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Dragons have a bond to their riders. Syrax is one of the few who understand how desperately lonely and sad Rhaenyra Targaryen is with the marriage of her father to her former friend. Rhaenyra, and Syrax, understand that it is only a matter of time until Aegon is favored over her for the crown. Rhaenyra prepares herself for this fate, even as her father swears it will not come to pass. She is no stupid girl. Syrax does not resign herself to this fate, she will see her rider happy.
Even if she must eat everyone in the kingdom to do so.
Though her rider could not visit her frequently, Syrax still knew. The bond between a rider and their dragon was deeper than any understood, and the longer the bond was in place the deeper it was. Especially on the dragon's side.
Syrax had rested in the cradle next to her human sister. Had loved her before she was even hatched, in the way dragons could love. And now she felt her sorrow. Her stress. Her desperation. Syrax had stood for it long enough, she would stand no more. Her riders distress ate away at her.
The boy, Aegon, had hatched no dragon of his own yet. All the better, Syrax thought. Syrax herself had hatched when her rider was less than a moon turn old. They were a superior pair, she thought. Her rider and her - and nothing would separate them.
No. If no one else would take care of this problem then Syrax would. She just needed the perfect opportunity.
And the boy would be a problem. Rhaenyra would not go quietly from the throne, Syrax knew, even if her rider thought she could. No, Rhaenyra had dragonfire in her and she wouldn’t stand for being truly slighted. No, there was no peaceful resolution to this situation. She felt the tensions of it bubbling through the people around her. Dragons felt far more than people understood.
So Syrax would take care of it, and no one could stop her.
Her prey evaded her, frightened by the power she bore underneath her scales. They were of no use to her. No friends to dragons. Even though the boy was half Targaryen his mother kept him far away from dragons out of fear. It was a shame that the king had chosen to sully his line with such. Syrax knew that not everyone could be a dragon rider, but those that marry into dragon families shouldn’t fear them.
And anyone that made her rider feel such feelings were unworthy. Her rider was superior in all ways. Syrax hated feeling Rhaenyra’s sadness and uncertainty. They were not feelings that were natural to dragons, after all, and she would prefer to never feel them again.
Syrax paused in her thoughts, her plans, because to her joy her rider had arrived.
“Syrax.” Rhaenyra’s voice comfortred her and she let out a coo. Her rider came into view, dressed in riding gear. It was lighter than her usual gear, a soft gray tunic with red dragons stitched onto it topping dark gray pants and black boots. Her hair was pulled back into a thick
braid. “Do you want to fly?”
She cheered, which for a dragon sounded like a roar. The dragon keepers stepped back, although they were used to the dragons they were still cautious around them. But not her rider, no her rider smiled at her and stepped closer. “I’ll take that as a yes?”
Syrax chirped, shaking her wings and head. She felt the spike of joy from Rhaenyra and reveled in it. It was as good as soaking in the sunlight or soaring in a downward spiral. Yes, she thought, she would feel this joy all the time when her rider was Queen.
Syrax didn’t understand why she wanted to be Queen. Why anyone would want to be cooped up in a castle when they could fly. It seems that the only things that Kings and Queens did was to sit on a pointy throne and have other people talk at them. Flying was so much more interesting. But it would make her rider happy, and that would make her happy.
And really it was no big ask for her to eat a few people. She would eat more people if it wouldn’t make Rhaenyra angry at her.
Syrax followed her rider to the open area of the Dragon Pit, already saddled up. The dragon keepers just left the saddle on - they didn’t like to touch her too much if they could help it. As she understood, her scales were incredibly warm especially under her wings and it could burn their hands. They were also afraid they would upset her. The saddle didn’t bother her - she could hardly feel it, so it didn't matter. She would burn it off if she didn’t like it.
Rhaenyra came to her side and Syrax bent down to allow her rider easier access. Flying alone was a joy, but it was even nicer with her rider. Rhaenyra had hardly gotten seated in her sattle before Syrax launched them into the air. Rhaenerya let out a cry followed by a laugh. Syrax did a little roll, making her rider laugh again.
Yes, for her rider's laughter she would gladly eat everyone in this kingdom.
Syrax kept Rhaenyra out long past sunset. Her rider never complained, her quiet joy kept Syrax flying.
“Syrax, we should return!” Rhaenyra shouted, though she could hardly be heard over the whistle of the wind. Even then, Syrax knew her heart wasn’t in it.
So she ignored the command that was really more of a suggestion.
The moon was full, and it cast a delightful light on the coastline Syrax had been following. From this height the waves seemed to shimmer as they collided with the shore, like diamonds breaking against an immovable barrier.
Perhaps they could fly as far as the wall?
Or Syrax could take her rider to Old Valyria, she had never seen it but dragons had passed the knowledge of the location down amongst themselves. There were monsters there, Caraxes had told her. Terrible things. And fiery worms that would eat you up. Balerion had told him - he was the last dragon who had seen Valyria before and after the Doom. But of course, Caraxes was as unreliable as his rider so Syrax had her reservations. She had never met Balerion herself, after all. But she felt confident she could protect her rider if she needed.
Tonight, though, she would fly as far north as she could. As far away from the cursed throne as she could. The farther they flew the lighter Rhaenyra’s worries seemed and that delighted Syrax.
An hour later Rhaenyra called to her again, “Syrax! Land! I’m exhausted!” And this time Syrax obeyed. It was late into the night - the moon more than halfway through its journey. Humans needed more rest than dragons.
Syrax picked a spot on the coast far away from other humans and landed as gently as she could. Rhaenyra moaned as she slipped from the saddle, sore from the long flight. Her back popped as she stretched. “Father will be angry.” Syrax didn’t care and blew a puff of smoke into the air to say so.
“Syrax.” Her rider teased, “you should care. I’m sure Ser Criston will be out of his mind as well.” Syrax wasn’t sure what she felt about Ser Criston yet. The man was clearly fond of her rider, but she needed more time to grasp the mettle of the man. If he did not pass she would eat him too.
Syrax flopped down into the damp sand, letting out a snort of contentment as the cool grains worked their way into her scales. Flying made her hot, as if the fire that burned within her bubbled up more with the exercise. The cool sand sapped away some of the heat.
“You know Syrax, I wish we could just fly away. Let the realm have what they want, a male heir. We could go anywhere. Be anything. I wouldn’t have to marry.” Rhaenyra sat down in the sand next to her, resting against her scales. Syrax shifted her wing around her rider, protecting her from unseen threats. “I’m tired of waiting to be replaced. To never know where I stand. Of waiting to be sold off to any man who can offer my father enough. The wait is the worst part - I have to live the fear every day. I cannot mourn and get over it, I cannot come to terms with it while I’m waiting for it to happen.”
Her rider was quietly crying, Syrax could smell the salty tears.
“Is that so wrong? To hate the waiting? I feel as if I’ve been forgotten, shoved to the side.” Rhaenyra rested her head against Syrax, turning so her face was pressed against the hot scales. Rhaenyra never complained about the heat. “When I was a child I would sit on my fathers knee in the small council. On the throne. He would parade me about proudly. When I began to age and no male heir was apparent things became… Odd. I suppose it is one thing to have a treasured daughter, but it is another to realize that the same fate that befell your grandfather would befall you. No male heir. No living one at least.”
Syrax made a purring noise which was supposed to comfort young dragons, it worked with her rider as well.
“And then my mother died in his quest for an heir. And he married someone who I thought was my friend. She didn’t even tell me! He didn’t! I was surprised at the small council? I just want security, Syrax, knowledge of what is to become of me.”
Syrax would give her that. She purred softly until her rider fell asleep, comforted by the heat and the sound.
The next morning Rhaenyra stretched before climbing back into her saddle. It was time to return - the wall would be seen another day. For no Syrax had a plan to put in place. When Kings Landing came into view Syrax made sure to give a few lazy circles around the Red Keep before heading off to the Dragon Pit.
Ser Criston was already waiting there, Syrax was unsure if he had even left. He certainly looked worse for the wear.
“Your grace!” He ran up to Syrax without fear, trying to reach his charge as quickly as possible. Syrax did appreciate that; anyone worthy of her rider would put their fear of Syrax below Rhaenyra’s safety.
“Ser, I’m quite alright.” She wobbled as her feet touched the ground and Ser Criston braced her.
“Princess, where have you been?” His voice was soft and worried, trying not to be overheard by the dragon keepers.
“A flight, Ser Criston. I thought the dragon would make that obvious.” Rhaenyra smiled at him as she jest and his frown only deepened.
“That isn’t what I mean Princess. Have you even eaten?” Ser Criston still hadn’t released his hold on Rhaenyra and Syrax fought her instinct to huff at him - her rider likely needed the stabilization. “Come on, you need a bath and food. The King is furious. If we’re quick we can get you in the bath and a plate of food before he can reach your rooms. It will buy you time.”
Rhaenyra smiled up at him. “Thank you Ser.” Before they walked away she turned to Syrax, “thank you for the flight, love.”
Syrax chirped in joy, there would be many more rides to come.
The dragon keepers led her back towards her stall where fresh food was waiting for her. She allowed it, even though she would prefer to hunt for her own food. But she needed time to think, time to plan.
It was six moons later when she would have her chance. The royal family was headed out to the Kingswood for a hunt, apparently, to celebrate Aegon’s name day. Syrax didn’t understand the significance of name days, but she did understand that her prey would be out of the castle. In the open.
So she waited. Biding her time. She felt Rhaenyra get farther from her, and when her rider's position finally stabilized she made her move.
Breaking out of the Dragon Pit was easy - nothing could truly hold a dragon if it didn’t wish to be held. And she did not. The dragon keepers screamed, yelling at her to calm down and come back. She ignored them.
Taking to the air felt like victory.
The flight would be less than an hour - no time for riders to reach the royals and let them know a dragon was loose if they even had the idea to do so at all.
She flew high, scoping out the camp from the air. From the highest she flew she would look like nothing more than a bird. But she could see them. The royals were outside. Her rider was on the other side of the camp, far enough away to keep her safe from flame if Syrax needed to use it.
So she landed.
The screams were immediate, and Syrax could hear Rhaenyra’s startled gasp across the camp. But her rider was too far away, and dragons were not slaves. There was no command that she could issue that would stop Syrax, even though she tried.
The brown haired intruder would be first - she had hurt her rider the most. The woman who had called herself friend was no friend at all. She tried to scream as Syrax bit her head off, letting the body fall to the ground. The courtiers around them screamed, trying to scramble away from the dragon. They tripped over the hems of their gowns trying to run.
Good. They should scream, Syrax thought, they should be reminded of the power of dragons. Of how their pitiful political plays faltered in the light of a dragon's might.
The next was the man, idly she remembered that they called him Otto Hightower but names were of little use to her. He was useless, and a schemer. Syrax hated him the most. He was also a coward - he was attempting to run instead of save his daughter or grandson. Not that he could have. But Syrax felt as if he should try. She would not run from a threat against Rhaenyra, and she knew Rhaenyra would not run from a threat against her. But such was the true devotion that these men lacked.
He made a most satisfying crunch in her mouth. The blood that gushed out spattered on the fleeing nobels. He was devoured in two bites.
The babe was next, Syrax knew the humans would not like this, but she had no morals about eating the babe. Its nursemaids had even left it - running from the dragon and not bothering with their charge.
He was gone in one bite.
Syrax began licking the blood off her maw, as Rhaenyra reached her. Criston Cole was close behind, they were the only two running towards the rampaging dragon.
“Syrax! What have you done! Syrax!” Rhaenyra was crying, Syrax regretted that she made her rider sad, but it would only be temporary. Ser Criston wrapped his arms around her pulling her back from the dragon and into his chest. Syrax could appreciate his caution, she was eating nobles after all. “Let go of me, she won’t hurt me!”
Rhaeneya pulled free after a brief moment, likely because Ser Criston was in a state of shock, and she marched up to Syrax’s maw. “Why?” She looked at the body of Alicent and her face paled. “Oh Syrax.”
Syrax just huffed.
The wails of the King broke into her concentration. He was crawling to the body of his dead wife. “Gods no, gods no.” He reached off, as if to touch her before pulling his hands back and looking up to meet the eyes of Syrax.
Whatever he was about to say, about to order or do, the words died as he looked at Syrax.
She conveyed everything through her eyes. That this was his fault. That he was a weak king. That she, the symbol of her house, would never respect him. That she would eat him, too, if he tried her. It wasn’t kinslaying or kingslaying when you were a dragon. And he turned away.
Syrax turned back to her rider. Ser Criston had come to stand behind her, hands on her shoulders ready to pull her away should the dragon try to eat her.
I’ve solved it for us, Rhaenyra. There will be no challenge to us now. Rhaenyra knew that, and she would appreciate it one day. Syrax knew, because she knew her rider.
This only shed the blood of three people. Without this, they would never have let her rider peacefully ascend to the throne they valued so much. No, Syrax knew enough of men to know that this would never end in a peaceful way. She knew enough of her rider too.
Rhaenyra knew her place - it was above all these humans. She, like Syrax, was fire made flesh. It burned in her. Her ambition. She would never quietly be sat aside - nor would the people who sought to use her let that happen.
Not that it mattered now. Syrax had solved the problem.
“Oh, Syrax.” Rhaenyra sighed, resting a hand on the dragon's face. Syrax huffed at her and launched herself into the air.
All was well.
Or mostly well - most people were unhappy with Syrax for eating people. But there wasn’t much they could do. For the most part they all agreed that Rhaenyra didn’t order it, and Syrax was a dragon. They couldn’t really do anything to punish her.
Viserys was lost in a sea of grief. But Syrax didn’t care. He refused to wed again - which was good for him as Syrax would just save time and eat the girl before they married next time.
But at least he was including her rider in the small council - it wasn’t as if he were fit to lead right now. No he had to lean on Rhaenyra - which would prove her ability to the nobles around them. Because, even though Syrax had eaten other nobles they still swarmed around her rider and the Targaryen’s. They were drawn to power like a moth to flame.
Even if Syrax felt that Viserys truly had little power.
Two wives died because of his ambition. Because he was too afraid to be a strong leader. To assert himself.
Viserys hadn’t truly needed to remarry, after all. He had his heir and a spare in Daemon. More spares in the Velaryons - and they had dragons. The royal family had scarcely been more secure before. No, Syrax knew that he was a man who didn’t think that his daughter could rule as well as a son. A man tricked by scheming.
Syrax had just made him see the truth.
And she had dampened the scheming of the nobles around her. Only the bravest would seek out the hand of Rhaenyra now. Only the most worthy.
And if he was not? Syrax would eat him too.