She didn't know if the river would flood again.
She could only wait.
Syrax walked through the clouds, and the moonlight illuminated the turbulent sea of clouds into a silver-white, boundless desert.
Rhaenyra lowered his body and pressed close to Syrax's back, feeling every contraction and relaxation of its muscles, and feeling those strong tendons and ligaments being compressed, released, and recompressed like springs in its body.
She has been riding dragons since she was eight years old, and she has been riding dragons since Syrax was only the size of a horse.
At that time, Syrax's wings had not yet grown fully, so it could not fly too high or too far. It could only hover above her head a few times, then fall down, squat down next to her, and purr like a cat.
Now Syrax is already a huge adult Dragon. When its wings are spread out, it can cover half of the street of King's Landing. Its dragon breath can burn a battleship into a pile of floating ashes within three breaths.
In front of it, it was still like a child, nuzzling her face with the bridge of its nose when she cried, curling up at the foot of her bed when she was sick, using its body to keep her warm, and purring low, like a lullaby, until she closed her eyes when she had insomnia.
The only person in this world who will not betray her is Syrax.
Syrax flew over Driftmark at Dawn. The morning light rose from the sea level in the east, dyeing the sky into a gradient canvas from deep purple to light gold to pink. The sea surface was sparkling, as if someone had sprinkled a handful of broken gold on the water.
Rhaenyra saw the outline of King's Landing - the black city wall that stretched for miles, the towering towers that glowed dark red in the morning light, and the majestic red fortress that stood at the highest point of the city like a mountain.
This city has witnessed the rise and fall of House Targaryen for three hundred years, the coronation and death of countless kings, and countless rebellions, wars, conspiracies and betrayals.
Now, it stands there quietly, silent in the morning light, like a sleeping, old Old Dragon, covered with barnacles and moss.
Rhaenyra circled in the sky above Red Keep, then controlled Syrax to dive downward, flying towards the entrance of Dragonpit underground.
It was a huge, abyss-like hole at the bottom of Red Keep. The hole was surrounded by iron fences and spikes to prevent those birds without eyes or people with even less eyes from falling in.
Syrax folded its wings, its body was like an arrow off the string, and got in through the hole. Then its wings suddenly spread out, drawing a beautiful arc inside Dragonpit, and landed steadily on its exclusive rock platform.
The air in Dragonpit is moist and cold, filled with dragon dung, sulfur and some inexplicable and unique body odor belonging to these ancient giant beasts.
Several dragons were curled up in their respective caves, some were sleeping, some were dozing, and some had their eyes open in the darkness, staring indifferently at Syrax and Rhaenyra on its back with its amber, gold, or dark red vertical pupils.
When Rhaenyra slid off Syrax's back, her legs were a little weak from riding for too long, and her knees almost failed to support her. She held onto the roots of Syrax's wings, stood firm, took a deep breath, and suppressed the dizziness caused by fatigue.
A Dragonkeeper wearing black leather armor came forward, bowed and took the reins from her hand.
There was no unnecessary expression on his face, and his movements were as standard as a calibrated machine - taking the reins, checking the saddle, everything was so skillful, so mechanical, so emotionless.
Rhaenyra looked at his back leading Syrax away, and suddenly remembered one thing - this Dragonkeeper is Alicent's person.
No, it's not Alicent's, but someone arranged by Alicent's father, Otto·Hai Tarth.
In the past few years, Alicent has stuffed several Dragonkeeper into Dragonpit, nominally to enhance the security of Dragonpit, but in fact - everyone knows what it is actually for.
Rhaenyra didn't say anything, but just watched Syrax being led deep into the cave. Its tail swung slightly in the darkness, and then disappeared out of sight.
She turned towards the exit, quickened her pace, and climbed along the spiraling stone steps from the underground Dragonpit to the ground floor of Red Keep.
The morning light shines in from the high windows, casting diamond-shaped spots on the stone floor. The air is filled with the aroma of fresh bread and roasted meat. It is the kitchen preparing breakfast for the king and queen.
The voices and laughter of the maids could be heard in the distance, crisp and cheerful, as if they were discussing something interesting. Everything was so calm, so peaceful, so normal.
Rhaenyra walked quickly through the corridor, turned the corner, and walked towards Viserys's bedroom.
Her boots made a sharp, crisp sound on the stone slabs, and the laces of her cloak came loose as she ran. She did not stop to tie them, letting the cloak drag behind her, like a dark red flag that was blown by the wind.
She couldn't wait to tell Viserys the news. Redd agreed.
The title of King of the Narrow Sea was exchanged for Redd's promise - his army will not cross Driftmark, will not set foot on Seven Kingdoms's territory, and will not appear on the sea of Blackwater Bay.
This news will make Viserys breathe a sigh of relief, make his condition better, and make him turn around less in bed and have fewer nightmares.
He no longer has to worry about Redd's dragon appearing in the sky above King's Landing, he no longer has to worry about Redd's fleet appearing on the sea surface of Blackwater Bay, and he no longer has to worry about battle reports coming from the direction of Dorne. At least, not for the time being.
She had even rehearsed in her mind Viserys's reaction when he heard the news - he would open his eyes slightly, raise the corners of his mouth slightly, relax the wrinkles on his face, and maybe hold her hand and say "Thank you, daughter."
She knew that these imaginations were childish, knew that they were too beautiful, too satisfying, and too like the ending in a fairy tale. But she couldn't help but think about it because she was too tired, too tired to have the extra energy to maintain that "dignified and decent" mask, so tired that she allowed herself to secretly, briefly, like a little girl in her heart, long for the recognition and praise of her father.
She walked to the door of Viserys's bedroom and reached out to push the door open.
The door didn't move.
Her hand paused for a moment, then pushed hard again.
The door remained motionless.
She lowered her head and glanced at the door handle - the door was bolted from the inside. Not locked, but bolted.