Chapter X: bedtime is a thing of primordial importance

I had intended for my idea to be this to be more of a “quiet operation,” if that’s even the right phrase. A handful of leftover Baratheons slipping into the Red Keep under a layer of cloaked invisibility brought by me using my gravitational powers to bend light to retrieve Aunt Rhaenys—it would’ve been simple, clean, and wouldn’t require me to do much besides making a ruckus in the skies.

In my mind, the whole thing was practically a skeleton of a plan. Float a ship over King’s Landing, make the entire city stare at the sky, threaten maybe a lil bit and let Borros and the others handle the actual jailbreak. I’d been toying with a sort of Flying Dutchman image aesthetic, like in Pirates of the Caribbean, a great ship hovering in the air just to spook everyone. It seemed fitting enough for a Velaryon. The Baratheons’ fear of me should’ve been enough to keep them moving—plus, I could bend light to make them invisible, so that wasn’t a concern.

But there was only one great problem, though, a very significant one. It was night. Night meant time to kick back, unwind, laze around and, preferably, sleep especially after the kind of day I got. Not save a princess from a castle full of dragons.

Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow? If Rhaenys happened to keel over in the meantime, well… it was what it was. Might even save me some trouble. If she were out of the picture, Uncle Corlys might be too lost in grief to come up with one of his endless schemes. And with no one around to nudge me into action, I’d have my peace back at least for a while.

Anyway, That’s how I found myself heading back to Dragonstone with Borros Baratheon, dangling mid-air like a sack of potatoes thanks to my gravity control. The others I left behind with loose instructions, something along the lines of “do whatever you like”—a phrase that suited me just fine. Honestly, I would probably never see them again, I hope so yeah, they could do whatever they wish I guess. No extra responsibilities on my end.

Speaking of Baratheons, I glanced over at Borros, and yup, he was still screaming. I thought he’d have gotten over it by now, but the moment we took off, he’d started up, and he hadn’t shut up since.

“Stop screaming!” I shouted, my voice more annoyed than commanding. “We’re in the sky, not in a dragon’s mouth!”

But of course, that only made him scream louder. His fear was palpable and kinda raw honestly like an unrefined emotion that hung in the air like the scent of rain before a storm. Still, It was kinda amusing, really, how quickly a lord could turn into a child. It was proof I supposed that most were probably under all the veneers frightened whelp clinging to the illusion of control that came with their title or maybe I was seeing too much where I didn’t need to.

I kinda still wanted him to survive. I still wanted to free Rhaenys after all and he would probably make things easier. I could ask Rhaenyra to let him live, convince her he might be useful. But, then again, if she decided to end him because of what occurred with Lucerys, well… that’s life, I guess. Nothing in Westeros seemed to last forever anyway.

Also, I couldn’t deny that Bringing him to Dragonstone was as much for my convenience as anything else. Let him be the distraction this time. I hoped that the blacks would be so busy with and angry at him that they would leave me alone for a second. It’d be nice if someone else than me had the spotlight.

I glanced around at the world below as we floated high above it, passing through wisps of clouds. There was something amusing about the sight of it all—the vast stretches of land shrinking into small patches of color and form, the way rivers cut through the earth like veins. From this height, the entire world seemed fragile, just a scattering of shapes too small to matter. From so far up, everything seemed so insignificant. Why worry and fight over stupid things like a throne that probably would be the cause of your end directly or indirectly?

Power. That’s what people always seemed to lust after, as if it could fill some gaping void inside them. For me who had true power, not power given by men’s concept, who had true power, it made me find all their dances around subjects, their politicking seem Pathethic and exhausting.

Power was in my opinion almost more of a hassle than a gift. If anything, I’d rather use it to keep others off my back, just enough to keep my time free. Titles and influence? They were shackles, weighing down people who didn’t know any better. I had no interest in playing that game.

I thought of Borros and his people back at Storm’s End. How quick they were to turn, to give up whatever pride they had left in exchange for a sliver of mercy. Admirable, maybe, but mostly desperate. Admirers, fearful servants, worshippers—I didn’t need any of that. Their admiration or terror? All the same to me. They were after all I had to remind myself no matter how real they seemed just characters in a play I barely cared to watch. I might as well have been a spectator myself, just waiting for the next act to finish.

The wind rushed around us as we continued to soar through the sky, Borros’s voice a distant, faint annoyance in my ear. He was still hollering, a constant, panicked noise that, after a while, became part of the background. A little ridiculous, honestly, like he hadn’t come to terms with the fact that none of his screaming was going to change anything.

A thought crept up, half-formed in my mind. How would people remember me in the years to come? Would they call me a monster? A villain? Something else entirely? Did it even matter? Names, titles, all the words people stitched together to make sense of things—they held weight only if you cared enough to carry them.

As for me, I’d honestly rather carry a blanket.

I smirked a little at the thought. Titles were something other people fought over, draped over themselves like coats to guard against whatever emptiness they felt. The only label I’d ever cared for was unbothered. Let the world turn as it would; I was just along for the ride, and the less I had to do, the better.

Dragonstone was coming into view now, a dark outline against the night, stark and jagged like the bones of some ancient beast.

It’s funny. The whole thing felt like a setup for some epic tale, like one of those grand, sweeping songs the bards would sing in castles. And here I was, not caring one way or another.

As we descended, I felt the familiar pulse of Dragonstone beneath us, the ancient magic woven into its very stones. The island had a pulse of its own, a heartbeat that resonated with the land and the sea. It reminded me that, despite my detached attitude, I was still bound to this place, this legacy.

Borros finally caught his breath, though only for a moment. “What… what are you doing?” he managed between gasps.

“Just enjoying the view,” I replied, my tone lazy, almost dismissive. “You should try it sometime. It’s much better than screaming like a child.”

He shot me a glare, but it was lost in the shadows of the night. “This isn’t a game! We’re going to die!”

“Dying sounds like too much work,” I said, shrugging. “I’d rather stick around, thank you very much.”

As we touched down on the rocky outcrop of Dragonstone, I released my grip on the gravity magic, allowing Borros to stumble forward, landing on his knees. The sound of his heavy breathing mingled with the crashing waves below created a cacophony that felt oddly comforting.

I turned to survey the landscape. The castle loomed above us, a silhouette against the moonlit sky. It looked like a foreboding structure, to be honest. I felt a twinge of reluctance as I thought of the endless obligations that awaited me there.

Already, I could hear the sound of people coming closer. It seemed Borros’ screams were enough to indicate our presence when I only wanted to do this in the most low-key way possible.

Why was I bothering with all of this again?

“Let’s get this over with,” I said, gesturing for Borros to follow. He hesitated, glancing back at the dark sea, as if hoping it would swallow him whole and take him away from my madness.

“Are you sure the princes-the queen will even want to see me?” he asked, his voice shaky which kinda was fair to ask. I was sure that Lucerys told Rhaenyra everything in detail

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to have you, Borros Baratheon on her doorstep.”

The Baratheon looked for a moment at the sea down the cliff as if contemplating throwing himself not that I would let him. I had brought him here for a reason after all.

“Borros, let’s go.”

With that, I started up the winding path to the castle. Borros followed, still muttering to himself about the inevitable humiliation and death that awaited him. Soon, we were joined by a gaggle of knights and guards that seemed to look at me as if I was both god and the devil, as if they wanted to be everywhere but close to me. Still, they were following. Either they were more loyal than I thought or maybe they were stupid. I wouldn’t tail me if I had been them but hey, do what you think is best.

I took a moment to enjoy the scenery, the jagged rocks jutting out like the teeth of a great beast, the waves crashing against them in a rhythmic pattern that felt almost hypnotic.

As we reached the castle gates, I paused. I knew what would be welcoming me inside would be the weight of expectations pressing down on me when tonight, I honestly craved the quiet, the solitude that came with being unbothered.

I pushed open the heavy door, and we stepped into the grand hall with the gazes of all on us, on me. I ignored them, continued to walk toward where I knew Rhaenyra and her advisors, her black council to say like to reunite themselves. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the stone walls on our path until we reached the room where Rhaenyra was. I pushed the door open and entered.

My gaze fell on the one of the realm’s delight. Rhaenyra sat on her throne-like chair. She seemed as if she was trying to look as regal as possible, to be honest, that she was doing so to hide the exhaustion and even the flicker of fear that lined her features for an instant as she saw me. Her eyes were sharp, assessing us as we approached. I watched in a corner of an eye the knights of her Queensguard putting their hands on the handle of their blades as if it would change anything if I could bother to hurt Rhaenyra.

“Monterys,” she greeted me. “I was told by your uncle that you had left.”

“Yes,” I simply answered. If she thought I was trying to explain why, she was sorely mistaken.

I spoke again before she could say anything. The conversation was already boring me out. Let's get over this as quickly as possible

“I brought a gift. Let me present you Borros Baratheon.”

At the name, The gaze of everyone else present in the room fell on him.

Borros straightened, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity, though the tremor in his hands betrayed him.

“What brings you here, Lord Borros?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice low and commanding and cold. Good, sorry, not sorry buddy.

Woah, she didn't even ask about the Stormlands. I didn't know if it was because she was pissed because of Lucerys or if she truly didn't care about knowing details from one of the ones who directory experienced my meteor. Anyways. I think it is time to leave now that the focus is on the man.

I began slowly but surely to walk toward the door. With a minor twirl on the finger, I became invisible. I could hear Borros speak behind me.

“Your Grace,” Borros began, his voice wavering slightly. “I—uh, I come to discuss a matter of utmost urgency.” He cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. “It concerns the Stormlands.”

His voice began to fade as I left the room. This day had been full of too many things. Sleep, I was coming to you beloved. Screw those guys with their annoying game of throne. A nap and everything would be alright. There was no chance I was letting them drag me into their nonsense.

Rethinking of this moment in the future, I would scoff at such naivety, as if Westeros could ever be so kind.