She was noticing bravery.

As a Commander, she saw it in her Valkyries, who stood taller in the face of the Golden Company men. Many of them were afraid of them, even though their numbers were greater. Others admired them greatly, to the point they were asking for lessons in different disciplines. A few were nearing a point of worship where they faced their fears and asked the girls for lessons of their gods, though it was clearly a way of trying to worship them in bed– the Valkyries didn't mind.

As the newly dubbed Queen Mother– a silly title, considering she'd never been the Queen of Westeros herself or even the Queen Consort, yet Viserys and Daenerys (and even Aegon) had insisted upon it because she had been a Princess and killed a Queen to raise another– she saw her children bold in the face of many changes. Dealing with new faces, asking different questions now that they were on the mainland, becoming comfortable with the sensation that they were home. Daenerys was rapidly growing more confident in her role, and while she was still less temperamental than Viserys and Brynhildr, she had started enforcing her decisions with a harder tone, so as to not be undermined.

As the Master of Ships, she saw Daenerys's guards muster up the mental strength to get to know each other and the others around them. She saw Ser Barristan humbly speak alone with Oberyn to express his condolences about Elia. She saw Ser Jorah asking Daario about swords, stating it was high time he kept up his practice if they'd soon meet battle in the Stormlands. It was never an easy thing for a person to admit to weakness, and she admired that both seemed capable of doing this to then relay her commands on other captains under their purview.

And, now finally as an aunt, she was seeing her new little apprentice, nephew, whatever Aegon was, blossom into a man.

After their first battle, he was more careful in his approaches during a fight. It didn't bother him that he had remained on the ship while the others stormed Dragonstone by a climb or through the beach– he'd still been there as prisoners swam up and he'd had to use his own strength to detain them. He knew now not to overestimate his experience, as he'd seen the men around him in a real fight and let it dawn on him that he was not yet at their level, which wasn't at all a bad thing. Merely a goal to set in his mind.

He was studying hard, that was sure. He spent his mornings in the training yard learning from Stormcrows, Valkyries, men of the Golden Company, even the few knights under Stannis who had chosen to keep the peace and were determined not to be a hazard if left loose. The afternoons, he spent in the library with Viserys studying up on things that might be useful.

In the moments of relaxation he allowed himself in-between, he kept close to Daenerys. Brynhildr had watched him courageously ask to explore the castle at her side, to keep her company. They'd done that. He blurted out an offer to help feed the dragons one day that she'd been busy, and though everyone was starting to be more afraid of the quickly growing Fafnir, Viserion, and Rhaegal, he'd tossed them their meat and spoken to them gently in High Valyrian.

The children were doing well in their attempts at bonding. Fafnir, the largest, was closest to Daenerys at all times, the one even as a few-days-old hatchling would fight his way out of the pen to sleep beside her. The dragon was headstrong, independent, much like how Daenerys was growing to be.

Viserys had most obviously chosen to dote on Viserion, who was gentle and comforting in the same way Brynhildr had shown Viserys to be. Viserion would rather wait for the others to finish eating than fight for the food, and so Viserys would often hand feed him. Rhaegal was the most aggressive of them, yet with his mother's song, he'd purr and calm. This one seemed to catch the eye of Aegon, perhaps mainly because Rhaegal was named for his father, but even more so because Aegon saw a part of himself in the dragon. Wanting to be what he could not, lest he hold himself back and think twice before he acted.

Given they were about the size of ponies, Brynhildr had ordered saddles be adapted for them with supplies they'd brought from Braavos– not real saddles, but enough to grow them accustomed to the feel and the weight. Aegon had once more bravely volunteered to help Daenerys in placing the saddles on the dragons, who had wriggled and wailed dramatically as if their throats were being cut. Why animals were partial to theatrics, Brynhildr didn't understand. They dragons realized quickly enough that there was no need for the screeching; the saddles did not, in fact, kill them.

On the day they'd practically forced the little beasts into the saddles, she'd noticed how Daenerys giggled at things Aegon said. How he let his hand brush hers. How he blushed whenever she complimented him.

A part of her mother's heart still told her not to trust him fully when it came to his intentions with Dany; perhaps he did still think himself a good King Consort. Melisandre had only just told her of how Margrethe's own ambitions felled her, and that girl had seemed so innocent when she was still a slave, before her brothers freed her for marriage.

Yet she thought of them, a girl of sixteen and boy of seventeen, both young and inexperienced enough with ghosts of their past looming over their shoulders. If there was anyone good for Dany, it was someone who would understand the things that excited her as much as the things that haunted her. The person would need to cherish her and make her laugh, be willing to fight for her, be able to tell her if she was wrong and acknowledge their own wrongs, too. She hoped Aegon could be so, growing each day more into a man that could reasonably become the good sort of King Consort that Daenerys would need at her side.

She stood on the ramparts overlooking the yard below, Daenerys, Viserys, and Aegon having the dragons fly around. Brynhildr sensed movement approaching her, glancing out of the corner of her eye as Ser Barristan drew closer. "Commander Lothbrok," he greeted.

"Ser Barristan," she said. "I trust you've been finding Dragonstone to your liking."

"Very much. Your Valkyries are blunt, though they speak honest and true. They've been welcoming and very protective of Her Grace. I wager they are split in threes, one third think themselves sisters, another aunts, the last third perhaps old enough to remember when she arrived and looking down to her in a motherly fashion. Even your men– Einherjar, I hope I said it right– are kind and watchful."

Brynhildr nodded. "Yes. We are all a family at Valkyrie Keep. Daenerys is our most beautiful treasure. Everything we all wished she could be. Clever, independent, fierce, merciful, creative, beautiful, imaginative, and even so capable of killing a man."

"Indeed." He smiled as Daenerys managed to tap Fafnir's foot as he swept overhead, eliciting a chirp that sounded like it might be a laugh. "I remember even King Robert was surprised to learn the girl could throw knives. Many attempts to send assassins were made. Would that the Faceless Men were more affordable– and willing to invade Valkyrie Keep."

"I am well-aware," said Brynhildr. "I saw many of their faces myself. Absurd, some who came alive even claimed they were promised lordship for murder. I cut their heads off myself."

The knight's lips twitched. "I heard about that... strangely, some heads came back to King's Landing with their hair shaven and a stag carved into their skin."

With a light shrug, she said, "I would have sent him a fully Blood-Eagled man, but the stink would be one no sailor would like. I imagined Blood-Eagling him myself... I once did it to another King, a man about as fat as Robert was said to be. In truth, I care not why the rebellion sparked under him or the fact he became king. What chills me is that he was always willing to try and kill my children. That he did nothing to punish the Lannisters for what happened to Elia and little Rhaenys."

"I still have nightmares about the day I was told of it," said Ser Barristan, hand clenched around the stone. "When I saw Prince Aegon standing among you on the day I arrived... I nearly wept with joy. To see some part of his father and mother alive... gods, I do not doubt it is him. With one look, I knew."

"Perhaps you'd like to instruct him," said Brynhildr. "He is still young, he needs it. Viserys is an excellent swordsman, but he's learned more of the Viking style, less the sort of thing that made you and that Sword of the Morning famous. Perhaps that will give you a chance to feel you are with Rhaegar again."

Ser Barristan seemed to like this. "I'd be honored, Commander. I'd even be honored to share the yard with you and your Valkyries. I am told you are a formidable woman even without a sword in your hand."

Her lips quirked, amused and wondering if he wished to assess her skill. She tried not to sound cocky, knowing his reputation, "Yes, though, I admit Viking swords were probably not as good quality as what you lot have here, not to mention your longswords are better to keep a slightly greater distance. You're known for some unimaginable feats, Ser Barristan. You, the Kingslayer, Ser Arthur Dayne, I know I could never hope to beat you. I still have not landed Oberyn Martell flat on his back. I'm quick but not quite as light footed as I need to be against the most graceful fighters. You have magnificent technique, not to mention years of true discipline, while I have fought more or less like someone from the fighting pits since I was old enough to hold a sword."

"And yet you designed the swords you sell on what you saw in these lands and in Essos," countered Ser Barristan. "You are taller than me and Ser Arthur Dayne, even, and we've heard of your brute force in battle– you carry a raw strength many knights do not have and as such must overcome with this gracefulness. You fight savagely and use tricks the green knights of today's age are most unable to stand against. Your armor leans to the Dornish style, more flexible where knights are weighed down."

Brynhildr leaned onto the stone edge with a smirk on her face. "If I didn't know better, Ser Barristan, I'd think you were praising me to my face."

He smiled, "Earned praise, Commander. I look forward to fighting at your side on the field of battle."

He'd have the opportunity soon, this she knew. Connington had been sent out with a thousand swords to ensure Griffin's Roost was his, and additionally seize Rain House from House Wylde. One of Strickland's second-in-commands was sent with another thousand to seize Bronzegate from House Buckler and Broad Arch from House Steadmon. After their letters were sent, the men would then lay in wait for the attack of Storm's End.

Oberyn had asked permission from Doran before calling on friends at Kingsgrave, a thousand men to take Nightsong from House Caron, as it was within the Dornish Marches and too far for them to waste time reaching by ship or foot. This would free the rest of them up for attacks on Greenstone and Stonehelm, for houses Estermont and Swann were the sort to require more men.

Eager for another battle and to see Ser Barristan fight alongside her, Brynhildr spoke with Daario, the two deciding to lead the attacks on both castles. Daario would take the Stormcrows and one-thousand Golden Company men to Greenstone, while Brynhildr and Ser Barristan would lead another fifteen-hundred against Stonehelm. He'd expressed interest, given he'd squired for Lord Manfred as a boy and later rescued Lady Jeyne and her septa from the Kingswood Brotherhood.

At the last second, Aegon had asked to come along to test himself in the field. She had a feeling he'd chosen on purpose to ask this when Connington wasn't there to stop him. They held a vote, and Aegon was allowed to join them.

Word would come soon enough from Connington, Strickland, and House Manwoody by then, which meant Oberyn, Daenerys, and Viserys could handle the decision of who'd stay to hold Dragonstone and otherwise prepare their remaining men and women to sail for Storm's End and arrive just after those sent out to fight had already begun to surround it.

Aegon leaned over the ship railing, staring back at Dragonstone as they sailed far around Massey's Hook and curved steadily towards the Sea of Dorne. "You know what my father once told my brothers?" said Brynhildr, coming to stand with him. "'Don't waste your time looking back. You're not going that way.' Why do you think he said that?"

He thought for a moment. "It does us no good to think of what we leave behind if we don't manage something greater going forward."

"Well said. Yet, I think that if you are looking back, it must be for a reason. There is longing in your eyes, perhaps even fear. What is it, young Prince? What holds your heart in Dragonstone?"

He managed a shrug, as if worried to say. "I don't know. I wished to come and yet now that I am on my way, I wonder if I am truly ready." He stared down at his hands. "It must make me sound weak to admit that."

"It is good to question such a thing," said Brynhildr. "It means you are aware that you are not the strongest man in the field. I think you are ready. I think Connington would have agreed. It doesn't make you weak, in fact, I reckon it makes you formidable to be capable of saying that you might be worried. You won't feel differently until our battle is done. The whole way, you'll wonder and wonder, your mind will play tricks on you and convince you that you made the wrong choice. But, I think, you will see, that it was the right choice. You will do well in battle."

Aegon tried to believe it. "I should hope so. I wish to finally become a man. I saw Viserys, how he fought on Dragonstone. I watched from the boat as the Valkyries scaled the side of Dragonstone. I want to be like that, I want to do those things."

"Then you shall do them." She leaned down, smirking, "And if you do well in battle, you will earn a nickname."

He perked up. "A nickname?"

"Yes. Viserys made Dany's nicknames after she birthed the dragons. When he was younger, the Valkyries started to call him the Young Dragon– though this one I use more as his mother, for I hear a Targaryen king was known by this name– and the Viking Dragon. Now more than ever they call him this, for how he proved himself on Dragonstone. I've even heard talk that they've coined for him the name Viserys the Red, an honorable gesture to match my nickname of Bloody Brynhildr."

"Yes, I remember they gave you that name during your first battle." He looked more excited, and turned away from the railing, letting Dragonstone rest at his back. "I want to earn a nickname, I want to be known as something like all of you."

"Perhaps you'd like to think of your name already."

"Well, there are so many to take inspiration from," said Aegon. "I only knew before that they called Jon 'The Griffin.' That was impressive. But now I know they call my uncle 'The Red Viper,' 'The Snake,' 'The Red Snake,' and I like those as well. Then there's 'Barristan the Bold,' and you. Queen Valkyrie, Killer of Kings, Queenkiller, Queenslayer, Kingkiller, Kingslayer, Queenmaker, Bloody Brynhildr, The Demon of York, The Pagan Nightmare, Brynhildr the Undead. I want something that powerful but I am not sure what it will be. Perhaps you might choose it for me."

Brynhildr tucked her arms together, eyes narrowed and thinking. "Yes. Perhaps I will."

All the talk of nicknames must have gotten into Aegon's head, which at least pushed aside his fear and prevented it from taking further root. He could think of nothing but the battle as Stonehelm rose in the distance. They docked between there and Fawntown, the Swann armies marching into the open field to try and counter them. Brynhildr had prepared battle plans for if they holed up in Stonehelm or were brave enough to meet them on the field– she was glad this option was chosen, to give Aegon the taste of what she'd experienced in Northumbria and Wessex.

As their lines formed, she had him walk with her and examine the layout, then kept him at her side as she prepared her army, the Swanns upon them. "Are we afraid to die?" she shouted out. They called out, "No!" "Are we afraid to meet our gods?" They chanted again, "No!" "Are we afraid of swans?" "NO!" they yelled more fiercely.

She put her hands on Aegon's shoulders, shaking him and saying, "Are we going to show this boy how we battle?" They called, "Yes!" "Are we going to show him how we make proud our ancestors?" "Yes!" "Are we going to stand with a dragon?" "YES!" She looked over at Aegon, ecstatic as if he were much younger and excited for the season of Yol. This environment suited him.

He'd done well in the battle. She'd had him stand near the back with her and Ser Barristan as their flanks guarded ahead. Some of the Swann men had come with cavalry, but they made quick work of them by springing a trap her father had once used in England, great logs carved into spikes that sprang up before the horses were upon them. It brought up a wall that impaled many of the horses and flung the riders into their first line, and they made quick work of them.

She waited for the battle to begin dying down before she handed her secondary captains the watch with their last, unmoving line. She guided Aegon and Ser Barristan with her, zipping through their men until they reached the center of the battle, Swann men still fighting valiantly.

Ser Barristan was indeed a magnificent fighter despite his age, brilliant with his sword and dancing circles around the less-disciplined Swann men. Brynhildr kept close to Aegon as she began to cut down men with her sword, switching to her ax once men with warhammers started to come at her. At her side, Aegon spun and countered, he even tried to imitate her, snarling in the faces of those who came at him and overpowering them with his strength. All his anger shone, and it energized him.

Once they'd slaughtered every last Swann in the battle, she had some of her soldiers return to guard the ships. The rest of them picked up the fallen banners, lifting them high as they marched to Stonehelm, the men opening the gates for them and dropping their weapons. Brynhildr had Aegon march ahead of them and locate the high hall where Lord Gulian awaited with his surrender.

She had a few of her captains capable of reading and writing the Common Tongue escort the maester to his ravens, sending one to Dragonstone and announcing their victory. A letter already awaited them from Daario, stating that he'd taken Greenstone. Seated on the Stonehelm throne, she brought Aegon to stand with her, noting that the blood on him was not his own– he'd taken no injury.

"Well done, my boy," she said gladly, tapping the arm ring she'd given him. "I've heard some of my Valkyries are calling you the Dornish Dragon, to match Viserys and to honor both your parents."

He blushed, and knelt. "Thank you, Commander."

"Do not thank me yet," said Brynhildr, though she smiled. "I have a nickname of my own. You fought well, you reminded me of my own brothers, how you shouted in defiance at those you slayed. You guarded yourself well yet still advanced. You did away with your own fear and tested your skill without being arrogant. For this, I give you a nickname once held by my brother. Rise, Aegon Ironside, unhurt and victorious."

She wondered if she made a mistake once the boy looked up at the torches, eyes glistening as if he might cry. But she remembered he was still a boy (though older than she was during her first battle) and remembered that he'd probably never heard such praise. She wished Rhaegar or Elia were here to tell him this themselves. "Thank you, Commander," he said again.

As he went to feast with the other soldiers, Ser Barristan found Brynhildr again. "You fought well, Ser," said Brynhildr. "Truly, you were magnificent."

"As were you, Commander," said Ser Barristan. "The men on the battlefield began to pray to their gods when they saw you running their way." He nodded towards Aegon's departing figure, "The boy is pleased. I imagine he now feels trulypart of your family. His accomplishment would not mean nearly as much without your own pride for him."

Brynhildr imagined Connington's praise might've meant more, but as she watched Aegon smile and accept further compliments from the Valkyries and Golden Company soldiers, she knew that she'd been right about the maternal figure the boy lacked. Men had been telling him all his life what he was meant to be, who he was meant to embody. Connington had long ago declared him fierce.

Yet only Brynhildr, with her love for Viserys, Daenerys, and Oberyn, could bring him words that made him feel that he wasn't only Rhaegar's son, wasn't only meant to be like his father. So, too, he was Elia's son, and so, too, was he making her smile for him.