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Chapter 61: The Bond of Dragons
After lunch, Daenerys walked alongside her brother, her mother, and the three dragon hatchlings as Daeron led them through the northern army camp. The soldiers moved out of their way, bowing respectfully to their king, but their eyes lingered on the dragons in their arms—three creatures of legend, proof that the old world was returning.
Daenerys could barely contain her excitement. Ever since the dragons had hatched, she had felt a connection to them, something deeper than mere fascination. They were not just beasts or weapons—they were her kin, her blood made flesh and fire. And now, for the first time, they were going to meet one of their own, a fully grown dragon, something she had only dreamed of.
As they approached the outskirts of the camp, Daenerys heard it before she saw it—a deep, rumbling growl that sent a shiver down her spine. Then, stepping out from behind a cluster of trees, Lyrax emerged.
She was magnificent.
The great black dragon with golden eyes towered over them, her wings half-spread, the late afternoon sun casting shadows across her obsidian-like scales. Every step she took was heavy with power, and when she raised her head, Daenerys saw the fire burning deep in her throat, just beneath the surface.
Beside her, Rhaella, Viserys, and Daeron stood in awe, but it was the hatchlings who reacted first.
With tiny chirps and screeches, the three dragon hatchlings leapt from their arms, gliding down to the ground and bounding forward toward Lyrax. The fully grown dragon lowered her head, sniffing the hatchlings as they circled her, their little wings flapping as they eagerly took in her scent.
Then, with slow, deliberate movements, Lyrax turned, grasped the leg of a freshly killed lamb in her jaws, and with one great burst of dragonfire, cooked it before dropping it in front of the hatchlings.
Daenerys watched as the three young dragons descended upon the meat with ravenous hunger, tearing into it like wild beasts.
She felt a warmth inside her chest at the sight.
"They're getting along," Rhaella murmured, her voice filled with emotion.
Daenerys looked up at her mother and saw the joy in her eyes. This moment was not just about the dragons—it was about their family, about the old ways returning, about the Targaryens reclaiming their destiny.
Daeron stepped forward, lowering himself to one knee beside the hatchlings, watching them closely. "What are their names?" he asked, looking at Daenerys.
She smiled, lowering herself beside him. "The red one is Draegon," she said, watching the fiery little hatchling. "I named him after you."
Daeron raised an eyebrow at that, but his smile widened.
"The green one is Rhaegal," she continued, glancing at the second hatchling. "For Rhaegar."
Her voice softened at the name of her lost brother. She had never known him, had only heard stories, but he had been the dream of their family—the warrior prince who was supposed to restore House Targaryen to its former glory.
"And the golden one," she said, turning to the last hatchling, "is Viserion, after Viserys."
At this, her older brother straightened slightly, his expression unreadable. He had spent his whole life longing for recognition, for purpose, and Daenerys knew that in naming the dragon after him, she was giving him a place in this new Targaryen future.
Daeron nodded approvingly. "They are good names."
Daenerys looked up at Lyrax, who observed them all in silence. The great dragon was intelligent—Daeron had told them that she could feel emotions, could understand things beyond mere words. And now, watching her with the hatchlings, Daenerys realized that Lyrax was doing more than just watching.
She was accepting them.
For a long while, they simply stood there, watching the dragons bond, feeling the weight of history settle upon them. Then, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, they returned to Daeron's tent, the hatchlings now trailing along after them, their bellies full and their eyes gleaming with newfound energy.
Inside Daeron's command tent, a large map of Westeros was laid out on the wooden table, held in place by daggers and small stones. Rhaella took a seat, while Viserys and Daenerys stood nearby, their dragons curling up at their feet.
Daeron stood at the head of the table, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his other hand on the table. His expression was calm, but his grey eyes were sharp, filled with quiet intensity.
"What are your plans?" Rhaella asked, her voice steady.
Daeron looked up at her. "The Riverlands are essentially under my rule now," he said. "The riverlords will bend the knee soon enough. The only threat that remains is Tywin Lannister."
Daenerys listened carefully as her nephew spoke. Though he was only about a year older than her, he carried himself with the presence of a seasoned leader. This was not a boy playing at war—this was a king.
Daeron continued, "Tywin has only five thousand men left under his command. My scouts report that the Westerlands soldiers who were scattered in the battles have no intention of regrouping. They are fleeing back west, fearing Lyrax."
A small smile played at the corner of his lips.
Daenerys felt a surge of pride. For centuries, the power of dragons had kept the Seven Kingdoms in check. And now, that power was theirs once again.
"Once Tywin is dealt with," Daeron said, "I will turn my attention to the other claimants. Renly, Stannis… and the boy on the Iron Throne."
Viserys folded his arms. "Joffrey is no king," he spat.
Daeron nodded. "No, he is not. But he still holds the Red Keep, and he still wears the crown. Until he is removed, the war is not over."
Rhaella studied him carefully. "And how do you plan to deal with Tywin?"
Daeron's smile turned sharp. "I will give him a choice."
Daenerys leaned in, intrigued.
"I will offer him peace, as it is the proper way. I have his son and his brother, among others." Daeron said. "He will have surrender, disband his remaining forces, and acknowledge me as his king. Obviously he will refuse and when he refuses…"
He let the words hang in the air.
Daenerys could see the unspoken threat in his eyes. From what she heard Tywin Lannister was a man of great pride, but he was also a pragmatist. He had spent his life securing the future of House Lannister. Would he be willing to throw it all away out of sheer arrogance?
And when he refuses… well, dragons had returned to the world.
Rhaella nodded slowly, seeming satisfied. "It is a good plan."
Daenerys glanced at Daeron. He was not just marching forward with brute force—he was thinking like a king. He understood war, but he also understood diplomacy.
And that made him more dangerous than any of his enemies.
As the discussion ended, Daenerys looked down at her dragon hatchlings. They were curled up together, their tiny bodies rising and falling with each breath.
The future of House Targaryen was here. In this tent, in this war, in these dragons.
They would reclaim the throne.
Not as exiles, not as beggars.
But as dragons.