Fifty-seven. That was how old Maelesys was now. And yet she hardly looked it. Forty-one at the max, thirty-six at the minimum. She aged slower than most, her and Maelyx both, physically anyhow. The salty sea breeze from Dragonstone's shores carried the faint scent of sulfur from the smoking mountain as she stood on the castle's battlements, her silver hair whipping slightly in the wind.

When she first received Maelyx's letter about the war, she'd laughed - the rich, throaty sound echoing in her chambers. It was never House Targaryen without someone making stupid decisions. But when he spoke of actual battle lines being drawn, her interest was truly piqued. The stone beneath her fingers felt cold and ancient as she gripped the parapet, considering her options before deciding to support Rhaenyra - solely because Maelyx had chosen that side.

Rhaenyra's decision to keep her on standby rankled more than Maelesys cared to admit. The queen thought her too unpredictable, too dangerous. Yet that same queen had seen fit to recruit bastards from King's Landing's filth to claim dragons. The irony tasted bitter, like the ash that occasionally fell from the sky. She'd inspected Ulf first - a pathetic creature, arrogant yet cowardly. Then Hugh - ambitious and strong, but with loyalty as thin as paper.

Today, Maelesys turned her attention to the most rebellious of these new dragonriders. She stood with arms folded, her violet eyes narrowing as she studied the younger woman before her. The faint sound of dragons roaring in the distance provided an ominous backdrop to their confrontation.

"Careless eyes you have, girl. But do not think this is a game," she said, her voice sharp as a blade. "This is war, and in war, you either kill or die. There are rules to it, you cannot disregard them simply because of that dragon you have claimed."

Maelesys's nose scrunched up in distaste, the scent of dragonfear lingering faintly on the air around the girl. She found it difficult to believe Rhaenyra thought these mongrels - raised in poverty and resentment - could be controlled better than her. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, like unripe fruit as she continued her scrutiny.