[right][img]https://i.imgur.com/HEt6VuE.png[/img] [h2]Dragonstone[/h2] [sup]Collab with [@Vanq], [@Ezekiel], [@LadyRunic], [@Almalthia] & [@Apoalo][/sup][/right] The family and guests had gathered on a wind blustered plateau of Dragonmont. Dragonstone was visible in the distance, its black stone dragons foreboding, but fitting for the somber occasion. Just five years ago, they had all gathered here in fiery farewell to Aegon, the Conqueror. But there were those of blood who were missing from the somber affair. Alyssa was torn between her grief and fear that had only steadily grown when Visenya had not yet returned. What could delay her - more tragedy or malicious intent? Moment to moment it mattered nothing at all in the face of her tragedy, and then threatened everything she had left. She had not shared her decision with Melyssanthi or Viserys, but quietly that afternoon she had begun arrangements to be able to flee Dragonstone quickly, if necessary. Half a dozen dragons circled overhead, their cries and bellows began each time with Quicksilver, with Fyresong and Dreamfyre close behind. Young dragons followed behind them, some hatched less than a decade ago. All seemed to grieve in unison with their blood, even those that had not yet been bonded. Viserys stared up at them, lost in the thought of the great need he now bore to claim one. Quicksilver to carry on his father’s legacy, or perhaps one of the younger ones to grow in might and power together. Though his youngest siblings held claim to the two youngest dragons that circled above them, the egg placed in his cradle had never hatched. His destiny still waited for him to take it. Four dragons descended at last, without Balerion or Vhagar to dwarf them, they were formidable even as they delicately landed surrounding the pyre. Quicksilver, Fyresong, Vermithor, and Silverwing. Viserys waited, his eyes still skyward and watching Dreamfyre. His eldest sister’s dragon. The pale blue and silver dragon stood out against the dusk sky, but she showed no sign of landing. She circled, higher and higher, leaving the other flying dragon behind with a scream that pierced the quietness that had fallen. And then she was gone, west towards the bay. West towards the mainland. He wondered if she would, at last, fly until she found her rider. Melyssanthi felt the confusion and loneliness in that one cry from Dreamfyre as she searched for Rhaena. Melyssanthi was lonely as well. Heart sore and gritty-eyed she met the blue eyes of Fyresong who gave a low rolling purr to comfort his mistress. She smiled weakly. She would take flight after the funeral. Melyssanthi had decided that enough was enough and she was getting Rhaena back. Not to mention reuniting Dreamfyre with her mistress. While the Rahl family was a pleasant diversion her issues with not having Rhaena around sat heavily in her mind. They had never been apart this long and her thoughts turned ever toward her best friend and sister. Alyssa placed her hand on her son’s black-clad shoulder. He was too small, built like his father, his grandmother. “We must begin.” Her eyes looked down at the boy, then past him, the pyre surrounded by dragons. Aenys looked so small as well, wrapped in the white funeral shroud, the outline of his body just barely visible. She ached for him, for more time with him, to return the happy times before he was king and they were young and reckless. To see the light shine in his eyes with mischievous glee. The way he would run his thumb along her cheek and jawline with tenderness. The queen was lost in her thoughts and brought back to her senses only by a man on horseback riding full force towards them. “Balerion and Vhagar have been sighted, flying fast from the east.” The man dismounted before his horse had fully stopped. He stumbled forward with his message, out of breath, his horse laboring beside him. Melyssanthi’s heartbeat shuddered for a moment. [I]Maegor and Visenya. I feel uneasy.[/i] Her thoughts swirled with possible situations that ranged from unlikely-[i]Maegor sobbing at the pyre of the brother that he felt ultimately banished him[/i]-to the more likely-[i]Maegor petitioning to be Viserys' Regent[/i]. Somehow Melyssanthi felt that neither of those would be options that her Uncle entertained. She could not say why but the feeling of something looming. Something heavy and dark, like a large fat spider waiting in her web. Edwell Celtigar, castellan, stepped forward and spoke a command in a tone that was clear - it was a request that he would not hear denied by any other present - “We will begin when Queen Dowager Visenya and Prince Maegor have arrived.” The words of warning and stalling proved prophetic in the imminence of their nature. No sooner had the words slipped from the steadfast Celtigar than any note of his proclamation was swept away by a sound louder and more destructive than the crash of thunder. The wharbling, reverberating cry of Balerion resounded from the sky above, crashing down onto the obsidian-like rock of Dragonstone and reverberating across island and sea. The vast creature was a storm all of his own, the beat of his wings, even when gliding, casting off currents of air. The smaller dragons, many formidable beasts in their own right, raised up to regard the sky from which they had only descended moments prior, but none offered a counter challenge. The Black Dread had returned to his roost. With a surge, and still some way from the island, the sweep of the monstrous creature’s wings broke from above the cloud cover, followed shortly by a smaller, but still vast, secondary shape. Already the distance between them and those on the ground was reducing at an expedient rate, and those narrow shapes in the distance were soon giving way to the colossal forms of the Conquering dragons. Those vast wings tucked close, and both dragons dove towards Dragonmont. Late in the flight, Balerion disappeared from view by the scope of the cliffs, before the great beast appeared to rise up, as if from the Sea, casting the funeral procession into shadow as the shape of his from rose over them, the banners of House Targaryen sent into rustling flight by the sweep of air in his wake. When Balerion touched down, even in the controlled glide, the ground shook beneath him, and the great beast let out another roar, this one echoed by the other dragons, before his neck swept low to allow the descent of his riders. Three individuals were atop the monster’s back, at the fore was the Prince himself, already unbound from the chords of his saddle, and perhaps even tighter, the grip of the woman behind him. Armsmen from among the retinue of the Dragonstone household approached to assist in the dismount, while Maegor leapt clear of the saddle without aid, he soon directed them to aid Alys and Tyanna, not halting himself to do so as he strode forwards, towards the funerary pyre. He had no words, not of comfort or triumph, for the assembled family, instead he passed them all, arriving at the foot of the pyre. Blackfyre, the sword his brother had once granted to him, then attempted to take away, was pulled free of his belt, the point placed towards the ground, as the towering form on Maegor knelt, his eyes on the body that had been a half-brother, half loved. Visenya was barely slower than her son in dismounting, Vhaegar coming to a similarly well executed halt a little beyond Balerion, but she did not follow her son, instead waiting at the rear of the funerary procession, her hands, and what was held between them, hidden once again by the sweep of her cloak around her armoured form. The aerial maneuvers of The Black Dread were inspiring, whether terror inspiring or awe inspiring or both depended on the staunch will of the person. Pheynix found the sight riveting. While she was of the mind that she did not need a dragon to be deadly she could admit that they were beautiful creatures. As Balerion alighted and Maegor with, not one but two women climbed down the dragon. One his second wife Alys and the other… Pheynix straightened as she recognized the second woman. Tyanna of Pentos. The viper was thought to have poisoned her competition in the brothel she resided in. Not to mention the rumors of sorcery that hung around her like a choking cloud of perfume. She was not the most beautiful woman but it was said that her voice was bewitching. Pheynix, while never having been intimate with anyone, had older brothers that had; and explanations from a frank and no nonsense woman like her mother meant that Pheynix knew what men and women did together. Her mother had explained it in detail, but had also explained that while men did not have to be chaste the expectation was that women came to marriage untouched. It was a double standard that few rose above. Still it was shocking to see a whore at a funeral. Alys was delighted to feel Dragonstone beneath her feet. Her hands had clasped tightly to her husband and Prince on the flight from Essos. If he had been a lesser man she would have left bruises, flight was wonderful she would say. It was delightful, a true show of Targaryen power and the power of their dragons. Privately she hated the lurching and the sickening glimpses of what laid far below. So very, very far below. Moving to stand to the right and a step back from the Dowager Queen Visenya. Her eyes watching the body of her former King, a pang hit her. He was so young to have been taken, and so young to have left such a mess behind him. Dressed in the dark reds and blacks, she folded her hands before her wind ravaged skirt. No veil that covered her tumble of curls would have survived and with that in mind she had ignored the bit of fashion. Bowing her head to the pyre that would be consumed in flame, she kept the smile from forming on her lips. The King is dead, long live the King. Tyanna followed after Alys, her head held high for she cared little for the last rites attended to here. She was an outsider and she would not cower behind it. The courtesan of Pentos had not enjoyed travel on dragonback, nor had it seemed like the beast much cared for her. There was an ill ease of acceptance borne only out of Maegor having accepted her behind him. She stayed by the woman’s side, the heaviness of her black gown, buffeted by the wind on the plateau, but nearly as unmoving as her expression. Dark eyes took in the scene before her, never had she seen so many dragons in one place. Calm facade or not, she felt nearly gleeful within. She momentarily caught Visenya’s eyes, narrowed her own, then every so slightly dipped her head. That woman would be something to contend with, eventually. For now, it was enough to offer her support to the princess, though she doubted the sincerity of the grief displayed. Tyanna admired her ease at slipping into the role, the deftness of the charade. She gave Alys’s elbow a reassuring squeeze and turned her attention to the family that grieved sincerely. Narrowing eyes at her Uncle's flashy entrance, Melyssanthi looked past him to the two women he had brought with him. Never one to be called bright, it looked like Alys had decided not to tie her hair up or cover it in some way so as to not look like a nest of brambles on her head after riding Balerion. Her skirt completed the fashion statement of carelessness in her appearance. [i]Aunt Ceryse would never have come looking like a tangled mess.[/i] Melyssanthi's attention was caught by her striding Uncle. She watched as he knelt at her father’s unlit pyre Blackfyre drawn and point resting on the ground. She looked back toward her Great Aunt Visenya and stretched out a hand in familial love, in appeal to have her close. Some had called her cold, but Visenya had never been such. Her life raged and broiled with the heat of Dragon flame, she did not allow petty affections to stray her from her path, but that was a different matter entirely. One hand moved from the concealment of her cloak, taking the hand of her great-niece. Her eyes moving from the procession instead to the young woman who sought her touch. To Visenya, two separate events were to occur this evening, and for one of those, she could provide her family some comfort. At the other end of the procession, alone but for the presence of his brother and his pyre, Maegor remained in place. How long a time passed meant little for him, for the kneeling figure of the Prince wrestled with the force of the moment. They had never been alike, at many times they had fought and been to each other as enemies would be, but that had not changed that they were family. Some part of Maegor considered that perhaps his more recent bond with the Dragonlord ruler of Volantis had some basis in the bond that could have been between himself and Aenys. Vhandyr was no doubt a greater man in deed and act than Aenys, but in many ways they were more alike to each other than they were to Maegor. It was those thoughts that ultimately enshrined the plan that his mother had suggested to him. The weakness of compassion could be forgiven in those that still had the strength to act, and while Volantis may have been blessed with one who could, Westeros had not. The Prince stood, his hand on the pommel of his royal blade, casting his eyes now directly to his brother atop the pyre, who had died while he was in exile. The words were barely a whisper when Maegor spoke them, but they were loud enough. “Balerion, to me.” The great vast form of Balerion unfurled from his place at the rear of the ceremony. The process was as long as any in the history of burials on Dragonstone, the full conclave of the Targaryen household extended back from the pyre of Aenys, but even still, Balerion’s vast neck extended over all of them, until it reach to a fraction behind the Targaryen Prince. Maegor lifted one hand, placing it to the side of Balerion’s snout. A tender moment between rider and dragon, a bond which the Prince had with no other being. His next words were louder, no element of subterfuge, as they carried over those present. [I]”Dracarys.”[/I] The heat roared beside Maegor, a wash of fire and destruction that would give even his other kin pause, so close as he was to the adjacent maw of the Black Dread. Maegor, however, did not flinch. He allowed the pain to wash over him, the searing of his skin and the heat beneath his armour as Balerion bathed his brother in flame. The wood caught immediately, no slight spattering of sea spray could even delay the fire of Balerion. Aenys form was obscured in an instant, the same flame that had forged the Iron Throne utterly consuming both Pyre and King in a cascade of inferno. “And so it is finished.” Maegor spoke, as much to Balerion as any other present, before the dragon retracted his long neck, residing once again at the base of the slow rise up to the still burning pyre. Hot silent tears rolled down the stoic face of Melyssanthi who held her Great Aunt's hand in solidarity. She had been wrong to blame her. Melyssanthi had called her to help and Visenya had done what she was able to. Fate had been cruel and taken her father as well as her brother. She was perversely glad that her Uncle had usurped her brother's duty to burn their father's body. Rubbing in the fact that Viserys did not have a dragon would have been overkill and with Rhaena not present it would have fallen to possibly Melyssanthi. None of the dragons would have listened to Viserys. Balerion did not frighten Cassiopeia. No. Dragons had always fascinated her. So to see so many all together was fascinating. She saw the assembled people flinch as a great gout of dragon fire poured from the maw of The Black Dread and she stared entranced at the flames. You could almost feel the grief pouring off the family as the once Aenys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm burned. [I]So much tragedy has struck the Targaryen family. First Aegon then his father.[/i] As Pheynix thought this the old phrase her mother used to say came to her. [i]Trouble comes in threes.[/i] Looking up at Maegor as he said it was finished she looked puzzled. [I]Of course it is finished. The man is dead.[/i] Just how many Dragons did the Targaryen's roost on Dragonstone? It was an impressive sight, and one that spoke of the current power of the House. Castor doubted that anyone could match them now or ever, but in the back of his mind he figured that had always been the case. The Freehold, his ancestors had used their dragons well to conquer vast territory and amass great power, only to be undone by their own greed. But while the dragons were impressive, Castor was focused instead on the people, as it was people that the Rahl family specialized in dealing with. Be it in negotiation, blackmail, or spying. The Targaryen's were obviously grieving, but some more than others and when Balerion appeared and deposited his three occupants Castor could almost feel the tense air that had suddenly appeared. He remained silent, a sympathetic look on his face even as he briefly scanned his siblings. Pyxis was as always unusually calm, an eerie calm as if he had seen a dozen funerals and was immune to grief. And the boy had given warm and supportive smiles to the Targaryen children if they looked his way. Cassie was enamored by the dragons, while Nix seemed very thoughtful. All in all, Castor was content that they presented themselves well and now all there was to do was to continue that. Viserys had attempted to stay brave in the face of his uncle and his aunt’s return. But his uncle calling fire, Balerion setting his father’s body ablaze, was too much for the boy. His hand found hers and he folded it beneath her fingers. Alyssa wrapped an arm around her son but stopped herself from pulling him to her. Even in the moment of watching Aenys’s mortal form burned to ashes, she needed him to still show some strength. Seeing her brother by law again before her brought a hard lump to her throat. That he had not only traveled with the cause of his exile, but another woman? Damn the gods for taking a good man. Alyssa knew she should approach Maegor or Visenya but she stayed unmoving, letting the wind whip at her. Her eyes met Quicksilver’s and she turned her face skyward. Bonded or not, she thought they had come to an understanding after her many years of being with Aenys. The dragon dropped its head and shook out her wings. Her snout nuzzled against Fyresong before backing away and crying out one last time as she labored to take to the sky. The young dragons looked after her and quickly took to wing as well, as if they were eager to be away from their ancient cousins. Viserys at last spoke, his words just barely audible to his mother. “I want to go back.” His face had scrunched up in a twisted attempt to stem the flow of tears. His face was wet and red though, perhaps as much from frustration as from grief. Jaehaerys and Alyssane were being tended to by a septa, Alyssa looked back to the robed woman and gestured to gather them together. It was finished.They could deal with everything else in the morning. A funeral feast had been planned and undoubtedly there would be much drinking for everyone else. No matter how much she wanted to drown herself in cups, she would need that time to finish planning. Alyssa turned her and Viserys away from the pyre away from her dead husband’s family. Let them sit with the ashes when they had seemed to care so little for him in life. Her eyes pressed together at the thought, for she knew Visenya had tried to do so much for them. Tried and failed. Damn the gods.