Chapter 32: A Dornish Viper, a Hidden Dragon, and a Family Reunion
The Lion's Cold Calculation
POV: Tywin Lannister
The raven from King's Landing arrived at Casterly Rock, its message terse, formal, and utterly infuriating. Tywin Lannister read Cersei's feverish account of Robert's latest humiliation at Leywin, and Varys's more measured, but equally stark, report of Queen Rhaella Targaryen and her children joining Elia Martell and her surviving kin under that unassailable protection. His pale green eyes, usually cold and unreadable, narrowed imperceptibly.
"Foolish girl," he murmured, crumpling Cersei's letter, more annoyed by her lack of strategic understanding than by the situation itself. Her assessment of the Immortal Lord as "just a sorcerer" was a dangerous naiveté that spoke volumes of her upbringing. He had seen the Maesters' texts, the fragments of ancient histories that spoke of Leywin – tales dismissed as myth by lesser men, but to Tywin, they represented an undeniable, immutable reality.
The problem was not simply that Robert was publicly shamed. It was that the remaining Targaryens were now beyond his reach, under a protection even the Conqueror had acknowledged. This was not a challenge to the Iron Throne's authority, but a stark reminder of its limits. Leywin existed outside the game. A neutral, unassailable power that could, if it chose, complicate everything. He ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. A Targaryen restoration was an impossible nightmare, but a secured Targaryen lineage, however powerless for now, was a loose thread in the tapestry he so meticulously wove for House Lannister. He would watch. He would wait. And he would ensure that no Targaryen ever posed a threat to his family again, no matter who protected them. His plans would simply need to grow longer, more subtle, spanning generations if necessary.
A Stark Among Dragons
POV: Arthur Leywin
The journey from Winterfell had been swift, a blur of spatial translocation and quiet contemplation. Jon Snow, clutching the small satchel Ned had given him, had remained mostly silent, eyes wide with a mixture of fear, wonder, and a profound sadness. He had cried when he left Winterfell, clutching Ghost's fur one last time, a silent goodbye to the only home he had ever known.
Upon arrival at the Grand Castle, Ceara greeted them with gentle warmth, her ancient eyes conveying immediate acceptance. Sylvie, in her human form, a slender woman with striking black hair and piercing golden eyes, stood beside her, observing Jon with a curiosity that hinted at deep understanding. Regis, of course, was already performing aerial acrobatics around Jon's head.
"So this is the bastard pup," Regis commented, his voice a mischievous growl that only Arthur and now, to Jon's utter shock, Jon himself could hear. "Doesn't look much like a dragon. More like a frozen wolf. A scrawny one at that. Needs more meat."
Jon gasped, his eyes wide as he looked at the floating companion. "You… you can talk?"
"Of course I can talk, runt!" Regis huffed, puffing out his tiny chest. "I'm a weapon forged from pure mana, imbued with the comedic genius of the one and only Regis! What did you expect, barks?"
Arthur merely chuckled, a rare sound. "He is Regis, Jon. My partner. And yes, he talks a lot. Get used to it."
"Father, give the boy a moment," Sylvie chided gently, her human form radiating a quiet elegance. She knelt, extending a hand to Jon. "Welcome, Jon Snow. You are safe here." Jon, still bewildered, cautiously shook her hand.
Later that day, Arthur led Jon through the winding passages of the Grand Castle, its stones humming with ancient energy. They passed through grand halls where tapestries depicting forgotten ages hung, and into a more private wing.
"Jon," Arthur began, his voice soft, "there are others here. People who share your blood, though you may not know it. They have suffered greatly, and they too seek sanctuary."
He pushed open a large, ornate door. Inside, a regal, silver-haired woman sat by a roaring hearth, two younger figures nearby. Rhaella Targaryen. Beside her, a sullen-looking boy, Viserys, and a strikingly beautiful girl, perhaps five or six years old, with silver hair and large violet eyes. And playing on the floor with a set of wooden dragons, was a bright, lively girl with dark hair and Dornish features – Rhaenys.
Rhaella looked up, her gaze immediately drawn to Jon. Arthur stepped back, allowing the moment to unfold. Jon, seeing the Targaryen features mirrored in Rhaella and Daenerys, felt a strange pull. He'd only ever known himself as Ned Stark's bastard.
"Grandmother," Arthur prompted gently.
Rhaella gasped, her eyes locking onto Jon's face, searching, perhaps seeing a hint of Rhaegar in his dark eyes, or Lyanna's quiet strength. Tears welled in her eyes. She reached out a trembling hand. "A child of the dragon… another has come." She didn't know the specifics of his parentage, but Arthur had prepared her that another of 'dragon blood' would arrive.
Jon, bewildered but sensing the profound emotion, instinctively took her hand. "My Queen?"
"Come here, child," Rhaella whispered, pulling him into a soft embrace, her tears soaking his shoulder. "You are safe here. You are family."
Viserys, observing this new addition with suspicion, scowled. Daenerys, however, simply stared at Jon with wide, curious eyes.
Meanwhile, Regis zipped over to the corner where Rhaenys was playing, a tiny black blur. "Hey, tiny human!" he chirped, hovering playfully, a familiar sight to the girl he'd known for six long years. "What are you doing with those boring old logs? Aren't you supposed to be a princess?"
Rhaenys giggled, completely unfazed by the talking shadow she'd known for most of her life. "They're dragons, silly! And I'm making them fight the lion!" She held up a wooden lion.
"Ha! Good! Always fight the lions!" Regis declared, circling her head, his familiar, playful tone showing the depth of their bond. "Especially the blond ones. Trust me, kid, they're trouble. You got spunk, I like that! What's your name, little warrior?"
"Rhaenys," she said, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.
"Rhaenys, huh? Strong name. Regis, at your service, tiny human," he bowed dramatically in mid-air. "And I gotta say, you're a lot more fun than that scowling Targaryen boy over there." He gestured subtly towards Viserys. "This place needs more life. More chaos. You and I are going to get along just fine."
The Red Viper's Familiar Visit
POV: Arthur Leywin
News traveled fast, and the arrival of Queen Rhaella's family, and shortly after, Jon Snow, at Leywin eventually reached even the far-off lands of Dorne. It was not long before another familiar face, driven by a thirst for truth and vengeance, appeared at my borders.
Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, arrived at Leywin. This was not his first visit. For the past six years, since the initial, agonizing truth of his sister Elia's survival alongside Rhaenys and Aegon had been revealed to the entire realm, he had made the journey, often at unpredictable intervals. He was driven by his fierce love for his family, and his unyielding need to ensure their well-being, even under Leywin's inviolable protection. He cut an imposing figure even alone, his dark robes and piercing eyes radiating a dangerous charisma, though today, there was a certain weary familiarity in his stride as he entered the ancient grounds.
I met him in the main hall, a silent, ancient space. Oberyn's gaze swept over me, then the hall, assessing everything with a sharp, calculating intensity, a habit formed over years of dealing with the treachery of the world. He didn't flinch, didn't show fear, only a burning resolve in his dark eyes.
"Immortal Lord," Oberyn began, his voice smooth, but with the subtle edge of a man who carried a great burden. "I trust my sister and her children continue to fare well under your formidable protection?"
"As always, Prince Oberyn," I confirmed, my voice calm. "They are safe. Their tranquility undisturbed."
Oberyn nodded, a grim satisfaction in his eyes. He knew the cost of that tranquility. He knew the rage that still boiled in Robert's breast, and the cold, calculating mind of Tywin Lannister, who had tried to extinguish his family. "And the latest additions, I hear? More dragons for your collection?" He raised a knowing eyebrow, a hint of his usual sardonic wit returning.
"Queen Rhaella and her remaining children, Viserys and Daenerys, have also sought sanctuary here," I clarified. "And Jon Snow, from Winterfell."
Oberyn's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Jon, a flicker of surprise there, though he quickly masked it. He had always known of Ned Stark's mysterious bastard, but to connect him to Leywin's protection, and implicitly, to this side of the family, was a new piece of the puzzle.
"A growing flock, then," Oberyn mused, a sardonic twist to his lips. "The Usurper must be beside himself, knowing his reign can't reach this far."
"He is," I confirmed, a faint smile touching my lips.
Just then, Regis zipped into the hall, having undoubtedly been listening in. He zipped around Oberyn's head, his tiny black form a blur. "Ooh, new meat for the pot! Still looking as angry as ever, aren't you, pointy stick man? Don't worry, the little human is fine. She's been having a grand old time making her wooden dragons fight the evil Lannister lion!"
Oberyn chuckled, a genuine, if brief, sound. He was accustomed to Regis's antics, having encountered him on every prior visit. "And you, little shadow, still as mischievous as ever. I take it you are still the chief strategist in Rhaenys's mock battles?"
"Only the best for my little human!" Regis puffed out his chest. "Someone's gotta teach her how to properly deal with the bad guys. And by bad guys, I mean anyone who isn't us. Mostly lions." He then zipped off in the direction of the private wing, clearly eager to get back to his favorite playmate.
"That, Prince Oberyn," I said with a faint smile, "is Regis. My companion. He has a… unique perspective."
Oberyn watched Regis go, a thoughtful expression on his face. "He certainly does. He seems quite fond of Rhaenys."
"They have known each other for six years," I stated. "He considers her one of his own."
I led him to Elia's chambers. The reunion was, as expected, a torrent of tears and hushed, emotional words. Elia, frail but alive, embraced her brother fiercely, her relief palpable at his familiar presence. Rhaenys, bright and inquisitive, ran into her uncle's arms, her face lighting up, while Aegon, now a quiet, scholarly boy, observed them from behind his mother's skirt. Viserys, initially sullen, eyed Oberyn with suspicion, while Daenerys, still a small child, watched with wide, violet eyes.
Regis, true to his word, quickly joined Rhaenys, their dynamic already one of comfortable, long-standing camaraderie. He zipped around her, offering whispered, humorous advice during her playtime, critiquing her wooden dragon's battle strategies, and nudging her towards teasing her brother Viserys (who now also resided in Leywin, sharing the protection with Elia's family).
"Don't worry, little Rhaenys," Regis had whispered to her, while Jon watched, still adjusting to the sheer oddity of the place. "Your uncle's a hothead, but he means well. Probably just wants to take on a few mountains to make up for lost time. But here? Even the Stranger won't mess with you. Not when we're around. Especially not when I'm around. I'm the menace, remember?" Rhaenys had giggled, confirming his self-appointed title, completely at ease with the miniature, talking shadow she'd known for years.
The Grand Castle of Leywin, a sanctuary for the remnants of a fallen dynasty and the home to ancient, powerful beings, had just gained a few more extraordinary residents. The game of thrones in Westeros raged on, but within these ancient walls, a different story was slowly, carefully, beginning to unfold.