath.
He rembered the mont now, the sudden jolt of recognition when scattered fragnts had finally fallen into place. Arianne had never appeared in the show. Entire storylines had been cut away, characters erased as though they had never existed.
The show had forgotten her.
The books had not.
That realization continued to haunt him. What exactly was this world?
The books?
The show? Or perhaps sothing in between? Every answer seed correct until reality proved otherwise.
Entire plots he barely rembered were unfolding around him and if he could overlook sothing as important as the Princess of Dorne, what else had he forgotten?
What other assumptions had he built his plans upon?
The future had once felt certain.
Now it felt slippery.
Unreliable.
Dangerous.
For the first ti since arriving in this world, Rhaego found himself wondering whether his greatest advantage might also beco his greatest weakness.
Perhaps I know far less than I think I do.
The thought settled heavily in his chest.
He did not like it. He wasn’t sure where to even begin. Everything felt like walking through fog.
A flicker of movent below drew his attention away from his thoughts.
At first he thought it was rely a lantern drifting through the darkness between the hedges. Then the light shifted, revealing the figure carrying it.
Rhaego leaned forward slightly.
Dark curls caught the moonlight. A flowing gown brushed against the gravel path. Even from this distance he recognized the confident stride.
Princess Arianne Martell.
At this hour?
He watched her wander through the moonlit gardens, following one of the winding paths that curved between rose bushes and marble statues.
She appeared entirely alone.
Just the Princess of Dorne strolling through Highgarden in the middle of the night as though the world contained neither assassins nor schers nor fools.
A soft snort escaped him.
Of course.
Arianne Martell had never seed particularly concerned with danger. Not armies. Not politics. Not sharp-tongued grandmothers nad Olenna Tyrell.
Below, she ca to a halt beside a marble fountain. Water spilled gently from the bowl above, catching the lantern light in shimring ribbons. For a long mont she simply stood there listening to it.
Thinking.
The confidence she wore so effortlessly during the day seed absent now. In its place was sothing quieter, more uncertain. The expression on her face reminded him that beneath the smiles and teasing remarks, beneath the confidence and charm, she carried burdens of her own.
Rhaego adjusted his stance on the railing, sitting like a cat ready to pounce.
Then another thought entered his mind.
A foolish thought and slowly, a grin spread across his face.
Well, why not?
She’s been teasing nonstop since we left Dorne...
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Payback, even a small one, felt overdue.
He pushed off the railing, wings unfolding silently. Instead of gliding straight down near her, he descended in a wide, quiet arc, landing softly on the grass so distance away, hidden behind a cluster of flowering hedges.
The moonlight barely touched him as he crouched low, folding his wings tight against his back.
Like a predator stalking prey, he moved forward with surprising stealth for soone his size. His bare feet made almost no sound on the soft grass. His tail stayed still, careful not to brush against any leaves. The candlelight ahead flickered between the branches as Arianne walked slowly along the moonlit path, lost in her own thoughts.
Rhaego crept closer... closer...
Then, at the perfect mont, he leapt out from behind the hedge directly into her path with a playful growl.
"RAAAHH!"
Arianne gasped sharply, jolting backward in pure shock. Her eyes went wide, the candle nearly slipping from her fingers as her free hand flew to her chest.
"Seven Hells—!"
She stepped back instinctively, right onto the smooth, wet edge of the fountain. Her foot slipped.
Rhaego’s smirk vanished instantly.
Oh shit—
He lunged forward, trying to catch her. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close against his chest as he twisted to keep her from hitting the stone. But the montum was too much.
Both of them lost their balance.
With a loud splash and a startled yelp from Arianne, they tumbled together into the fountain.
Cold water exploded around them.
Rhaego ended up sitting in the shallow basin, tail half-subrged, with Arianne sprawled across his lap, thoroughly drenched. Water dripped from her dark curls and soaked silk robe.
Rhaego’s own clothes clung to him, his silver hair plastered against his forehead.
For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of dripping water and their surprised breathing.
Then Arianne lifted her head, staring at him with wide eyes that quickly narrowed into a dangerous glare.
"You absolute fool!" she sputtered, water running down her face. "You scared half to death! I thought soone was about to attack !"
She shoved his chest hard, though the effect was sowhat ruined by the fact that she was still sitting in his lap, both of them thoroughly drenched.
Rhaego blinked, montarily stunned, before a sheepish grin broke across his face.
"I... may have miscalculated the landing," he admitted, trying and failing to sound innocent.
Arianne stared at him for another second, then burst into laughter a bright, breathless, and utterly undignified. She shoved his chest playfully, though she made no effort to move from his lap.
The sa serious, brooding young man who had spent the last month carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, the one who spoke of prophecies and wars with haunted eyes.
And now here he was... jumping out of the darkness like a mischievous child, roaring at her.
A strange mix of irritation and reluctant amusent bubbled up inside her. A soft smile tugged at her lips.
She found it oddly charming.
"You glided down, snuck up on like a shadowcat, roared in my ear, and then dragged into a fountain?!" She shook her head, still laughing.
"I knew you had a mischievous side, but this is bold even for you, dragon prince."
She flicked a handful of water directly into his face for emphasis.
Rhaego flinched, then let out a low, apologetic chuckle despite himself.
"Sorry," he said, sounding more sincere this ti.
"Most n announce themselves. You, apparently, prefer dramatic entrances." She replied, tilting her head.
Rhaego’s smirk widened slightly.
"Old habit. I used to do that to people all the ti... back before. Guess I didn’t think it through."
Arianne narrowed her eyes at him, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward despite herself.
"Well, new habit," she said, poking his chest again.
"Next ti you feel like playing shadowcat, give so warning. Or I really will stab you."
Rhaego chuckled, the sound low and warm in his chest as water dripped from his silver hair.
"Consider it payback for all the teasing," he said, though his violet eyes were soft with amusent and a hint of apology.
"I didn’t an for us to end up... in the water."
Arianne leaned back slightly, still sitting in his lap, and flicked water at his face.
"Oh, I’m sure you didn’t," she said, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "But now we’re both soaked. So tell , mighty dragon, was scaring out of my wits worth getting drenched?"
Rhaego looked at her wet hair, sparkling eyes, and that wicked smile and felt a strange warmth in his chest despite the cold water.
"...Maybe," he admitted with a small, crooked grin.
Arianne shook her head again, though the irritation had already faded into familiar teasing warmth. Both of them drenched and dripping under the moonlight, the tension between them shifting into sothing warr, lighter, and unexpectedly playful.
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