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Chapter Text

From the moment Visenya was born, she was loved. Rhaenyra would never claim to have married Laenor out of love, in fact, it would never be that way. Their hearts lied somewhere else but their duty was above their desires. And even if they cared for each other as good friends would, they were a family because of Visenya and that bond isn’t something politics could quite make-up.

Rhaenyra had once dreamed of what her life would be had she been free to marry Daemon instead but all those thoughts washed away when she had her daughter. As much as she’d like to keep it a secret, she’d always known she wanted a daughter. Though the labours were difficult, the moment she laid her eyes on her daughter…a particular rush of joy filled her, one that filled a void that she hadn’t realised she had.

Laenor held her hand as she screamed in pain and when their daughter was born, they sat in the bloodied bed for a while…dismissing all the maesters and maids to have a moment alone with their daughter. “You can’t name her Joffrey, your predictions were wrong, we have a beautiful little girl,” Rhaenyra cooed at her surprisingly calm baby to which Laenor said, “And to honour my defeat, I give you the honour to name her.”

“Visenya,” she said immediately and Laenor smiled at that and said, “You think our little girl would be a warrior?”

“Not necessarily in the traditional sense,” Rhaenyra answered, “But she will be strong and beautiful just like her namesake.” Laenor’s smile quickly faded into a frown and said, “Gods, I wish the gods did not make me the way I was. Perhaps I could love you like a husband should and dote over you like I dote over our daughter-.” Rhaenyra placed a hand on Laenor’s cheek and said, “I don’t need you to love me that way. I like you the way you are, you respect me and you gave me a beautiful daughter. I could not ask for anything more.”

“Well there is one thing you could ask for?,” Laenor teased and Rhaenyra raised her brow and said, “And what, pray tell, can a woman like me do to satisfy you?” Laenor rolled his eyes at that and said, “You could ask for brothers or sisters for Visenya.”

Rhaenyra laughed and said, “I’m surprised we even conceived Visenya with all your grimacing and looking away when we had to spend our wedding night together.” Laenor playfully shoved Rhaenyra on the shoulder and said, “Yes, perhaps the process is particularly gruesome for me but the idea of being a father, it brings unspeakable joy.” Rhaenyra was about to tease him back but she settled with a smile knowing exactly what he meant. And when the maids had Rhaenyra cleaned up and dressed in better garments, the pair resumed doting over their daughter, thinking of what her future might look like.

“She’s so beautiful,” Laenor said as he softly caressed his daughter’s forehead. The pair were sitting up in their shared bed with Rhaenyra dejectingly lying her head on her husband’s shoulder as she cradled Visenya, “Gods, I have finally felt the death-bringing pain of labours, I would not wish that upon anybody else except maybe Alicent.” Laenor fussed over her and said, “Are you alright? Do you feel faint or anything-.”

“I’m fine, I’m just terribly hungry and would not be surprised if I devoured an entire loaf of bread right now,” Rhaenyra commented so he teased, “Then I’ll ask the maids to bring over the biggest loaf they can find-.” She rolled her eyes at that and said, “I could never breathe without you jesting me.”

“It makes the red keep feel less eerie when we laugh, and it helps me forget about losing Joffrey,” he mentioned and Rhaenyra frowned realising that the wedding had barely been a year ago. She sidled up closer to Laenor and said, “I am deeply sorry, had I known-.”

“No you couldn’t have and that’s alright,” Laenor reassured him, “It might just be my wishful thoughts but moments like this make me believe that the gods has destined me not for love but for great friendship and I believe I have found that with you Nyra.” Nyra smiled and said, “I believe so too Laenor, I…I believe we are people both bound by duty and our friendship and our family feels like a reward for us upholding that.”

“Then we’ll continue to uphold our duty,” Laenor said with a smile as his daughter held his finger with her tiny hand, “We’ll uphold it for the future of the realm and for our daughter.” Rhaenyra smiled and said, For Visenya.

___

Visenya would be their only daughter. The eldest of their four children and soon after Visenya came Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. Laenor and Rhaenyra had established a firm presence at court and had swayed the opinion of the council and the realm with their continued loyalty to their duty. As Rhaenyra’s father, Viserys, grew weaker, the time for her to ascend grew nearer. People hailed that Rhaenyra and Laenor were a second Jaehaerys and Alysanne but the pair were one of a kind, they held a friendship that was just as solid as the pact of a marriage. Because of that, they were loving parents to their children and Rhaenyra and Laenor had brought upon to Westeros a new delight of the realm, Visenya Velaryon.

Visenya had her mother’s silken silver locks but had her father’s warm honeyed skin. Her eyes were a pale lilac and her face wore the best features from her mother and father. Many who were lucky to see her described her as ethereal and was much like her mother during her younger days. Taking an interest in politics, she was rarely seen at social functions but instead served as the king’s cup bearer just like her mother before her. But once the council’s meetings were over her, she would ride on the back of her dragon, Vaehaemion, a dragon that hatched in her cradle with sharp rose scales with rugged ruby and obsidian accents and was said to be coloured like a flower garden.

Her eagerness to leave was to go back to Dragonstone and Driftmark interchangeably to observe her mother and father do their duties. She was rarely seen at King’s Landing but now that she is 10 and 8, as much as her mother and father could not fathom the idea of marrying her off, it was time for her to be presented to potential suitors at a ball held in her honour at the Red Keep.

Per usual, Visenya was not excited at this prospect. Per her request, only her mother and father were present at her preparation for the ball. “Mother, must I really-,” Visenya begged as a stray hair fell off the carefully braided hairdo that Rhaenyra had just finished. Rhaenyra groaned and said, “Yes well your father and I felt the same but look at us now, we have you and your brothers and are perfectly happy.” Visenya groaned and said, “Yes but the idea that Aegon and Aemond will be there sickens me, after what they did to my brothers and Baela and Rhaena, it’s unacceptable!”

Laenor sighed at his daughter’s complaints and said, “Yes well, your brother accosted Aemond an eye so the boy’s sins for stealing their mother’s dragon was somewhat paid for.” Rhaenyra glared at Laenor and was about to say something but was interrupted by Visenya saying, “I just hate doing anything but being a cupbearer at the Red Keep, Queen Alicent is always so rude and unnecessarily cruel to you mother-.”

“Now Visenya, we do not want to sow seeds of distrust and hatred, it will destroy us more than them,” Rhaenyra scolded her daughter, “I had to learn that lesson in a much harder way so I warn you now, just try your best to smile through the whole ordeal.” Laenor nodded in agreement and said, “Listen to your mother, she tends to be right.”

Visenya sighed at the thought of having to him her tongue but there was nothing worse than angering her mother. She decided to nod and looked at herself in the mirror, adorned by Velaryon jewels and wearing a gown the colour of the house of her father. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she looked beautiful in all this adornment. Rhaenyra and Laenor kiss their daughter in her cheeks and Visenya couldn’t help but smile. As much as she’d prefer to be on Vahaemion’s back and soaring the sky, this wasn’t too bad. Visenya looked at her parents and said, “Alright, I’m ready.”

“You look beautiful my darling,” Laenor said as he gave one final kiss to her cheek. Visenya grabbed her father’s arm and grabbed her mother’s arm straight after, “Walk me?,” she asked and the pair nodded as Rhaenyra said, “Always my love.” The trio carefully walked to the great hall, careful with their steps and wary of making sure Visenya arrived there perfect. They knew how the Hightowers were and how cruel and judgmental they could be, but despite this they must endure. As much as Rhaenyra did not want to entertain the idea of Alicent’s sons marrying her beloved daughter, it might have to be entertained knowing how tensions were rising at the council and questioning her father’s choice to name her heir.

The trio stopped short when they came upon a painting of Visenya. The princess groaned at the sight and said, “So that’s why grandfather made me stand for so long, just to post up this stupid painting.” Laenor frowned at the sight and said, “You look so much like my sister Laena, you would have loved her but I don’t think we ever had the chance to introduce you, she ummm, I-.”

“It’s okay father, she died a dragon rider’s death and it’s what all of us dragon riders would want,” Visenya said with a frown. Rhaenyra remained quiet and stared at the painting of her daughter, realising the horrors of the betrothal conversation and how she herself had to endure countless suitors until Laenor inadvertently saved her. Visenya could feel her mother’s worry so she asked, “Mother, do you think marriages are always happy?” Rhaenyra was caught off-guard by the question so she asked, “Why would you ask that sweet girl?”

“You and father seem content and happy,” she commented, “I want that, If I have to be married then I want to be married and not worry and to have what you and father have. I watch the both of you laugh and ride your dragons as far as the skies can take you.” Laenor grimaced knowing that their daughter was unaware of the agreement he and Rhaenyra had but instead he said with a smile, “You can wish for even better than that my heart, you can wish for your own kind of love and what is true to you. Your mother and I love our own way, you need not marry if you do not wish to.”

Visenya frowned, a part of her was elated that it was an option to stay a maiden but then she said, “But I am still a royal, it will always be duty above love. You and mother told me that. Duty can have love, but duty will always come first for the realm.” Rhaenyra nodded and said, “Duty is what we will uphold my love, now…let’s get this ball over with hmmm?”

___

Alicent hadn’t planned on entertaining the idea of marrying any of her children to Rhaenyra’s children. She half-expected to see Rhaenyra have children that looked unusually like Ser Harwin Strong seeing how they danced at her wedding but then out came Visenya Velaryon, a spitting image of Laenor and Rhaenyra and arguably Laena’s twin. She had barely seen the girl except in council meetings but it was enough to know that the girl was disciplined and was interested in politics with how eagerly she listened. She would praise Rhaenyra for that but she still believed that her son should sit the throne. She just couldn’t sit idly and let all the hard labours she endured to be for nothing, she upheld her duty too and believes she deserved compensation.

But it was taxing for her. Aegon was more than difficult to handle. Although she managed to ban him from ever going to the Streets of Silk, he still drowned himself on wine. She tried so hard to love her son but he just looked too much like Viserys, the man she had to give up her maidenhood to for duty…begrudgingly. Alicent briefly looked at her decaying husband sat uncomfortably on the iron throne and sighed. She wished she had the love she wanted to give for her children but in truth she felt nothing. The law silenced her and duty bound her by the limbs. She was nothing but a slave to the honour of her house. Her father, Otto, always watched carefully and had originally urged Alicent to marry Aegon and Helaena but with the rise in favour for Visenya, he told his daughter that one of her boys must marry the girl.

Now here she was, clad in green with a headpiece that was weighing down her head, patiently waiting for the princess’ arrival. She subtly stepped on Aegon’s foot and said, “If I see you drink even one drop of wine tonight, I will have you exiled to your bed chambers with no food.” Aegon groaned at the thought and stood straight at his mother’s request. Aemond on the other hand had no need to be scolded, he was every bit what his mother expected of a good prince and that annoyed Aegon. He was growing tired of the waiting, his hand eager to grab a cup of wine but then the doors to the great hall opened revealing the princess herself.

Aegon had never seen Visenya as a woman and grown up after the time had passed, only that one painting of hers but by the gods he hadn’t realised how beautiful she could be. The painting did no justice to her ethereal beauty. He always knew that the Targaryen and Velaryons were different from the rest, carrying that Valyrian beauty with every step but Visenya seemed to have taken all the beauty of the world to herself. The dress she wore was of Velaryon colours, as blue as the ocean and the dress was a snug fit on her slim waist. Sinews of silver and gold decorated the dress like waves. Her hair was cascading down like sea foam and the dress was cut perfectly around her chest. It was enough for him to know that Visenya’s chest was particularly large.

From that moment, Aegon claimed that she would be his queen and yet what annoyed him was that Aemond was staring too and given the blatant favouritism of his mother to his brother…odds would not be in his favour. Visenya on the other hand had already found herself staring at the two brothers, her face burning with how intensely they stared at her. Visenya hated it and couldn’t help but subtly comment to her mother, “I believe you’ve just thrown me into a den of wolves.” Rhaenyra tried her best to stifle a smile as she said, “Yes but you’ve been thrown in wielding a sword, the word of the tongue is as sharp as Valyrian steel….use it to your advantage. You will not bend the knee tonight my daughter, you will make them bend the knee.”

Visenya nodded but before she could finally step away, Laenor squeezed his daughter’s hand and said, “We’ll be here if you need us my darling.” The princess nodded and descended into the ballroom as the violins and the lutes played in earnest to strike up the mood for a dance. Rhaenyra and Laenor watched from the top of the steps, slowly descending themselves as they looked over their daughter protectively. Rhaenyra’s brows furrowed as she said, “Do you think she’ll be alright?” Laenor gave her a half-smile and said, “Of course she will, she’s more like you than me and you know it. The blood of the dragon runs thick Nyra, and she embodies her namesake more than you know.”

Rhaenyra nodded and said to her husband, “See to it that our sons actually arrive at the festivities before they decide to flee on their dragons.” Laenor smirked and said, “Who’s to say I won’t escape these festivities with seasmoke?” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and said, “Try anything Laenor and I’ll ban you from your late night excursions.” Laenor rolled his eyes in return and excused himself to get their sons. Rhaenyra watched patiently on the sidelines, amongst the wine, and an unexpected guest had sidled up to her.

“Uncle, to what do I owe the pleasure?,” Rhaenyra said with particular distaste. She can still remember how he abandoned her in a whorehouse and left her wanting and led her to bedding Criston Cole. A regrettable mistake since the knight had offered for her a life of oranges and spice in exchange of her duty to the realm. It was utter madness and she had to turn him down, with that he showed his true colours. Now the knight that once protected her stood loyally next to Alicent. What a load of bollocks.

Daemon’s brow arched at her tone and asked, “Normally you’d be elated to see me, what brings about the change?” Rhaenyra snorted at that and said, “I’m not a child anymore uncle, I am not easily swayed by your honeyed words. I have become wiser with the years…now if you’ll excuse me, I believe my husband has just arrived with our sons.”

__

It was no secret that Visenya was a stoic woman. She often held her lip tight and she was never seen without a sword. This time she had to settle for daggers under her dress as to not seem so imposing. It was bad enough that the dress made her breasts so imposing and she could not tell if they were looking at her or looking at them. Nevertheless, she must dance and join the festivities as a part of her duty. The party was thrown in hopes that perhaps she’d have an inkling of a betrothal. To her surprise, the one man she thought hadn’t cared for dancing came up to her.

Aegon wore an easier smile much to Visenya’s distaste as he held out his hand and asked, “Spare a dance for me?” She was surprised she couldn’t smell the stench of wine from his lips and with everyone watching, especially the Queen Alicent who looked at her with much judgment, Visenya took his hand and gave a courteous smile. He kissed her hand in turn, much to everyone’s surprise of his forwardness and said, “So you do know how to relent.” Visenya rolled her eyes as he pulled her closer and said, “I only do so to look out for my own reputation, not because I’ve grown fond of you.”

“And yet here you are, willing to dance with me? Perhaps some part of you does not hate me so,” he teased as he brought her to a spin and eagerly pulled her back to rest his hand on her waist. “You think too much of yourself,” Visenya said as she subtly stomped his foot, “Do not think that I have forgotten of how you cut my hair with your sword because you could not accept that I defeated you in a duel. Character does not change so easily.” She leaned in closer to harshly whisper in his ear, “Don’t think I don’t know about your whores from the streets of silk, who’s to say that you haven’t fathered any bastards seeing how easily your family slander my brother with a lack of evidence.”

“And you still think that you’re an incarnation of your namesake,” Aegon said with a displeased smile, “Now dance with me so we can be done with all this bother.” Visenya huffed but relented as the pair danced around the ballroom akin to dragons circling each other for the killing bite. Alicent began to resort to an old habit of hers of fiddling with her finger nails at the sight, she knew the pair were one misstep away from causing a scandal in front of the entire court. Her father walked up to stand next to her and said, “They’d make a lovely pair don’t you think?”

Alicent scoffed at the idea and said, “Father, they look like they are going to murder each other on that dance floor. I can feel the hatred emanating from the two of them.” Otto sighed seeing his daughter fiddle with her fingers again and said, “Yes but love and hate are almost the same-“ But Otto would be interrupted by the growing quarrel between Aegon and Visenya even if they danced so gracefully.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about pleasure yourself princess,” Aegon teased as his grip on her waist became even tighter. Visenya returned the unseemly gesture by slowly twisting his fingers in her grasp as she said, “Of course I have, I find pleasure in making you squirm.” Aegon smirked, trying to hide the pain from his fingers as he replied, “You could make me squirm in other ways princess.” The princess could no longer hide her displeasure and kneed him in the groin but Aegon quickly masked the pain as to not cause a scene and pulled her even closer, their lips a breath’s away. “You think you’re so high and mighty because you’re mother is the heir to the Iron Throne, but I am my father’s firstborn son, the realm would much prefer that,” Aegon scoffed and Visenya raised her brows in amusement and said, “Didn’t realise you wanted the throne now, last time I heard you just wanted to escape to Essos.”

Aegon gulped at that. He would not admit that he only sparked interest in the throne because of the prospect of marrying Visenya. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, she intrigued him as much as she vexed him. “Things have changed, anyone is allowed to change their appetites,” Aegon quickly commented as he looked away, in fear that his cheeks were growing red. Visenya noticed this and found herself amused, “Don’t look away, show me how I make you feel or do I have to fight you for it?” Aegon decided that today was not the day a daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen would defeat him so he looked at her, trying his best to keep his composure as he said, “I prefer the latter, if you want to claim victory of me then you will have to fight it from me Visenya.”

“That’s princess to you, we are not acquainted that way,” Visenya warned but Aegon pulled her even closer that their hearts seemed to beat against each other’s chests, “Then give me a chance to be well acquainted with you.” Visenya’s face hurt, the labour of attempting to hide any emotion was beginning to be more difficult than anticipated and the eagerness in his eyes was not helping. But then she remembered his whores and his love for wine, the way he craved pleasure like it numbed pain like milk of poppy. That was enough to cast her expression with stone. “There will never be a realm nor a point in time where I will find interest in being acquainted with you, I will not be one of your whores that you bend and break as you please,” Visenya said with such disgust than even her body was trying not to retch itself.

Aegon was about to lose it, had he been at least tipsy with wine he wouldn’t have the overwhelming urge to kill this woman. But then he didn’t and now he was considering cutting off her tongue with his dagger and just as his hand began to snake to his waist, Aemond interrupted. “I believe my brother is in terrible need of a cup of wine,” his younger brother said as he put a firm grasp on his shoulder as he whispered in his brother’s ear, “Excuse yourself before you cause a scandal that no one in Westeros will forgive you for.”

Aegon grunted and forcibly stepped away as he let go of his tight grip of Visenya who gripped him even tighter. The princess breathed out deeply and said, “I’m assuming you are here for a dance as well?” Aemond noticed the distaste in her tone but paid no mind and decided that honesty would be his first step, “My mother sent me to replace my brother seeing that the two of you were at each other’s throats, the two of you always had such an obvious rivalry. I know he’s secretly frustrated that Vahaemion is a much bigger dragon than Sunfyre.” Visenya laughed at that and said, “Ever still your mother’s lackey Prince Aemond, I see that your lack of eye has also accosted you a lack of brain.”

Aemond was much more patient than his brother and decided he wouldn’t play into her games. Instead he smirked and said, as he pulled Visenya into the rhythm of the dance, “You of all people should appreciate a man who respects his own mother.” Visenya scoffed at that, “Well, I would appreciate it if the mother in question wasn’t your mother. I don’t respect anyone associated to your mother because she slanders my mother any time she gets to!”

“Well, if your mother wasn’t so famed for her many lovers-,”Aemond said to tease but Visenya was not having it so she warned, “I have daggers under my dress that I would very much like to use if you attempt to besmirch my mother’s name in front of me. My brothers and I are true-born Velaryons, it seems impossible for the four of us to look the way we do if we were not Velaryon.” Aemond laughed at her conclusion, it seemed to him that Visenya had a very simple idea of morals….as if there were only ever two sides to the story.

“It amuses me that you think your mother and father are so perfect,” Aemond said with an enigmatic smile, Visenya raised her brow at that, “Do not speak about them you-.”

“Do you honestly think that the rumours are just rumours, why don’t you ask your mother about why her uncle has such a fixation on her or perhaps what knights has she not bedded yet-,” Aemond teased and Visenya interrupted, “Speak one more word about my mother and I will cut off your tongue.” Aemond laughed at that and replied, “I do not need to, we could always ask Ser Criston how your mother lost her maiden head to him-.” That would be the last straw, Visenya reached from under the layers of her dress and pulled out the dagger that was a gift from her grandfather, the sea snake Corlys Velaryon. Everyone heard the distinct sound of a blade being pulled out and ready for battle as Visenya lunged at Aemond and tackled him to the ground. She held the knife against his throat, nearly drawing blood as she angrily said, “Lucerys should have shoved that knife through your eye and killed you when he had the chance.”

“And yet he did not,” Aemond said, confident with himself but his easy smile faltered as Visenya pushed the blade further, nearly breaking skin as she said, “Perhaps he did not because it was I who was meant to do it. Maybe I can rid this world of you…a waste of air and a prince that the people only care about because he rides a big dragon.” Visenya could not even hear the shouts and pleas from the crowd to release the blade, her anger deafened her more than she knew.

Rhaenyra who had watched this all happen rushed to her daughter but was held back by Laenor as they neared knowing that the king’s guard might think she’d aid her daughter in killing Aemond. “Visenya release the blade, it is not worth it!,” Rhaenyra yelled for her daughter and fear ran through her bones when she saw how Ser Criston intently looked at her daughter. She knew that once her daughter even scratches Aemond, Ser Criston had every right to strike her down. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Laenor and said, “She cannot hear me, Aemond must have said something to have tipped over her patience. Laenor, we cannot let them hurt our daughter!”

Alicent looked on at the sight and felt a wave of conflict. Looking at Visenya was like looking at the past and seeing young Rhaenyra all over again. The temper, the strong will the princess possessed was haunting. It was as if Visenya had been born to haunt Alicent of her betrayal to Rhaenyra. She could not tell if she wanted the girl to make a mistake and die or that she wanted her to live. Hesitantly, she looked at Ser Criston, his hand on the hilt of his sword and ready to strike. But what surprised her was how Aegon looked worried for Visenya. To her dismay, she sees why her father is eager to make his match between Visenya and her son. Before she could even react, she watched as her son…Aegon, the same son who never showed true care for anything, lunge towards the pair and free Aemond from Visenya’s grasp.

The prince lunged at the princess and freed his brother to scurry away as he held her wrist to stop her from stabbing him instead. Alicent watched and was reminded of her and Rhaenyra, the way the princess had struggled against Alicent’s blade to stop her from taking Lucerys’ eye for Aemond had lost one. This was too eerily similar and she couldn’t help but fiddle with fingers again to stop her eyes from watering. Aegon struggled against Visenya’s iron grip as he said, “Do not take it out on Aemond, your quarrel is with me Visenya.” Visenya’s eyes were haunting, the way the anger flowed through her was akin to a dragon waiting to scorch everything in sight with its fiery breath. Aegon wanted to curse himself for caring about this girl, he should be back in his bedroom, sneaking in a whore from the streets of silk and yet here he was with no interest of even a cup of wine.

“Look at me Visenya,” he commanded and Visenya looked at him, her lilac eyes burning with a red hot rage that made Aegon feel like he was burning from the inside. “Release the blade or do you really want to cause a scene,” he warned and the fire in her eyes began to pale, her breathing began to calm as she said, “He had no right to question my mother and father’s marriage. None of you have any right to question my mother’s claim to the throne-.” Aegon sighed and said quietly, “I know, but if you really want to sate your anger with bloodshed, you can kill me now so we can be done with this quarrel.” Visenya’s eyes softened, she wanted to question the truth in his words but she did not even smell a drop of wine in his breath. He had chosen to stop her, he could have just let her wound his brother and let her meet her demise with the consequences of attacking a prince but he did not. Visenya quickly retracted the blade to get away from Aegon’s grip but the swiftness cut him in the palm, the eerie sound of blood squelching still resounding even if the cut was not deep. The prince stared at the cut, and immediately knew what would happen. Ser Criston would have her head for this, not because he cared for the prince but because he wanted to hurt Rhaenyra.

“Ser Criston no!,” Aegon yelled but Aemond was quick to block Ser Criston and say, “It was just a cut, the princess did not kill him. Yield and go back to mother’s side.” The knight grunted in disapproval and walked away but everyone in court had witnessed this. Visenya looked at Aegon in surprise and said, “Why, why did you-.”
But she wouldn’t get the chance to hear the answer, Rhaenyra pulled her daughter up and scolded, “Visenya! What were you thinking, now we have to-.”

All those present in the great hall became silent when they heard their king, Viserys, shout out, “That is enough!” Despite his frail body, his voice still held command as he continued to say, “This celebration is over! Everyone who is relevant to this conflict will appear at the council room at once.” Visenya gulped, Rhaenyra held her closer and said, “It is alright my sweet, your grandfather loves us, he will not be too harsh.” The princess shook her head and confessed, “I know he loves us mother but I fear I’ve truly gone too far.” Laenor gave Rhaenyra a look and it was all too familiar, it was as if she was 10 and 8 again and was to marry Laenor. It was the look of, we have to make our own path and hope that our lies would not crumble under the weight of expectation.

___

The council room was a familiar place to Visenya, and so it was to Rhaenyra. Cupbearers of the past and present and both would merely fade into the background but tonight, they were the centre of attention. Laenor and Rhaenyra held their daughter close as to ease her anxiety and so did Visenya’s brothers, staying close to comfort her. Joffrey, who was only 8 stood in front of his sister and turned around to ask, “Will they hurt you sister?” Visenya barely managed to hide her frown as she said, “I do not know.”

“But you always have an answer for everything sister,” Joffrey insisted and Visenya could not contain her frown now as she said, “This time I do not, I am sorry.” Joffrey frowned and decided to look at his grandfather, the king, whose fragility did not match the anger he possessed. Aegon who had been a major part of the….argument, looked on at Visenya with a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time, guilt. Viserys immediately struck his cane on the cold stone floor, calling everyone’s attention. “It is clear why we are here so I will forego the formalities,” he said as he struggled to breathe yet the message was still clear, “I had this celebration to welcome Princess Visenya properly to the court and it seems that it all went to her head. Has your mother or father taught you to be like this girl? Do you think this is the way a princess should behave?!”

Visenya was quick to bow down and sheath her dagger, presenting them to Viserys as she said, “I am sorry grandfather. I acted foolishly and acted out of anger and I should have controlled it, I accept whatever punishment I must be given.” Rhaenyra’s eyes widened at that, had it been just Viserys looking upon them she would not protest but Alicent and Otto were watching. Rhaenyra quickly tried to convince her daughter to stand up saying, “Visenya, you must tell your grandfather of the words they said. They cannot go unpunished for their slander.”

“But I was the one whose actions spoke louder, their words wound me mother but I wounded them for the entire court to see,” Visenya insisted, unwavering in the way she kneeled like a knight sworn to their oath. Viserys who had been watching on was surprised to see how Visenya showed no rebellion like her mother and was not so mild-mannered like her father. From that moment he felt pity and yet he still had to do his study.

“Princess, I appreciate that you acknowledge your mistake…the damage has been done,” Viserys spoke carefully and Alicent held her breath knowing that she might have to relive that feeling again. The feeling of injustice and her children being wronged again but then Viserys said, “You are to spend a year with the Septa and learn patience through prayer-.”

As soon as Aegon heard the words, it dawned on him. His words, his inability to restrain himself will send Visenya to a nunnery. She would lose that spunk that he secretly admired, they’d break her and he couldn’t allow that. “Father I-,” Aegon spoke up and time seemed to stand still as everyone’s attention turned to him, even Visenya looked up…confused by his interruption. Alicent never claimed that she could decipher minds but if she could, her son Aegon would be the one scripture she would not understand. He never seemed to be sure about anything, but this time he seemed determined…more determined than he’d ever been his entire life.

“Aegon now is not the time,” Viserys warned and even Otto was intrigued because the prince had never shown any interest in politicking and yet tonight was different. “Let me marry Visenya, and put this shame aside. No one in court will speak about it again and be too focused on a marriage that will ease all the ongoing tensions,” Aegon blurted out and Alicent swore her heart nearly climbed out of her mouth. Her boy, marrying Rhaenyra’s girl. It was a tough idea to swallow. After all the hatred that has festered in her heart, this was unsettling. Otto, on the other hand, was impressed. Though he did not claim to know what went on in Aegon’s head, this was exactly what he wanted. In a way, this was securing Aegon’s line to the throne.

“And what brought about this notion boy? You did not even welcome the fact of marrying your sister Helaena, and now you wish to wed Visenya?” Viserys sharply questioned and Aegon knew that his father, despite barely knowing him, was asking for honesty. Aegon looked at Visenya one last time and saw that she was staring back at him. That was enough for him to say, “I said things that would anger Visenya and yes, my hand and my arm bleeds but I will not have her lose her soul by muttering endless prayers to a faith she does not believe in.” The room silenced again, Rhaenyra urged her daughter to get up and so she did but Visenya felt it was a struggle to even hold herself together. Aegon was saving her and yet she couldn’t ask him why at the moment.

Alicent spoke to immediately try to halt this and said, “Aegon perhaps we must think this over-,” but Otto was quick to scold, “You must learn your place Alicent, the boy has decided.” Aegon did not waver and said, “Please father, it is not right to send her away.” Viserys had never seen his son in this light, as much as he didn’t like to admit it….his sole pride was Rhaenyra, the daughter he had with the love of his life but now…Aegon had made himself noticed. It nearly made Viserys smile, so he struck his cane on the cold stone floor and gathered everyone’s attention, “It seems that we have much to prepare for…a wedding!”

Chapter Text

When everyone was asleep and she was sure to be quiet, Visenya sent a note for Aegon to meet her through a hidden passage of her room. The Red Keep was swarming with hidden passages and this was one of many, hidden away on the west wing of the castle. Aegon was thrilled by the idea and when he knocked on the painting that hid it, Visenya had pulled the frame aside and climbed in to join him, a torch in hand to guide their way. Aegon could barely even begin to speak when Visenya slammed him against the wall, making him drop his torch as she said, “You! Why are you trying to make my life so difficult?! Do you honestly think I won’t say a word about all the whores you’ll bed while you are married to me?! Why couldn’t you just-.”

“I saved you! They were going to make you a nun! Stop complaining and be grateful!,”
Aegon defended himself, “Do you honestly think I wish to be married?!”

Visenya scoffed at that, “You do not! That is precisely why I wish to be as far away from you as possible, who knows how many bastards you have sired?! I will not be silent.”

“And I do not want you to be! You speak so much of duty and yet you resist this one, this is your duty! You caused the scandal and I saved you with a marriage, you could have had so much worse!,” Aegon insisted, his patience growing thin with the vexing yet beautiful woman whose anger was enough to burn him alive. By the gods he wished he was drowning in wine and lust in the streets of silk to erase this aggravating confusion within him but it was consuming him.

“If you had any empathy in that shrivelled heart of yours then you would know that not everything is about duty,” Visenya resigned herself as she let go of Aegon, her eyes never leaving his as she said, “Say what you will about my mother and father, but their marriage is a good one to me. They respect each other and have a great love and friendship for one another but do you even respect me? A ball held in my honour and you seek to besmirch my mother’s name for the pursuit of a throne you do not want?! You have no right to say that I should lose my freedom, my maidenhood, to the likes of you…you do not even like me!”

“I can learn to like you!,” Aegon said in half-truths and Visenya laughed in disbelief as she said, “Learn?! You cannot even learn to forego wine and whores, I am not some trophy for you to take home and rob me of my maidenhood so you can satisfy the stirring in your loins. I am my mother’s daughter, I wish to rule and carry on the legacy of the Targaryen name and not be your brood mare!” Visenya rushed down to the hidden passage, rushing down the stairs that she knows will lead her to the dragon pit and that he does not know of. “Visenya, slow down, it is not decent for you to be seen up at this hour!” Aegon demanded and he had a feeling she thought he didn’t know about the way to the dragon pit but he’d lived here his whole life, of course he does.

Trying his best to not lose the sight of her, the prince runs after her in a desperate attempt to keep up with her…he has now realised that she was a far better runner than him and that the only thing that kept him from losing her was her long curly silver hair. “Visenya stop at once!,” Aegon demanded, finally catching up to her as he heard the grunts of their dragons. He caught her arm and pulled her back saying, “It is not the time and you cannot be flying this late with no one to watch you, what if something-.”

“I do not take orders from you,” Visenya said as she forcefully pulled her arm from his grasp. Aegon did not want to give up so he said, “It is not about orders, it is about causing a scandal and if you cause another-.” Visenya scoffed and said, “Well perhaps I shall cause another scandal so I do not have to marry your and they send me away to some unknown land….far far away from Westeros.”

“You act as if your are being asked to marry a beast,” Aegon commented and Visenya laughed, she laughed genuinely then said, “A beast is exactly what you are, and if you know what’s good for you then you will go back to your bedchamber and do not speak a word of my disappearance.”

“Ao jāhor keligon bisa Visenya!”
You will stop this Visenya!

Visenya stopped in her tracks. She quickly turned around and shouted,

“Ao issi daor issa āeksio, Ao issi daor dārys, Ao gaomagon daor udrāzma issa. Iksā iā dārilaros hen daorun se naejot sagon aōha ābrazȳrys iksis iā ōdres gaoman daor jaelagon syt tolie”
You are not my master, you are no king, you do not command me. You are a prince of nothing and to be your wife is a pain I do not wish for others.

Aegon’s heart that everyone seemed to dismiss of its existence…crumbled. He withdrew this time, an imaginary sword sheathed as a way of surrender. Visenya couldn’t believe it, for once in her life she felt sorry for Aegon and that confused her. “I’m sorry,” she uttered so softly, “I just cannot accept this marriage and-.”

“Visenya wait-,” Aegon begged but she would not wait, she ran to her dragon Vaehaemion and freed him from his chains. The dragon snarled a little, preferring rest at this time but relented and let Visenya ride on him. Aegon was quick to follow and freed his golden dragon Sunfyre, much to the dragonkeepers annoyance, and chased after Visenya who’d already gone up to the night sky in a blur. He did not expect anything less, Vaehaemion was from Meleys’ clutch of eggs, and Meleys was faster than any dragon until Vaehaemion. Aegon knew he had his work cut out of him.

“Aderī, Sunfyre, ADERĪ!”
Quickly, Sunfyre, quickly!

Aegon yelled, knowing that the speed of his golden companion was no match for Vaehaemion’s. She was nearing to be a blur when he saw a familiar set of large wings fly above him, war-torn and imposing, enough to nearly cast night on a warm summer’s day on King’s Landing. Vhagar, the largest living dragon, whose first rider was Visenya’s name-sake…Visenya Targaryen. Aegon groaned in annoyance, of course his brother was one step ahead of him and this time….he actually cared.

___

Visenya knew in her bones that flying this late at night, without her mother and father’s knowledge was a foolish idea…and yet she did not care. She just wanted to get away from it all. It was silly to think for her that some days she wished that she had no duty and was some commoner, running freely on the streets of Essos and wearing loose silks and no corsets. Yet she was here, bound and yet not wanting to be freed from her chains. She knew that as a Velaryon and Targaryen , she was meant to rule…the blood of Old Valyria running thick through her veins but…heavy is the head that wears the crown. A marriage to Aegon is unthinkable, she does not want to be one of the many wives of Targaryen men that remain silent and turn a blind eye to their husband’s affairs. She wanted more, she wanted…

Her thoughts were cut off when the night sky became even darker and the moon’s glow had diminished. She looked up from above her and saw the familiar wings of Vhagar, tattered and tough. From above she heard Aemond yell, “Where do you think you are going princess?? Do not tell me you claim defeat?”

“I wish to be alone!”

“I am afraid there are no such things as boundaries nor walls in the skies!,” Aemond egged her on and Visenya settled for a nearby cliff to perch her dragon, or so she’d make him think. Just as she approached the grass, followed by the loud flapping of Vhagar, the princess dove into the sea with confidence. A stark reminder that she was salt and sea as much as she was fire and blood. She faintly heard Aemond’s grunt in frustration as she soared back into the sky with ease, getting lost in the clouds as she became a faint speck to the dragon and the dragon rider.

Visenya decided that she needed just a quiet moment for herself, her dragon gave a low hiss, gesturing to a nearby ruin. Vaehaemion sensed Visenya’s growing anxiety and the princess smiled in gratefulness. As the claws latched onto a sturdy remnant of a wall, Visenya let out a deep sigh. She leaned into her dragon, resting her head on him and said, “At least you care about me, perhaps we should fly away together Vaehaemion and then maybe we could be happy…living on the wild hunt.” He growled at the sentiment and Visenya understood what that meant.

“I know,” she said in distinct disappointment, “I have my duties and you always keep me in check.” Much to Visenya’s annoyance, the familiar sound of dragon wings sounded closer and closer and the wall Vaehaemion perched on shook a little as another pair of claws latched on. She half-expected to see that Aemond had found her but instead was surprised to see Sunfyre’s golden scales. “What part of do not follow me did you not understand?,” she demanded and Aegon scoffed at that, “Did you honestly think I’d leave my betrothed to danger? You must think me mad.”

“Do not call me that.”

“But that is what you are aren’t you?,” he pointed out, “Soon enough we will be bound to each other through Valyrian custom-.”

“I do not wish to.”

“Yes you do not wish to but you have to,” Aegon insisted and Visenya rolled her eyes at that and said, “Yes, all because I am a woman and my opinion is never favoured you. I bet that if my grandmother Princess Rhaenys had a cock and balls, she’d be sitting the throne and not your father.”

“It is your grand sire that you speak of, do not-.”

“Yes he has brought on peace to the realm but he is unfair to all the women in his life,” Visenya pointed out, “Do you honestly think that your own mother is happy to be married to your father? He does not even pay even the slightest attention to you. I bet your mother would rather bed Ser Criston callously if she could.”

“Must you always be so vulgar? Let us go back to the Red Keep now Visenya before your mother has both our heads on a platter by the morrow,” Aegon warned and even if Visenya wanted to argue further, she knew that for the first time all night…he had a good point. The fact that she snuck out without her mother’s knowledge, on dragonback…it is quite the recipe for her wrath. With a heavy sigh, she commanded Vaehaemion to follow Sunfyre as they weaved through the night sky.

Unbeknownst to the pair, Aemond was quietly watching higher up in the sky. For all the things that has been taken from him, his dignity and his eye. The younger brother watches as the older brother takes something he wants yet again. Perhaps this time, he’ll intervene.

___

Begrudgingly, Visenya dismounts from her dragon and follows Aegon as they quietly make their way through the hidden passages. He makes a point to hold her arm and drag her through making her stop in her tracks and pull her arm away from him and say, “You do not need to hold me so tight and I can follow you just fine, I am not blind and we each have a torch!”

“Will you stop with these unnecessary spats? Can we just walk in silence for once without you insulting me for the sake of empowering yourself?!,” Aegon warned and Visenya decided to nod because there was complete truth in his words. She does enjoy getting a rise out of him. Finally, as they reached the painting that led to her chambers, the princess carefully tried to sneak back into her bed but then harried footsteps approach her door and left her no time to prepare for what came next.

The doors to her bed chambers flung open revealing a disgruntled looking Rhaenyra and Laenor. She’d been caught and luckily for Aegon, he had no problem escaping back to his own chambers since he was perfectly hidden behind the painting.

“Did you honestly think we would not be awoken by the sound of your dragon screeching into the night?,” Rhaenyra scolded her daughter as Laenor passively watched, knowing that his wife could handle it. “Mother I can explain-,” Visenya pleaded but Rhaenyra’s patience was growing thin, “Did you honestly think that this would make your situation better, you are now forcibly betrothed to Alicent Hightower’s son, and you decide that perhaps running away might be less of an offense!”

“Mother-.”

Suddenly, the painting that hid the passageway flew open and Aegon eagerly stepped out as he said, “It was my idea.”

“Where did he-,” Laenor immediately asked but was interrupted by Aegon who continued to say, “I asked her if we could fly together tonight, perhaps set the betrothal on even footing and see if there can perhaps friendship between us.”

“I….I am sorry if I’m not inclined to believe considering that my daughter has her tendencies,” Rhaenyra insisted but Aegon said in reply, “And I insist that it is my idea, Visenya understands the gravity of maintaining her reputation and yours, she…she is smart and knows it would be wrong to cause another problem.” The crown princess sighed and looked at her daughter and concluded that she did not know what to believe. She looked to Laenor who only gave her a shrug so Rhaenyra said, “I will look past this for now but no more of any of this without my knowledge….now both of you off to bed! Aegon follow me, I will not have any of the servants starting rumours about you possibly taking my daughter’s virtue.”

Aegon promptly followed Rhaenyra and Laenor but before he could do so, Visenya caught him by the arm. “What?,” he asked and for the first time…the princess lacked the confidence she always had. Shakily, she replied, “Thank you, you did not have to-.” The prince sighed and said, “I know this might be hard to understand for you but do you ever think that perhaps I do not hate you as much as you hate me?”

“But-.”

“I may have fucked whores and drank more wine than I should but I understand the sanctity of marriage, did you honestly think I want to end up like my mother and father?,” Aegon questioned, “You are not the only one wants to be happy Visenya.” He carefully removed his arm from her grip and closed the door to her room, leaving Visenya to her thoughts. Suddenly, her hand felt a little bit empty.

___

Rhaenyra never wanted any of her children to marry any of Alicent’s offspring. But to watch Aegon defend her daughter was quite the odd thing to witness. She found that sleep would not find her tonight at the possibility that her daughter might become fond of Aegon. “Nyra, go to sleep,” Laenor groaned and Rhaenyra groaned in unison as she said, “We would not be having this predicament if we had separate chambers but oh holy Queen Alicent insisted that a happy couple like us would prefer a shared bed chamber.”

“We have gone through this for many years Nyra, she is just trying to anger you and hopefully find you making a mistake,” Laenor said as he tried to find his own sleep but decided that it’d be selfish to leave Rhaenyra to her own thoughts. However, Rhaenyra had other plans. She stood up from the bed and said, “I think I wish for some air.” Laenor had no time to ask where she was heading as Rhaenyra left their bed chambers with haste, eager to clear her thoughts. From the untrustworthy greens and the Visenya’s actions, suddenly Rhaenyra felt that the burden of the crown was becoming too heavy. She did not even realise where she was heading, her feet seemed to be taking her where she went but her consciousness was barely there.

Her head was spinning. A song of ice and fire…the knowledge itself was a heavy burden to bear. Rhaenyra’s thoughts began to consume her until she nearly slipped down the cobbled steps as she bumped into someone. “Ever so clumsy,” a familiar voice said as a strong arm saved her from falling. Rhaenyra would know that voice anywhere, “Uncle, what has made you so restless at night?”

“A question that I must echo to you,” Daemon insisted and Rhaenyra immediately composed herself. She extracted herself from his grasp and said, “I do not wish to speak to you.”

“And yet you are speaking to me,” Daemon teased and Rhaenyra couldn’t tell if it was her frustration with her daughter or her buried feelings but it all came pouring out like a waterfall. The stony steps and the narrow walls did no service of hiding the echo of her words, “You abandoned me, uncle. You….I thought you, It does not matter anymore. You left me there amongst whores and left me to find my way back. How..how could you? I wanted you.”

“How could you possibly know what you want? You were a child,” Daemon argued and Rhaenyra laughed in disbelief, “And to think I wanted you to take me away from Laenor and go away to Dragonstone, yes maybe I was a child. I made you my champion when you were no champion, you did not care about me.”

“I cared about you-.”

“Then why did you marry Laena? Hmm?,” Rhaenyra asked, tears staining her face so quickly that she hadn’t even realised that she’d been crying so much, “You saw that there was no easy way to get me so you went for the next candidate who might brandish you as an all mighty warrior.”

“I want you,” Daemon resounded, his words may have been different but every word he had said had been dripping with want and regret that it was even hard for him to say anything meaningful without drowning. He approached her with such tenderness, pushing her back into a wall as he caressed her face, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. His other hand cupped her jaw, their lips inches apart as he said, “Please, let me make it up to you. Choose me please.”

“I chose you, and you left. I have children now Daemon and my eldest is causing me enough problems-.”

“Then let me help you,” he suggested, “I know it is seemingly inevitable that she must marry a green considering the circumstances, but let me help her from falling into their manipulative grasp.”

“My daughter is my everything Daemon, I love my daughter and how can I be assured of her safety, how do I know you will not flee again?,” Rhaenyra desperately questioned and Daemon placed his forehead against hers and said, “It is because I want to make this right, for my queen.”

“Daemon-.”

“I don’t want any of those Hightower cunts on the throne, I want you. I want you as my queen, my lover….I want you,” Daemon confessed and the way his eyes softened was enough to tell Rhaenyra that there could be truth in his words. She slipped away again from his touch and said, “Alright-.”

He grabbed her arm, in an attempt to pull her closer again…the ghost of her kiss lingering on his lips after all these years. “Daemon we cannot,” Rhaenyra begged, knowing that her own desire was muddling her head. “I want to know, please…I cannot be the only one,” he begged in return and Rhaenyra’s lips quivered. All that he had said was what she’d been waiting to hear for years and now she’s heard it, the emotions were overwhelming her.

“I have a husband and I have a duty to this realm Daemon. I also do not wish to dishonour Laena.”

“She knew how I felt about you. But what do you want?.”

Rhaenyra slipped from his grasp again and walked away as she said to him, “You do not need an answer from me, you already know.”

___

Rhaenyra returned to her bed chambers and found Laenor waiting. His eyebrow raised in question and she just sighed and joined him in bed. “Do you ever miss what you had with Joffrey?” She asked.

“Always but sometimes desire is what puts everything to chaos,” Laenor pointed out and Rhaenyra nodded. She knows it must always be the head over the heart but it was increasingly becoming hard. Suddenly she was 10 and 8 again, wanting to be whisked away by Daemon Targaryen.

“Is it Daemon?,” Laenor knowingly asked.

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t begrudge you Rhaenyra, you know our marriage is not like that,” Laenor pointed out and she only sighed at that, “I am so hard on Visenya for always being so headstrong about her wants and its clashes with duty but I myself am torn.”

“Why?”

“I fear of the woman I will become if I let myself have what I truly wanted.”

Chapter Text

Fire, steel, and revenge. Three of the many things that fascinated Aemond. Being a second-born son was something he did not want. Aemond wanted to rule, he wanted his own council and wanted to look down on his subjects. He wanted power more than anything, he wanted influence. He already claimed Vhagar but brute force was not enough, he wanted to be acknowledged more than his brother who just happened to be born first. He often questioned why power was constantly given to those who did not want it.

Though his half-sister Rhaenyra was the eldest, there was one distinct problem and that was the council. Princess Rhaenys was older than his father and yet was passed in succession in favour of a man, her younger cousin Viserys. Aemond would not be opposed to the idea if he had been born first. Suddenly he felt the itch underneath his fingers again as he ran his sword across stone to sharpen it. An urge to yield, to take, and to kill. After all, for most of his life, all that has ever done to him was to take. His eye was taken and chance for power taken. He would always be a spare.

His thoughts were interrupted when a familiar meek voice spoke, “Brother, Mother wants to see you.” Aemond looked with his only seeing eye to see Helaena who seemed pretty content with the large spider that she had in her palm. “What does she want?,” Aemond asked and Helaena frowned and replied, “She did not say but she said she’ll be at the throne room.” Aemond’s brows furrowed, wondering about the secrecy but decided not to ask any further. Before he could leave, Helaena said, “I am afraid….Aemond.”

Aemond abruptly stopped, his leather boots scratching against the stone floor.

“Why?”

“I…the water”

“The water?”

“The water’s salt will fizzle the fire and leave nothing in its passing.”

Aemond furrowed his brow. This wouldn’t be the first time that Helaena had said strange riddles. It almost felt like a known routine to say, “Everything will be alright.” Aemond bowed briefly leaving Helaena to her muttering as he made his way through the stony and bleak halls to meet his mother. With his father’s ailment, he saw almost little of her and when he did, he would see her leaving the keep to go pray in the sept, a group of kingsguard dutifully following her. He hadn’t called for her presence in a while, she’d been so busy scolding Aegon, trying to shape him as a better successor for Viserys. Of all the things needed for a ruler of the realm, Aegon only had two things right. Cock and balls.

Aemond grimaced at the thought of his brother receiving lessons from his mother and grandsire.  He envied his brother because he knew that he would not only learn because it was expected of him, he would excel. He would not only be better, he would be the best. Finally, when he reached his mother’s bedchambers, he was met with a heavy atmosphere. “Mother,” he called out to her and she turned slowly, the long waves of her auburn hair cascading behind her headdress. The green perfectly complimented her features, much did her heart with her alliance to her house.

“I called you because you and I both know that your father’s grip on the throne is weak and yet his loyalty to his daughter is unwavering,” Alicent spoke softly as she approached her son and gently stroked his cheek, “For us to have power, we need to ensure that your brother’s marriage with Visenya will go smoothly. It is an important pawn in our game to outsmart Rhaenyra. Do not underestimate your half-sister, she is cunning even behind that sweet smile. She knows she’s secured her favour, we must make sure something tips the scales. The realm and the council will always want a son, no matter how shining and forthright a daughter might be. We must ensure that.”

“Yes mother, I shall do my best,” Aemond said in reply, “But you know that Aegon’s loyalties are fleeting and Visenya has seemed to have captured his attention. He has no love for anyone so we cannot control him.”

“Then find a way,” Alicent said as she gripped her son’s jaw, “I know you wish you could do more so do more. I do not want Rhaenyra Targaryen sitting on the throne.”

“Yes mother,” Aemond dutifully answered as his mother released him from her grip.

“Go.”

“Mother,” he said as he was about to walk away, “I worry about Helaena, she said something-“

“Do not worry about your sister, she is different from us, just…indulge her with whatever she says,” Alicent reassured and Aemond nodded and went off on his way. He wished to sharpen his sword again and be left alone to his thoughts, and perhaps those thoughts might need a good sharp sword.

___

Jacaerys Velaryon worries for his sister. Constantly. Even if she is older than him and has always been the one to look out for him and their brothers, he couldn’t help but worry. He’s found himself shooting arrows at a wooden post near the seas again, hoping it would clear his thoughts but nothing would. Suddenly, he heard footsteps but they were familiar so he did not worry.

“Lady Baela,” he said as he continued to focus on the wooden post, “What brings you here? I’m afraid I’ll just bore you because I’m eager to get the perfect shot here.”

“Here, let me,” she said as she took the crossbow from his and aimed at the arrows he already shot, immediately splitting them in half as if they were nothing. Jacaerys laughed at this and said, “Of course you’ll take every opportunity to show off. Do not worry Lady Baela, I already know that you are far better than me in every right.”

Baela blushed at this and quickly looked away, hoping he didn’t see the red tinge on her cheeks. “Now, tell me why you are out here instead of training with your sword alongside your brothers, or perhaps even conversing with your sister whilst she isn’t shackled to that drunkard,” Baela pointed out and Jacaerys grunted in annoyance then said, “That’s exactly my problem, I do not trust the greens….especially Alicent.”

“And I’m not a fool either, I see through my mother and father, they do not love each other like how Visenya thinks they do,” Jacaerys said as he took the bow back from Baela, “I see how my mother looks at your father, Daemon, and how she used to looked at Harwin Strong. They will use that against mother.”

“Have faith,” Baela reassured as she put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sure your mother knows what’s at stake.”

“She knows what’s at stake, I worry that she might risk everything that we could lose,” Jacaerys concluded as he looked to Baela who only gave him a thin smile. But on the back of his mind, he wished he could carry the burden for his sister Visenya. In a way, he knew his mother and his sister were very much alike, always keeping their burdens to themselves.

__

Daemon Targaryen knew the games had already begun. The greens had played their hand, they want the marriage, they need to get to Rhaenyra and fast. This would have never been a problem has he been born first. His brother Viserys never wanted the throne and now the weight of the burden was killing him, it was because his brother is too kind. It was a surprise to him that someone like his brother could have a daughter like Rhaenyra. He remembers what she was like when she was younger. Full of spunk and full of energy and want of life and barely a flicker of that exists in her now.

As much as Daemon didn’t want to admit it, Rhaenyra would never be the same. The only glimmer of hope left in her was her daughter. Though she never said it, he knew it. He saw how much hope she had for her daughter, to have a better marriage…better life than she was pretending to have and that was all taken away with one mistake. The greens have had their first victory and they hit Rhaenyra where it would hurt her the most.

Still, had his brother decided to just keep his cock in his breeches, then perhaps Alicent’s devil spawns would not exist. It was clear that Alicent could not stand him but Viserys was too drunk on milk of the poppy to notice anything.

But who was he to talk about marriage. He hated Royce and he failed Laena. Rhaenyra could barely even look him in the eye after all the mistakes he so easily tumbled into. For now, he would not seek to ruin her even when he so badly wanted to. He wished he had done differently at the pleasure house and perhaps now…Rhaenyra would have still looked at him with even a semblance of admiration. Still, he had no power to change the past. However, he could do one thing and it was to help her daughter. Hesitantly, he knocked on Visenya’s door, the clanking of his armour evident with every movement.  She was quick to open it…clearly thinking it was somebody else.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, “Daemon? You must have the wrong bed chambers.”

“No, I do not,” he insisted, “Now, I see that you’re in a difficult situation and your mother has asked me to help you prepare for what is to come.”

“I do not need your help.”

“You do, as much as you enjoyed all the niceties of royalty I am warning you that war is inevitable,” Daemon grunted, annoyed with her oppositional demeanour. Perhaps she really was not like Rhaenyra, because her mother would have listened before refusing.

“I am marrying Aegon, that should prevent a war from-“

“Do not be foolish girl, with the way you think, the greens are already making you their pawn, now come and put on your armour,” Daemon said a little louder to seem more imposing, “We’re heading to the dragon pit.”

Visenya didn’t even have time to question anything, he gave her one look and that was enough to know that he would not take “no” for an answer. She quickly rung for her handmaidens and they quickly helped her into her armour. Today, she had learned a lesson, Daemon Targaryen in his full armour…dragon helmet and all, was a nightmare. He wasted no time and gestured for her to follow him through a hidden passage, hinting that their disappearance must not be known.

“You do realise that we are not being very secretive when the sound of our armour fills the keep’s hallways,” Visenya scolded and Daemon rolled his eyes and said, “Well guess what, your chattering also fills the hallways so will you just be quiet! Your mother never mentioned what a handful you are, somehow I even feel sorry for Aegon because he has to marry you!”

“Ugh! You are insufferable! No wonder mother loathes you, I’m surprised she even talked to you,” Visenya said and Daemon stopped in his tracks, “She loathes me?”

“Yes, she said that you are not to be trusted so I’m surprised she’s having you teach me lessons that I do not even know what for!” Visenya scolded further and Daemon knew not to give into his rage at this moment, instead he just said, “Keep following me princess, we do not have much time before they realise we are gone.” The pair continued in silence, or at least as much silence as they could afford with the amount of Valyrian steel they wore and brought with them.

When Visenya realised what Daemon was trying to do, she decided not to spark another conversation. Vaehaemion and Caraxes were ready for them to ride and the pair mounted their dragons. Visenya followed Daemon into the sky wordlessly. They carried on like this, pretending that the other did not exist beside them until Daemon landed Caraxed on top of a hill overlooking the seas and so Visenya followed suit. They dismounted their dragons and finally he said, “Spar with me.”

“What? I am not skilled in that-“

“Then you will be,” Daemon said as he unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Visenya, “Take out your sword and fight me.”

“I will not fight you-“

“You know, as a first-born daughter, you will never amount to what your brother could offer the realm,” Daemon taunted, goading her to unsheathed her sword.

“Who? Jacaerys? But he is only 10 and 6, I have more to offer,” Visenya insisted, and Daemon smirked as he watched her subconsciously grab for the hilt of her sword.

“Do not jest yourself princess, your mother says you are smart but you are a fool,” Daemon taunted further, “Once you marry Aegon, it gives the greens a fighting chance to usurp your mother.”

“But she is the first-born! They cannot do that!”

“Of course they can, your mother is everything a realm needs but she is missing one thing they all seem to crave with every ruler,” Daemon said as he watched her grab the hilt of her sword, trying to control her anger, “A cock and balls!”

“That’s not true!” Visenya yelled, their dragons hissing and groaning at the growing tension between the pair.

“It’s sad really, you think you have more to offer than any of the men at court?” Daemon said even if he didn’t mean it, he thought the men at court were idiots but he needed to get her to be angry, “They’re craving for you to be wed to Aegon because once you are, you are no longer the realm’s joy….you are nothing but a broodmare made to pump out heirs and spares for your husband. Your shackling responsibility is to give your cunt to your husband!”

In a flash, Visenya unsheathed her sword and lunged at Daemon to which he quickly parried, “Good princess, let me know how you really feel.”

“I am more than those bloody bastards,” Visenya yelled as he tried to land another blow at Daemon but he was much to skilled, highlighting her poor swordsmanship as he parried back, “I am my mother’s heir and I will fight in my mother’s name, I am princess Visenya Velaryon.”

“Good,” Daemon said as he used his defence to push her back and take a couple of steps away from her, “Now, let’s show them that not only a cock and balls can wield a sword.” Visenya’s earlier confusion had now diminished, she understood now why her mother had recruited Daemon to advise her. She began to sense what Daemon was sensing, an inevitable war brewing in the midst and she must come prepared…or she’ll die.

Chapter Text

Two weeks had passed since Daemon would sneak her out of the keep and train her with the sword. He would teach her of battle strategies and to strengthen the bond with her dragon to navigate a battle and it muddled with her head. Today would be no different, Daemon would knock on her door every early aught of the morning and they’d be away and come back just before breakfast or any one of importance noticed. She had even grown accustomed to putting her own armour and braiding her hair that she began to prefer steel over the whalebone corset she always wore for balls.

5 days till her wedding day and Visenya thought that she could handle the fires that burned around her but she could not. She always felt a sense of duty but today she just wanted to sink in her sheets and disappear. With every day spent with Daemon, she saw through the crack’s of Alicent’s schemes. She saw them grasping for power and even Aegon’s kind gesture for her that night she escaped with her dragon had become an after thought.

The familiar knock came again and Visenya immediately extracted herself from her bed, already clad in her armour. She was met with the same dark stare that Daemon always had and she followed him quietly to the dragon pit and they flew to the same spot they always trained everyday, their footsteps leaving imprints on the grass. For the past few days she had not questioned much but today she would, Daemon of all the many things he is….never stopped talking about her mother. He told her about how her mother was young like her once and would eagerly await his arrival when he was away, happy with the gifts he gave. She loved her sweet cakes and used to be dear friends with Alicent. It was almost like he noticed everything that her mother did until he didn’t. Every time the stories reached up to the point where her mother married her father, the stories stopped and they’d focus on the training.

Today was the day Visenya would best Daemon. He seemed distracted almost, less sharp and attentive than he usually was when they were sparring. Though she was outmatched by his raw strength, Visenya disarmed him and kicked him to the ground and pointed her sword at his neck then said, “You will explain to me why you talk so much of my mother because I cannot stand another moment of you speaking of her like you were her jilted lover-“

“Because I was.”

“What?”

“I loved your mother and it felt wrong,” Daemon was quick to answer, not even the slightest bit of worry with the sword on his neck that was threatening to break skin, “She was so young and she had not experienced much and it was wrong to kiss her and want her and so I left. I left her in a pleasure house, fending for herself to get back to the keep. In my twisted way I loved your mother more than anything I’ve ever cared about, she was all the good that I could never be and she looked at me like I was an honourable man. I was not.”

“You best have a redeeming end to this tale of yours or I will have your head,” Visenya threatened but Daemon continued to speak without a care in the world, “And she resented me for leaving her, she did not want to be a wife at such a young age like your grandfather wanted but she was willing to do it if I were to wed her but I did not. I could not do it to my brother and I could not taint her with who I was. So I married Laena, and I was happy…for a time until she died and I was left alone. I resented your mother for having someone and I did not. But in the end, I deserved to be lonely and I grasped at whatever morsel of a conversation I could have with your mother-“

“That’s a lie! My mother loves my father!”

“You can believe what you want to believe but it all ends with your mother, she can be the only one to answer the questions with the truths you seek,” Daemon answered, slowly getting up as she lowered her sword, “But one thing will always remain true Visenya, I will serve your mother until her death or my own demise. I will always look out for her, I will always wield my sword for her, and I will always love her.”

“Why are you telling me all of this for such a simple query?”

“Your simple query did not have a simple answer,” Daemon answered as he picked up his sword and readied to spar again, “But, training you was almost a redemption she wanted me to have. To ready you where she was not, the difference is that your father is a good man and the Hightowers cannot be trusted. Alicent may have been your mother’s friend once but her father knows that he would never inherit anything in Old Town as a second-born. You are in a position where your mother is before you. Now, let’s work on your footwork.”

“What’s wrong with my footwork?”

“Everything is wrong with your footwork, now let’s start with your stance.”

“I’m tired,” Visenya groaned and Daemon laughed then said, “If you do well today I’ll give you a medal of honour, now, spar with me.”

__

Aegon knew about Visenya’s early morning escapades. He had watched her leave with Daemon on their dragons because he too liked to find his own escape as he flew with Sunfyre. He let it happen without telling anyone because in his own way he understood, he didn’t trust his family either. His mother always went on and on about behaving like an heir to the Iron Throne but he wasn’t. Everyday his mother looked upon him with disdain as if wishing Aemond had been born first because she had him firmly on a leash unlike him.

Today would be different, his father was throwing a five-day feast before his wedding to Visenya to have all the great houses gathered and celebrating this union. He was just happy that they would bring out the finest wine in Westeros of which he will gladly drink. However, today was also different because Visenya was late in coming back, he heard the familiar clanker of her armour and now he had to have some questions answered. Here he was, all dressed in green and unbelievably warm in all this garb and she was happily riding her dragon and shirking her duties. He followed the sound of her armour and long behold, he saw Visenya and she looked completely different.

Her lilac eyes were almost darker in shade and she was covered in soot and grass. Her hair was a mess and she was sweating profusely. “Where the hells have you been?” Aegon asked, a mix of worry and annoyance and Visenya scoffed, “And since when were you my keeper? I can go as I please.”

“Visenya, you doing what you like was the reason why we are betrothed, if you do on more thing and get caught, how am I supposed to save you then?” He asked as he grabbed her by the arm intently but she immediately shrugged him off, “I can take care of myself, you do not need to act like my sworn shield, you are to be may husband and that is all.”

“You go on and on about how your father and mother respect each other and yet you cannot do the same for me. We are to be vowed to each other and yet you-“ Aegon argued but Visenya was quick to interject, “The only true vow I will ever hold is for my family and my house, my allegiance is not to the Hightowers and you are one of them. I will do my duties as a wife but that is where it ends.”

“Visenya I thought, I thought we were at an impasse-“

“There can never be an impasse unless your mother knows her place. My mother is the heir and she is desperately grasping for my mother’s birthright,” Visenya answered sharply as she made her way to her bed chambers, “Look at you, you are clad in green, your family and your house is the very sigil that you wear. I am salt, sea, fire and blood and you are of whatever your house stands for. Yes we will be vowed to each other but that will never change who and where we come from.”

“Visenya-“

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight my prince, and as you have said, I should be on my best behaviour,” Visenya begrudgingly ended the conversation and went in to her bed chambers to bathe and be changed. Aegon was left speechless, somehow he felt even hotter than he already had. He couldn’t tell if he was flush with embarrassment or the thickness of his clothing were finally taking their toll. To add salt to the wound or perhaps add sweat to his already sweaty body, his one-eyed brother appeared out of nowhere and said, “Look at you, all dressed and ready for celebration.”

“Do not mock me,” Aegon grunted and Aemond just laughed and said, “Oh brother, always jumping to conclusions. I just wanted to tell you to be careful.”

“Be careful of what?”

“Oh nothing, just be careful of the things you want and have, or they will slip from your grasp and I’ll be the one to catch them,” he said surreptitiously as he walked away. That was the last straw for Aegon. He had no one to call family amongst his own. His mother loathed him, his brother wanted him dead, his sister never said a sentence that made sense to him, his youngest brother is nowhere near the keep and his grandfather wants for nothing but power. Where did he fit in that? He just wanted to ride on his dragon and be away from this place but that would be foolish, he had no gold.

As he made his way to the feasting hall to perhaps ascertain the best areas to hide himself in, he was met with his mother when he already was frustrated enough. She gave him a look and walked past him like he was dust and nothingness. This was nothing new, she never wanted him, always saw him as a mark of the youth she lost. She resented him with every breath. If he hadn’t been resolute already, he was resolute now.

He decided to go back to his bedchambers and get rid of his clothing. He rang for his attendants and they all cam rushing in asking what he needed. The words were already escaping his mouth before he could think as he said, “Find me garments befitting a celebration.”

“But you are already wearing one my prince.”

“Not this colour, I want black, and red, I am a Targaryen prince after all.”

__

Visenya stared at the green dress laid out on her bed, a gift from Queen Alicent is what her handmaiden was what she said. She would rather burn on a pyre than ever wear green, she took the unnecessarily heavy velvet dress and threw it into the fires. She looked at her handmaidens and said, “Red and black, for my mother. I want a dress of the Targaryen household.” They nodded and quickly retrieved a dress of red and black and Visenya smiled as she looked upon the dress.

It was black and lined with red rubies on the neckline. They cut across straight across her necklines showing shoulder but no cleavage. She gladly put the garment on and somehow she felt the weight of her mother’s burdens as she wore the Targaryen colours. The handmaidens placed upon her a necklace made of Valyrian steel with a blood red ruby as a pendant, whispering how it was a gift from Daemon. “So this is the medal of honour he meant,” she said with a smile as she muttered under her breath, “He does have a good taste in necklaces.”

The maids braided the top half of her curly hair to resemble that of her mother’s and she felt proud. This was what Daemon wanted her to embed in her heart. The memory and honour of her mother, and the greatness of the Targaryen house. They then gently applied rouge on her cheeks and lips and slipped on her shoes, then bowed farewell. Visenya sighed and before she could even take a moment to look at herself in the mirror, she hear two knocks on her door. Visenya learned now not to expect anyone because somehow it was always the person she least expected to be behind the door.

She opened the door and was met with her parents.They both smiled widely and Rhaenyra immediately hugged her daughter and said, “You look lovely my darling, but you did not have to.” Visenya hugged her back just as eagerly and said, “I wanted to mother, people need to know who I support especially now.” Rhaenyra let go of her daughter and frowned a little, Daemon’s lessons must have worked.

“Now where did you get that lovely necklace,” Laenor asked and Visenya answered, “It’s from Daemon actually, says it is a medal of honour.” Leaner gave Rhaenyra a knowing smile so she said, “That was nice of him to give you that Visenya, he must have enjoyed having you as an apprentice of the sword.” Laenor and Rhaenyra offered their arms and Visenya was about to take them but then all three were interrupted vy footsteps approaching them. The voice said, “I’ll take her to the feasting hall.”

The three of them looked to see where the voice was coming from and saw Aegon, but he was not in green, he was in the Targaryen colours. He approached and offered his hand for Visenya to take. Rhaenyra was taken aback by the gesture and said, “Aegon, your mother will have your head-“

“If I am to be wed to Princess Visenya Velaryon then my allegiance is to her,” Aegon said as he looked at Rhaenyra. For once, the heir to the iron throne didn’t see the drunkard half-brother she always saw and nor did she smell wine off his breath. He then continued to say as his violet eyes looked upon Visenya’s lilac ones, “She said she is of salt, sea, fire, and blood then I will honour her and all that she is made of.” Visenya looked to her mother and Rhaenyra gave her a tentative nod. Carefully, the Velaryon princess took the Targaryen prince’s hand and said softly to him, “You do not have to do this.”

“I must,” he said as they walked away from her mother and father who looked on with curiosity. “You mustn’t,” Visenya insisted and Aegon squeezed her hand in earnest and said, “I must. The longest conversation I have ever had with any human being is with you. My mother thinks I am nothing, my brother wishes I have nothing, my grandfather thinks I lack of everything. You speak to me like I am even the slightest interesting, I know we must be married but I would like for us to be friends.”

“If you are to be married to me, you must give up pleasure houses and you have to share your wine with me,” Visenya teased and Aegon smirked then said, “I can live with that.”

“Your mother will kill you,” Visenya warned, “You know how the Hightowers are with the colour green.” Aegon shrugged then said, “Well, I think my mother has wanted me dead since the day I was born. There is nothing surprising to me nowadays.”

Visenya smiled and squeezed his hand back then said, “If you betray me I will kill you.”

“I think I’ll take my chances, now are you ready to face the court?”

“Always.”

Chapter Text

Visenya and Aegon walked hand in hand as the doors opened for them to join the festivities. There was a collective murmur that spread through the crowd as the betrothed pair wore the red and black colours of the Targaryen house. Visenya tried her best to retain her composure but she was finding it difficult to not burst into laughter. The look on Alicent’s face was one for the books. Aegon’s grip on her hand tightened, he was nervous and rightfully so. His entire family were staring daggers into him and he might as well have been struck dead as soon as he entered the room.

“Aegon, perhaps-.”

“No, they made their choice with how they treat me and speak to me, now I have made mine,” he said as his grip loosened, easing into the tense air of the room. “Aegon, they believe that you could succeed your father,” Visenya said but only to gauge Aegon and see if his loyalties are still in question. He shook his head and looked at her intently, his violet eyes never leaving her lilac ones, “I do not wish to claim it, it is not my birthright, it’s your mother’s. I only wish to claim what is truly mine, not what is thought to be mine.” Visenya hung onto his every word and felt heat grow across her cheeks. They slowly walked up to the dance floor where the eager crowd awaited as their names and titles were announced. Dancing pairs had come to a halt as the old king looked at them with pride. Visenya gulped and Aegon teased, “Visenya Velaryon is nervous? Truly I’ve witnessed much things for the history texts.”

She rolled her eyes at that and couldn’t help but chuckle and admit, “Yes I am, for once I will not pretend that I feel like I am going to burst into flames.”

“Oh dear,” Aegon said with a chuckle and Viserys clapped to let the celebration continue as Visenya looked on with confusion. Aegon nudged her by the shoulder, “Dance with me you fool, stop gawking.”

“But-.”

“I will be nice as long as you do not try to kill me again,” Aegon teased and a blush crept up on Visenya’s cheeks. “Visenya Velaryon blushing because of me, today must be my lucky day, the gods favour me,” Aegon teased her again as he brought her to the dance floor so she said, “Do not anger me or I might just try to kill you again, I still have a set of daggers underneath this dress.”

“Oh and what else, pray tell, is underneath that dress,” he said so close to her face that she could not dare look away or the triumph would swell his head that he would fly away. “Stop it,” Visenya warned and Aegon smirked and whispered against her ear, “Or what? Are you going to kill me princess?”

“I can think of much worse things,” she challenged and she found herself flustered with how he did not waver, “Your footwork is sloppy.”

“And yet you are still dancing with me, surely it cannot be that awful,” he teased as he spun her around and brought her back to him in one swift move. Visenya flashed a smile at him and said, “So you were hiding this skill and for what? Holding off on a potential lover?”

“No, I was just waiting for the right dancing partner,” he mused as they spun gracefully around the dance floor, unaware that a growing crowd was beginning to watch them with bated breath…like two dragons shining as bright as stars that one must burn the other.

Daemon who had not expected anything from his nephew Aegon was surprised to see a different side to him. Most of all, he was surprised that Visenya had not cut off his arm yet but that remains to be seen. Nevertheless, if she did choose to sever his arm, he’d sever the other and make it even….Daemon is not perfect however there is one thing he has not wavered upon, his distaste for the Hightowers. He felt a presence sidled next to him and he immediately knew that heady scent, “Rhaenyra, how could you allow this?”

“You forget they are betrothed Daemon, they must,” Rhaeyra pointed out as Laenor took his leave away from his wife and left the two former lovers to converse without interruption. “And yet she seems fond of him,” Daemon begrudgingly pointed out, “She should kill him by now.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m fond of my husband as well, it is not uncommon,” Rhaenyra argued and Daemon laughed at that as he downed his cup of Westerosi wine and said, “Oh do not jest me, your husband puts his cock in you because he has to and now that he has done his part and giving you heirs, he is now happily sticking it in Ser Qarl Correy, or perhaps Ser Qarl is making a whore out of him?”

“Daemon that is enough, you will not disrespect my husband in that manner, and besides I have my own pleasure that I chase so I do not hold it against him,” Rhaenyra said with a smirk and Daemon scoffed at that, “Who? Ser Harwin Breakbones? I am a much better lover than him.”

“No Daemon, you do not love,” Rhaenyra said as she too had a sip of her own wine, “All you do is leave.” She excused herself to go see her father and Daemon watched as she set aside her cup of wine, noticing that she hadn’t taken a sip at all.

Aemond’s jaw clenched at the sight of the pair. He hated it. He hated that his brother had the attention of the guests and most of all, a beautiful woman like Visenya was holding his hand so willingly. He knew that he could not let this happen, his brother had made his allegiance clear and it was time for him to cause some trouble. It was a good thing that he spent most of his time blending with the shadows, hearing things that were not for his ears, and that the letters he tucked in his pocket were enough to cause a stir.

Aemond’s anger festered as he observed the dance between Aegon and Visenya. Their intimacy, combined with the public display of their affection, ignited a deep-seated jealousy within him. His fingers clenched around the goblet of wine he held, the anger almost palpable as he watched his brother—whom he viewed as a weak link in their family’s chain—being celebrated and admired. As Aegon spun Visenya around with a grace that seemed to defy his usual clumsiness, Aemond’s mind raced with schemes. He had always believed that power and control were paramount, and seeing Aegon thrive in such a public and joyous manner was a threat to his own ambitions. The way Visenya looked at Aegon with a mixture of affection and amusement only stoked the fire of his frustration.

He knew that if he wanted to undermine his brother’s standing, he needed to be both subtle and strategic. He drifted closer to the edge of the crowd, his mind calculating his next move. Aemond had always preferred to operate in the shadows, but tonight he was determined to ensure that his presence would be felt.

Nearby, Daemon watched the unfolding scene with a mixture of curiosity and unease. The undercurrent of tension among the Targaryens and Hightowers was unmistakable, and he could sense that something was amiss.This is why he knew his brother should hav enever married Alicent.

Rhaenyra, having excused herself from Daemon’s unsettling company, approached her father, King Viserys, who was overseeing the festivities with a somewhat wistful expression. As she approached, she noticed that her father’s gaze was fixed on the dance floor, his eyes soft with a mixture of pride and sorrow. Rhaenyra took a deep breath, determined to maintain the facade of a dutiful daughter despite her inner turmoil.

“Father,” she greeted him with a respectful bow. “How are you faring this evening?”

Viserys looked at her with a weary but affectionate smile. “Rhaenyra, my dear. The evening is quite splendid, thanks to the joy that our children bring to this court. Yet, I cannot help but feel I have done something wrong.”

Rhaenyra sighed, knowing that her father’s sentiment was rooted in more than just the current festivities. “It is the nature of our family, Father. We are bound by our duties and our ambitions.”

Viserys nodded solemnly. “Indeed. But I hope that amidst all this, we do not lose sight of what truly matters.” Rhaenyra shook her head and said in dismay, “We have lost sight of everything since mother died, she was our direction.” She excused herself again and decided that perhaps her husband’s company would be the one she’ll keep for the rest of the night.

As Rhaenyra tried to weave through the crowd to look for Aemond’s plan began to take shape. He saw an opportunity to talk to his sister, though his eyes were sharp with intent.

“Rhaenyra,” Aemond said smoothly, his voice carrying a hint of false camaraderie.

Aemond gave a thin smile. “I must confess, I find myself envious of Aegon’s ease with such matters. It is not every day that one gets to witness such a harmonious union.”Rhaenyra, catching the undercurrent of his words, decided to confront him directly. “Aemond, your intentions are as transparent as your words. If you have something to say, you might as well speak plainly.”

Aemond’s eyes flicked towards Visenya and Aegon on the dance floor. “I simply wonder how long the facade will last before true nature reveals itself. People often wear masks to hide their true feelings. You my dear sister, harbour a big secret, one that is not even your own.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, Aemond excused himself with a slight bow and retreated into the crowd, his mind already set on his next move. He had stirred the pot just enough to ensure that the tension between his siblings would continue to escalate. As soon as she saw his eyes travel to her husband, she knew his intentions and yet the crowd seemed to grow thicker as she tried to reach for Laenor.

Aemond made his way to a quieter corner of the hall where Laenor was conversing with a group of courtiers. Ser Qarl Correy, Laenor’s rumored lover, stood nearby, subtly keeping an eye on Laenor. Aemond approached with a casual but deliberate air, his expression a carefully crafted mask of casual interest.

“Laenor,” Aemond greeted with a forced cheerfulness that did little to conceal the malice in his tone. “A pleasure to see you this evening.”

Laenor turned, his face brightening with a forced smile. “Aemond, how delightful. How are you finding the festivities?”

“Quite enjoyable,” Aemond replied smoothly, his gaze flickering towards Ser Qarl. “I must say, it’s remarkable how everyone seems to be in such high spirits tonight. Though I cannot help but wonder if there are any hidden sorrows beneath the surface.”

Laenor’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “What do you mean?”

Aemond’s eyes gleamed with malicious intent. “Oh, nothing in particular. Just that with so many people around, it’s easy for certain things to be overlooked.”

He turned his gaze directly on Ser Qarl, who met his stare with a mixture of unease and defiance. “For instance, it seems there are those who enjoy more than just the company of their dear wife.”

Laenor’s face went pale, and he glanced nervously at Ser Qarl. “Aemond, I’m not sure what you are implying.”

Aemond leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that carried across the small crowd gathering around them. “It’s rather well-known among certain circles that Ser Qarl has a particular fondness for nights spent away from his duties, particularly in the company of those who aren’t exactly...women.”

The room fell silent as the implications of Aemond’s words sank in. Laenor’s face flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment, while Ser Qarl’s demeanor shifted from confident to defensive.

“What are you talking about?” Laenor demanded, his voice strained. “This is nothing but baseless gossip.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, enjoying the discomfort he was causing. “Baseless, you say? I assure you, it’s a topic that’s been discussed quite openly among the more discerning members of the court. My dear sister has to keep your disgusting secret, she must have all the patience in the realm.”

Finally, Rhaenyra reached them and took her place on her husband’s side then said, “That is quite enough Aemond, you are causing a stir and we are here to celebrate Aegon and Visenya’s betrothal.” Aemond smirked and called for the curious court to listen to him. Aemond stepped forward, his demeanor calm and collected as he addressed the gathering. “My esteemed lords and ladies, I have come into possession of certain materials that I believe warrant the attention of the entire court. Evidence, if you will, that should be reviewed in the interests of justice.”

The assembled guests exchanged curious glances as Aemond made his way to the table. With a practiced flourish, he unveiled the contents: letters, journal entries, and even a series of private correspondence between Laenor and Ser Qarl. The documents were meticulously arranged, each one marked with dates and intimate details of their correspondence.

“This,” Aemond said, holding up one of the letters, “is a communication from Ser Qarl Correy, written in a tone and with a content that speaks volumes about his...relationship with Laenor Velaryon.” He smirked as he threw the series of parchments into the crowd who hurriedly took them to read such scandal. Visenya, who had been happily dancing with Aegon came to a halt and reached for one of the parchments and read it quietly.

Dearest Qarl,

Every moment away from you feels like an eternity. The secret world we share is my refuge and my joy. Your presence brings me a happiness I’ve never known before. Despite the turmoil around us, my love for you remains steadfast and true.

Though we must keep our feelings hidden, please know that you are my heart’s greatest treasure. I long for the day when we can be together openly and without fear.

Until then, I carry you with me in every thought and every beat of my heart.

Yours always,

Laenor

Visenya looked to her father as tears welled up in her eyes. Laenor and Rhaenyra tried to reach for their daughter but she hurriedly ran away, throwing the parchment aside as Aegon chased after her.

“Visenya stop!,” Aegon yelled as he chased her through the halls of the Red Keep knowing full well where she was going. She was heading towards the dragon pit, hoping to escape again on the back of Vaehaemion. Luckily, he caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm to which she said, “Let go of me Aegon!”

“No I will not,” he said and she finally faced him and said, “How could you do this? Is this why you did all of this? So your brother can scheme and taint my father’s name?! How could you?!”

“I would never Visenya, I did not even know,” Aegon pleaded, “I could never do that to you, nor did I have the capability to, my family never tells me anything because I know they pray to their gods wishing I had never been born.” Visenya’s eyes remained full with tears as she said, “And yet if they included you, you would not have said a word to me. You are Targaryen in name but you will always will be a Hightower.”

“I would never do that Visenya,” he said again, trying to reassure her. Visenya’s eyes softened as she asked, “And why would you not? It gives you an advantage. The realm will disapprove of my mother and you will be favoured for the throne.”

“I do not want the throne,” Aegon answered, “And I do not have the brains for grandiose schemes such as that.”

“Then what is in that big head of yours?,” Visenya pointed out angrily as she tried to push him away.

“You.”

___

Rhaenyra could not find Laenor anywhere. The celebration had turned into a mess and her husband had run away in shame. Her legs began to tire trying to search for him, hoping to comfort him but he was nowhere to be found. Just when she thought she could not be any more inconvenienced, Daemon had found her and said, “Stop running about like a madwoman, you will not find him.”

“You do not tell me what to do Daemon, now leave me be,” Rhaenyra warned and Daemon grabbed her by the arm and said, “I could not, I could never leave you.”

“But you have Daemon, time and time again you fly away on Caraxes and leave me to pick up the pieces,” she said as she tried put failed to push him away. Daemon’s eyes softened as he let go of her arm and held her hand in his, “I do not want to anymore, please, let me help you find him.”

“Do not think that your help will gain you favour as my lover,” she warned and Daemon laughed then said, “I will settle for the ghost of a kiss, now follow me, I have a feeling on where he is.”

Rhaenyra’s anger flared momentarily at Daemon’s audacious comment, but the weight of the evening’s turmoil was beginning to wear her down. She glanced at Daemon, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes, and the edge in her voice softened.

“Very well,” she said with a weary sigh. “Lead the way.”

Daemon led her through the labyrinthine corridors of the Red Keep, his hand still gently clasping hers. The palace was eerily quiet, the earlier revelry having given way to an uneasy silence as the scandal unfolded. They moved through the grand hallways and past closed doors, the tension palpable in every step.

After a few minutes of walking, Daemon stopped in front of a secluded door, slightly ajar. He pushed it open with a careful hand, and the two stepped into a small, dimly lit room that overlooked the gardens. It was here, away from the eyes of the court, where Laenor had sought refuge.

Laenor was seated on a stone bench near a window, his head bowed, lost in thought. The sight of him, so desolate and broken, struck Rhaenyra with a pang of empathy. Her resolve hardened, and she stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. She let go of Daemon’s hand, much to his dismay, and said, “Let me just speak with my husband for a moment.”

Rhaenyra sat beside her husband quietly and he was surprised to see her as she placed her hand on top of his, “I am so sorry Laenor-“

“Please, do not, it is I who must apologise. If only I loved women like men should then maybe,” he said as he choked back a sob, “The way Visenya looked at me, she looked at me like I was a stranger and I understood because I lied to her. I hate the gods for making me the way I am.”

“I do not,” Rhaenyra said as she placed her head on his shoulder, “You are an honourable man and you did your duty and gave me heirs. Your children love you and once the shock wears off, Visenya will be alright. We will be alright.”

“But Rhaenyra-“

“I do not begrudge you for your love for Ser Qarl. I wish for you to be happy Laenor,” she said as she squeezed his hand in earnest, “Who you love in this life does not make you less than any of us, you are perfectly fine. The gods made you perfectly.”

Daemon watched as Rhaenyra comforted Laenor, a distinct pang in his chest. That was the woman he left. He hurt the woman who had the most beautiful heart in the realm.

Chapter Text

The tension only grew with each day amongst the Targaryens and Visenya felt it in her very core. She hadn’t spoken to her father in a few days and in a few hours she was to be wed. Visenya wondered if she should speak to her father but she worried she would take the wrong step and hurt him. She did not even know if she had the right to be hurt, but it just shattered all her ideals about marriage. She always looked up to her mother and father as the perfect couple who upheld their duties, loved their children, and loved each other but she wasn’t quite sure anymore.

She should have seen the signs, she always knew her father was quite close to Ser Qarl but she never realised it went beyond camaraderie. Visenya winced as one of her handmaiden tightened her corset one last time while the others helped her onto her wedding dress, a spectacle of pure white embroidered with red dragons. As they put the Valyrian steel necklace on her neck, it suddenly felt heavier. She hadn’t spoken to Aegon since that night, she found it too much to deal with it. How could he think of her in such a fond way? He wasn’t the kind of man to be fond, he’d always been cruel but why change now.

Suddenly there was a knock on her door and she quickly dismissed her handmaidens. Was it Aegon? Why was she even asking herself that. She opened the door and it was her father standing before her, nervous and sweating profusely. “Father? What brings you-.”

“My darling girl, we have not spoken in a while and it worries me that you perhaps hate me and I just wish we could talk, my only daughter is about to be wed and I do not want her angry at me,” Laenor explained himself, remaining firmly outside the door, waiting for Visenya to let him in. She gestured for him to step in and Visenya gave out a sigh as she sat in front of her window, gesturing for her father to take the seat next to her. Laenor tentatively sat beside her and spoke first, “Visenya I never meant to be this way and I am so sorry that I put you through this-“

“Father, why hide this from me? Were you planning to die and withhold this from me till the end of time? Why must I find out through my own feast!” Visenya said as she tried to keep her composure, “You and mother have been lying to me! You have been lying about your marriage and here I was waving the two of you as the perfect example of virtue. All my life I thought of your marriage as a perfect one and it was all a lie. Do you even love mother?”

“Of course I love your mother, your mother is one of my dearest friends and I care for all of you. I hold your mother with the utmost regard and she is a wonderful woman with the most beautiful heart and a strong mind, it is impossible to not lover her. It is just that, I do not love her in an intimate way…I do not love women In an intimate way,” Laenor tried to explain himself, watching with dread as his daughter’s face just grew even more somber. Visenya quickly wiped away her tears and absentmindedly played with her curls as she said, “What am I then? What is Jacaerys, Lucre’s, and Joffrey? Are we all just fruits of your duty. I always thought that my brothers and I were different from Alicent’s children because we were loved and wanted.”

“Of course you are loved and wanted, I love you Visenya. You will always be my daughter, and you will always be loved by me and your mother,” Laenor said as he cupped Visenya’s cheek but she looked away and said, “We would not be here had you not been forced to marry mother, you would not have chosen this life.” Laenor shook his head, “Perhaps not but we are here now, there is no point in dwelling in the past, now, I know I do not deserve it but I ask you for my forgiveness my darling girl, I just do not want us to be quarrelling anymore.”

Visenya nodded and immediately swept her father into a hug then said, “No more lies, please.” Laenor nodded then kissed his daughter’s head then said, “Never again, I swear.” Reluctantly he let go of her, wiping away his own tears then said, “Now then, you must not be late to your own wedding hmm?” Visenya chuckled and said, “Yes, we do not want Queen Alicent to throw a fit and unravel anymore family secrets.” Suddenly there was a knock on the door and standing on the doorway was Rhaenyra, who clearly hoped to speak to her daughter before giving her away. Laenor gave his wife a nod and excused himself, Rhaenyra immediately approached and held her daughter’s hand in hers.

“Visenya, I hope you do not harbour hatred for your father-“

“I do not mother, I promise,” Visenya said as she squeezed her mother’s hand affectionately. Rhaenyra’s eyes softened and gestured for Visenya to follow her to the Great Hall where all the guests were waiting. She did so without question and walked the halls in silence, lamenting over the life she will leave behind once she is wed. The silence took over her head until a gnawing question just would not leave so she had to ask, “Mother, if father and you do not love each other in an intimate way and he loves Ser Qarl. Who do you love?”

Rhaenyra stopped walking, bringing both of them to a stop. She felt like she had been asked a question she truly did not want to answer. Suddenly she realised she wore the Valyrian Steel necklace that was gifted to her when she was a young girl, from a man she had admired so much. She looked to Visenya and reluctantly said, “I do not know.”

Rhaenyra quickly excused herself and said, “I’m sorry Visenya, I just need to speak with your father quickly.” “Mother wait!” She said but Rhaenyra was long gone, unable to face her daughter with such a conflicting question. Now she was all alone, left alone to her thoughts on whether she should run to the dragon pit and escape to Essos, abandon her life here. She could not trust anyone. How can she possibly trust Aegon, she barely knew the man and not long ago he was a raging drunkard, he could be feigning idiocy.

Her loud thoughts were interrupted again by a voice she did not want to hear. “All alone princess?”, Aemond said as he stepped into view, a saccharine smile on his lips as he eyed Visenya, memorising how her dress hugged her curves and perfectly cupped her breasts. Gods he was jealous. How could his brother have the decency to propose marriage and have her, he should have acted sooner and perhaps she would be his.

“I do not wish to speak with you Aemond,” Visenya said as she tried to walk away from him but he pulled her by the arm and said, “Do not jest me princess, your face gives away your thoughts.” Visenya pursed her lips then tried to push him away only for him to tighten his grip and said, “Do not attempt to walk away princess, you will regret it, I know you want to kill me but that will have to wait.”

Visenya scoffed, “After what you did to my father, death would be a blessing, you deserve an endless life of suffering.”

“I was only letting the truth set him free,” Aemond said with a saccharine smile, “This way, when your father dies and somehow Daemon takes his place by your mother’s side, you would not be too surprised.”

“How dare-,” Visenya yelled as she tried to slap him in the face but Aemond caught her wrist and pinned her against the cold wall of the keep, his lips a breath away from hers. “Walk away from this wedding princess, my brother is a drunk and will offer you nothing but despair and disappointment, I can give you so much more.”

“And what can you possibly give me? You are the second son, whatever you think was meant to be yours will be given to Aegon,” Visenya pointed out as she further closed the distance, challenging him, “I may not have wanted this betrothal but I am loyal to my house, you stand for everything that is against my house.”

“Oh please, you and I are no different. Deep down, behind your mask of duty and honour is a dragon that wants freedom and power, I can give that to you,” Aemond offered, his forehead touching hers as Visenya struggled against his grip, Visenya answered, “You and I will never be of the same kind, I want peace and for my mother’s birthright to be upheld, you wish to burn the realm because you lost an eye.”

Aemond slammed her against the wall with so much force that it made her crumple to the floor. “Fine,” he said, “Suit yourself princess, but do not come running to me when you find that my brother is a worthless whelp after all.”

____

“Aegon, remember your house is-“

“I am Targaryen mother, am I not?” Aegon said as he stood proud at the end of the hall in black and red garb, starting to feel comfortable in the colours he had never worn. He found himself thinking of Visenya and what she would be wearing, it was enough to help him withstand his mother’s fussing. “Perhaps I never gave you credit by cunningly securing a betrothal to Visenya,” Alicent said as she absentmindedly fixed Aegon’s collar, “You secured us a closer step to you sitting in on the throne-“

Aegon pushed his mother away then said, “I did not secure anything, father was going to send Visenya away and make her a septa, she would lose her freedom and all the things she loves. She would be unrecognisable.”

“Hah! And you think she’ll have joy in a life bound to you,” Alicent said as she tried her best not to laugh, “I had to forbid you from going back to the streets of silk,  who knows how many bastards you’ve sired! You were lucky to even be considered for Visenya, you are a drunk and you are of no use to me or anyone in this realm.”

“I am something to Visenya,” Aegon muttered and that was when Alicent truly laughed, “If Visenya is anything like her mother, she’ll keep you until she grows tired or you. A beautiful woman like Visenya bores very easily, just like her mother. Rhaenyra takes on many lovers because they will have some qualities like her beloved Daemon but throw them away because they never measure up to be her beloved uncle.”

“She wants nothing to do with you, we do not even know if Visenya’s future heirs will be yours-“

“That is enough mother! How dare you? How dare you sow seeds of doubt when you yourself have never cared for my existence until I happened to be betrothed to Visenya,” Aegon pointed out, the memories coming back to him more clearly now that he hadn’t been in a drunken haze for a while now, “Did you think I would forget all the insults and all the belittlement just because I was drunk? I was drunk not deaf! You do not care for me mother because I remind you of the youth you lost, I do not need to listen to you because it is very clear where your favour lies…and it is not with me.”

Alicent flushed with embarrassment, thanking the gods that the guests and the nobility have not come In yet for the festivities. Otto who had been watching from afar grumbled in disappointment, Alicent’s grasp on her son is slipping and it will put all his plans to jeopardy. With one quick step, he disappeared Into the shadows of the halls, realising that his plans need some improvement.

Aegon steeled his breath and tried to keep his composure. Although he knew his mother always had malicious intentions, the words still hurt. Sometimes he wishes he could read Visenya somehow, understand what she was feeling because being left in the darkness is utter torture. She rarely smiled and when she did he could not tell if it was a trained response or genuine. When he had told her that she plagued his thoughts, she ran away and hadn’t spoken to her for days. He should find her, find her before his thoughts consume him.

Before Alicent could say another word, Aegon turned on his heel and disappeared into the halls of the Red Keep. He searched for Visenya, trying his best to remember where he’d usually find her. Much to his surprise, it did not take much searching, a few turns here and there and he was met with the sight of her white curls. His eyebrows arched in surprise seeing that she was crumpled into the floor. Aegon immediately was at her side, “Visenya, tell me what happened, who did this to you?” He helped her up from the cold stone floor and she replied, “I will be fine, I can handle myself. I can take care of myself Aegon.”

“No, I need to know, please,” Aegon said as he couldn’t help but hold her close. He never really cared for much but seeing Visenya in this state had twisted his heart in an unfamiliar way. “It was your brother, and his empty threats.” Aegon sighed and knew better than to be angry, it is exactly what Aemond would have wanted. Still, he saw the fear in her eyes and more obviously, the doubt that harboured within her.

Visenya lightly pushed him away and so he gave her space, he did not want to impose. “Visenya,” he said softly, “I know we are to be wed when the sun sets but I can help you leave, I can tell them we had a big fight and that you left on dragon back out of frustration, I do not want to trap you in this-“

“Trapped is an excellent way to put it,” Visenya said, as the dread consumed her, “But, it is far better than becoming a Septa for a faith I do not even believe in. You saved me, as much as I did not want to admit it. I would be lying if I said I trust you but at least now I know, you will not poison me in my sleep.” Aegon smiled, she saw a crack in her armour and revealed something far softer than he imagined. He chuckled and said, “That might be one of the kindest words I have ever heard from you.”

“You are a man whore Aegon, and I do not regret calling you one before,” Visenya teased and Aegon was melting, this was too much. He looked away in an attempt to hide the flush of his cheeks then said, “You always know how to pull my strings princess.” Visenya cupped his cheek and gently guided him to face her then said, “Don’t tell me that you wish to run away from the ceremony now, is it so damning that I am to be your wife?”

“No, it is a great blessing,” he admitted and Visenya immediately pulled away then said, “Right, It’s best if we part ways, they’ll grow suspicious if they see us together, unchaperoned as they say.” Aegon relented but before he let her go, he had to, he’d thought about it for too long and another hour of longing would set him ablaze. He took her hand in his and pulled her closer, his eyes memorising the curve of her lips and how they parted when she was nervous.

“Aegon, what are you-.”

“I-.”

“I, do not know what came over me,” Aegon confessed as he let her go. Gods, he had no issue kissing a woman from the streets of silk and yet he had no courage when it came to kissing Visenya. He shook his head and gave her a look then left without saying anything more. Visenya touched her lips, as if trying to feel something that was never there. She looked at her fingers and suddenly her heart was wrenched in a way she couldn’t understand. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reminding herself that the feet were still upon the floor and she must remain stalwart to her mother’s house. A wedding was nothing compared to the grand scheme at all, a reminder that Daemon drilled into her heart.

Every pawn must play their part.

With a new kind of resolve despite her head swimming with thoughts of Aegon, questions is what she’d like to think they were, she decided to look for her mother.

___

Rhaenyra was running. For the first time, she could not face her own truths. Her daughter had asked her an impossible question, one she couldn’t begin to answer. What is duty? What is love? What is sacrifice?

She knew sacrifice the most like a husband that lay beside her in bed, giving her life and making her feel death. Her head was muddled with the question and all she could hear were the words leaving her daughter’s lips like a never-ending speech. Who does she love? She loved her own mother and will grieve her for the rest of her days. She loved her father even when he hurt her heart. She loved Laenor like a dear friend, one she would always protect and fight for. She loved her children more than anything, they were hers and they will always hold a special place in her heart. However, she knew exactly what Visenya was asking, the question was for who matched her soul. Who could burn with her and watch the realm turn into ashes?

She was fiddling with the rings on her finger again like she was going mad, she hadn’t realised she was pacing the halls at an ungodly pace until a pair of strong hands held her shoulders tight and said, “Rhaenyra?! Have you gone mad?” For once, she did not look at her hands, instead she looked at the voice she would always know. Daemon’s violet eyes bore into her lilac ones, filled with worry and confusion, “I understand that it is hard to give your daughter away to the hound but this is not the time to show those Hightower cunts that they are hurting you.” Rhaenyra shook her head and said, “No, it is not that.”

“Then why are you pacing like a mad man? Pull yourself together Rhaenyra,” Daemon tried to understand but Rhaenyra sighed, “My daughter has been exposed to truths that I wish she never knew. I would be wrong to keep it from her. I knew that it was bound to happen, the facade that Laenor and I have been trying to maintain for too long, it has come to its death. And I….I have been imposed with a question that I cannot bring myself to answer, not to her, not even to myself.”

“Rhaenyra, it could not possibly be that difficult,” Daemon said, but even he was not too sure about her predicament. “She asked me of who I loved, I have not asked that of myself for a long time now,” she answered and Daemon’s eyes softened at that, “You have forgotten what pleasure is because all you have done is for your duty as the heir to the iron throne.”

“Oh I have taken pleasure Daemon, the rumours are true, I have taken some lovers, but I was careful,” Rhaenyra pointed out and Daemon made no effort to hide his annoyance. She laughed then said, “But pleasure is one thing, to love to want, I have always thought was the notion of a naive young girl who was lost in a pleasure house she had never been familiar with.” Daemon’s eyes softened again and this time he could not help it, he did not care if anyone would find them. The rogue prince pulled the realm’s delight into an embrace, telling himself that he would never let her go again.

“Daemon-“

“I will spend the rest of my days apologising and earning your forgiveness,” he said as he kissed the top of her head, “I saw you be wed to Laenor and wished it was me. I was scared to defy my brother, I asked him for your hand and he refused me….he was right to do so. I never found my purpose and lost myself in my own pleasures. You were always my purpose. To serve, to protect, to love. I was just too much of a fool to see it.”

Rhaenyra pushed him away, hoping to look at his face and her restraint broke like a ripping cloth on its last piece of thread. She cupped his cheek and guided him to her lips, tasting him, kissing him, pouring all the years of yearning into a single kiss. He kissed her back and poured out all that he had ever felt for her as he pulled her closer by the waist and letting her touch linger within him.

By the gods he was going to ruin her….if she would let him.

__

Visenya had tried to retrace her footsteps to find her mother, she heard strange sounds and decided to follow them…knowing how it echoed through the keep. Her heart beat faster, she wondered why she had the feeling of just turning away. To her surprise, she was met with her mother and Daemon kissing…rather passionately. She cleared her throat and the pair sprung off each other.

Without missing a beat, Visenya found herself laughing at the pair. Why was she not the least bit surprised that the one her mother had affection for was Daemon. Perhaps the truths that she had learned had helped understand her mother and father’s marriage more. They were good friends, the greatest of friends even, not lovers. “Visenya, I-“ Rhaenyra tried to say but she just shook her head and said, “Mother, try to keep quiet, I can hear you from across the keep.” Daemon laughed and said, “Do I not frustrate you any longer Visenya?”

“You are still a cunt but apparently a cunt that my mother likes,” Visenya teased and Rhaenyra’s eyes widened then said, “Daemon! What have you been teaching my daughter?!” Visenya and Daemon gave each other a knowing look then the younger replied, “Useful things mother.”

“Gods, I’ve created a monster,” Rhaenyra sighed and Daemon laughed then gave his arm for Visenya to hold and the other to Rhaenyra as he said, “Well then, I believe we have a wedding we cannot miss.” Visenya and Rhaenyra both held Daemon as they made their way to the wedding hall, none of them admitting their own doubts and queries. However, Visenya did not like being left to her own thoughts so she said, “Daemon….mother…should I trust Aegon?”

Daemon furrowed his brow and Rhaenyra pursed her lips but the pair knew it was a difficult question. Rhaenyra was the one to speak first and said, “He is to be your husband, you must build some trust. I know you do not wish to hear it but he will be the father of your children and wherever you go, his name will follow. You must learn to trust him and see if he can be trusted.”

“What did he say?” Daemon asked and Visenya quickly replied, the words spilling out of her mouth, “He said that he hated his family, and that his loyalty was to me. He worries for me and he cares…which I find unsettling.” Daemon nodded and answered, “I have observed him from afar, I always knew that the Hightowers preferred Aemond. He also defied his mother and has not worn an ounce of green since the feast. There is some truth in him however I cannot say that I do understand.”

Visenya nodded, the sounds of the voices of court nearing as they approached the familiar ornate doors. Before they could enter, they heard the clearing of a throat and Rhaenyra said, “Daemon, I believe Laenor wishes to give his daughter away.” As much as he did not want to, Daemon let Visenya and Rhaenyra go, letting Laenor settle beside Visenya. The doors opened and the trumpets resounded, leaving Rhaenyra and Daemon behind to find their place in the crowd as the ceremony began.

“She is not your daughter Daemon, I saw you hesitate,” Rhaenyra warned and Daemon shook his head, “She could have been.”

“You have Baela and Rhaena,” Rhaenyra reminded and Daemon nodded, the truth settling in again of his place in Rhaenyra’s life.

__

Aegon watched as Visenya made her way down the hall. He noticed how her cheeks were flush with rouge and how her jewellery glistened under the fire that gave the hall light. He was captured, entranced even, and he had not realised that she was right in front of him until she took his hands in hers and said, “Aegon, your head seems to be in Essos.”

“You look beautiful,” he muttered and Visenya tried her best not to smile then said, “You already saw me in the halls, how could I have possibly changed?”

“I do not know, perhaps it is the candlelight,” he said as Viserys took his place in front of them, handing Visenya a piece of dragon glass wrapped in fine red velvet. Viserys addressed his people, trying his best to hide his pain and began the ceremony.

__

Laenor was sweating profusely and Rhaenyra could sense that something was wrong so she asked, “Laenor, what troubles you?”

“I had a bit of a quarrel with Aemond, and I believe I have angered him further,” Laenor confessed and Rhaenyra reassured, “He would not dare try anything, father has provided enough kingsguard to ensure our safety. You are my husband Laenor, they will not dare try.”

“Perhaps then they would not then Rhaenyra,” Laenor said as he looked down but Rhaenyra held his hand and said, “I am not abandoning you, I will not feed you to the hounds Laenor, I will stand by you.”

“If you stand by me, you will be eaten too,” Laenor said as he deftly released himself from Rhaenyra’s grip and said, “Excuse me, I think I need a drink.”

__

Visenya noticed Aegon’s lip quiver slightly, his gaze locked onto hers as if searching for some hidden answer. She squeezed his hands tighter, almost imperceptibly, and leaned in close, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Aegon,” she said, her breath warm against his ear, “you must stay focused. The whole realm is watching us.”

Before Aegon could respond, Visenya’s hand suddenly darted up, her fingers gripping his chin with surprising strength. In a swift motion, she brought a sharp edge of the dragon glass across his lip, just enough to draw blood. Aegon winced, his eyes widening in surprise, but he did not pull away.

The room seemed to still for a moment, gasps rippling through the gathered nobles. The dragon glass in Visenya’s hand gleamed darkly, a thin line of red tracing the blade’s edge. She held it up for all to see, her expression one of fierce determination.

"Blood of the dragon," she declared, her voice clear and commanding. "Bound in blood, born of fire." She handed the glass to Aegon to which he took and cut her lip gently, earning a small gasp from Visenya.

“Nyke aōhon”, Visenya spoke first.

I am yours

“Se nyke jāhor dohaeragon ao”, Aegon said in return.

And I will serve you.

“Aegon, that’s not-“, Visenya softly whispered and Aegon shook his head, “It is my promise to you as your husband.”

Viserys, his face pale and weary but his eyes alight with the same fire as his ancestors before him, nodded approvingly. He continued the ritual, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “The blood of old Valyria runs thick in our veins. Let this bond be forged in its flame.”

Visenya’s eyes never left Aegon’s, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. Aegon felt a strange sense of clarity, as if he were seeing her for the first time—not just a fierce and beautiful woman, but a dragon in her own right, powerful and unyielding.

“Do you understand now, Aegon?” Visenya whispered, her lips barely moving. “This is not just about you and me. This is about the blood we carry. The legacy we will leave.”

Aegon nodded slowly, a new resolve settling over him. “I understand,” he replied, his voice low but steady. “And I’m ready.” This time he would not hesitate, he cupped her jaw with his hands and kissed Visenya tenderly, the metallic taste of her blood seeping into his tongue. Visenya kissed him back, she did not know it yet but she kissed him with eagerness equal to his as the court cheered in celebration. Reluctantly, Aegon pulled away and placed his forehead against hers then said, “I need you to trust me.”

“I will,” Visenya answered.

“You will because you do or because you have to?” Aegon asked, and she brought her lips against his again and whispered against them, “I do.”

__

Across the hall, Laenor took a deep swig of wine, his nerves fraying with every passing second. He felt the weight of the stares, the whispers that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He could see Aemond out of the corner of his eye, watching him like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Rhaenyra, ever vigilant, kept her eyes on her husband. She could sense the tension in the air, the undercurrents of danger that seemed to swirl around them like a dark storm. She moved to join him, but was stopped by a hand on her arm.

It was Daemon. “Stay,” he said, his voice a soft command. “Let him cool his temper alone.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked to Aemond, who had begun to make his way toward Laenor, a dark smirk playing on his lips. She shook her head slightly. “No, Daemon. I must—”

But before she could finish, Aemond reached Laenor, and the tension broke like a dam.

“Laenor,” Aemond said, his tone dripping with mock civility. “I see you’ve found your courage at the bottom of a cup.”

Laenor turned, his eyes blazing with a mix of fear and anger. “What do you want, Aemond?”

Aemond’s smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Only to wish you well, of course. You’ll need all the luck in the world to survive in this den of lions.”

Laenor set his jaw, his hand gripping the goblet so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Stay away from me, Aemond. I’ve no desire for trouble.”

“Oh, but trouble seems to follow you like a shadow,” Aemond continued, his voice taunting. “Especially when it comes to keeping the court’s favour, the great Sea Snake, your father, cannot even look at you. You are an abomination.”

Rhaenyra watched the scene unfold and a realisation hit her. Aemond was trying to get a rise out of Laenor and if Laenor attacked Aemond, the kingsguard would attack him. Yet the crowd grew around her, stopping her from reaching her husband.

Laenor's breath grew heavy, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. Aemond’s words cut deeper than any blade. He could feel the eyes of the courtiers around him, watching, waiting for the drama to unfold. It was a trap, one set perfectly by Aemond, who now stood smugly, his arms crossed and his posture relaxed as if he were at a theater performance.

“An abomination?” Laenor’s voice trembled, a mix of fury and hurt. “I am more of a man than you will ever be, Aemond. At least I have the courage to stand for what I believe in, rather than hiding behind your mother’s skirts.”

Aemond’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, but his eyes gleamed with triumph. He had Laenor exactly where he wanted him.

Rhaenyra, still pushing through the growing crowd, could see the tension mounting. She tried to force her way through, calling out, “Laenor, no! Don’t—”

But her voice was drowned out by the murmurs and gasps of the onlookers. She could see Aemond’s smirk widen again as he took a slow step closer to Laenor, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Your words mean nothing here, Laenor. You’re a stain on House Velaryon, a disgrace to the blood of Old Valyria. Perhaps it’s time you were reminded of your place.”

Chapter Text

Laenor’s body tensed, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. Aemond’s words were like poison, seeping into his veins, igniting a fury he hadn’t felt in years. The hall seemed to close in on him, the jeers and whispers of the courtiers becoming a deafening roar in his ears. He saw red.

“You speak of disgrace, Aemond, but you know nothing of honour,” Laenor spat, his voice trembling with rage. “You’re just a boy playing at a man’s game.”

Aemond's eyes flickered with dangerous amusement, sensing that he had successfully broken through Laenor's composure. "Perhaps, but I am a boy who knows how to stay alive," he retorted, his voice dripping with mockery. Before Rhaenyra could reach him, before she could shout again, Laenor lunged forward with a roar, his fist aimed straight for Aemond's smug face. The hall erupted into chaos. Gasps and cries filled the air as Laenor’s fist connected with Aemond’s cheek, sending him stumbling back.

Aemond recovered quickly, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His face darkened, all pretense of humor gone. “You will regret that,” he hissed. In an instant, he drew his sword, the blade glinting menacingly in the torchlight. “Laenor, stop!” Rhaenyra screamed, her voice finally breaking through, but it was too late. Laenor, blinded by fury, drew his own blade, his movements frantic and desperate. The Kingsguard, already on edge, surged forward, forming a tight circle around the two men.

Aemond, younger but sharper in his movements, quickly dodged Laenor's first wild swing. He sidestepped and, with a cold precision, sliced across Laenor's side. Blood sprayed onto the stone floor, and the crowd recoiled in horror. Laenor staggered, clutching his wound, but his rage fueled him. He swung again, this time with more force, but Aemond was ready. With a swift, almost effortless movement, Aemond parried and then thrust his sword forward, driving it deep into Laenor's chest.

The hall fell silent. For a moment, everything seemed to slow. Laenor's eyes widened in shock as he looked down at the blade protruding from his chest, a dark red stain spreading across his tunic. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. He collapsed to the ground, the clatter of his sword echoing in the vast hall. Rhaenyra’s scream pierced the air, a sound of pure anguish and fury. She broke free from the crowd and rushed to Laenor’s side, her hands trembling as she cradled his head in her lap. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, “No, no, no… please, no.”

Aemond stood over them, breathing heavily, his expression a mix of exhilaration and satisfaction. “He attacked me,” he said loudly, looking around at the shocked faces of the court. “I was defending myself.”

The Kingsguard did not move. They glanced at each other, uncertain. This was not how they had expected the night to go. Daemon, who had been watching from the shadows, stepped forward, his face a mask of fury. “Defending yourself?” he snarled. “You provoked him, you wretch!”

Aemond shrugged, still holding his blood-stained sword. “He should have known better.”

__

Visenya stood at the far end of the hall, her hand entwined with Aegon’s as they shared a rare, quiet moment amidst the chaos of the wedding festivities. Her cheeks were still flushed from the dance, and she could feel her heartbeat slowly settling. She leaned in closer to Aegon, her lips forming a teasing smile. “I was so sure that I was going to burst into flames” she whispered, her eyes twinkling with a mix of disbelief and happiness. Aegon chuckled, his fingers gently tracing the back of her hand. “Neither can I, to be honest,” he replied with a playful smirk. “But it is nice to know that you hold some respect for me”

Before Visenya could respond, a sudden commotion broke out near the center of the hall. The crowd parted like a wave, revealing Laenor and Aemond facing each other, their postures tense and hostile. Visenya’s smile faded instantly, her senses going on high alert as she noticed the fury in her father's eyes and the cold amusement on Aemond’s face. She could feel Aegon stiffen beside her, his grip tightening on her hand.

“What is happening?” she murmured, her voice filled with sudden dread.

Aegon’s expression turned serious, his gaze locked on his younger brother. “Aemond,” he muttered. “He’s provoking your father.”

Visenya's heart sank. She had seen that look in Aemond's eyes before—the look of a predator who knew exactly how to push his prey over the edge. She tried to push forward, but the gathering crowd blocked her path. "Move!" she shouted, desperation creeping into her voice as she fought to get through. “Laenor, stop!” Rhaenyra's scream cut through the air, filled with fear. Visenya’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt a surge of panic. Her mother’s voice was rarely so filled with terror.

“Father!” Visenya called, finally breaking free from the crowd just as her mother did. But before she could get close, Laenor lunged forward with a roar, his fist connecting with Aemond’s cheek with a sickening crack.

The hall erupted into chaos. Gasps, screams, and shouts filled the air. Aemond staggered back, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip, his face darkening with rage. “You will regret that,” he hissed, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. The blade caught the light of the torches, gleaming like a viper’s fang. “Father, no!” Visenya screamed, pushing forward with all her strength, her dress tearing at the seams as the crowd trampled over its length. But it was too late. Laenor, driven by a fury that blinded him to reason, drew his own sword, his movements wild and desperate. The Kingsguard moved in, forming a tight circle around them, but no one dared intervene.

Aemond, quicker and more controlled, sidestepped Laenor’s first swing and retaliated with a swift, precise slash across Laenor’s side. Blood sprayed out onto the stone floor, eliciting horrified gasps from the onlookers. Visenya’s world slowed to a crawl as she watched her father stagger, clutching his side. “No!” she cried out, tears streaming down her cheeks. She could feel Aegon’s hand slip from hers as he tried to move forward, but she was already running, her gown tangling around her legs as she fought to reach her father.

Laenor, though bleeding and weakened, swung again with a roar of defiance. But Aemond was ready. He parried the blow effortlessly and, with a swift, lethal thrust, drove his sword deep into Laenor’s chest.

A silence fell over the hall, heavy and suffocating. Visenya’s eyes widened in horror as her father looked down at the blade sticking out of his chest, his blood spilling over his wedding clothes. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He crumpled to the ground, his sword clattering beside him.

“Father!” Visenya screamed, finally reaching him and dropping to her knees beside his fallen form. She grabbed his hand, her own trembling uncontrollably. “No, please, stay with me. Don’t go.” Her voice broke, the words coming out in a desperate sob.

Laenor’s eyes fluttered open, barely holding on to consciousness. He looked at Visenya, a weak smile forming on his lips. “My… fierce dragon…” he whispered, his voice fading like a dying ember. His hand twitched in hers, then fell limp.

“Father, no!” Visenya cried out, collapsing over his body. She could hear her mother’s anguished sobs beside her, but the world had become a blur. All she could see was her father’s face, growing pale and still. “No, no, no…” she muttered, her tears falling onto his blood-stained chest.

Aemond stood over them, his chest heaving, his expression a mix of exhilaration and satisfaction. “He attacked me,” he announced loudly again, his voice ringing out over the hushed hall. “I was defending myself.”

Rhaenyra’s head snapped up, her face twisted with a mix of grief and fury. “You murderer!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the stone walls. “You’ll pay for this, Aemond. I swear it on my blood, you’ll pay!”

Daemon stepped forward from the shadows, his face dark with rage. “Blood demands blood,” he growled, his hand already reaching for his sword. “And this will not go unpunished.” Visenya hesitantly let go of her father and walked to Daemon, her eyes darkening with resolve. “Allow me,” she asked him, gesturing for Dark Sister. Aegon who had been watching the scene unfold tried to push through the crowd, realising what Visenya was about to do.

Visenya heard her mother’s cries and her brothers’ pleading but all she could hear was her father’s staggered breaths as his life slipped further and further away.

Daemon looked at her with a hardened gaze, searching for doubt. Seeing none, he nodded, unsheathing Dark Sister with deliberate slowness. The Valyrian steel gleamed wickedly in the torchlight, a stark contrast to the grief enveloping the room. As Visenya took the sword, her hand gripped its hilt with certainty, the weight of it both familiar and formidable. She had held it many times in training, but never in a moment such as this—never with such purpose. Her eyes fixed upon Aemond, who stood above her father's body, his sword still raised, his stance shifting as he realized what was about to unfold.

“Visenya, do not!” Aegon’s voice rang out, frantic, cutting through the din of the crowd. He fought his way forward, pushing past courtiers and lords. “Do not give him the satisfaction!”But Visenya did not turn. Her gaze remained on Aemond, on the man who had struck down her father. The sounds around her—the cries, the pleas, the murmurs of the crowd—faded to nothing. All that remained was the thundering of her heartbeat and the cold fury coursing through her veins.

“Aemond Targaryen,” she called out, her voice like ice, cutting through the tense air. “For the blood you’ve spilled this day, you shall answer with your own. Face me, if you dare.”

Aemond’s sneer faltered, his bravado flickering as he sensed the gravity of her challenge. But his pride would not allow him to show fear. “If it is justice you seek, then come claim it,” he retorted, raising his sword once more, his stance poised and ready. Visenya advanced with careful steps, her grip tightening on Dark Sister. She swung the blade with a calculated ferocity, testing Aemond's guard. He deflected her strike, the sound of clashing steel reverberating through the hall. The onlookers gasped, their breaths caught in anticipation.

Aegon finally broke through the crowd, his face ashen with dread. “Visenya, cease this folly!” he implored, but he knew from the resolute set of her jaw that she would not be swayed. “This is his trap—he seeks to undo you!” But Visenya could not hear him. Her mind was a storm, her soul burning with vengeance. She swung again, with more force this time, each strike driving Aemond back. He parried her blows, but there was a growing panic in his eyes. She could see the cracks forming in his composure.

“Your words are wind, Aemond,” she hissed, her voice trembling with controlled rage. “You have slain my father, but now you face a dragon’s wrath.”

She pressed forward, driving Aemond to the edge of the circle formed by the crowd. He tried to strike back with a quick jab, aiming for her side, but she twisted away with a grace born of years of practice. Her counter was swift—a powerful swing that nearly took his head. He ducked just in time, but not without losing his balance. Aemond’s confidence began to waver. He struck out wildly, hoping to catch her off guard, but she met each strike with a precise parry. She felt a strange calm wash over her—every move came to her as if guided by a force beyond her. She sidestepped another desperate slash and delivered a deep cut across his arm. Aemond let out a cry, his sword faltering in his hand.

The crowd gasped, pulling back. Visenya did not relent. She advanced with Dark Sister poised, ready to strike again. “Yield!” she commanded, her voice sharp and commanding. “Yield, and I may yet let you leave this hall alive.” Aemond's face twisted in rage and desperation. He looked around, hoping for a lifeline, but found none. The Kingsguard stood at the ready, but they were bound by honor, their eyes flitting between Visenya and Aemond.

With a snarl, he dropped his sword, clutching his bleeding arm. “Enough!” he spat, his eyes seething with hate. “I yield.”

Visenya stood over him, her breath ragged, Dark Sister raised. For a moment, it seemed she might deliver the final blow. But then, with a deep, steadying breath, she lowered the blade, her chest heaving from exertion and emotion. She turned to the Kingsguard, her voice cold as winter steel. “Take him away. See that he does not escape the justice still owed to him.” The Kingsguard moved in swiftly, hauling a defiant Aemond to his feet. His eyes burned with resentment, but he knew better than to resist. As they led him away, he shot a venomous glare at Visenya, but she met it with a gaze of unyielding resolve.

Visenya’s grief nearly buckled her to her knees but Aegon caught her by the shoulder, “Visenya, please, be careful. You could have joined your father in death.” Her eyes widened as she saw her father’s blood in her periphery, she handed Daemon the sword and rushed back to her father who was being cradled by her mother. The fire was fading from his eyes as Laenor took one last look at his daughter, cupping her face one more time, “M-my, brave girl, I will always be…”, he said as he placed a trembling finger on her heart, “Right here.” The crowd dissipated with the commotion and Visenya’s brothers came to view. Although she did not want to abandon her father, she rushed to Joffrey and embraced him to spare him from the awful sight. Jacaerys and Lucerys looked on with horror, unable to move while Baela and Rhaena looked away.

“Jace, Luke, I need you to help mother for me please,” Visenya begged and the two nodded and rushed to their mother and held her close as they said their goodbyes to their father. Visenya felt a hand on her shoulder as she carried Joffrey away, making sure to cover his eyes. “Daemon,” she said, the touch familiar on her shoulder, “Is this what you meant?”

She looked to Daemon and he saw tears streaming down her face.

Visenya’s voice was steady, but her eyes burned with tears that fell freely down her cheeks. Daemon looked at her, his face stern and unreadable. He had seen death before, many times over, but this was different. This was family—this was blood. He nodded slowly, his own gaze dark and somber.

“Yes, Visenya,” he replied, his voice low. “This is what I meant. Blood demands blood. There is no other way in our world.” Visenya’s grip tightened on Joffrey, her little brother trembling in her arms. She could feel his tears soaking into her dress, his small hands clutching her for comfort. She wished she could shield him from this cruelty, but she knew better. “I understand now,” she whispered, her voice thick with grief and resolve. “There will be no peace for us, will there?”

Daemon’s silence was answer enough. He reached out and placed a hand on her head, a rare gesture of comfort from the Rogue Prince. “You are your father’s daughter,” he said softly. “And you have his strength. But remember, Visenya, strength alone will not save you in this game. You must be clever, always one step ahead.”

She nodded, feeling a coldness settle in her bones. “I will be.”

She turned her gaze back to her father’s still form, where her brothers and mother knelt, mourning. Jacaerys and Lucerys held Rhaenyra close, their faces streaked with tears. Rhaena and Baela stood nearby, their faces set in stone, trying to be strong for their cousins.

Aegon stepped beside Visenya, his face drawn with worry and concern. “Visenya,” he began, his voice gentle, “you should rest. This... this is a lot to bear.”

Visenya shook her head, determination settling in her expression. “No. There’s no time for rest, Aegon. We must prepare. Aemond’s actions today cannot go unanswered.” “But he yielded,” Aegon said cautiously. “You’ve bested him. Isn’t that enough?” Visenya shook her head and answered carefully, “I know you have no love for your mother but I love my father with all my heart. Aemond provoked him and killed him because he was different, all because my father loved differently. Nothing could ever be enough.” Aegon nodded as Rhaena approached them, she took Joffrey from Visenya’s arms and said, “This is not the way to spend your night as husband and wife, go..have some rest.”

Aegon took Visenya’s hand in his as her handmaidens led her to their chambers. He could feel her tremble with every step as they neared and when the doors swung open and swung close, they were utterly alone. Visenya let go of his hand and prompted him to look away as she said, “I need to undress-“

“Alright,” Aegon said, even if an overwhelming surge of curiosity hit him. Faintly, he could see the silhouette of her bare body through the metal of a decorative shield on the wall. His cheeks flushed and he was burning up like he’d been placed into a boiling bath. “Aegon,” she said softly and he turned around and she was abed, her body covered by the blankets and her jewellery and clothing a pile on the floor. He nodded and decided to undress as well, Visenya immediately looking away.

Finally, they joined each other on the bed, staring at the ornate ceiling that gave it shade.  Aegon settled beside Visenya on the bed, his heart beating fast, a mix of anticipation and nerves coursing through him. The silence stretched between them, filled with the unspoken emotions of the day. The events that had brought them here—grief, vengeance, and duty—now gave way to this quiet, vulnerable moment.

Visenya’s breath was shallow, and she stared up at the ceiling, her face half-lit by the flickering candlelight. She had always been strong, her resolve unwavering, but now, lying beside her husband for the first time, she felt an unexpected flutter of anxiety. She turned her head slightly to look at Aegon, her voice barely a whisper, “What was it like….your-”

“It was at a pleasure house, the woman was much older than me and she did everything as I watched in awe, since then, I could never stop visiting the place…fucking a different woman every night,” Aegon explained, unable to let himself gaze upon Visenya’s beauty, it was too pure too innocent. “Did it….feel good?” she asked and Aegon furrowed his brother, “It did, it was pure ecstasy, but I used it as an escape. I used it to forget who I was, I used it to forget what I was to be.”

Visenya listened to Aegon’s words, her eyes searching his face for the truth behind them. She could see the shadows there, the weight of his past decisions and the regrets that came with them. His honesty surprised her, and in that honesty, she found a flicker of understanding. She turned her body slightly to face him, her head propped on one hand. “I want to forget, please…help me forget.”

Aegon’s gaze softened as he looked into Visenya’s eyes, her words echoing in the quiet of the room. He could see the raw vulnerability in her, a stark contrast to the fierce warrior she had been earlier that day.

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice low and sincere. “I do not wish to hurt you .”

Visenya nodded, her expression determined but tinged with a fragile sort of courage. “I’m sure,” she whispered. “I want this. I want… to feel something else, something other than the pain of today.” Aegon’s heart tightened at her words. He could see the depth of her hurt, and he wanted to be a source of comfort for her—a safe place where she could let go of the weight she carried. He could never understand her pain because held little affection for his mother and father…but he would help her carry the burden. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tender kiss. It was gentle, almost tentative, as if asking for permission to proceed.

Visenya responded, her lips parting slightly, and she leaned into the kiss, her body pressing closer to his. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and for a moment, she allowed herself to get lost in the sensation, to forget the world outside these walls. Aegon’s hands moved carefully, tracing the curve of her waist, the smooth line of her back, his touch feather-light as if she might break. He could feel her muscles relax beneath his fingers, the tension slowly melting away. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers with more urgency, a silent promise to be what she needed in this moment.

Visenya’s hands found his shoulders, gripping them with a surprising strength as she kissed him back. There was a hunger there, a desperation that came from more than just physical desire—it was a need to feel alive, to reclaim something that had been lost. She clung to him, as if holding on to a lifeline. “Then let us forget together,” Aegon murmured against her lips, his breath warm on her skin. His hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “Let us make this moment ours, just for tonight.” He kissed her neck and sucked on her supple skin, earning a moan that made his cock harden. His hands travelled down from her neck to fondle her breasts, moaning as he took her lips in his again. Aegon’s head was in the clouds, gods he had dreamed of her and her body under his felt like a dream itself.  Visenya's breath quickened as Aegon’s kiss deepened. She felt his lips move against hers with a growing hunger that mirrored her own need to escape, to lose herself in the here and now.

His touch was both comforting and burned like fire. She could feel the heat between them, the way his body responded to hers, and she welcomed it. She wanted to feel something other than grief; she wanted to be close to him, to feel alive in this moment. Aegon’s hand slid up her back, pulling her closer still, and she felt her own hands move instinctively, running over the muscles of his arms and shoulders. She could sense his restraint, the way he held himself back, careful not to overwhelm her. It was a tenderness she hadn’t expected, but it was exactly what she needed. His lips left hers and moved to her neck, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses along her skin. Visenya closed her eyes, letting out a soft sigh, her fingers tangling in his hair. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, his lips tracing a line down to her collarbone.

Aegon’s kisses trailed down to her breast and he swirled his tongue around a nipple and whispered against it, “Gods, they are perfect.” Visenya couldn’t help the moans that were escaping her lips as Aegon devoured her breasts, each lick and each suck sent a shiver down her spine. His tongue darted to trace every inch of her nipple and his lips sucked them in succession like an unending rhythm of pleasure. His fingers squeezed her hips then travelled down to play with her folds, earning another moan that satisfied Aegon. He smirked against her nipple, “So wet for me already, and to think that a few moons ago…you would have me beheaded if you could. Now here you are, moaning…almost begging for my touch.”

Visenya's breath hitched at Aegon's words, a mix of embarrassment and desire washing over her. She could feel his smirk against her skin, his breath warm as he teased her with his tongue and his words. A soft blush colored her cheeks, but her body betrayed her, arching into his touch. "You talk too much," she whispered, her voice breathy, but she couldn't deny the truth of his words or the way they made her body respond.

Aegon's fingers continued their slow, deliberate exploration, brushing over her wet folds with a feather-light touch that left her breathless. He took his time, enjoying the way she shivered under his hands, the way her hips moved of their own accord, seeking more of him. "Perhaps," he murmured against her breast, his lips curling into a grin, "but you love it, you always like being defied by me?”

Visenya’s body answered for her, a soft moan escaping her lips as his fingers dipped inside her, exploring her warmth with an aching slowness that made her toes curl. She could feel the tension building within her, the fire of her desire burning hotter with each passing moment. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, her nails digging into his skin as if grounding herself amidst the pleasure coursing through her veins. "Aegon..." she gasped, her voice a mix of frustration and need. He relished the way she said his name, her breath hitching, her body trembling under his touch. It was a sound he wanted to hear again and again. "What is it, wife?" he asked, his voice husky with amusement. His fingers moved with more purpose now, finding a rhythm that had her breath coming in shallow gasps. He leaned down to capture her lips again, swallowing her moans as he continued to play with her, his thumb finding the sensitive bud at the apex of her folds, rubbing it in slow, agonizing circles.

Visenya's body arched off the bed, her breath catching in her throat. She was lost in a whirlwind of sensation, her mind fogged with pleasure and need. She wanted more of him, all of him, and she wasn’t afraid to ask for it. "Aegon... please," she managed to whisper against his lips, her voice a plea. Aegon’s eyes darkened with lust at her words, his own restraint hanging by a thread. He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking with hers. "Please what?" he teased softly, his fingers pausing their movements just enough to make her squirm. He wanted to hear her say it, wanted her to take control of this moment, to claim what she wanted.

Visenya’s patience snapped, and she grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand back to where she needed him most. "Do. Not. stop," she commanded, her voice fierce and desperate. "I need you." Aegon's grin widened, a mix of pride and satisfaction lighting up his face. "As my lady commands," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her deeply, his fingers resuming their ministrations with renewed intensity. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her breath coming in rapid, uneven pants as he pushed her closer to the edge. She was lost in the sensation, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. She could feel the pressure building, her body coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap. And then, with a sudden, overwhelming rush, she shattered around him, a cry escaping her lips as waves of pleasure rolled through her, leaving her trembling and gasping for breath.

Aegon watched her, mesmerized by the sight of her unraveling beneath him. He felt his own desire reaching a fever pitch, and he could not hold back any longer. His cock was so hard that it touched his abdomen, leaking at the sound of her moans and the sight of her ruined by him. He positioned himself between her thighs, his lips brushing against hers as he whispered, “I will make you see stars, and you will forget,” before thrusting into her in one smooth motion. Visenya's eyes widened at the sudden fullness, her body still sensitive from her release, but the pleasure of having him inside her was undeniable. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and Aegon groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as he began to move. Their bodies found a rhythm, a desperate, hungry pace that spoke of both longing and solace. Her walls squeezed his cock and it took every fibre of his being to not give in to his release. She just felt too good.

They moved together, the room filled with the sound of their breaths, their whispered names, and the primal rhythm of their bodies. Aegon held her close, his hands roaming her body, his lips finding her skin wherever they could. He was lost in her, in the way she felt, the way she looked at him with those fiery eyes that spoke of both passion and strength. Visenya could barely utter a word, his cock was hitting a sweet spot that even she did not understand and her eyes were seeing stars at the animalistic pace he had set. His hand snaked its way to her throat, holding her down as he said, “Look at you, all ruined because of my cock.” As his grip tightened, Aegon was surprised as Visenya let out a moan and now his restraint had snapped. He leaned down and kissed Visenya as he gave one final thrust and released into her and Visenya moaned into the kiss, reaching her own high. Aegon collapsed beside her, his hand gently caressing her cheek and his breath ragged. “Visenya," he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with emotion, "you are everything."

Visenya kissed him this time, her lips trembling as they met his. A part of her still hesitated, a small voice in the back of her mind questioning the intensity of her desire. It was unlike her to feel so unmoored, so consumed by need. She had always been so sure of herself, so controlled—but now, with Aegon’s warmth pressed against her, his breath mixing with hers, all her certainties seemed to melt away.

She pulled back for a moment, her gaze searching his, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She feared how much she wanted this—how much she wanted him. What if it was a mistake? What if it changed everything between them? Yet, as she looked at him, she saw the same hunger mirrored in his gaze, the same longing she felt deep within her bones. And that scared her even more. But the fear, the doubt—it didn’t stop her. Instead, it fueled her. She leaned in again, more determined this time, her lips moving with a newfound urgency. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her fingertips, his breath hitching against her mouth, and it sent a thrill through her. She wanted to lose herself in him, to feel him again, to forget the rest of the world, if only for this moment. She needed this—needed him—even if it terrified her.

___

Alicent’s footsteps echoed through the cold, dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep as she and Otto made their way towards the cells. The weight of the day’s events hung heavily on her, and the chill in the air seemed to mirror the coldness in her heart. Otto walked beside her, his expression stoic but his eyes betraying the same concern that troubled Alicent.

They reached the cell where Aemond was being held. The guard stationed outside nodded to them, unlocking the heavy iron door with a creak. Alicent's breath misted in the frigid air as she stepped inside, her gaze falling upon her son, who sat slumped against the far wall. His face was bruised and bloodied, his eyes glazed with a mixture of pain and despair.

“Aemond,” Alicent said softly, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady. “How are you?”

Aemond looked up, his expression a mix of defiance and sorrow. “I’m fine, Mother,” he said hoarsely, though the strain in his voice told a different story. “It’s nothing I have not endured before. I did lose an eye” Otto stepped closer, his eyes scanning the condition of his grandson. “You have been through a considerable amount” he said gruffly. “But you need to be strong now more than ever.” Aemond's gaze met Otto's, and there was a flicker of something—perhaps anger, perhaps resignation. “I did not  expect anything less from you, Grandfather. But do not think for a moment that I’m broken. I’ll recover.”

Alicent knelt beside Aemond, her heart aching at the sight of him. “You are not broken, Aemond. But you must understand the gravity of what has happened today. There are consequences—repercussions for your actions.” Aemond’s eyes narrowed. “I did what was necessary. You think I do not know what is at stake? This is about securing our future. Aegon’s loyalties are to Visenya, if they produce an heir then they further secure Rhaenyra’s line!”

Otto’s face tightened. “And what of the future of our family? Do you think this bloodshed will bring us the peace we need? You must be more careful, Aemond. Recklessness is costly.” Alicent placed a hand on Aemond’s shoulder. “We need you to be wise. The bloodshed must stop, and we must find a way to move forward. Can you do that?”

Aemond’s gaze softened slightly, but there was still a hard edge to his eyes. “I will do whatever it takes. But the others will not forget what has happened. They will come for us. We must be ready.” Alicent and Otto exchanged a glance. Alicent’s face was a mask of determination, while Otto’s was lined with the worry of a grandfather who had seen too much turmoil. “We will be ready,” Alicent said firmly. “But you must heal first. We need you strong and clear in mind”

Aemond nodded, his jaw set with resolve. “I will be ready. I promise.”

As Alicent and Otto left the cell, the heavy door closing behind them with a resounding thud, they were both lost in their thoughts. The future was uncertain, and the price of survival was steep. But they had to remain steadfast, for the sake of their family and the realm. In the shadows of the cell, Aemond sat quietly, his mind racing with the implications of the day’s events. He knew that whatever came next would require more than just physical strength—it would require cunning, strategy, and perhaps, most of all, the ability to outmanoeuvre those who sought to bring them down.

Chapter Text

Visenya looked upon the burning body of her father, her face pale and drawn, her eyes fixed on the flames that consumed him. The fire crackled and roared, its heat licking her skin, but she barely felt it. Her father was gone, and this pyre was his final farewell to the world—a world that had never truly understood him.

Her mother, Rhaenyra, stood at the front, closest to the flames, her face streaked with tears that seemed never to stop. She had been inconsolable for days, her grief so raw and unyielding that it felt like a physical weight pressing down on all of them. Her mother could barely even tell Syrax to burn the body and Visenya knew it all too well. Her mother’s cries were heard through the keep, constantly muttering how she was to blame.  Daemon, usually detached, was firmly by her side, his hand on her shoulder, his face a mask of stoic resolve. Yet even he could not hide the tightness in his jaw.

Visenya felt Aegon’s hand clasping hers, anchoring her as she stared ahead. She hadn’t realized she was trembling until she felt the steadiness of his grip. She glanced at him, her breath hitching, and found him watching her, his face a mix of concern and quiet strength. “Visenya-“

“All I can feel is wrath, I want Aemond’s head on a pike,” Visenya said as the tears finally flowed down from her face, biting her lip and almost drawing blood. “Whatever you need, I will help you, I have no love for my brother, he is consumed by the injustice with his eye,” Aegon said as he watched the fire burn even brighter, imagining how the blood of old Valyria burned with the flames in their deaths. He watched as Visenya’s eyes followed the dance of the flames, watching as her father’s body begin to reduce to ash. Seasmoke, Laenor’s dragon, cried in agony as he circled around the sky while Syrax looked at her rider, seemingly feeling her grief.

Rhaenys’ tears ran like a waterfall as she attended another funeral of her own child, both her children reduced to ash and made to join the sea. She clutched onto Corlys as she tried her best to keep her composure. Visenya’s grief overwhelmed her and brought her to her grandmother Rhaenys who immediately brought her into a hug. Rhaenys’ eyes were fixed on the Hightowers who clearly wore false grief on their faces. She watched with fury as Aemond looked on with satisfaction even when he was bound by chains and surrounded by guards.

Visenya’s eyes followed Rhaenys’ gaze, and she too saw the mockery in Aemond’s expression. Even in chains, with guards surrounding him, his lips curled into a slight, cruel smile. It was a look that sent a jolt of rage through her, like ice spreading through her veins. How dare he? How dare he find satisfaction in this, in her father’s death, in their suffering? The embers of her wrath flared, and she had to clench her jaw to keep from screaming. She clutched her grandmother’s hand, feeling Rhaenys’ grip tighten in response—a silent understanding of shared fury. “We will have justice,” Visenya whispered, her voice low but fierce. She wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular, but those near enough could hear the steel in her tone. “Aemond will pay for this. For everything.”

Rhaenys nodded and whispered, “As your grandmother, I urge you to be careful. As a mother, I beg you to burn his soul and let the gods decide where its wretchedness belongs.”

As the funeral rites concluded, the fire consuming Laenor’s body began to die down, reduced to glowing embers and ash. The sky was thick with smoke, and the scent of burning flesh still clung to the air, heavy and acrid. Those gathered began to disperse slowly, their faces a mix of grief and wary tension. The tension, however, hung thick in the air, coiling tighter with every passing moment, especially as the Hightowers and their entourage lingered. Jacaerys stood near the front, his face flushed with anger, his jaw clenched so tightly that it was a wonder his teeth did not shatter. He had been silent throughout the ceremony, but now his eyes were locked on Aemond, who still wore that infuriating smirk, even as the guards held him tightly in chains. Aemond’s gaze darted from Rhaenyra’s tear-streaked face to Jace’s simmering rage, and his smirk deepened, taunting.

The tension between the two young men was palpable, like a taut bowstring ready to snap. Visenya could see it clearly, feel it in the air. She knew her brother well enough to know when he was about to explode. She took a step forward, but Aegon’s grip on her hand tightened, holding her back.

“Let him,” Aegon whispered softly. “He needs this.” His tone was careful, but there was an understanding there, a recognition of the need for a release that they all felt. Jace’s fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. His dark eyes bore into Aemond’s, his chest heaving with barely restrained fury. “How dare you?” he hissed, his voice low and trembling with rage. “How dare you stand here and mock us after what you have done? You murdered my father!”

Aemond’s smirk didn’t waver. “What I have done?” he replied mockingly, his tone dripping with false innocence. “I defended my honor. Your father was a degenerate. His death was a mercy—to him and to the realm.” The words were like a spark to tinder. Jace lunged forward, his face contorted with fury, and for a moment, it seemed as if nothing could stop him from tearing Aemond apart. “You bastard!” he roared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. He managed to land a solid punch on Aemond’s jaw before the guards stepped in, pulling him back.

Aemond staggered but quickly regained his footing, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His smile was gone now, replaced by a glare of cold fury. “You are just like your father,” he spat. “Weak. Pathetic.”

Daemon, who had remained at Rhaenyra’s side, took a step forward, his hand subtly moving to the hilt of Dark Sister. His eyes, dark and dangerous, were fixed on Aemond, but he didn’t move any further. Rhaenyra, sensing his intent, touched his arm, holding him back. “Not now,” she whispered through her tears, though her own eyes were filled with a deep, burning hatred. Visenya let go of Aegon and grabbed her brother and held him back, commanding, “Stand down Jacaerys! We do not deal with scum, comport yourself!”

Jacaerys struggled in Visenya's grasp, his fury still boiling over. His chest heaved with anger, and his eyes burned with the desire to strike again. “He murdered our father!” Jace spat, his voice raw with emotion, his gaze locked onto Aemond as if he could kill him with a stare alone. “I will not let him stand here and insult his memory.” Visenya tightened her hold on her brother, her voice low and fierce, carrying the weight of a command. “I know what he did,” she said, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade. “And he will answer for it, I promise you that. But not like this. Not here.”

Aemond watched the siblings, his lips curling into a twisted smile as he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Listen to your sister, Jacaerys,” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. “You would not want to add to her grief by dying in front of her, would you?”

Visenya's eyes snapped to Aemond, and the rage she had been holding back flared like the very flames that had consumed her father. “Keep talking, Aemond, and I will gladly add your ashes to those of my father,” she warned, her voice cold as winter steel.

Aemond's smirk faltered for a brief moment, replaced by a flash of something darker—perhaps a recognition that he had pushed too far. But it was fleeting. His arrogance quickly resurfaced. “Bold words from a woman with a drunkard and whore husband and is nothing but a pawn in this game,” he sneered. “I look forward to the day you try.”

“Do not test me Aemond, count yourself fortunate that I had not killed you then and spared your life,” Visenya said with a smirk, “And that is not because I give you mercy, I wish for every bone, every fragment of your skin to feel pain sear through you until you cannot bear it any longer.”

Visenya felt Jace tense beneath her grip, but she squeezed his arm tightly, willing him to stay put. “He wants you to break,” she whispered harshly to Jace. “He wants you to be rash and give him reason to strike. Don’t give him that satisfaction.”

Jace's breathing slowed as her words sank in, and he reluctantly nodded, stepping back but not without glaring daggers at Aemond. “This is not over,” he muttered. “One day, you will pay for what you have done.”

Aemond’s eye gleamed with malicious amusement. “I’ll be waiting,” he replied smoothly, his chains rattling as he adjusted his stance.

Meanwhile, Daemon's hand still hovered over Dark Sister’s hilt, his eyes never leaving Aemond. His body was coiled tight like a viper, ready to strike. But Rhaenyra’s presence kept him in check, though her own face was a mask of fury and grief. She looked at Aemond with a hatred that promised vengeance far beyond mere words.

As the tension hung heavy in the air, Corlys Velaryon stepped forward, his voice carrying the authority that had commanded fleets. “Enough of this madness!” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the courtyard. “The dead deserve peace, and we dishonor them with this display.”

There was a moment of silence, a heavy pause where the only sound was the crackling of the dying flames and the low, mournful cries of the dragons above. Then, slowly, the gathered crowd began to pull back, recognizing that any further escalation would end in bloodshed. The guards tightened their hold on Aemond, who finally dropped his mocking grin, his face hardening into a mask of cold indifference.

Visenya released her grip on Jace, her body trembling with restrained fury. She turned to Aegon, who had stayed close, his eyes watching her intently. “He will answer for this,” she said quietly, her voice firm. “I swear it.”

Aegon nodded, his expression solemn. “He will,” he agreed. “And when he does, I will be by your side.”

__

Rhaenyra sat on the edge of her bed, her body trembling as she tried to suppress the sobs that threatened to break free. She had barely made it back to her chambers after the funeral rites, her steps heavy with the weight of grief. Her father's death had shattered her, leaving her feeling more alone than ever. She stared blankly at the flickering candles, their light casting shadows on the walls, a stark contrast to the darkness that seemed to engulf her heart.

Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door, breaking the fragile silence. It was not the gentle, hesitant knock of a servant, but a hurried, almost frantic rapping that echoed through the room. Rhaenyra wiped at her tears hastily, her brow furrowing in confusion. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, to reclaim some semblance of composure. “Enter,” she called out, her voice shaky and strained.

The door swung open, and Daemon strode in, his face etched with a mixture of concern and urgency. His usual composed demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw intensity that Rhaenyra had only seen a few times before. “Rhaenyra,” he began, his voice low but insistent, “we need to talk.”

Rhaenyra turned away, not wanting him to see the full extent of her broken state. “I have nothing to say,” she replied, her tone weary. “Leave me to my grief, Daemon.”

But Daemon was not so easily dismissed. He crossed the room in quick strides and knelt before her, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I know you are in pain,” he said, his voice softer now, though still laced with urgency. “I feel it too. But we cannot fall apart. Not now. Not when they are circling us like vultures, waiting for us to show weakness.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, and a flash of anger momentarily broke through her sorrow. “And what would you have me do?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Stand before them all, pretend like I do not feel as though my very soul has been ripped from me? Laenor is dead, Daemon! Murdered in front of my very eyes! And I was powerless to stop any of it!”

Daemon’s eyes flickered to one of the tables in her room and noticed that the goblets of wine he had offered her during the past few nights have remained untouched. His brows furrowed as he watched Rhaenyra settle into a chair, unusually tired. “Rhaenyra, you have not touched any of the wine, what is troubling you?”

“I have lost the taste for it,” Rhaenyra tried to reason and Daemon shook his head then pressed on, “Do not lie to me, I know when you lie Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened, and a flicker of anger cut through her sorrow. “And what would you have me do, tell them the truth that my husband did not love me the way a husband should love a wife?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Stand before them all, pretend like I do not feel as though my very soul has been ripped from me? Laenor is dead, Daemon! Gone from my life forever, and the realm knows only half the truth of it!”

Daemon’s gaze softened, but a puzzled frown settled on his face. “What are you saying, Rhaenyra?” he asked cautiously. “What truth?”

For a moment, she was silent, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. She looked away, her eyes focusing on the row of untouched goblets of wine that lined the table, her lips trembling. “I did not just lose a husband, Daemon,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I lost a friend, a confidant... a man who loved another man and could not bear the judgment of it any longer.” Daemon's eyes widened, understanding dawning. “Qarl,” he muttered, his tone low. “They planned to escape together.”

Rhaenyra nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Yes. They were supposed to run away together, far from the eyes of this wretched court that sneered at them both. Laenor could no longer stand the whispers, the mocking after Aemond revealed their secret to all of the nobility. He wanted a life where he could love freely. He asked me for one last favor before he left—to give him a child. A child that he and Qarl could raise as their own.”

“He asked you to give him a child that he could raise with his lover?,” Daemon asked.

Rhaenyra’s face crumpled, her tears flowing more freely now. “Yes,” she confessed. “How could I deny him that? For all the duty he fulfilled, the sacrifices he made for my claim, he deserved at least this. He gave me heirs and loved our children fiercely. A child of his own blood to love and raise with his true love, away from the scorn of those who would never understand.”

Daemon’s eyes flickered back to the untouched goblets of wine, realization dawning. “You are with child” he said quietly, a note of surprise in his voice. She nodded, her hand moving to her belly, where a new life stirred within her. “I am,” she whispered. “I felt it for some time and wanted to tell Laenor the good news, but I kept it to myself to be sure that I would not lose it. I could not bear to speak of it, not with everything else... and now, with him gone, I do not know what to do. This child was meant to be a part of their new life, their happiness.”

Daemon’s face tightened, a mix of shock and something deeper—an understanding of the complications this would bring. He stared at Rhaenyra, searching her eyes, which were filled with both despair and uncertainty. “And now?” he asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What do you wish to do?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes fluttered closed, her hand still resting on her belly. “I do not know,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “This child was meant to be a gift, a chance for Laenor and Qarl to have the family they were denied. But now...”

She took a shaky breath, her tears threatening to fall again. “Without Laenor, without the life he dreamed of, I fear what this child’s future will be. They will carry his blood, his name, but without him, they are already surrounded by shadows.”

Daemon reached out, his hand closing over hers, firm but tender. “This child is not just his, Rhaenyra. They are yours too. And no child of yours will be left to shadows and whispers. All your children bear the striking resemblance of Laenor, this child will be no different, they cannot possibly claim it to be a bastard.” His voice grew stronger, more resolute. “We will not let them use this against you. If this child is to be born, they will have a place—an honoured place. I will see to it.”

Rhaenyra opened her eyes, her gaze meeting his. “But what of the whispers? The Hightowers will pounce at the first sign of weakness, and they will not be kind. They never are. And Alicent… Aemond... they will seek to use this, to undermine me, to turn everyone against us. They will find the truth of the child and undermine my claim by telling the court how I supported  Laenor’s desires. How could I deny it when they ask me? I could never make him traitor when he never betrayed me.”

Suddenly a knock resounded through her bed chambers yet again. The knock at the door came again, more insistent this time. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a wary glance before she called out, “Enter.”

The door opened to reveal Rhaenys, her face lined with exhaustion but her posture straight and commanding as ever. She stepped into the room with a measured grace, her gaze moving from Rhaenyra to Daemon and back again. Her eyes lingered on Rhaenyra’s hand, resting protectively over her belly, and her expression hardened, a mix of sorrow, understanding, and caution.

“You are with child,” Rhaenys said, her voice steady but edged with the sharpness of someone who had been watching, piecing together the truth from the shadows. She had always known her son, Laenor, loved differently, and she had seen the signs in Rhaenyra, the subtle changes in her demeanor, the way she had shielded her midsection. “I could see it in you long before now.”

Rhaenyra’s lips parted in surprise, but she quickly recovered, nodding. “Yes,” she confessed softly, her eyes meeting Rhaenys’s. “It is Laenor’s child. It was his last wish before he planned to leave with Qarl. He asked me to give him this one gift—a child of his blood, to carry his legacy in a way that court and politics would never allow.”

Rhaenys’s face remained stoic, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of deep, unspoken grief. “My son never wanted to live by their rules,” she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of years spent watching him struggle under the weight of expectations that were never truly his to bear. “He wished for a life where he could be free, where he would not have to hide who he truly was. Corlys, my dear husband, is always grasping for power and never understood Laenor. I opposed your betrothal at first because I knew it would not end well. Laenor would not love you as a husband should love a wife but then your children were brought onto this realm and he raised and loved them wonderfully. I thought everything would be perfectly fine and I knew in my heart that you knew what I knew and cared for him anyways.”

“And you, I could smell you intentions throughout the funeral,” Rhaenys pointed at Daemon, “You wish to take my son’s place, you always have. I see how you look at Rhaenyra and to take his place now when his body had only been freshly burned. It is an insult to my family.”

Daemon, who had been silently absorbing the tension, took a decisive step forward. His gaze was unwavering as he addressed Rhaenys, his voice firm and clear. “Rhaenys, I understand your grief and anger. I do not wish to diminish Laenor’s memory or insult his final wishes. But I am here to protect Rhaenyra and ensure that her child has a rightful place. I will marry her. I will cut off the tongues of any man or woman or being who wishes to slander Rhaenyra and Laenor.”

“Daemon, I did not agree to any of this-“

“Rhaenyra, do not deny yourself of a marriage that should take place,” Daemon said as his eyes softened at the tired sight of her.

Rhaenys watched the exchange with a pained but resigned expression. “And what of the whispers and the doubts that will surely follow?” she asked, her voice a mixture of caution and reluctant acceptance. “The Hightowers will seize any opportunity to undermine us.”

Rhaenys watched the exchange with a pained but resigned expression. “And what of Visenya?” she asked, her voice low with concern. “She is already married to Aegon, Alicent’s son. Given the current tensions, how can we be certain of his loyalty? The Hightowers will be watching closely, and Aegon’s allegiances are not always clear.”

Rhaenyra’s face tightened with worry. “I share your concern. Visenya’s marriage to Aegon was meant to secure an alliance, but the risks are real. Aegon’s loyalty has always been in question, and the court is treacherous. However, he has expressed numerous times of his lack of love for the greens.”

Daemon’s expression grew serious. “We will have to ensure that Visenya has the support she needs and that Aegon’s loyalties are firmly aligned with our cause. I will personally address this and make certain that any doubts are dispelled.” Rhaenys nodded, though her face remained a mask of cautious acceptance. “Then I will support this decision, though it wounds me deeply. We must safeguard both Rhaenyra and her child, as well as Visenya. The court will not show us mercy, and we must be vigilant.”

__

Aegon had been quietly watching as Visenya tried to calm her brother down, telling him to stand down and realise the consequences of those who are quick to anger. She looked so different when she was clad in black mourning clothes and the grief in her eyes was so evident and yet she remained strong for her brothers. All three of them had gathered in their bedchambers, sitting in front of the fireplace with Visenya’s instructions.

She held her brothers against her in a tight embrace and said, “We cannot fall apart because of them, do you understand? They want us to be angry, they want us to make mistakes but we will not. We must be strong for mother now that father is no longer with us.”

“Vivi?,” little Joffrey quietly asked as his equally vibrant eyes looked into hers, “Is it true that father didn’t love mother?” Visenya did her best to keep her composure as she said, “That is the furthest from the truth. Father loved mother in a special way and he loved all of us, death cannot take away his love for us.”

Jacaerys stared at the fire, his resolve hardening as he said, “Sister, I know the truth-.”

“And that should not change how you feel for father, he loved us, it did not change,” Cisenya quickly put an end to the thoughts that were rambling on his head. As Aegon watched on, he realised how detached he was from his own family. He never comforted his brothers nor his sister  nor did he receive comfort from his mother. This was all strange. Finally, when Visenya sent her brothers back to their own bedchambers, she walked up to him and noticed the furrowed look in his eyes.

She cupped his cheek and asked, “What troubles you?” Aegon sighed and took her hand away from his face then said, “Nothing, I just…I was just…it’s strange really, how close you are to your brothers.”  Visenya nodded and said as she too stared at the flames that Jacaerys once stared at, “Mother and father used to read us all stories before we slept, we would all share the same bed and it does not even seem that long ago when Joffrey was still in my mother’s belly. It was a time of peace, it was time of…”

“I am sorry,” Aegon spoke quickly, realising how Visenya’s life had quickly cascaded since he proposed a betrothal to her. Visenya’s lilac eyes left the flames, casting a warm glow on her figure as she took his hands in hers then said, “I overstepped, I made a mistake and you saved me, truly…I did not see it then but I see it now.”

Aegon shook his head again, refusing to meet her eyes as he replied, “My mother always told me that I was a mistake, and that I made mistakes and only made things for the worse. But why is it that when you call me your saviour, I am inclined to believe?” Visenya’s eyes softened at that, for a moment she understood why he always drunk wine and frequented pleasure houses, he did not think he was any better. Perhaps this is the kind of marriage she’d like to have, one with respect and companionship…just like her mother and father. She cupped his jaw with both her hands and brought him to a tender kiss, whispering against his lips, “You are not at fault. You threw a torch into a burning castle dear husband, there was no fire to light when it was already raging.”

Aegon’s eyes searched hers and he noticed her softness towards him. He touched his forehead against hers, aching for her touch as he said, “Your kindness towards me is unsettling, it has more taste and depth than the goblets of Westerosi wine I have.”  Visenya softly chuckled and said, “That is an interesting comparison, but do not pretend that we have not shared more than a mere kindness to one another other, we have-.”

“I know,” he said as he kissed Visenya’s nose then said, “But whatever we have shared, in the few nights we have been wed, it is out of respect and duty.”

“And what is troubling of that, my mother and father had a dutiful and respectful marriage Aegon, they were happy,” Visenya pointed out, letting go of Aegon and turning away from him. “They were amiable to each other Visenya, our marriage differs from your mother and father’s,” Aegon argued and Visenya swivelled so quickly that the fires of the hearth danced with her movement, “And what, pray tell, has possessed you to say this now?”

“It is because the difference is that your father cannot love women, he cannot love your mother like a man loves a woman. I love women, no…I can love a woman for the rest of my days, that can be you,” Aegon declared and Visenya stiffened at the thought as she said, “What are you-“

“Will you merely respect me, or will you cherish me?” Aegon asked, and it was all too much. Visenya did not have a malleable heart, it did not bend the way steel bent at the raging flames of dragon fire. She pursed her lip and said, “Is my respect not enough? I was forced into this marriage, forced to be bound to you, I could not even choose my own fate…it was chosen for me. You ask me too much Aegon.”

“I just want to know,” he said as he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, “That you would choose me when it all goes to peril and I need you.”

“What are you-“

“Visenya, my family wishes I was dead, is it so untoward if I wished that you would not wish that upon me,” Aegon pleaded, his eyes searching hers. Visenya never claimed to understand anything and nor did she claim to know Aegon completely, but even his violet eyes spoke so many words when none were even uttered. There was pain, torture, regret, and most of all..longing. Perhaps it was the way the fires danced when the pair were together and the walls always seemed warmer when they joined hands, but Visenya captured him into a kiss and whispered against them, “Fight for me, fight for my family, and I will always choose you.”

Aegon nodded and said, “Do you really think it will be a war that we have to fight, is it too much to ask that I want to have festivities instead?”

“It will be, but it does not have to be so bleak,’ Visenya said as she kissed him again, “Help me forget, please.” Aegon was not particularly fond of the word of forgetting but he would not refuse her touch, even when the intention was not what he wanted.

Aegon closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Visenya’s kiss wash over him. Her lips were soft, but her words were sharper than any blade he’d ever held. Fight for me. Fight for my family. The weight of those words pressed down on him, heavier than any crown. He could feel the desperation in her touch, the urgency of a woman caught between duty and desire, torn by loyalties and bound by blood.

As their lips parted, he gazed into her eyes, those stormy violet depths that had always left him breathless. “I will fight for you, Visenya,” he murmured, his voice low and almost lost between them. “My dragon and my blade are yours,” he added with a sigh, his forehead leaning against hers. “I wish for simpler things, for a life where I am not a pawn in their game.”

Visenya’s fingers traced the line of his jaw, a soft, soothing touch in contrast to the turbulent world around them. “I wish for that too, Aegon,” she said quietly, a hint of sadness in her voice. “But we were never given a choice in this game. You were born to it, and I was dragged into it. We must play our parts, or we will be torn apart.”

Aegon’s hands found her waist, drawing her closer. “Then let us make our own rules,” he said, his lips brushing against her ear. “If we must play, let it be on our terms, not theirs. Let’s find a way to end this without losing ourselves in it.”

Their lips met again, this time slower, more deliberate—a silent promise sealed between them. As the kiss deepened, the world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them, their breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison.

Aegon pulled back slightly, his hand moving to cradle her cheek. “I don’t want to forget, Visenya,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not us, not this. I want to remember every moment we steal for ourselves, every promise we make, every time we choose each other over the madness around us.” Visenya’s breath hitched, her resolve wavering. “Then remember this,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his once more, more fiercely this time, as if trying to imprint this moment into their very souls.

Aegon’s breath mingled with Visenya’s as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers with a slow, deliberate heat. His fingers found their way to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair that were like woven silver, pulling her in as though she were the only thing anchoring him to this treacherous world. For a moment, it felt as if they could block out the looming shadows of war, betrayal, and blood.

Visenya’s fingers tightened around the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer still, feeling his heart pounding against her own. She nipped at his lower lip, a teasing bite, and then let her lips drift to his ear, her breath hot as she whispered, “Prove it to me, Aegon. Prove that you’ll fight for me… for my family’s legacy.” Aegon’s grip tightened on her waist, his lips moving back to her neck, biting down lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue. “I’ll prove it every day,” he murmured, his voice rough with want. “But let me show you now.”

He moved her back against the wall, pressing her firmly between his body and the cold stone. His hands explored her curves, sliding up her thighs, lifting the fabric of her gown as his lips found hers once more, hungry and unyielding. She moaned softly against his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders, and he swallowed her sound like it was a lifeline, something to hold onto in a world threatening to tear them apart. His free hand carried her, forcing her to latch her legs around his waist as his other caressed her inner thigh, his fingers tracing a line to her cunt, already wet with wanting. Visenya moaned as his finger dipped into her warmth, her ealls clenching around it in desperation as he added another finger without warning, capturing her surprised moan with a kiss.

Aegon kissed her again then his lips trailed to her ear as he said, “Visenya Velaryon, you are mine, do you hear me?”

“Yes,” she moaned as he set an agonisingly slow pace, moaning in frustration, hoping his fingers would move faster. “Say it,” he commanded as he plunged his fingers deeper, earning a louder moan from Visenya, “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she breathed out as Aegon captured her lips in a kiss again while desperately removing his pants, freeing his cock that was straining hard in its confines. “Tell me if it hurts my darling,” he softly said as he lined his cock against her folds. Visenya huffed in impatience and said, “Stop being careful with me, ruin me.”

Aegon groaned at her words, a primal sound that sent a shiver down Visenya's spine. His control was slipping, and her demand for him to be rougher, to take her without restraint, was like fuel to the fire that burned between them. His hand tightened on her thigh, and with one swift thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, filling her completely. Visenya cried out, her back arching against the wall as she adjusted to his size. The sharpness of the initial stretch melted into a delicious burn that made her body hum with pleasure. Aegon didn't wait long, his hips pulling back only to drive into her again with a force that had her gasping. His pace was relentless, every thrust hard and purposeful, pushing her higher and higher toward the edge.

"Just like that," she breathed, her voice breaking with every movement. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her legs tightening around his waist, anchoring herself to him as he took her apart. His mouth found her neck, teeth scraping against her skin, marking her as his in a way that felt more powerful than any crown or title.

Aegon's breath was hot against her ear, each exhale a ragged pant of effort and desire. "You feel incredible," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "So perfect... so mine." He punctuated his words with another deep thrust, hitting a spot inside her that made her vision blur. She could feel him everywhere—filling her, claiming her, burning through every defense she had ever built. The room was filled with the sound of their bodies moving together, a frantic rhythm punctuated by her soft moans and his low growls. Visenya’s head fell back against the stone, her mind lost in the overwhelming sensation of him inside her, driving deeper, harder, as if he could bury himself so far into her that he’d never have to leave.

“Faster,” she gasped, her voice broken with need, and Aegon complied, his hips snapping against hers with a newfound intensity that bordered on desperation. She could feel herself unraveling, the pleasure coiling tight in her belly, threatening to consume her whole. Aegon’s hand found her chin, lifting her face to meet his gaze. His violet eyes were dark with lust, his lips parted as he panted. “Look at me when you come undone” he commanded, his voice rough but filled with an almost pleading need. “I want to see how I have ruined you”

The coil inside her snapped, and she shattered around him, her body clenching tight as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She held his gaze, her own eyes wide and unfocused as her orgasm tore through her, her cries filling the room. Aegon watched her, his own control slipping as her walls clenched around him, milking him for everything he had.

He groaned, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release, and with a few more rough pumps, he found it, spilling deep inside her with a growl of satisfaction. His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling as they both rode out the aftershocks, their bodies still locked together, unwilling to let go.

For a long moment, they simply held each other, her back still against the cold stone wall, their hearts pounding in sync, the world outside forgotten. Aegon brushed a damp strand of hair away from Visenya's face, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "You make me forget everything else," he murmured, his voice raw with honesty.

Visenya, still breathless and trembling, cupped his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "And you make me remember everything,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly, her lips lingering on his.

___

Weeks passed and the somber atmosphere of Laenor’s funeral transformed into the chill of a trial. The grand hall of the court had been transformed for Aemond's trial. The once-ornate space now felt oppressive, filled with an air of grim anticipation. The heavy tapestries on the walls seemed to absorb the tension that crackled in the air. The high seats of judgment, usually occupied by stern but impartial faces, were now a battleground of political and personal vendettas. Aemond, bound in chains, stood at the center of the hall. His attire, once regal, now looked disheveled, adding to his air of mockery. Despite the chains, his posture was one of defiant arrogance. His gaze swept over the assembled audience with a smirk that seemed to dare them to challenge him.

The trial began with the formalities observed by the court. King Viserys alongside his hand, Otto Hightower, called for order. “We are gathered here to determine the guilt or innocence of Prince Aemond Targaryen,” he intoned, his voice echoing off the high stone walls. “He stands accused of murder, among other charges.”

Visenya, Aegon, Rhaenyra, and Jacaerys sat at the front, their faces a mixture of grief and barely contained fury. They watched with eyes steely and unforgiving as the proceedings unfolded. Rhaenys, though grieving, stood close to them, her presence a reminder of the weight of their family's loss.

Rhaenyra began, presenting her case with a fervent determination. They detailed the events surrounding Laenor’s death, painting a vivid picture of the confrontation that had led to the tragedy. The evidence was damning: eyewitness accounts, testimonies from those who had seen Aemond’s aggression, and the aftermath of the violence.

Alicent, however, was equally skilled in her rhetoric. She argued that Aemond had only wished to defend himself, that the confrontation had been a chaotic and unplanned event. They claimed that any aggression on Aemond’s part was a response to Laenor’s perceived threat, a tragic outcome of a volatile situation rather than premeditated murder.

As Alicent made her case, Aemond himself took the liberties of speaking for himself. His demeanor was calm, almost serene. He recounted his version of events with practiced precision. “I was attacked,” he said, his voice steady. “I had no choice but to defend myself. I regret that it led to such a tragic outcome, but I acted to preserve myself.”

Visenya’s hands clenched into fists as she listened to Aemond’s calm, calculated responses. The smirk never left his face, even as the gravity of the situation became apparent. His ability to remain composed while dismissing the gravity of the charges was infuriating.

Rhaenyra questioned Aemond with a sharpness that cut through his defenses. “You speak of defending yourself,” she said, her voice tight with controlled anger. “But what of the injuries Laenor sustained? Why was there no attempt to stop the madness you were causing?”

Aemond’s response was a practiced evasion. “In the heat of the moment, actions are not always measured,” he replied. “My only concern was to protect myself.”

The trial continued with mounting tension as both sides presented their arguments. Witnesses were called, some supporting Aemond’s version of events, others contradicting it. The court was a whirlwind of conflicting testimonies and fierce arguments. Throughout the trial, the courtroom was divided. Supporters of the Hightowers, who had managed to secure their positions of power, cheered Aemond’s every defense, while those loyal to Rhaenyra and her family watched with growing anger and frustration. The atmosphere was thick with political intrigue and personal vendettas.

As the final arguments were made, the court was left to deliberate. The judgment was a foregone conclusion to those who had been following the proceedings closely. Despite the overwhelming evidence and the passionate pleas for justice, the court ruled in favor of Aemond’s innocence. The verdict was met with a storm of outrage. Visenya’s face was a mask of cold fury as the court declared Aemond free of all charges. The hall erupted into chaos, with many struggling to come to terms with the perceived injustice. Aemond’s smirk remained, now tinged with satisfaction.

As the court’s verdict echoed through the grand hall, Visenya’s fury could no longer be contained. The declaration of Aemond’s innocence felt like a brutal betrayal, a mockery of her father's memory and the pain her family had endured. Her breath came in shallow, ragged bursts as she stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the stone floor.

“This is an outrage!” she shouted, her voice piercing through the cacophony of voices. “How can they allow this travesty to stand?”

Aegon’s hand was on her arm, trying to calm her, but Visenya shook him off, her eyes blazing with anger. “Do you see him?” she demanded, pointing at Aemond, who stood with an infuriatingly self-satisfied smirk. “He is mocking us! Mocking my father’s death!”

Jacaerys, standing beside her, was equally unrestrained. His face was flushed, his eyes locked on Aemond. “This is not just a trial,” he said, his voice raw with rage. “It is a cruel joke! They have turned justice into a farce, and Aemond is reveling in it.” The chaos in the hall grew as supporters of Rhaenyra’s faction shouted their discontent. The clamor of voices rose, a tumultuous wave of indignation and disbelief. Some tried to reason with the guards, while others demanded a re-examination of the verdict.

Rhaenyra, her face pale but resolute, stepped forward. “We will not let this stand,” she declared, her voice cutting through the din. “We will gather those loyal to us and expose the full extent of this corruption.”

Visenya’s anger was a palpable force. She moved toward the front of the hall, her steps purposeful and determined. “Aemond!” she called out, her voice carrying over the noise. “You may have escaped judgment today, but your actions will not go unanswered. I swear to you, there will be consequences for this.”

Aemond’s smirk widened as he turned his gaze towards her. “Is that so?” he taunted. “You think your threats mean anything? The court has spoken, and I am free.”

Visenya’s eyes were filled with a fierce, unyielding resolve. “Your freedom is a mockery of justice,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “But we will make sure that you pay for what you’ve done. There are more ways to seek justice than through this corrupt court.” Rhaenys moved to Visenya’s side, her own face a mask of sorrow and resolve. She placed a calming hand on Visenya’s shoulder. “We must be strategic,” she said quietly, her voice firm but gentle. “We will fight this injustice, but we must gather our allies and plan our next steps carefully.”

As the hall gradually emptied, Visenya stood in the midst of the turmoil, her eyes fixed on Aemond's retreating figure. Aegon approached her, his expression a mixture of concern and fierce resolve. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch grounding her amidst the chaos. He kissed he forehead and said, “If you must fight him with sword and shield, I will be by your side.” Visenya nodded and kissed him on the lips then said, “Thank you, now, I am in dire need of wine.”

“I know where to find the best wine,” he said softly as he guided her out of the hall.

Alicent had quietly observed the pair and felt a twinge of guilt, perhaps her son had finally found someone who cared enough for him but all that she endured from Viserys could not have been for nothing. If she falters now, she will lose everything. In her mind, she wanted to fulfil her father’s wishes. In her mind, she often thought about Viserys’ crown and wondered what it would look like on her. Her thoughts were cut short when Aemond approacher her and said, “Mother, aren’t you glad to see me free of my chains.”

“Of course,” Alicent said in a plain tone and Aemond sighed at that then said, “Now, we must discuss our next course of action.”

Chapter Text

Daemon looked upon his decaying brother with so much disdain even when he respected him the most. He was weaning off of being drunk on milk of the poppy and sat up to acknowledge his brother with the help of the maesters then dismissed them. As the door shut, Viserys said, “You can speak freely dear brother.” Daemon laughed at that, “How can I speak freely, are you sure your conniving wife is not hidden behind somewhere, planning her next scheme to secure her lineage on the throne.”

“Daemon, do not speak in that manner of Alicent, she is a good queen-,” Viserys tried to reason and Daemon scoffed at that, “Good? Aemma was a good queen and you-“

“Do not speak of her, I have long buried her memories-,” Viserys tried to say and Daemon immediately cut him off, “Do not play me for a fool brother, you wear her ring, you still keep her gowns as if she will rise from the ashes alive and well. You do not think of Alicent when you bed her, you think of her. Has your disease truly blinded you so much that you do not see the mere treachery in letting Aemond walk free.”

“The court has spoke, the Hightowers have argued their case,” Viserys said as he clutched his damaged eye in pain, feeling the urge for milk of the poppy. Daemon shook his head, disappointment washing over him, “Laenor was your daughter’s husband, the daughter you had with Aemma. Rhaenyra, your daughter, your heir, or have you forgotten?” Viserys stiffened at that and said, “Of course I remember, Rhaenyra is my delight-“

“If she is your delight then why do you let your rulings and decisions hurt her. She barely eats, she never leaves her bedchambers,” Daemon said with such ferocity that Viserys caught onto his intentions, yet he let him speak. “She is with child brother, and her husband is dead, leaving her in a vulnerable position, you know that the realm wishes for a king and the Hightowers are desperate for that power," Daemon continued as he died his best to compose himself but the anger flowed through him like wildfire.

Viserys’s face softened, his breath shallow as he listened to his brother's words. The weight of the crown seemed to press down on him more heavily than ever. His hand, skeletal and trembling, rested on the arm of his chair, the fingers tapping nervously as if trying to grasp the right response. “I have always done what I believed was best for the realm, Daemon,” he said, his voice weakened by pain.

“Best for the realm?” Daemon scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “No, brother, you have done what was easiest. You let the snakes slither around you, whispering in your ear, while your own blood suffers. Rhaenyra is your heir. If you had any sense left, you would see that these ‘judgments’ are nothing but a move to strip her of what is rightfully hers.” Viserys's gaze faltered, and his eyes wandered to the dimly lit hearth, where the flames licked at the embers, casting long shadows across the room. “I have tried to keep the peace,” he murmured, almost to himself. “To keep this family from tearing itself apart. If I act against the Hightowers, I risk a war, a war that would tear the realm asunder.”

Daemon’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “The war is already here, Viserys. It’s in every corner of this godforsaken court. It’s in every false smile and whispered word. Aemond’s acquittal is just the beginning.” Viserys winced at Daemon's words, feeling the sharp truth in them. “What would you have me do?” he asked, his voice suddenly weary. “Execute Aemond? Kill my own son? Set the court ablaze with accusations and bloodshed?”

“Yes!” Daemon barked, his patience fraying like old rope. “If that’s what it takes to protect your daughter. You let them have this now, and they will see it as a sign of weakness. They will see that the king is too blind, too frail to stand up to them.”

Viserys’s eyes flashed with a rare spark of defiance. “I am not blind,” he said, his voice suddenly stronger, the tremor in his hand stilling. “I see everything, Daemon. I see the plotting, the ambition, the treachery. But I also see what war will bring—suffering, death, chaos. I have always seen more than what others see, I see what others cannot.”

“War is coming whether you want it or not,” Daemon growled. “Better to meet it on your own terms than be dragged into it like a sheep to slaughter. The realm needs strength, Viserys, not this indecisive passivity you call peace.”

“And what, pray tell, will you do to help Rhaenyra’s cause?” Viserys said as he groaned in pain.

“I will wed her, as I should have always had. She should have been my wife, not Laenor’s, but you would not allow it,” Daemon immediately answered.

Viserys's eyes widened at Daemon's words, a mix of shock and disbelief washing over his face. “Wed her?” he muttered, his voice strained with both pain and incredulity. “You are her uncle, Daemon. It is indecent, even by Targaryen standards. That is why I refused you.”

Daemon leaned forward, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “Indecent?” he echoed with a smirk. “You speak of decency, brother, in a realm where treachery thrives like weeds in a garden? The Hightowers are plotting at every corner to see their blood on the throne. You think they care for decency?” Viserys's face hardened, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Rhaenyra is grieving, Daemon. She is with child and has lost her husband. And you see this as a moment to... to take her?”

“No,” Daemon countered, his voice steady, almost calm. “I see it as a moment to protect her. To unite our blood and our cause. You know as well as I that the court will never allow her to rule alone. The realm whispers of her weakness now more than ever. But with me by her side, as her husband and protector, those whispers turn to silence.”

Viserys’s breath grew heavier, his mind whirling with conflicting emotions. “And what of her children?” he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and accusation. “What of Visenya, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey? What happens to them in your grand scheme?”

“They will remain as they are—her children, her heirs,” Daemon replied without hesitation. “But they will also be my children by law, under my protection. I will see to it that they are kept safe from the vultures circling around them. And when the time comes, they will rule as their mother intends. You know the power of our blood, Viserys. You know what it can do.”

“I will not allow it Daemon, I refused you then and I will refuse you now,” Viserys reaffirmed and Daemon shook his head, “I did not come here for your blessing, I came here so you would not be surprised when Rhaenyra presents children who do not bear the look of a Velaryon.”

“You bastard, have you no respect for me?” Viserys argued, “Have you no respect for your king?”

“No, not since you married that Hightower cunt who stops at nothing to bring about Rhaenyra’s demise,” Daemon angrily replied, knocking over a goblet in frustration.

Daemon’s expression remained calm, his eyes fixed on his brother with a steady intensity. “Laenor is gone,” he said coldly, “and the realm is already tearing itself apart over Rhaenyra’s judgment, doubting her for marrying Laenor because of his nature. You know it as well as I. They whisper, they scheme, they plot in the shadows. The Hightowers feed those rumours, strengthen them, all in their quest for power. This is not about dishonouring anyone; it is about survival.”

“Survival?” Viserys scoffed, his breath ragged and his eyes narrowing. “You speak of survival, yet you care only for your own ambitions. You’ve always cared only for yourself, Daemon. And now you would drag my daughter into your madness, into your quest for power.”

“It is not madness to protect what is ours,” Daemon retorted, his tone sharp. “To protect Rhaenyra, to protect Visenya, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, and any other children she may bear. The court is a nest of vipers, and they will not rest until they have sunk their fangs into her and her children. I am the only one who can stop them.”

“You believe yourself the savior of our house?” Viserys sneered, his voice shaking with a mixture of contempt and pain. “You think Rhaenyra will simply accept this... this arrangement?”

Daemon took a step closer, his face inches from Viserys’s. “She already has,” he said softly. “She knows what must be done. She understands the need for strength, for a united front. And she knows I will protect her and her children with my life, as you seem unable to do.”

Viserys’s face paled, his eyes widening in a mix of disbelief and anguish. “She would never—”

“Believe what you will, brother,” Daemon cut him off, his voice like ice. “But Rhaenyra is not a girl anymore. She is a woman, a mother, and a queen in her own right. She understands that the Iron Throne will not be won with ideals and memories of what once was. It will be won with fire and blood, as it always has been.”

The silence that followed was thick, charged with tension. Viserys’s breathing grew more labored, his frail body trembling under the weight of his brother’s words. His eyes darted around the room as if searching for some escape, some way out of the cruel reality that had been laid before him.

“You... you will destroy us all,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if he were speaking to a ghost. “This... this is not what I wanted. This is not what Aemma would have wanted.”

Daemon’s expression softened, though only slightly. “Aemma is gone, brother,” he said, almost gently. “And you must let go of these ghosts that haunt you. The realm needs more than your dreams of peace. It needs action. It needs strength.”

__

Weeks had passes since his trial and Aemond's eye gleamed with cold intensity as he sat in the dimly lit chamber, his fingers deftly twirling a dagger with a practiced ease. The blade spun around his hand like a predator circling its prey, reflecting the flickering light of the torches that lined the walls. His jaw clenched as he thought of Visenya—her defiance, her audacity. She had humiliated him before the court, and the memory of it burned like a hot coal in his chest. She would not get the better of him again.

His thoughts spiralled deeper into his thirst for vengeance, each twist of the dagger feeding his fury. Aemond could almost see it now: the way her face would look when he finally had his revenge. He was lost in this dark fantasy when a soft but firm voice broke through his concentration.

"Aemond."

The dagger stopped mid-twirl, the blade catching the light one last time before he stilled it in his grip. He looked up to see his mother, Queen Alicent, standing at the entrance to his chamber. Her face was a mask of concern, her eyes narrowed with both worry and frustration.

"Mother," Aemond greeted coolly, sliding the dagger into its sheath with a smooth motion. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Alicent stepped further into the room, her expression tightening as she took in the sight of him. She could see the rage simmering beneath his calm exterior, the barely contained violence in the way his muscles tensed. "I have heard the whispers that travel through this keep,” she said, her voice laced with a stern edge. "You are planning something reckless again, are you not?”

Aemond leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Reckless?" he echoed, his lips curling into a half-smile. “You mean necessary. That wretched girl—Visenya—she insulted me, humiliated me. I cannot let that stand." Alicent’s eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and maternal concern. “And what will it prove, Aemond? That you can best a girl in a fight? That you can crush those who challenge your pride? You are a prince, not some street brawler. You need to think of the consequences—think of our family.”

“Oh I know what consequence I intend to cause,” Aemond said as he stood up from his chair and threw the dagger into a table, its sharp end embedding perfectly into the wood, “My brother is weak, and if I cannot break Visenya, then I will break him.” Alicent’s eyes widened at that as Aemond continued to say, “He may have wed her, bed her, but toys are meant to be shared are they not? I will have Visenya one way or another and cause turmoil.”

Alicent's breath caught in her throat, a mixture of horror and disbelief crossing her face. "Aemond," she whispered sharply, stepping forward as if she could physically pull him back from the brink of madness. "You cannot mean this. She is your sister by law now. Aegon may be weak, but this... this would tear our family apart." Aemond's single eye gleamed with a twisted mix of anger and amusement as he looked at his mother. "Family?" he scoffed. "A family that lets itself be humiliated, that lets a boy who cannot even hold his wine marry Rhaenyra’s heir? Visenya challenged me. She mocked me before the court. I will not be made a fool, and I will not stand for Aegon to keep what should be mine."

Alicent’s hands shook as she tried to steady herself, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She had known her son to be fierce, ruthless even, but this... this was something different, something darker. "You are blinded by pride and anger, Aemond," she implored. "I beg of you, think carefully. The consequences of this path—"

"Consequences?" Aemond interrupted with a low chuckle, his tone dripping with condescension. "I have weighed them, Mother. Visenya and Aegon have made a mockery of our name, and if they think they can do so without reprisal, they are gravely mistaken.”Alicent's eyes filled with a desperate fury. "And you think this will make you a true Targaryen? By tearing apart the fragile threads that hold our family together? By acting like a savage who knows no bounds?"

Aemond's face darkened, his amusement evaporating as he stepped closer to his mother. "And what would you have me do? Sit back and let them undermine us at every turn? Let Visenya continue to defy me? I will not allow it. Aegon may have made her his wife, but she will know who truly commands respect in this family."

Alicent’s heart raced, she could no longer control Aemond. His resolve was slipping and he was becoming a monster.

Alicent's voice broke, filled with a mix of anger and sorrow. "And if you go through with this madness, what then? Do you truly believe Visenya will submit to you, that she will not fight back? Do you think Aegon will simply stand aside? You will have a war on your hands—not just with our enemies, but within our own blood. Do you understand the consequences of that? Your brother is first-born, it will not change.”

Aemond's eye narrowed, a glint of cold resolve settling in his gaze. "Then let it be war. I am not afraid of blood, nor of breaking a few bones to remind this family who it is that should wield true power." Without another word, Aemond removed the dagger from the table and left Alicent to be consumed by her thoughts.

___

Aegon has no taste for wine now. Not when Visenya’s kiss was what intoxicated him. The taste of her lingered on his lips and not even the finest wine can wash off the taste on his tongue. His mind was filled with her, Visenya…Visenya…Visenya. Her name danced on his lips like a silent prayer and it had him more drunk without even touching a single goblet. He craved every touch of her and yet, he was always displeased at how she always asked him to help her forget. It was a habit he wished to abandon and yet she had taken it on herself. They were in their bedchambers again, wasting the day away in each other’s arms, empty goblets of wine that only Visenya had drunken.

As much as she did not want to admit it, she grieved the most for her father and she had no one to speak about it, least of all him. Aegon only ever saw his father as king. His father barely acknowledged him but at least he was not cruel like his mother.

Aegon watched her closely, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as she lay beside him, lost in her own thoughts. Visenya’s eyes were distant, staring into some unseen horizon, and Aegon knew she was far away from him in that moment, somewhere unreachable. The soft curve of her lips, usually so full of sharp wit and biting words, was now tinged with a sadness that clung to her like a shadow. She had emptied her goblet long ago, the remnants of wine staining her lips a deep red, but she hadn’t reached for another in a while.

“Visenya,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. He reached out, fingers brushing against her cheek, trying to pull her back to him, to this moment. “Why do you do this to yourself? You never had a taste for wine outside of festivities, and here you are drowning in it.” Her eyes flickered, coming back to the present, and she turned to face him, her expression guarded. “And what are you accusing me of?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended, but Aegon could see the cracks forming beneath the surface.

“You drink to forget,” he said, his thumb tracing the edge of her jaw. “But you ask me to help you forget. Forget what, Visenya? Is it me you wish to forget, or the pain?” She looked at him, her eyes searching his face, as if weighing whether she could trust him with the truth. “I wish to forget the hurt,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “The grief… the loss of my father. I wish it would dull itself in my mind.”

“And me? Do you wish to use me like a body only meant for your pleasure. You claim to be better than me, you always looked down on me as long as I knew you, calling me a drunkard and a bastard but look at you,” Aegon said as he stood up from the bed and dressed himself, “I do not wish to feed your demise. You wish to forget, that is not the way. I do not want you to become what I once was.”

Visenya’s face twisted into a mix of anger and hurt as she watched Aegon rise from the bed, his movements sharp with frustration. She felt exposed, laid bare by his words, and it cut deeper than she wanted to admit. “Do not presume to lecture me, Aegon,” she snapped, her voice quivering. “You think you know me? You think you can save me from myself? I am not like you. I will never be like you.” Aegon turned, his eyes meeting hers with a hardness that was uncharacteristic of him. “No, you are not like me, Visenya,” he said, his voice steady but cold. “But I see the path you are on, and I know where it leads. I know what it’s like to drown yourself in wine to escape the pain. I have been there. I have lived it. And I do not want to see you lose yourself like I did.”

Visenya’s gaze hardened, a fierce defiance flaring in her eyes. “Do not dare compare your pain to mine,” she hissed. “You did this to yourself, drank yourself into a stupor for years, wallowing in self-pity because you could not face your own inadequacies. My father is dead, Aegon. The man who raised me, who taught me everything I know—gone. And you think a few kind words and a sermon will make it better?”

Aegon’s jaw tightened, his temper flaring as he watched her unravel before him. “I’m not trying to compare,” he said, his tone low and sharp. “I’m trying to tell you that I’ve been in the dark, and I know how easy it is to get lost there. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to fall into the same pit I did.” Visenya scoffed, rolling her eyes as she rose from the bed, the fabric of her nightgown sweeping the floor like a cloak. “You are a hypocrite, Aegon,” she said, her voice filled with bitterness. “One moment, you are drinking yourself into oblivion, and the next, you are preaching to me about restraint and redemption? Spare me your pity.”

Aegon took a step toward her, his face etched with frustration and concern. “I am not trying to pity you, Visenya. I am trying to reach you. I want you to see that you are not alone in this. You do not have to bear this weight alone.”

“Alone?” she repeated, her voice rising with incredulity. “I have been alone since the day my father died. You think lying beside me in this bed takes away the grief? You think I do not see the way you look at me, like I am some prize you’ve finally won? You want me to be something more, but I can’t be what you need, Aegon. I can barely stand to look at myself.”

Her words hit him like a blow, and Aegon felt the sting of them deep in his chest. “Is that what you think this is?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost wounded. “Some conquest? Perhaps for some time, I wanted to win you, Visenya. I have already let that go because when I see you fight and protect your family, I wanted to be your partner, your equal.”

“Aegon-“

“I understand now, all I am to you is a cock you can use at your pleasure because you cannot possibly imagine caring for me like a wife cares for her husband,” Aegon said as he slipped on his boots and left the chambers without another word.

The door slammed shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening. His words echoed in her mind, each one a barb that tore deeper than she wanted to admit. She had never seen him like this—vulnerable, raw. It unsettled her more than she cared to let on. She turned away from the door, her chest tightening with a mixture of anger, guilt, and confusion. She had never asked him for more than what they had; she didn’t know how to. The walls she’d built around herself were thick and unyielding, fortified by years of loss and betrayal. And yet, Aegon had managed to slip through the cracks somehow, and that frightened her more than anything.

She paced the room with nothing but her bed tunic, her steps restless, her mind a storm of emotions she couldn’t quite sort through. She’d always thought of Aegon as weak, indulgent, a man who drowned himself in pleasures to escape his own inadequacies. But now she saw a different side of him—one she didn’t know how to deal with. He was changing, trying to be more than the man she had known.

Visenya’s hand clenched into a fist, her nails digging into her palm as she tried to steady herself. She had always prided herself on her strength, her ability to face anything head-on. But this—this was different. This was about more than just strength; it was about vulnerability, about trust. She moved to the table where the empty goblets of wine sat, staring at them for a long moment. Her reflection in the polished silver of the goblet stared back at her, eyes hollow and tired. She hated what she saw there—the pain, the loneliness, the fear. She hated it.

With a frustrated growl, she swept the goblets off the table, sending them clattering to the floor. The sound of shattering metal filled the room, but it did nothing to ease the turmoil inside her. She sank to the floor amidst the scattered pieces, her breathing ragged as she tried to steady herself.

For the first time in a long while, Visenya felt utterly lost. She had always known what she wanted, what needed to be done. But now, with Aegon’s words still ringing in her ears, she wasn’t so sure. Could she be more than the warrior Daemon wanter her to be? Could she be the wife, the mother? Could she be what Aegon needed her to be?

Her thoughts were cut short when she head a knock on the door. She scrambled to open it, thinking it was Aegon who had come back but instead she was met with an eyepatch she did not wish to see. Aemond stood in the doorway, his one good eye glinting with a cold intensity. The eyepatch he wore only made him more imposing, a dark presence in the dimly lit hallway. His lips curled into a small, mocking smile as he looked her over, noting her disheveled state, the thin fabric of her bed tunic clinging to her form. “Princess,” he drawled, his voice dripping with a mixture of sarcasm and something darker. "I see you have been keeping yourself busy in Aegon’s absence."

Visenya's breath caught in her throat, a surge of both fear and fury igniting within her. She straightened her posture, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze with a defiance she knew she had to summon. "What do you want, Aemond?" she demanded, her tone cold and unwavering despite the turmoil churning inside her. Aemond's smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eye. "To talk," he replied, stepping forward, forcing her to either move back or let him invade her space. She chose the latter, holding her ground, refusing to show him any sign of weakness. "About family," he continued, "and what it means to honour it." He shut the door behind him, a soft but deliberate thud that sent a chill down her spine.

Visenya’s eyes flickered to the door, then back to him. "I have nothing to say to you," she said, her voice steady, though her heart was pounding in her chest. She could feel the threat hanging in the air, the tension thickening with each passing moment.

"On the contrary, princess,” Aemond countered, his tone deceptively mild. "I think there is much we need to discuss. You see, I have been thinking a lot about loyalty and respect. About how certain people in our family seem to have forgotten what it means to uphold those values." He stepped closer, his presence towering over her, and she could feel the heat of his anger simmering just beneath the surface. Her heart twisted within her chest, realising she was unarmed.

"And what would you know about loyalty?" Visenya shot back, her voice sharp. "You speak of respect, but you threaten your own blood. You would tear us apart just to soothe your own wounded pride."

Aemond's expression darkened, and he took another step toward her, his face inches from hers. "Watch your tongue, Visenya," he hissed. "You forget who you are speaking to." His breath was hot on her face, and she could smell the faint hint of wine on his breath—perhaps he had been drinking too, or maybe it was just a remnant of the night before.

Visenya’s eyes bore into his, her own anger flaring to life. "I speak to a man who would see his family burn to appease his desires,” she retorted. "I speak to a man who is too blinded by his own arrogance to see what consequences his actions bear.”

Aemond's eye narrowed, and in one swift motion, he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look directly at him. His grip was firm, almost bruising, and she could feel his fingers digging into her skin. "You think you know me, princess?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You know nothing. You think you are so clever, so strong, but all you are is a woman trying to play a man's game. And you will lose."

Visenya’s heart raced, a mixture of fear and fury coursing through her veins. She refused to let him see her fear, refused to give him the satisfaction. "And you think you are better Aemond?" she said, her voice steady despite the situation. "You think you can bend me, break me, like some common thing? I am no one’s pawn.”

Aemond’s grip tightened, his eye blazing with a dangerous light. "We shall see," he whispered, his lips curling into a dark, humorless smile. "Perhaps it is time you learned your place."

Before Visenya could react, Aemond pulled her closer, his face just a breath away from hers. His intent was clear, a mixture of domination and twisted desire. Her pulse quickened, but she would not allow herself to be intimidated. She twisted out of his grasp with a sharp jerk, shoving him back with all the strength she could muster.

Aemond staggered but caught himself quickly, his eye flashing with both surprise and anger. "You will regret that you wretch,” he growled, a low, menacing tone that sent a shiver down her spine. In one swift movement, he ripped her tunic in half and pushed her onto the cold stone floor, Visenya had no time to even defend herself, he held her down by the neck and forced her to spread her legs.

“Aemond unhand me!”, she yelled but that only furthered his twisted desire as he held her down with unnatural strength and unlaced his trousers. He leaned in to whisper against the back of her neck. “You seek to ruin me and I will ruin you, my brother may have bedded you but I will fill you with my seed and you will birth my bastard like the whore you are.”

Visenya screamed but Aemond only held her down to muffle her sounds as he lined his painfully hard cock against her folds. In one Swift movement he rammed into Visenya’s warmth as she cried in disgust.The room was deafening as all noise seemed to be blocked, everything seemed quiet and calm in comparison to the racket of their bodies colliding together. Visenya cried, she was helpless to his grip and strength and with no weapon to draw, she was nothing but whatever he wanted her to be.It was painful and it burned within her, his touch felt like poison melting her from the inside.

As the pain dulled she realized just how much of a monster Aemond really was, he was forcing her not because he wanted her but because she resisted. She fought him as best she could, she tried to kick him but that only fueled her anger. In one last attempt she called, “AEGON! AEGON!”

“Your fool of a husband will not come for you,” Aemond said with a satisfied smirk, “He has never been of use to my family, do you think he will be a useful husband to you.” He revelled in every thrust, the sounds of Visenya’s agony was a symphony to him after she humiliated him.

Every thrust dragged an agonizing scream from her throat and filled the room with echoes of pain. He continued, he pounded her relentlessly and felt no remorse towards anything except his own pride when she questioned him. When the first spurt of his seed hit her womb Aemond's eyes widened. With each thrust of his hips he pumped deep into her belly and she moaned in protest yet he never slowed or pulled away from her heat. There was this deep satisfaction like he had claimed her, like he had bested her where she could not win. Visenya slumped into the floor in agony, her wails unconsolable when the doors swung open with such force. Aegon appeared looking worried as he said, “Visenya-“

But he was too late. HIs violet eyes saw Aemond’s undone trousers and the bruises on Visenya’s back. She had always been quick to compose herself but she continued to cry and she curled up like a small child on the floor. “You bastard!” Aegon yelled. Aegon's fist swung through the air, but Aemond, ever the skilled fighter, caught it just before it could make contact. The two brothers stood in a tense standoff, their breaths heavy, the weight of what had just happened hanging between them like a thick fog.

“Aegon,” Aemond said, his voice low and unyielding, "You are too late. You always are." The words sent a surge of rage through Aegon, and he wrenched his hand free, shoving Aemond away with all the strength he could muster. “You have gone too far this time, I do not care if you insult me, seven hells, you can kill me if you want to but you will never touch her again” Aegon growled, his voice shaking with fury. “You will pay for this.”

Visenya, trembling and broken, lay on the cold stone floor, her sobs now reduced to shallow, ragged breaths. She looked up at Aegon, her violet eyes filled with a mixture of pain, shame, and something deeper—something darker. “Aegon,” she whispered through her tears, reaching out a trembling hand towards him. His heart shattered at the sight of her, vulnerable and stripped of the fierce strength that once defined her. But when he reached for her, she recoiled slightly, as if even his touch was unbearable in the wake of what had just transpired.

Aemond stood tall, a twisted satisfaction playing at the edges of his mouth. "What will you do, brother? Run to Rhaenyra? Tell her what I have done? You are weak, you could not even protect your wife. And that is why you will never be a true king."

“I do not wish to be king, I wish to be happy, you are the one who has drowned in your twisted desires. You think you are so clever? Mother and grandfather have always been whispering in your ear even if they were not, they control you in more ways than you think! You think you are the king of our house? No, you are nothing but a mere pawn,” Aegon yelled as he held Visenya in his arms who could do nothing but sob. Aemond’s composure nearly faltered but he laced his trousers as if nothing had happened and smirked.

“Perhaps,” Aemond said as he made his way to the door, his eyes never leaving his brother’s, “But I will haunt your mind, she will bear a child but you will never know if the child is yours or a bastard I have sired.” I one swift movement, Aemond had gone and left the room to filled only with Visenya’s cries. Aegon’sheart was breaking as he gently tried to help her stand, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Visenya… we need to leave here.” She nodded despite her tears and she limped with Aegon but he immediately carried her in his arms and rushed her to Rhaenyra’s bedchambers. Rage still simmered in his veins, his thoughts consumed by Aemond’s betrayal. But now was not the time for vengeance. His wife, the woman he had once only longed to win, needed him to be stronger than he had ever been. He had never seen Visenya like this—so vulnerable, so fragile. And it terrified him.

The moment he reached the doors to Rhaenyra's bedchamber, he didn’t bother knocking. He shoved them open with a force that rattled the hinges. Rhaenyra looked up from where she sat by the hearth, and beside her, Daemon stood, his expression already darkening at the sight of Aegon bursting into the room. "Visenya!" Rhaenyra gasped, rushing to her feet. She moved quickly, her face a mixture of panic and anger as she closed the distance between them. Daemon rose slowly, his eyes dark and calculating, already sensing something was terribly wrong.

“What happened?” Rhaenyra demanded, her voice tight with fear as she reached out to take her daughter from Aegon’s arms. Aegon hesitated, his heart hammering in his chest as he gently lowered Visenya into Rhaenyra’s embrace. "It was Aemond," he managed to choke out, his throat dry with shame. “He…forced himself on her”

Rhaenyra froze, her eyes scanning her daughter’s tear-streaked face and bruised body. “Forced, he forced himself on her?” Her voice trembled, her mind already jumping to the terrible conclusion. She looked up at Aegon, her expression hardening. “And where were you?” she asked, her tone laced with accusation. Aegon swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I was not there” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was too late.”

"Too late?" Daemon’s voice was low, deadly. His eyes flicked to Aegon, fury simmering beneath the surface. “You should never have left her side.”

“I know,” Aegon muttered, shame weighing heavily on him. “I... I did not know.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes blazed with fury as she held Visenya close, brushing her daughter’s hair from her face. “You did not know?” she spat, her voice shaking with a mixture of grief and anger. “You are her husband, Aegon! You should have been with her, protecting her! Not gallivanting off like some irresponsible fool and whoring around like there is no tomorrow!”

“I was not whoring around, I respect Visenya and I do not wish to take on lovers. We had an argument and I was too angry to face her so I left,” Aegon tried to reason and even he could not believe what he was saying.

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line as she shook her head in disbelief, her hand gently stroking Visenya’s hair. “You left her because of a petty argument?” she spat, her voice filled with venom. “You let your anger blind you to your duty, to your wife, your family?”

Aegon flinched at her words, shame and guilt clashing within him. “I did not think—”

“No,” Daemon interrupted, his voice cold and sharp as steel. “You did not think, and now look what has happened. You left her vulnerable, and he took advantage. This is on you as much as it is on him.” His eyes were ablaze, full of fury and judgment, and his grip on Dark Sister tightened.

Aegon’s heart raced, his gaze flicking between Daemon and Rhaenyra, both of them consumed by rage and grief. “I never wanted this to happen,” he muttered, his voice small and desperate. “I thought… I thought she needed to be alone.” Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened. “She needed you, Aegon,” she said bitterly. “She needed her husband. You left her to face this alone.”

Visenya, still trembling in Rhaenyra’s arms, whimpered softly, the sound cutting through the room like a blade. Rhaenyra held her closer, her heart breaking at the sight of her daughter’s pain. “If you had been there,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion, “this would not have taken place.”

Aegon’s knees threatened to buckle as he stood there, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. There was nothing he could say that would fix what had happened, no excuse that could justify his absence. Daemon took a step forward, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Aegon, you failed her,” he said. “And if you think for one moment that this will go unanswered, you are gravely mistaken. Aemond will pay for what he has done.”

Aegon swallowed hard, his voice faltering as he finally spoke. “I will make this right. I swear it.” Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, just barely, as she looked down at Visenya. “It is too late for promises, Aegon,” she said quietly. “All we can do now is protect her from further harm. You have already failed once. Do not fail again.” Aegon nodded and he gestured for Rhaenyra to let him hold Visenya but she hesitated at first, feeling like her little girl wa being ripped from her arms but she watched as Visenya reached for Aegon, wanting him…needing him.

Aegon gently took Visenya into his arms, her warmth a stark contrast to the chill of his guilt. As she clung to him, her face pressed against his chest, he felt a surge of responsibility and determination. He looked at Rhaenyra, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and resolve. “I understand,” he said with a voice heavy with promise. “I will do whatever it takes to make this right. For her. For us.”

“I know you do not trust me but wedding Visenya has given me purpose,” Aegon explained himself, “She is the sun, the moon, the stars, and the flames that light this realm. She is everything and I do not yearn for wine because I yearn for her. My duty is to serve her, now and always.” Rhaenyra's eyes searched Aegon's face, trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. There was a vulnerability in his voice that was hard to ignore, a depth of emotion that went beyond mere promises. Her gaze softened as she saw the way he held Visenya, the fierce protectiveness that radiated from him despite the mistakes of the past. Daemon, usually so unyielding, gave a curt nod, his expression betraying a hint of grudging respect.

“We have to leave, we cannot stay here,” Daemon spoke softly, “The greens will turn this against us and who know who Aemond could be scheming again, we must leave for Dragonstone-“

“But Daemon, my father-,” Rhaenyra tried to reason and Daemon shook his head, “Your father is too ill and too drunk on the milk of the poppy, we must leave, we cannot let them harm any more of our children. Rhaenys will support us in our decision.”

Rhaenyra’s face tightened with worry, but she knew Daemon spoke with a grim practicality born from experience. She glanced at Aegon, whose grip on Visenya had tightened as if to shield her from any more turmoil.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra said with a resigned sigh. “We will leave for Dragonstone. I trust you, Daemon, but we must ensure that everything is in order before we go.”

Daemon nodded sharply, already moving to make arrangements. “I will see to it that our departure is swift and discreet,” he said. “We cannot afford any delays.” Rhaenyra turned to Aegon, her eyes reflecting a mixture of trust and lingering doubt. “Aegon, if you are truly committed to protecting Visenya, then you will help us prepare for this journey. We need to ensure her safety, and that means leaving no stone unturned.”

Aegon nodded, his expression serious. “I will do whatever is necessary.”

Reluctantly, he left Rhaenyra’s chambers and brought Visenya back to theirs, the gruelling sight nearly made him retch but he maintained his composure and whispered gently to Visenya, “I will ring for your handmaidens to wash you-“

“No, please Aegon, hold me for a moment,” Visenya trembled and Aegon nodded and kissed her forehead then said, “I am sorry, I…I failed you.” Visenya shook her head and said, “I hurt you and you left, I should not have-“

“No it does not matter anymore, I do not care if you cannot love me, I just want you to be unharmed,” Aegon said and Visenya nodded but softly spoke against his chest, “You know, if you had just taken even a moment of your time to truly see me, you would know that you plague my thoughts as much as I plague yours.” Tears welled in Aegon’s eyes as he kissed her forehead again and cradled her close as if letting her go would make her disappear into ashes.

He could not fail her again.

Chapter Text

Three moons had passed and Visenya had barely spoken since that day. She was always found in the dragon pit of Dragonstone, her head rested against Vaehaemion’s cheek. The dragon seemed to share the same sentiments, feeling the pain of their rider and all Aegon could do was watch. She could be spoken to on the first few days they had arrived at the island but since the maesters had reluctantly said that she was with child, she had been silent since. Aegon’s guilt only grew ten-fold, Visenya clearly lamented the ideal family she could have had, her thoughts looming on the thought of the baby being Aemond’s.

Aegon stood at the edge of the dragon pit, watching Visenya in the same position he had found her every day since their arrival on Dragonstone. Her head rested against Vaehaemion’s massive cheek, the dragon's slow breaths mirroring the sorrow that radiated from his rider. The bond between dragon and rider was undeniable, and it pained Aegon to see both of them consumed by a grief he could not reach.

He had tried—on the first few days after the maesters had given them the news, he had spoken softly to her, trying to break through the wall of silence she had built around herself. But as the realization set in that she carried a child, possibly Aemond’s, her distance had grown, the weight of the unspoken hanging between them like a shadow.

Aegon’s guilt gnawed at him. He knew Visenya must be grappling with her own feelings of loss, anger, and confusion. The child she carried was a constant reminder of the pain Aemond had inflicted, of the family she could have had under different circumstances. Aegon could see it in her eyes when they occasionally met, the deep, unspoken sorrow and resentment. He clenched his fists as he watched her, his heart aching with helplessness. Every day, he had hoped she would speak to him, let him in, but each day she remained in the dragon pit, lost in her thoughts, with Vaehaemion as her silent companion. This time, he would not watch.

Aegon took his place on Visenya’s side and said, “Visenya, I cannot endure your silence any longer. Speak to me please, anything, you can insult me…just…say something please.” Visenya remained silent and Aegon had no choice but cup her jaw and make her face him as he said, “Visenya, you have barely eaten. Your mother offered you the tea and you refused, I can no longer watch you rot yourself into nothingness. Aemond does not deserve your suffering and I urge you to come back to me.”

Visenya remained unresponsive and Aegon’s own resolve was cracking. To his surprise, tears welled on Visenya’s eyes,  the first emotion he’d seen on her in weeks as she finally muttered, “I could not drink it, the child could be yours.” Aegon’s heart stopped at her words, gods he was pathetic, he knew he was but he was hit with such overwhelming emotion. How could someone as beautiful and perfect as Visenya want something of his? “Visenya…,” he softly said as he tucked a curl behind her ear, “Whatever you wish, I will stand by you but…but know that I will cherish anything that is a part of you.”

“But Aemond-,” Visenya tried to argue but Aegon softly kissed her on the lips and said, “I do not care. You are not ruined, you are a warrior.”

Visenya looked at him, her lip quivering as she absorbed his words. “How can you be so certain?” she asked, her voice fragile.

Aegon’s eyes never left hers as he spoke. “Because you are everything that none of these kings and lords could ever be. You are clever, beautiful, brave, and you will make a fine queen after your mother,” he said simply. “You will be a good mother, this child is yours, not his." The walls finally crumbled.

Visenya’s body trembled as the weight of Aegon’s words sank in. His steady gaze, the warmth of his touch, and the certainty in his voice all struck her like a wave, breaking through the fortress of pain she had built around herself. She had been drowning in the belief that Aemond’s cruelty had tainted her forever, that she could never again feel worthy of love, let alone hope for a future. But here Aegon was, seeing her not as a broken woman, but as someone powerful, someone worthy of not just his love, but her own. Even if she had no knowledge of it.

The walls she had spent weeks building around her heart began to crumble, piece by piece, as her tears fell freely now. Her breath hitched as she struggled to find her voice. Aegon wiped away her tears with his thumbs and placed his forehead against hers, “I am so sorry Visenya, I…I should have never-“

Visenya silenced with him a kiss, and when he tried to speak again, she silenced him with another kiss and said, “Thank you. You are a prince and yet you took upon the duties of  handmaiden because you cared for me. I do not claim to know why but I am grateful.”

Aegon’s heart skipped as Visenya kissed him again, each touch of her lips telling him more than any words could. It was the first time in weeks she had shown any emotion other than the numbness that had overtaken her. Her kiss was gentle but laced with the unspoken gratitude and pain she carried. When she pulled back, Aegon could see the flicker of her old self returning, though faint and fragile.

“Visenya, you never need to thank me,” Aegon said softly, his hands still cradling her face. “It is I who should thank you—for letting me stay by your side, for not turning me away after everything.”

Visenya shook her head, her fingers tracing the edges of Aegon’s jaw, her touch tentative. “You did not have to stay,” she murmured. “You could have left. I would have understood.” Aegon’s gaze was unwavering, filled with a fierce protectiveness. “Leaving was never an option, Visenya. Not for me. Not after what happened.” His voice cracked slightly, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “I failed you once, and I will carry that regret for the rest of my days. But I will never leave you again.”

Visenya’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her voice barely above a whisper. “You never failed me, Aegon. You did not know. How could you have known?” He shook his head, refusing to accept her forgiveness. “I should have seen it. I should have been there. I should have—” He paused, his breath hitching as the guilt washed over him. “I should have protected you from Aemond, from everything.”

Visenya cupped his face in her hands, her eyes soft but filled with a quiet strength. “No one could have known what he would do. Not you. Not me.” Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke the next words. “I do not blame you for what happened, Aegon. I never did.” Her words hit him like a balm to a wound that had festered for too long. He let out a shaky breath, leaning into her touch, feeling the weight of his guilt slowly start to lift. “I just want to keep you safe,” he whispered.

Visenya’s kiss lingered longer this time, the tenderness between them infused with something more profound, a sense of hope she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in so long. Aegon’s hands rested gently on her waist, his touch light but reassuring, as though he were afraid she might slip away again. The warmth of her lips on his made the endless days of guilt and silence begin to fade into the background. Vaehaemion, sensing the shift in his rider’s emotions, let out a deep, rumbling sigh—a sound that echoed through the dragon pit like a long-held breath finally being released. The great dragon’s eyes glimmered with what could only be described as relief, his immense form lowering to the ground as if to rest at last. Visenya turned her head slightly, catching sight of her dragon’s reaction, and for the first time in weeks, a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“He feels it too,” she whispered softly against Aegon’s chest. “He has been carrying my pain.” Aegon nodded and a smile curled on his lips as he smiled, “I think we owe our dragons a ride.”

Aegon’s smile widened as he glanced over at Sunfyre, who was perched not far from Vaehaemion, the golden dragon’s head lifted slightly as if waiting for his rider’s next move. The sunlight caught on Sunfyre’s scales, casting a golden sheen that made the dragon look as majestic as ever, and Aegon’s heart swelled with a mixture of pride and relief. For the first time in a long while, the tension in the air seemed to ease, the weight that had been pressing on them both gradually lifting. Visenya looked up at Aegon, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes, the hint of a challenge. "A ride?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying a touch of the fire that once burned so brightly in her.

Aegon’s grin softened as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You and Vaehaemion have been sitting in this pit for too long,” he said. “Let us fly, Visenya. Let us remind them—and ourselves—that we are still here, unbroken.” Visenya hesitated but Aegon nudged her by the shoulder and said, “I do love a good race.”

Visenya’s hesitation faded as Aegon’s playful challenge stirred something deep within her, reigniting the embers of her old spirit. Her eyes narrowed, and a hint of a smile played on her lips. “A race?” she repeated, her voice carrying a glimmer of the fire that had once burned so brightly within her.

Aegon’s grin widened, his excitement barely contained as he took a few steps toward Sunfyre. The golden dragon lowered his head in recognition, and Aegon placed a hand on his gleaming scales before swinging himself up into the saddle with practiced ease. “Unless you are too afraid to lose,” he teased, his voice light, eyes glimmering with challenge. Sunfyre shifted restlessly beneath him, as if he, too, anticipated the race.

Visenya scoffed, not about to let him goad her so easily. “You forget who I am,” she replied coolly, approaching Vaehaemion with a grace that only came from years of familiarity. Her hand brushed along the sleek, black scales of her dragon, and Vaehaemion let out a low, rumbling growl of approval. With one fluid motion, Visenya swung herself up onto his back, settling into the saddle with ease. She patted the side of his neck, her voice a low murmur. “Shall we remind them why we are feared?”

Vaehaemion’s wings unfurled with a powerful snap, and Aegon’s grin softened, an edge of admiration shining through. “Then prove it,” he said, gripping the reins of Sunfyre. “Let us fly, Visenya. Let us show the world we are unbroken, that we are closer to gods than we are to men.”

Without another word, Sunfyre launched into the air with a powerful beat of his golden wings. The dragon shot into the sky, his scales catching the sunlight as he soared higher and higher, Aegon urging him onward. The wind roared in his ears, but his laughter cut through it as he glanced back, seeing Visenya still on the ground. But Visenya’s smirk never faltered. “You will regret that,” she muttered, and with a single command, Vaehaemion roared to life. His massive black wings that gleamed green and rose unfurled, cutting through the air with a rush of wind as he launched into the sky after Sunfyre. The ground fell away beneath them, and Visenya leaned into her dragon’s neck, urging him forward.

The air whipped past her, the familiar rush of wind and freedom enveloping her like an old friend. For the first time in weeks, she felt something other than pain—a fierce exhilaration as she and Vaehaemion soared higher, closing the gap between them and Aegon. Her lips curved into a smile, the fire within her reigniting with each beat of Vahaemion’s wings. Aegon glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Visenya and Vaehaemion gaining on him. “You will have to do better than that my darling!” he called, his voice carried by the wind. But the look in Visenya’s eyes told him she was far from finished.

She leaned in closer, her voice a soft murmur that only her dragon could hear. “Aderī, Vaehaemion.” Her words were like a spark, and with a powerful surge, Vaehaemion accelerated, his wings cutting through the sky with renewed strength. They soared past Sunfyre, leaving Aegon behind in a blur of black and rose scales and determination. Aegon could only laugh as he watched them pull ahead, his heart swelling with pride and admiration. “Alright, alright!” he called out, still grinning. “I concede!”

Visenya slowed Vaehaemion down, circling back to where Aegon and Sunfyre hovered in the sky. Her chest heaved from the exertion, but her eyes were bright, a triumphant smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “What was that about losing?” she teased, her voice light, carrying a warmth that hadn’t been there in so long. Aegon’s eyes softened as he looked at her, still seated on her dragon, the sunlight casting a soft glow on her face. “You never cease to amaze me, Visenya,” he said, his voice filled with admiration and affection. The pair rode back and landed themselves on the expanse of the beach that surrounded the island.

Visenya guided Vahaemion down with ease, the great dragon's wings folding effortlessly as they descended toward the beach. His claws sank into the sand with a gentle thud, and Visenya dismounted smoothly, her movements fluid and practiced. A lifetime of riding had made her a natural—one who commanded the skies with grace and precision. Aegon had always admired that about her, even if it made him acutely aware of how much more skilled she was than he ever would be.

Sunfyre touched down shortly after, the golden dragon’s landing less delicate but still powerful. Aegon slid down from his saddle, his boots hitting the sand with a slight stumble. He glanced over at Visenya, who stood tall beside Vaehaemion, already running her hand along the dragon’s neck with the kind of ease that only came from deep, unshakable trust. Aegon had always known that, when it came to dragonriding, Visenya was unmatched. She had been better than him since they were children, and nothing had changed.

"You have always been better at this," Aegon said, a rueful grin spreading across his face as he watched her. "I never stood a chance.” Visenya turned to him, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. “You never did,” she replied, her voice light but filled with truth. There was no need for false modesty between them; she had always been the more skilled rider, and they both knew it.

Aegon laughed softly, shaking his head as he approached her. “I will admit defeat, gladly." His smile softened as he looked at her, admiration clear in his gaze. "But watching you fly—Visenya, it is like watching a piece of the sky itself. No one can do what you do." Visenya’s lips curved into a faint smile, a rare glimmer of pride showing in her eyes. “Flying is the only place where I have ever truly felt free,” she said quietly, her gaze drifting back to Vaehaemion. “Up there, everything feels... simple.”

Aegon nodded, understanding more than words could express. "And I think I prefer it that way," he said. "Seeing you like that—strong, unshaken, and free."

Visenya’s faint smile lingered as she kept her hand resting on Vaehaemion’s warm scales, her gaze fixed on the horizon for a long moment. The sea breeze tugged gently at her hair, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt at peace. Here, with her dragon at her side and the wind at her back, she could breathe again.

“I had forgotten what it felt like,” she murmured, her voice almost lost to the sound of the waves. “To fly without being weighed down by fear or guilt.”

Aegon stepped closer, the warmth of his presence wrapping around Visenya like fire. “We will fly like this more often,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying a quiet certainty. “Whenever you need to feel free, we’ll take to the skies.”

Visenya turned to him, her eyes searching his face with a seriousness that belied the lightness of the moment. “Do you really think we can ever be free, Aegon? From the burdens of who we are, from the expectations… from everything?” Aegon hesitated, his gaze drifting out to the horizon, where the waves rolled in steady, unchanging rhythms. The setting sun painted the world in hues of gold and crimson, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, edged with a vulnerability that he rarely showed. “I do not know,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “I have spent my whole life feeling like an outsider, even within my own family. I was born into a world where duty and blood tied us together, but it never felt… real to me. I have always felt like I was there because for I had to be, not because I truly belonged.”

Visenya’s eyes filled with tears as she listened, her heart aching at the raw honesty in his voice. She had always sensed Aegon’s distance, but hearing him admit it so openly struck her deeply.

“But with you…” Aegon continued, his eyes locking with hers, shimmering with an intensity she had never seen before. “With you, I feel like I have finally found a place where I truly belong. A place where I’m not just fulfilling a role, where I am not just a prince by necessity. It is a place where I matter, not because of my title or my blood, but because of who I am to you.” He paused, swallowing hard as he reached for her hand, his fingers trembling slightly. “With you, I don’t just exist. I feel like I am seen.”

“I used to question why my mother hated me so much and yet I was born with a dragon that bore the scales of the sun,” Aegon said softly as he took Visenya’s hand in his and kissed it, “But you look at me as if you cannot help but look, like the sun had been glaring at you. You need not say it but I always feel it. I do not think I have ever had someone in the years I have been alive, look at me for as long as you have, as if you are not afraid that the flames of my disaster might burn you.”

Visenya’s heart clenched as she took in his words, her hand tightening around his. The weight of his confession settled heavily on her chest, mingling with the tears she could no longer hold back. “You do matter, Aegon,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “You have always mattered. Even when you did not need to lie to my mother to save me from my foolishness, you did without asking anything in return. You have done what others could have done for me but without ask. You have mattered to me in a way I cannot even fully express.”

Aegon shook his head, his own tears spilling over as he looked at her with a mixture of gratitude and anguish. “Not like this,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Not like I matter to you.”

In that moment, Visenya saw Aegon not as the sometimes brash prince or the figure caught in the web of his family’s expectations, but as a man who had spent his life longing for a sense of belonging. And she realized that in her, he had found it. “You belong with me,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her face. “You always have. You have always been a part of me, even when you did not know it.”

Aegon knew then that he had fallen. He had fallen down to his damnation like a dragon plummeting down from the sky without its wings. How could he be so lucky, that a princess like her could care so much for what little he had to offer.

“It is quite funny, I used to think that perhaps I would not mind being wed to you since you would be too busy with your whores and wine to bother me,” Visenya said as she laid her head on his shoulder while their dragons circled around the skies, dancing with each other. “That is awfully bleak,” Aegon said with a nervous chuckle but Visenya was wuic to reply, “That no longer rings true. I know I said that friendship and respect in a marriage is enough for me but I no longer want that.”

Aegon’s breath caught in his throat, the depth of her words sinking in. He turned to face her fully, his own heart pounding with a mix of hope and fear. “What do you want then, Visenya?” he asked softly, his eyes searching hers.

“I want more, I want to drown in the feeling that blooms in my chest when I see you,” she said, her voice trembling with sincerity. “I want us to be more than duty or expectation. I want us to be everything to each other, to find joy and solace in one another.”

Aegon’s heart swelled with a mixture of awe and tenderness as he listened. He reached out, cupping her face gently in his hands. “You have always been more than I ever deserved,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Visenya shook her head and kissed him then said, “Whatever your mother said you were, that is not true to me. I am here now. I am what you deserve. You left the gallivanting behind and you became my husband.”

Visenya’s words hung in the air between them, her declaration of wanting more than duty or expectation igniting a fire within Aegon. As her lips brushed against his, the kiss was both gentle and fervent, a promise and an invitation all at once. Aegon’s breath hitched, his heart racing with the intensity of his emotions.Visenya’s fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss. The warmth of her touch, the softness of her lips, and the mingling of their breaths created a heady sensation that made Aegon’s pulse quicken. His hands moved to her waist, drawing her against him with a hunger that matched her own.

The world around them seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the moment. The sky above was a canvas of twilight hues, the dragons circling like distant, watching sentinels. But their attention was solely on each other, the connection between them undeniable and electric.

Aegon’s hands roamed over Visenya’s back, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her clothes. He could feel the racing of her heart, the way she responded to his touch with a shiver of delight. Her body pressed against his, and he could not help but marvel at how perfectly they fit together.

Visenya’s hands slid down to his chest, her fingers deftly working at the laces of his tunic, her movements fueled by a mix of eagerness and need. As the fabric loosened, she kissed her way down his neck, her lips leaving a trail of warmth and desire. Aegon let out a low groan, his hands sliding up to cup her face, pulling her back to his lips.

Their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate, as if they were trying to consume each other entirely. Visenya’s fingers found the edge of her own dress, pulling it aside to reveal the bare skin beneath. The cool evening air met her heated skin, and she felt a delicious shiver of anticipation.

Aegon’s hands roamed over her exposed skin, exploring every curve and dip with a reverent touch. His lips followed the path his hands had traced, his kisses becoming more insistent, more passionate. Visenya gasped as his lips found their way to the sensitive curve of her collarbone, his touch sending jolts of pleasure through her.

With a sudden, fervent movement, Aegon lifted her, his strength and determination evident as he carried her towards the soft sand nearby. He gently laid her down, his eyes locked onto hers with a mix of adoration and desire. Visenya’s breath came in shallow gasps, her eyes filled with an intense, smoldering gaze.

Aegon’s hands explored her body with a careful, deliberate touch, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of her form. Visenya’s hands found his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly as she pulled him closer, her legs wrapping around him in a show of urgent need.Their clothes fell away in a tangle of fabric and passion, their bodies coming together with a fervent intensity that spoke of a deep wanting.

Aegon kissed down from her lips to the slight swell on her stomach, placing a soft kiss like a silent promise to protect her and the child. As their passion intensified, the world around them seemed to blur and fade away, leaving only the two of them and the raw intensity of their emotions. Aegon’s touch became more insistent, his kisses more fervent, as he lost himself in the heat of the moment. Visenya responded with equal fervor, her body arching towards him, her cries of pleasure mingling with the rhythm of their shared desire. As they reached the peak of their passion, Aegon held Visenya close, their bodies entwined in a perfect harmony.

Visenya brought him in for a soft kiss and touched her forehead against his. Aegon smiled and said, “By the gods, my wife is so beautiful.”

__

Alicent Hightower stormed through the corridors of the Red Keep, her face a mask of unyielding determination. Her steps were sharp, echoing off the cold stone walls as she headed toward the chamber where Aemond awaited. The news of his cruelty toward Visenya had ignited a fury in her that could not be contained. Three moons had been filled with noting but talk of Aemond’s actions towards Visenya. He had acted again with not so much of a thought of the consequences and here she was, trying to mend all the tears of his wrongdoings.

Alicent stormed into Aemond’s chamber with a fierce resolve, her face flushed with anger. The door slammed behind her with a force that reverberated through the room. Aemond, who had been gazing out the window, turned to face her, his expression a mixture of defiance and weariness.

“Aemond!” Alicent’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “We have a grave matter to address, and I will not tolerate any further insolence.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed. “I can only imagine what new lecture you’ve come to deliver, Mother.” Alicent’s fury was palpable. “It is not a lecture, but a necessary reprimand. Your actions toward Visenya have brought disgrace upon our house. Her family’s flight to Dragonstone has sparked gossip and scandal, and it is imperative that we rectify this immediately.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “So you are less concerned with the harm done to Visenya and more concerned with the whispers of the court?” Alicent’s gaze was icy. “Precisely. Our reputation is at stake. This family cannot afford to be seen as a source of scandal. To restore our honor, you will marry Princess Helaena.”

Aemond’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Marry Helaena? You cannot be serious.” Alicent’s face flushed with anger. “I am quite serious. This marriage is not a mere formality; this will squash all the whispers and show that you had never been interested in Visenya and your affections is for Helaena. It will show the court that we are taking decisive action to address the disgrace you have caused.”

Aemond’s frustration bubbled over. “And what of my feelings? What of Helaena’s? Helaena is not meant to be my wife, nor anybody’s wife, she speaks in riddles mother, she is different!”

Alicent’s voice rose, her patience wearing thin. “Your feelings are irrelevant! This is about our house’s honor, not your personal desires. Helaena’s well-being is secondary to the restoration of our family’s name. We must appear strong and unified, and this marriage will serve that purpose.”

Aemond’s anger flared. “So I am to be sacrificed to save your reputation? Is that it?”

Alicent’s eyes blazed. “Sacrificed? You speak as if this is an act of martyrdom. It is a duty, a responsibility you must bear. If you wish to redeem yourself in the eyes of the court and your family, you must accept this marriage. It is a small price to pay to mend the damage you’ve done.”

Aemond shook his head in disbelief. “I refuse to be a pawn in this charade. I will not marry Helaena. I will not become a martyr like you, you smile but you do not even like father!”

Alicent’s voice grew more strident. “You will marry Helaena, and you will do so with the grace and responsibility expected of you. This is non-negotiable. If you resist, you only add to the disgrace you’ve already heaped upon this family.”

Aemond’s expression hardened. “I will not be coerced into this. I will not marry her.”

Alicent’s fury reached its peak. “Then you will face the full consequences of your actions. Do not test me further, Aemond. Your refusal will only deepen the damage you have done and make your path to redemption that much harder.” Alicent turned on her heel, her anger still palpable. “Prepare yourself to do what is necessary for the good of the house. The time for defiance has passed.”

As the door slammed shut behind her, Aemond stood alone, his anger and frustration simmering. The weight of his mother’s demands hung heavily over him. As the echoes of the door’s slam faded, Aemond stood in the center of the room, his fists clenched at his sides. The anger that had surged within him refused to dissipate, its flames licking at his resolve. With a roar of frustration, he swung his fist into the stone wall, the impact reverberating through his arm and sending a shudder through the chamber.

The pain in his knuckles was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. Aemond’s breath came in ragged bursts as he leaned against the wall, his face twisted in a grimace. He felt guilt, and suddenly his hands felt warm and the way Visenya had screamed had become a haunting song in his head. The image of her eyes, wide and tearful, flashed before him.

Aemond’s anger gave way to a deeper sorrow, and he pounded the wall again, each hit a testament to his frustration and regret. His thoughts were a tumultuous storm as his lost eye began to hurt again, as if the pain of its loss had never left. He would need a better plan, but for now, he was chained.

__

In the dimly lit library of Dragonstone, the tension between Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen was palpable. The room was filled with the scent of old parchment and the crackling sound of the fireplace, which offered little comfort to the pair. Rhaenyra, visibly weary, cradled her growing belly with one hand, the other resting on the edge of the table as she scanned through the latest dispatches from King's Landing.

Daemon strode into the room, his presence commanding and intense. The small Valyrian ceremony they had shared—an intimate, clandestine union that had cemented their bond—felt distant in the face of their current strife. The weight of their marriage seemed both a blessing and a burden, the sacred vows they had exchanged now overshadowed by the tension that crackled between them.

“Rhaenyra,” Daemon’s voice was low but carried a sharp edge. “Have you seen the latest reports?” Rhaenyra looked up, her expression troubled, her hand protectively resting on her abdomen. “Yes. The Greens are not merely consolidating their power—they are spreading discord throughout King's Landing. Their machinations go beyond mere politics; they are eroding the support we once had.”

Daemon’s eyes blazed with a mix of frustration and resolve. “Then it is as I feared. They aim to destabilize us from within, to weaken our claim by turning the people against us. This is not a mere skirmish; this is a war of influence and deception.” Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened, her fingers gently stroking her belly. “I understand that, Daemon. But I believe we must still seek a peaceful resolution before we resort to open conflict. Father is still alive, they will not do anything foolish. We need to explore all avenues, offer concessions if necessary. If we strike too soon, we risk vulnerability.”

Daemon’s face tightened, and he slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Peaceful resolutions? Rhaenyra, the Greens have shown their hand. They do not want peace; they want our downfall. They killed Laenor and disgraced Visenya. We must prepare for war, fortify our position, and strike decisively before they can gain any more ground.”

Rhaenyra hesitated, remembering the prophecy her father had told her when he made her his heir.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and resolve. “And if we force their hand too quickly, Daemon? If we resort to war before exhausting all other options, we risk plunging the realm into chaos. We cannot simply react with aggression. We must show that we are just, that we are capable of ruling with wisdom as well as strength. Father still lives, do not forget that.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his frustration evident. “And what of the unrest in the streets? What of the whispers of rebellion? Every moment we delay, the Greens strengthen their grip. We must act now to protect what is ours. We cannot afford to wait while they undermine us.”

Daemon’s frustration remained evident as he stared at the flickering flames, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The argument had reached an impasse, and the room felt heavier with each passing moment of silence.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her hand still resting protectively on her belly. The firelight cast a warm glow on her face, but the strain in her eyes betrayed her unease. “Daemon,” she began softly, trying to bridge the chasm that had formed between them. “We are both passionate about this cause, and I respect your strength and resolve. But I fear that our approach may not align with the reality we face.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he met her gaze. “You think I do not understand the gravity of our situation, Rhaenyra? Every moment we delay is a moment for our enemies to strengthen their position. The Greens are relentless. I will not sit idly by while they undermine everything we have worked for.”

Rhaenyra’s voice quivered slightly as she spoke, the weight of their unborn child making her words even more poignant. “And I am not suggesting we do nothing. I am suggesting that we tread carefully, that we weigh our actions with the knowledge of their long-term consequences. We cannot let our anger dictate our decisions.”

Daemon’s frustration broke through, and he slammed his hand on the table once more, the sound reverberating through the room. “You speak of consequences, but what of the consequences of inaction? We thought we were safe in that keep and Aemond defiled Visenya within those very halls and no outrage has been heard for her. If we falter now, all may be lost.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she struggled to maintain her composure. “I am aware of the stakes, Daemon. I am aware of the responsibility that rests upon our shoulders. But I also know that we must be careful not to become the very thing we fight against. We must not let ourselves be consumed by the same fury that drives our enemies.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his expression a mixture of anger and helplessness. “Then what would you have us do? Stand by while they continue their machinations? If we do not act, we risk losing everything. We cannot afford to wait.”

Rhaenyra’s voice was firm but tinged with sadness. “I want us to find a path that does not lead to ruin, Daemon. I want us to fight for our rightful place, but I also want us to ensure that our actions do not condemn the realm to endless conflict.” The silence that followed was thick with unresolved tension. Daemon paced the room, his mind racing with thoughts of strategy and impending conflict. Rhaenyra remained by the table, her gaze following him as she fought to maintain her calm.

The two stood on opposite sides of an ideological chasm. The small Valyrian ceremony that had bound them together now felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the strain of their current predicament.

As Daemon continued to pace, Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her hand gently rubbing her belly as if seeking solace from the life growing within her. The fate of their house, and the possibility of war weighed heavily on her heart with her father’s failing health.

“We shall continue this discussion later,” Daemon finally said, his voice a mix of resignation and determination. “I must prepare for what is to come, and you must consider the implications of our choices.”

Chapter Text

6 moons had passed…

The chamber was dimly lit by flickering candles, their warm glow casting long shadows over the stone walls. The sounds of muffled voices and hurried footsteps filled the air as midwives and maesters moved around Visenya, their faces lined with concern. Rhaenyra stood at the edge of the bed, her arms folded protectively across her chest, her heart heavy as she watched her daughter struggle.

Visenya lay on the bed, her body drenched in sweat, her face twisted in pain. Her grip on Aegon’s hand was vice-like, her knuckles white as she braced herself for another wave of agony. The birthing pains had been relentless, more intense than she had anticipated, and she had known for some time now—this child, the one she was bringing into the world, was not Aegon’s. The timing of her labours confirmed the cruel truth. It was Aemond's child. But despite the betrayal of her body, Aegon remained by her side. His face was pale, drawn tight with worry, but his hand never wavered from hers. His thumb traced gentle circles over her skin, trying to soothe her, offering her what little comfort he could. “You are doing so well, Visenya,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “You are so strong. Just a little longer.”

Visenya squeezed her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as another contraction ripped through her. “I cannot….I cannot,” she gasped, her voice ragged. The pain was unlike anything she had ever known, and the weight of her guilt pressed down on her, suffocating. How could she face Aegon once the child was born? How could he? But when she opened her eyes, all she saw in Aegon’s face was love. His eyes, though strained with worry, held none of the anger or bitterness she had feared. Instead, they were filled with an unwavering determination, as though he refused to let her give up. “Yes, you can,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her damp forehead. “You are almost there, Visenya. I’m right here with you. I will not leave you.”

Rhaenyra, her face shadowed with concern, stepped closer, her hand resting on Visenya’s shoulder. She had given birth to her own child only two moons ago, a healthy baby girl she had named Laena who she had assigned Ser Qarl to raise as a way to keep her promise to Laenor, but her body still ached in sympathy for her daughter. Her gaze flickered briefly to Aegon, and for the first time in their tumultuous marriage, she saw the depth of his devotion. He was a good husband to Visenya, better than she could have hoped for. He was not leaving her daughter, even though they both knew the truth.

"Visenya," Rhaenyra said softly, her voice filled with the wisdom of experience. "You are stronger than you know. Focus on the child. You will bring them into this world, and it will be over soon." Visenya bit her lip, tears spilling down her cheeks as she fought through the overwhelming pain. She could feel the weight of the life inside her, the child that was neither wanted nor planned, but would still be loved because it was hers. And yet, the knowledge of who the father truly was—Aemond, the man who had taken from her so much—gnawed at her, making the labour all the more difficult to bear.

“Aegon…” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “What if… What if the child…?” He shook his head, cutting her off before she could say it aloud. “It does not matter, Visenya,” he said firmly, his grip on her hand tightening. “This child is ours. Yours and mine. I will love it because it is a part of you. And nothing—nothing—will change that.” Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time they were not just from the pain. She looked at him, this man who had every right to turn away, and yet stayed by her side with such steadfast loyalty. “How can you…?” she started, her voice faltering.

“Because I love you,” Aegon said, his voice thick with emotion. “Because we are together in this, Visenya. I care about you, and about our future.”

Before Visenya could respond, another powerful pain tore through her, and she cried out, her body arching off the bed as she pushed. The midwives rushed to her side, encouraging her, their voices a steady rhythm in the storm of her agony. “That’s it, my lady, one more push,” one of them said, her tone calm but urgent. “The babe is almost here.”

Rhaenyra hovered nearby, her heart clenching as she watched her daughter suffer. She wanted to take the pain away, to spare her from this, but all she could do was offer her strength, her presence.

With a final, guttural cry, Visenya bore down, her entire body trembling with the effort. And then, in a rush of relief, she felt the release. The room filled with the cries of a newborn, the sound piercing the air and cutting through the tension like a blade. The midwife quickly wrapped the child in a soft cloth, cradling the tiny bundle in her arms. She looked between Visenya and Aegon, her eyes filled with unspoken knowledge. The child had Aemond's unmistakable silver almost white hair unlike Aegon’s nearly blonde lock nor her silvery grey ones, the telltale mark of his lineage.

Visenya's breath hitched as she caught sight of the infant, her worst fears confirmed. But Aegon, without hesitation, reached for the child, holding it carefully in his arms. He looked down at the newborn with a soft smile, his thumb brushing against the tiny hand that grasped his finger. “Welcome to our realm,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Visenya’s chest tightened as she watched him, her heart torn between love and guilt. “Aegon… I…”

He shook his head, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “It does not matter,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “This child is ours. And I will love them as fiercely as I love you.” Tears spilled down Visenya’s cheeks as she reached out for the child, cradling the small, fragile life against her chest. The weight of her guilt and fear still lingered, but for now, all she could feel was the warmth of Aegon’s hand in hers and the soft rise and fall of their child’s breath. It was a beautiful baby girl and Visenya cradled the child as she softly said to Aegon, “What shall we name her?”

As the room slowly emptied, the midwives and maesters leaving in quiet reverence, Rhaenyra lingered for just a moment longer, watching Visenya and Aegon with the newborn cradled in her arms. She had given birth herself not long ago, and the sight of her daughter holding her child stirred a deep ache within her. She leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against Visenya’s forehead, her voice tender but strained with emotion. “You’ve done well, my sweet girl,” she whispered. “I am proud of you.”

Visenya looked up at her mother, the exhaustion clear in her eyes, but there was a fragile smile on her lips. “Thank you, Mother,” she said, her voice barely audible. Rhaenyra gave Aegon a lingering look, a silent nod of approval that passed between them before she turned and left the room, leaving the new family in the quiet stillness.

The door clicked shut, and for the first time since the labour had begun, Visenya and Aegon were alone. The air was heavy with the emotions that had passed between them, the lingering weight of unspoken truths, but now there was peace, however fragile. Visenya looked down at the small baby girl in her arms, her silver hair already hinting at the legacy she carried, her small eyes still tightly shut against the world. Despite everything—the guilt, the betrayal, the fear—Visenya could not help but marvel at the life she had brought into the world. This child was hers, no matter what had come before.

“She is beautiful,” Aegon whispered, his voice soft, as though afraid to break the fragile moment. His hand rested gently on the baby’s head, his fingers tracing over the fine strands of hair. “Just like her mother.”

Tears welled in Visenya’s eyes again, and she looked up at Aegon, her heart brimming with gratitude and love for the man who had stood by her through it all. “What should we name her?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Aegon’s brow furrowed for a moment as he thought, his gaze never leaving the small child in her arms. “She needs a strong name,” he said softly. “A name that reflects who she will become—who she will grow to be.”

Visenya nodded, her fingers brushing over the baby’s soft cheek. “What about Alyssa?” she suggested quietly, the name slipping from her lips with a sense of reverence. “After Alyssa Targaryen, rider of Meleys, grandfather used to tell me of her bravery and her love of dragon riding and how she was excellent in her swordsmanship. A strong woman love in her entirety by a strong man.”

Aegon’s eyes lit up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alyssa,” he echoed, the name rolling off his tongue like a promise. “It is perfect.” He leaned down, placing a tender kiss on the baby’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, Alyssa. You will be loved.”

Visenya lay nestled against Aegon’s chest, her body still aching from the labor, her mind racing with the weight of everything that had happened. In the quiet aftermath of her tears, she remembered his words during the hardest moments of the birth—words that had rooted themselves deep in her heart.

She lifted her head slightly, her eyes searching his. "You said you loved me," she whispered, her voice soft but laced with vulnerability. "During my labours… when I thought I could not bear it anymore."

Aegon’s gaze softened, and he reached out, brushing a stray lock of her damp hair from her forehead. "I did," he said quietly. "And I meant it."

Visenya’s throat tightened as she held his gaze, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation, but she found none. He had said those words so easily, so naturally, as though they had always been there between them, waiting for the right moment to be spoken.

"I thought you were just saying it because… because of the pain," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I did not know if you truly meant it."

“Let us not discuss it any further my darling,” he said as he placed a kiss on her forehead, “You need your rest.” Visenya nodded and Aegon gestured for her to give him the babe but she shook her head and said, “Please stay.”

“I always do,” he said as he kissed her forehead, “I would not let you out of my sight, not since-“

“I know.”

He cradled their daughter in his arms then said, “Let me hold Alyssa, you take your rest my darling.” Visenya’s eyes closed as she fell into a light slumber while Aegon stared at his daughter, their first. He wondered if his mother felt any affection for him like Visenya did for Alyssa, even when she could not speak yet. He kissed her small forehead and said, “You will be so loved, I promise you this.” It was almost a silent prayer to himself as it still filled the back of his mind, questions on why his mother never seemed to care for him when even one look on his daughter’s face, he was irrevocably moved.

He kissed her forehead again and frowned realising he did not know any lullabies, he could not even remember if his mother even cradled him in her arms. Perhaps it never happened. He would love Alyssa fiercely, he would be what his mother and father could not be.

__

Three years had passed on Dragonstone, and Visenya and Aegon’s lives were filled with the laughter of their children and the constant presence of dragons. They had been blessed with two more children since the birth of Alyssa—a strong, spirited boy named Baelon, and their youngest, a quiet girl named Aegea. Baelon preferred the rough-and-tumble play with his mother, his fierce little heart already showing signs of the warrior he would become. Aegea, on the other hand, was a silent, gentle child, always resting in Visenya’s arms, content to stay close to her mother’s warmth.

But it was Alyssa, their eldest, who truly captured hearts. She was inseparable from Aegon, clinging to him like a barnacle to the hull of a ship. No one ever saw Aegon without his shadow, Alyssa, trailing behind him, her tiny hand tucked in his, her eyes ever watchful of her father’s every move. Even during the dragon rides, it was always Alyssa who flew with Aegon, perched securely in front of him on Sunfyre’s golden back, her laughter echoing through the skies.

Today, however, a different mood hung in the air. The peace and joy of their days on Dragonstone were interrupted by the arrival of a raven from King’s Landing. Rhaenyra had received word from the Red Keep: her father, King Viserys, his illness had taken a worse turn, his health failing rapidly. The message carried a sense of urgency, warning that time was running short.

The courtyard of Dragonstone felt unusually still, the weight of the news settling on them like a heavy shroud. Visenya stood with Aegon, her arms around Aegea, cradling their youngest protectively as Baelon played nearby, unaware of the gravity of the situation. Alyssa, however, was clinging to her father’s leg, her wide eyes looking up at him as if sensing the change in the atmosphere. Aegon exchanged a glance with Visenya, his face tense. "We knew this would come eventually," he muttered, his hand resting gently on Alyssa’s head. "But not so soon."

Visenya nodded, knowing what Aegon meant. If her grandfather dies, war will ensue and the laughter she shared with her family would cease in existence.

Rhaenyra’s expression was strained, her hand resting protectively over her own belly. She was still recovering from her most recent childbirth only two moons ago, a son with Daemon she had named Viserys, and yet, the responsibilities of her family’s legacy were already pressing down on her. "I must go," she said, her voice firm despite the tremble underneath. "My father needs me."

"Mother," Visenya said softly, stepping closer to Rhaenyra. "Do you think the Greens will move against us?" Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, her gaze distant as she looked toward the horizon. "They have been waiting for this moment. I can feel it, Daemon warned me and I did not want it to be true. They will spread their poison the moment Father’s gone. We have been gone for too long.”

Aegon shifted beside her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Then we must be ready." Visenya nodded, her heart pounding with an anxious rhythm as she thought of their children—Baelon, Aegea, and especially Alyssa, who now clung to Aegon even tighter as if sensing the storm on the horizon.

Rhaenyra looked at Visenya’s young children and decided that they would leave in the morrow. They all needed the rest and one look to Daemon was enough to give him understanding. Everyone retreated to their bedchambers, Visenya and Aegon’s children refused to leave their side, sensing that something was amiss. For tonight, they slept with their parents.

As the night deepened, the wind outside Dragonstone howled against the stone walls, but inside Visenya and Aegon’s chambers, a quiet calm settled. The flicker of candlelight cast soft shadows across the room as Aegon gently helped their children into their bedclothes. Baelon yawned, his small hands rubbing at his eyes, while Aegea whimpered softly, reaching out for her mother.

Alyssa, as always, clung tightly to Aegon. She was now three years old and had an unshakable bond with her father. Her arms wrapped firmly around his neck, and she whispered with wide, anxious eyes, "Papa, stay close?" Aegon pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice calm and reassuring. "I am not going anywhere, Alyssa. I am right here

"Promise?" she asked, her grip tightening around his neck.

"I promise," he replied with a soft smile, smoothing her hair away from her face. He gently lifted her into the bed beside her siblings. Even then, she refused to let go, her small hand still gripping his sleeve.

"Papa, do not go," she whispered again, her voice trembling.

Aegon crouched beside the bed, his face level with hers. "I won’t, my love. I will stay with you all night."

Satisfied with his answer, Alyssa’s tiny fingers finally loosened, though she kept her gaze on him as if to ensure he wouldn’t disappear.

Visenya watched from where she stood, a warm feeling growing within her. She had grown accustomed to Aegon’s unwavering care, the way he had taken on the role of father and husband with a tenderness she had not expected. Seeing him now, comforting Alyssa, filled her with a bittersweet warmth. The looming journey to King’s Landing weighed heavily on her, but for now, her family was safe.

Aegon glanced up at her, his concern evident. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly, his hand resting on her arm.

Visenya nodded, though her gaze remained distant. "I am just worried… about the children, about what awaits us in King’s Landing."

Aegon rose, placing a hand over hers, his grip firm and reassuring. "We will face whatever comes together," he said, his voice steady. "I will keep you and the children safe. Always."

Visenya offered him a faint smile, though her worry lingered. "I trust you, Aegon. But the Greens… they are waiting for the right moment. I can feel it." Alyssa, half-asleep but still alert to her parents' conversation, reached out again, her small voice piping up. "Greens bad?"

Aegon chuckled softly, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “You need not worry about the Greens, Alyssa. Papa and Mama will keep you safe."

"Safe…" Alyssa murmured, her eyelids drooping as she finally succumbed to sleep.

Visenya exhaled, her hand tightening around Aegon’s as she watched their children. The sight of them, so small and vulnerable, made the weight on her heart grow heavier. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but for tonight, they were together.

"Come to bed," Aegon whispered gently, guiding her toward the bed. "You need rest." Visenya nodded and joined him, watching as Aegon closed his eyes and fell into slumber. It had been 3 years since he told her that he loved her, she had not returned the sentiment yet. She thought if herself brave and yet she was afraid, she thought of how she deeply loved her father and lost him, she was afraid that if she finally confessed her love, she would lose Aegon too. She could not afford it, not now, not ever.

___

Jacaerys stood on the cliffs of Dragonstone, the cold wind whipping through his hair as he gazed out at the endless stretch of sea. His hands rested on the hilt of his sword, fingers tightening reflexively as the weight of his thoughts pressed down on him. It had been moons since his marriage to Baela, and though they were still young, the bond between them was strong. Though he had married Baela as advised by Daemon to strengthen their ties with the Velaryons, understanding the great need for allies for what is to come. Still, he knew she was the best match for him…politics or not.

Yet, with every passing day, he felt the shadow of what was to come looming ever larger. War. It was inevitable. Daemon had always known it, and now Jacaerys felt it too, even if his mother still clung to the hope of peace. He was no longer a boy, though he was only ten-and-nine. His father’s death had stripped away any remnants of boyhood that remained, leaving him with a hardened sense of duty, of responsibility. Daemon had been a good man, and he had stepped in as a father, but Jacaerys still felt the deep ache of losing his true father, Laenor. No one could replace him. The bond they had shared had been different, full of a quiet understanding and pride that only a father and firstborn son could share. Even now, after all these years, Jacaerys missed his father’s quiet strength, the way Laenor had always known what to say, or when to say nothing at all.

Jacaerys knew he had to be strong for his family, for his mother, for his siblings. But the burden of it all weighed heavily on his shoulders, especially now. He glanced down at his hand, where the faintest trace of silver glinted from the ring Baela had given him on their wedding day. Baela—strong, fierce Baela. She was his anchor, his equal. Yet, even with her by his side, there were moments when the weight of the future bore down on him, suffocating him with its uncertainty.

In the distance, he saw Visenya walking with Aegon. She carried their youngest daughter, Aegea, in her arms, while Alyssa clung to Aegon as always. The sight of his sister—so strong, so resilient—tugged at something deep within him. Visenya had always been a force of nature, but now, after everything, there was a new fragility to her that only someone who knew her as well as Jacaerys did could notice. He watched as Aegon leaned in to whisper something in her ear, the small, private smile that flickered across her face as she nodded.

Their bond had grown in ways Jacaerys had not expected. He had seen Aegon change, soften around her. The man who once seemed consumed by his vices had become a devoted husband and father. Still, there was a bitterness in Jacaerys’s heart, an anger he could not extinguish—because of Aemond. Aemond. The name alone was enough to make Jacaerys clench his fists. His hatred for his uncle had only grown over the years. The memory of what Aemond had done to Visenya lingered and how he mercilessly killed their father like a festering wound that would never heal.

His mother, Rhaenyra, still held on to hope that things could be resolved peacefully, that diplomacy and alliances could win the day. But Jacaerys knew better. He had seen it in Daemon’s eyes, in the way his stepfather moved about the castle, preparing for the inevitable. There would be no peace, no way to avoid the coming storm. The Greens were waiting for their moment to strike, and when the time came, they would not hesitate. Jacaerys felt it in his bones, the same way Daemon did.

He had grown to understand Daemon more over the years, even if they did not always agree. His stepfather’s obsession with war, with preparing for every possible scenario, had once seemed overzealous. But now, Jacaerys saw it for what it was—pragmatism. Daemon knew what was coming, and he wanted his family to be ready. Jacaerys could not help but respect that. He had inherited that same instinct, that same drive to protect those he loved.

As the wind whipped around him, Jacaerys’s gaze flickered back to Baela. She stood not far off, speaking quietly with Rhaena as Luke stood patiently, proud to be Rhaena’s betrothed. The sight of her brought a surge of both comfort and fear. He loved her deeply, but that love also made him vulnerable. The thought of losing her, of seeing her or their future children caught up in the violence that was sure to come, gnawed at him day and night. He would not allow that to happen. He could not.

A storm was coming. Jacaerys had always known it. The Greens were spreading their influence, sinking their claws deeper into King’s Landing, into their father’s court. His mother refused to see it fully, but Jacaerys could sense it. He was the firstborn son, and while he respected his elder sister, he knew that the burden of leadership would fall on him when the time came. It was a weight he carried quietly, but heavily.

He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the sounds of the sea to wash over him. When he opened them again, his resolve was clearer than ever. He would protect his family, his wife, his siblings—no matter what. The Greens may be waiting, but so was he.

"Jace," Baela’s voice called to him from behind, soft but strong. "Come inside, it is getting cold."

Later that night, Jacaerys sat at the edge of their bed, staring into the flickering flames of the hearth. The fire's warmth seemed distant, unable to reach the chill that had settled in his bones. Baela moved quietly behind him, her bare feet barely making a sound on the stone floor as she approached. She could sense the weight of his thoughts, heavy and brooding like storm clouds waiting to break.

“You have been quiet for far too long,” she said softly, sitting beside him. Her voice was gentle, but there was a firmness to it, a desire to cut through the silence. “What troubles you, Jace?”

He did not look at her immediately, his dark eyes fixed on the fire. “The raven from King’s Landing,” he began, his voice low and edged with tension. “Mother wants to believe in peace. She still hopes for it. But I see it coming, Baela. War. Not for the throne, not for power, but for survival. I can feel it.”

Baela’s gaze followed his to the fire, her expression thoughtful. “Father sees it too. He’s been preparing for this ever since we left King’s Landing.” Her voice was steady, but there was no denying the flicker of concern that danced behind her words.

Jacaerys nodded, his jaw tightening. “He has been right all along. But it is not only swords and shields, it is the dragons. They are more than just creatures of legend. When the war comes, they will not be soaring for the joy of feeling the wind beneath their wings—they will be burning, killing. We will have to fly them into battle.”

Baela turned to him then, her face resolute, though there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “We have always known what the dragons were meant for, Jace. They were born for fire and blood, not peace. We are their riders, and we have always known the cost of that.”

Jacaerys looked at her, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and sorrow. “I used to love flying,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “The freedom of the sky, the feeling of being untouchable. Now, when I think of it, all I see is death. We will be commanding them to rain fire on men, on other dragons.”

Baela reached for his hand, her touch grounding him as she spoke. “We were born into this, Jace. This is the blood we carry. You, me, Visenya—all of us. The dragons answer to us because they know, just as we do, that our fate is bound to fire and blood.”

He squeezed her hand, his grip firm but trembling slightly. “And when we have children, Baela? Will we raise them knowing their dragons aren’t for the wind, but for war? That they will be expected to ride into battle just like we will?”

Baela’s gaze softened, but her resolve did not waver. “If it comes to that, we will teach them the way our parents taught us. We will teach them strength, and honour, and how to wield their power for something greater than themselves. It’s not about wanting war, Jace—it is about protecting what is ours. If the Greens move against us, we will have no choice. Our dragons will fight, and so will we.”

___

Aemond stood on the balcony of the Red Keep, his one good eye scanning the courtyard below where Helaena sat, her soft laughter carried by the wind. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, their twins nearing their third nameday, ran in circles around her, their silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. Helaena’s hand rested on her growing belly, the gentle curve marking the life of their third child.

He watched them for a moment, the sight almost peaceful in its simplicity. This—his family—was something he had never expected to care for. Yet, over the years, a quiet fondness had grown, a bond forged in the isolation that had followed his reckless actions. His mother and grandfather had kept him close, controlled his every move after everything that had transpired. How he forced himself on Visenya, the murder of Laenor—all of it had weighed heavily on him, even if he rarely admitted it. His punishment had been silent but suffocating.

Yet here, in this small world with Helaena, he had found a kind of refuge.

Descending the stairs, Aemond approached the courtyard, his footsteps soft against the stone. Helaena looked up as he neared, her dreamlike expression softening with a small smile. “The shadows grow long,” she said, her voice distant as if she were speaking from another world entirely. “Dragons circle above, but their fire does not fall yet.”

Aemond had long since learned to accept Helaena’s cryptic words, her riddles, her visions that often drifted through the haze of her mind. He knelt beside her, his hand brushing gently over her swollen belly before resting on her knee. “Are you comfortable?” he asked softly, his voice uncharacteristically tender. He had grown fond of Helaena, though he had not expected to. There was a strange serenity to her, something that soothed the restless beast inside him.

Helaena blinked slowly, her gaze distant once more as she watched their children play. “The little one stirs often,” she murmured, absently stroking her belly. “They will come when the clouds gather.” Aemond’s hand lingered on her knee, offering a brief but genuine gesture of affection. The isolation his family had enforced upon him had brought them closer. Though his marriage to Helaena had been arranged, and though it had felt stifling at first, he had come to appreciate her quiet presence. There was an innocence in her that shielded him from the ugliness of the world outside these walls.

Yet, beneath the surface, his mind wandered back to Visenya. No matter how much time passed, the guilt gnawed at him. He had been a fool, driven by jealousy and humiliation. He could still see her face when he had hurt her, the sharp defiance in her eyes when they dueled. And Laenor… his murder haunted Aemond in the quiet hours of the night. He had done it to prove his strength, but now he saw the fragility of that power, the blood on his hands.

“They will come soon,” Helaena whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. She was staring off toward the horizon, her hands still cradling her belly. “The storm, the fire… they will meet in the sky.”

Aemond tensed at her words, knowing exactly what she meant. Visenya and the rest of her family would be returning soon, drawn by the failing health of the king. The Hightowers would need to act, and Aemond would be called upon once again. Vhagar’s presence loomed large in his mind, the ancient dragon’s strength his only solace in what was to come.

But here, beside Helaena and their children, the looming storm felt distant for a moment. He reached out, placing a hand on her swollen belly again, feeling the life stirring within. “You have given me more than I ever thought I could have,” he said quietly, his voice rough with unspoken emotions.

Helaena looked at him then, her dreamy eyes focusing for just a moment, and a strange smile curved her lips. “You are always seeking, Aemond. But what you seek… it cannot be taken. Only found.”

He need not understand her words, not fully, but he did not need to. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a rare gesture of affection, before standing. His gaze turned toward the sky, where the storm clouds were indeed gathering. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword as he thought of what was to come.

Rhaenyra and Visenya will return, and with them, the war that had been simmering for years. Aemond felt a growing sense of duty, of responsibility, not just to his mother and grandfather, but to his family. He would protect them—Helaena, their children, and the future they represented. Even if it meant mounting Vhagar and claiming the throne he believed was rightfully his.

But beneath the determination, the guilt over Visenya remained, festering like a wound that had never quite healed. The isolation had plucked away the thorns within him. He had hurt her—destroyed the trust they might have shared—all because of his own insecurities, his own desire to prove himself. And now, as the storm approached, he wondered if he would ever have the chance to make it right.

“I will protect you,” he murmured under his breath, glancing back at Helaena and their children one last time before turning toward the gathering darkness.

As Aemond moved toward the door, Helaena’s soft, distant voice pulled him back.

“The Black Queen will rise on wings of fire,” she murmured, her eyes unfocused, staring at something far beyond the room. “And by her side, a dragon of silver flame... But another dragon will fall in the deep, swallowed by the storm, the sea taking him beneath, his eye lost to the abyss.”

Aemond’s blood turned cold. He stopped mid-step, his heart thudding in his chest. He was used to Helaena’s cryptic words, her strange riddles that usually drifted by like fragments of a forgotten dream. But this was different. This cut deeper, the meaning too clear, too unsettling.

He slowly turned back to her, his breath catching.  His mind raced. But the part that twisted like a blade in his gut was the image of a dragon falling into the sea, an eye lost to darkness.

For a moment, he stood frozen, the weight of her prophecy settling over him like a shroud. The sea... the storm... the fall. His fate? Could that be what she had seen?

Helaena blinked, the trance-like fog lifting from her eyes. Slowly, the dreaminess in her face faded, replaced by a look of confusion. Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she looked up at him, and as the full weight of what she had just uttered hit her, her face filled with worry. Her hands instinctively pressed tighter to her belly, cradling the life within her, as though to shield their unborn child from the dark future she had glimpsed.

Aemond’s throat tightened. He wanted to comfort her, to assure her it was just another one of her strange, harmless visions. But this felt too close to the truth. Too close to the doom that had always followed him since the day he’d claimed Vhagar. He knelt before her, gently placing his hand over hers on her belly, his fingers brushing against hers in a silent reassurance.

He could see the fear growing in her eyes, but his own mask of composure slid back into place, like armor over an open wound.

“It was nothing, Helaena,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Another one of your dreams, nothing more.”

The words he uttered were not for her comfort.

__

Alicent sat by the hearth, her fingers tracing the smooth surface of the armrest, lost in thought as the warmth from the fire did little to ease the chill creeping into her bones. Viserys was dying; every breath he took now was labored, every moment closer to his inevitable end. The thought had plagued her for years, but now that the moment was upon them, the reality was suffocating. She had played her role—dutiful wife, loyal queen—but she had never expected to feel the pang of loss that tugged at her heart. Viserys had been a kind man, far gentler than her father or the court would ever give him credit for, and while she had never loved him as a wife should, there had been something between them—a comfort in the years they had spent together.

But that comfort was fleeting now, and in its place came the cold, hard reality her father had never let her forget.

The door creaked open, and Otto Hightower strode in, his presence as suffocating as ever. Alicent need not turn to know he was watching her, his eyes sharp and calculating, as always.

“Viserys is on his last breaths,” Otto said, his voice void of emotion. “We must be ready. We cannot afford to hesitate.”

Alicent closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath before she spoke. “You have said this for years, Father. Yet we stand here, knowing that Aegon is lost to us.”

Otto's lips thinned, his expression darkening at the mention of Aegon. “Aegon has made his choice, but that does not change the course of what must be done.”

“He is the firstborn,” Alicent replied sharply, her voice laced with frustration. “How do you propose we crown Aemond when Aegon is the heir by law if we do not wish Rhaenyra to rule? The lords will never accept a second son over the first. And Aegon… Aegon’s loyalty is no longer with us. He stands with Visenya, and through her, with Rhaenyra.”

Otto’s jaw clenched, his displeasure evident as he stepped further into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “Aegon is a fool, swayed by the whims of a girl and his need for approval. His loyalty is misplaced, but loyalty can be broken. We do not need him to fight our cause.”

“You speak as if Aegon does not matter, but he does,” Alicent said, her frustration growing. “You cannot simply cast him aside because he does not align with your plans. The realm will never accept Aemond as an heir over Rhaenyra while Aegon still lives.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into a more dangerous tone. “Aegon is of no use to us as he is. His heart belongs to Visenya, and she has tethered him firmly to Rhaenyra’s cause. He will not raise his sword for the Greens, and that makes him irrelevant.”

Alicent bristled at the callousness in his words. “He is still your grandson. You would discard him so easily?”

“If he chooses to align himself with our enemies, then yes, and do not pretend that you do not hold a certain disgust for your firstborn, you always have. Do not let sentiments affect you now when it could have been felt when he was born,” Otto replied coldly. “He has made his bed. Aegon’s fate is sealed the moment Rhaenyra takes the throne. The only place for him now is under her thumb, and we cannot allow that.”

Alicent shook her head, feeling the weight of it all crushing her. “You speak of Aemond as if he is our only hope. But how will we make him heir? He is second born, and the lords will see it as a usurpation of Aegon’s birthright when we already plan to usurp Rhaenyra.”

Otto’s expression did not waver. “Aemond is stronger, more determined. He is the son who understands what must be done, the son who will not flinch in the face of war. You know this, Alicent. He has grown into his role, especially since marrying Helaena. His reckless ambitions have been tempered. The realm has been watching and we have begun to ally with other great houses who are displeased at the thought of a woman sitting the throne.”

At that, Alicent’s anger flared. “You speak of Helaena as if she is nothing more than a tool to control him! She is my daughter, and she should never have been used like this. I never wanted her to become a pawn in your schemes.”

“Everyone is a pawn in this game, Alicent,” Otto snapped, his eyes narrowing. “You included. You allowed Criston to share your bed to secure your power, did you not? You bed him to seal his loyalty to you. Do not pretend innocence now. We all do what must be done.”

Alicent’s breath hitched, her father’s words cutting deep, but she would not let him see how much it affected her. She had made her sacrifices, done what was required to survive. But now, it was her children who were paying the price. Aegon, tied to Visenya and lost to her cause. Aemond, groomed for war, with no hope of ever having the life he truly desired. And Helaena, forced into a marriage she never asked for, just to solidify their hold on Aemond.

“Aegon is gone,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “He will not fight for us. His heart is with Visenya, and he will follow her to the grave, if need be. His loyalty is no longer ours to claim.”

“Hah, Aegon is not loyal to you my dear daughter for you have never given him the attention you do with your other children. Had you perhaps shown even an ounce of motherly affection then perhaps this conversation would have Neve taken place,” he said as he watched the flames of the hearth begin to fizzle unusually.

“And what of the realm?” Alicent asked bitterly. “Do you truly believe they will follow Aemond into war? He is second born, no matter how much you wish otherwise.”

“The realm follows strength, Alicent,” Otto replied coldly. “And Aemond has the strength to take what is his. With or without Aegon, we will prevail.”

Alicent turned away, her heart heavy with the knowledge that her father would stop at nothing to see their cause succeed, even if it meant sacrificing her children in the process. The realm would burn, and her family would be at the center of it. Aegon would stand against them, bound by his love for Visenya, and Aemond would become the sword her father so desperately needed.

But at what cost?

Chapter Text

Visenya had grown distant with the atmosphere of the Red Keep. Though Dragonstone had always been shrouded in mist, the eerie coldness of King’s Landing, particularly within the walls of the Red Keep, chilled her more deeply now. The grand castle, once vibrant with the symbols of Old Valyria, felt different—haunted, almost. As their family made their way through the stone corridors, she noticed the subtle but unmistakable changes. The tapestries of dragons and the bold colors of House Targaryen were muted now, replaced by the seven-pointed stars of the Faith.

Daemon walked beside her, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the Faith's symbols. "The Hightowers have wasted no time imposing their piety upon these halls," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain. "This is not the Red Keep I once knew."

Visenya caught his words and glanced at him, feeling the same discomfort settle over her. Her eyes flitted over the new banners, the statues of the Seven, and the quiet presence of septons and septas roaming the halls. It felt as if her ancestors were being slowly erased, their legacy replaced by something that did not belong in this place. The shift was unsettling, a reminder that the Greens were taking their grip on power more seriously than ever.

As they approached the Great Hall, the weight of what awaited them pressed heavily on her shoulders. The Hightowers were there, waiting. It was the first time they had returned to the capital in years, and the tension was palpable. Her mother, Rhaenyra, led the way, her expression unreadable, though Visenya could sense the underlying current of unease in her every step. Aegon walked beside Visenya, their children in tow. Alyssa clung to his hand tightly, her large eyes wide with curiosity as she glanced around the unfamiliar halls.

Visenya’s gaze drifted to her husband, his expression tense but controlled. Aegon had been more solemn since they received the raven about King Viserys' failing health, his once carefree demeanor replaced by a quiet resolve. She could see the burden of their impending conflict weighing on him, and it tugged at her heart. He had chosen her side, their family’s side—Rhaenyra's side—and she feared what that loyalty would cost him in the days to come.

“Mother,” Visenya whispered, stepping closer to Rhaenyra as they approached the Great Hall. “Do you think they will move against us?”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, her gaze distant as she looked toward the towering doors ahead of them.

“They have been waiting for this moment. I can feel it. Daemon warned me, and I did not want it to be true. They will spread their poison the moment Father’s gone. We have been gone for too long.”

Aegon shifted beside Visenya, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he cast a protective glance at her. “Then we must be ready.”

Visenya nodded, her heart pounding with an anxious rhythm. Her thoughts shifted to their children—Baelon, Aegea, and Alyssa, who now clung to Aegon even tighter as if sensing the growing storm. This was no place for their innocence, but they had little choice but to bring them here, to the center of a battle that had yet to fully begin.

Rhaenyra’s gaze flickered to her grandchildren, her expression softening for a brief moment before hardening once more. She turned to Daemon, who had remained silent, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the hall ahead of them.

“We will rest tonight,” Rhaenyra said, her voice firm, “but tomorrow, we meet with them. The Hightowers will not take this throne without a fight.”

Daemon’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Let them try.”

As they stepped into the Great Hall, Visenya felt the oppressive atmosphere close in around them. The banners of the Seven seemed to loom over their heads, a stark reminder of how much had changed since they had last walked these halls. The Greens had taken root in King’s Landing, and with every step, Visenya could feel the weight of their influence bearing down upon them.

__

The Great Hall was a graveyard of old alliances, and Visenya could feel the weight of the Red Keep's suffocating atmosphere. It had been years since she last walked these halls, but everything had changed. Symbols of the Faith of the Seven were draped everywhere—over stone walls, across pillars—an oppressive reminder of the Hightowers' influence.

Daemon strode beside her, his eyes narrowing as they made their way to the heart of the hall, where Otto Hightower sat on the Iron Throne in her father’s place. Visenya’s gaze hardened, her heart aching with each step. Her father, King Viserys, was noticeably absent, and it was a silence that screamed louder than any words. Daemon’s lips curled into a sneer. “So this is what the kingdom has come to—an empty throne, filled by a usurper.”

Otto’s eyes flickered with amusement, but he said nothing, remaining as still as the iron chair beneath him. Beside him stood Queen Alicent, her hands folded tightly before her, her expression one of calm resolve.

“Where is the King?” Rhaenyra demanded, her voice carrying across the hall, hard and unyielding.

Otto’s lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. “The King’s health continues to deteriorate, Princess. He is too weak to attend such... matters.”

Daemon barked out a humorless laugh. “Too weak? Or is it that you prefer him tucked away while you play at ruling, Hightower?”

The tension crackled like fire on dry wood, but Otto’s smile remained. “The King entrusted the council with the realm’s safety in his absence. It is my duty to fulfill that trust.” Visenya barely heard them. Her eyes wandered, lingering on the people gathered in the hall. And then, in the corner of her gaze, she caught a figure—tall, stern, standing dutifully beside Helaena. It was Aemond. She had not seen him in years, had not wanted to. The man before her now seemed more formidable than the man who had once struck fear and rage into her heart. His eye, that sharp violet eye, shifted toward her. But then something happened that neither of them expected. His gaze fell on the small figure of a child by Aegon’s side—Alyssa.

Aemond froze.

Alyssa clung to Aegon’s leg, her large, curious eyes taking in the unfamiliar hall. She was no older than three, with silver hair that gleamed under the light, her small face framed by her mother’s soft honeyed skin. But it was not her skin that caught Aemond’s breath in his throat—it was her features. Sharp, pointed, and so painfully familiar. The shape of her chin, the set of her jaw—she looked like him.

His heart twisted as the realization hit him like a blow. The child was his. A truth he had pushed to the back of his mind, buried under layers of guilt and anger, now stood before him as undeniable as his own reflection.

Aemond’s hand clenched at his side, his stomach roiling with a mix of regret and something else—something deeper, darker. It was as if the past had come back to haunt him in the form of this small girl. He had never seen her before, but now, in the Great Hall, the living embodiment of his past sins stood no more than a few feet away.

Alicent noticed the tension in her son’s posture, and her gaze followed his to where Alyssa stood. The resemblance hit her immediately, and for a split second, her carefully crafted composure cracked. She saw it too—the echo of Aemond in the child’s features. A wave of dread washed over her, but she swallowed it, forcing her expression back into its usual calm.

Aegon, oblivious to the storm brewing between his brother and mother, gently picked up Alyssa, holding her close as if to shield her from the coldness of the hall. Aegon, who had once been reckless and wild, had found something to anchor him—his family. His love for Visenya and their children was written plainly on his face, and Alyssa was no exception. She adored him, clinging to him with the fierce loyalty only a child could muster.

Aemond’s gaze burned, not with jealousy, but with the overwhelming weight of what he had done. Visenya had moved on. She had made a life with Aegon, but the child—Alyssa—was a constant reminder of the night his rage and jealousy had led him astray. His heart twisted further, and he forced himself to look away, though the image of the girl stayed with him, searing itself into his mind.

Otto’s voice broke through the tension, his gaze settling on Rhaenyra and Daemon with thinly veiled contempt. “The realm requires stability, Princess. Your father’s condition is dire. The sooner we prepare for what is to come, the better for everyone.”

Daemon’s smile was as cold as ice. “You mean the sooner you solidify your grip on the throne.”

Rhaenyra’s voice cut through like a blade. “We will see my father.” Alicent nodded, her face a mask of serene composure. “Of course. He will see his daughter.”

As the Great Hall began to empty, the air between the Hightowers and Targaryens was thick with tension. Aegon, with Alyssa resting comfortably in his arms, whispered something into his daughter’s ear that made her giggle. Her small hands tugged at his silver hair as she kissed his cheek, her affection for him clear in her bright, wide eyes. Aegon, in turn, smiled—a rare and genuine softness in his face that few ever saw.

Aemond stood nearby, his gaze fixed on the scene. The sight of the child—his child—clinging to Aegon, made a bitter knot tighten in his chest. Alyssa, with her Valyrian features, pale hair, and sharp, familiar face, should have been his to hold and love. Yet, it was Aegon she adored, Aegon she had always known as her father. It was as though Aemond had never existed. The bitterness that he had long buried began to fester, the gnawing jealousy and regret simmering beneath his calm exterior. This was the girl he had sired in his reckless, jealous fury, and now she looked at his older brother with love that could never be his. The very love that should have been his, had he not ruined everything.

Visenya watched from a distance, noticing Aemond’s intense stare. It was impossible for her not to see the way his eye lingered on Alyssa—the child he had created out of his own selfish, vengeful actions. Her own heart hardened. There was no room for forgiveness, not after everything he had done. She stormed toward him, fury blazing in her violet eyes. When she spoke, her voice was low but full of venom. “You will not look at her in that manner,” she hissed, her words sharp as a blade. “You will stay away from her.”

Aemond’s eye snapped to hers, taken aback by the depth of her anger. “She is—”

“She is nothing to you!” Visenya cut him off, her words filled with loathing. “You are a monster, after all that you took from me and now you want to take once more?” Her breath quickened with the force of her rage, the bitterness seeping into her words. “She should have been Aegon’s. She would have been his, if not for you.”

Aemond recoiled at her words, guilt washing over him. His fists clenched at his sides, the weight of what he had done pressing down on him like an unbearable burden. “She is my blood,” he said, though even he knew how hollow the words sounded.

“Blood?” Visenya spat, her face twisted in fury. “You think that means anything? You think blood gives you the right to claim her after what you did?” Her voice wavered with fury, years of resentment bubbling to the surface. “I do not care if war never commences, I will kill you with my bare hands, not with dragon’s fire, you do not deserve a dragon rider’s death. You deserve to rot an die like you never had a place in this realm, nothing but a footnote in history.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His eye flickered back to Alyssa, who was still nestled comfortably in Aegon’s arms, oblivious to the storm raging between the adults around her. Visenya took a step closer, her eyes burning with hatred. “Aegon is her father. And you?” She sneered. “You are nothing but a ghost. And I will never let you near her. Not now, not ever.”

Aemond watched as she walked away, her head held high, her hand slipping into Aegon’s as she approached him. Aegon, who had been watching the exchange with wary eyes, held Alyssa close and shot Aemond a warning look before turning away with his family—his family.

The walls of the Red Keep felt colder, the shadows longer, as if the very air around him was suffocating. His thoughts spun in turmoil—Visenya’s hatred, the weight of his past mistakes, and the future that seemed more uncertain than ever.

Then, he heard the soft, familiar footsteps.

Helaena approached, her pale hair cascading down her back, her round belly cradled by her hands. She moved like a specter, her violet eyes distant, unfocused, as though she were walking through a dream. Aemond’s chest tightened at the sight of her—aloof, delicate, and lost in visions he could never understand. “Helaena,” he called softly, but she did not seem to hear him, her gaze fixed somewhere far beyond. She stopped a few paces from him, her lips parting to murmur words that sent a chill down his spine.

“Visenya,” she whispered, her voice carrying an eerie melody, “her wings are of fire. Flames that scorch the earth… she flies, but not alone… the shadows follow her. The throne burns in her wake, and the blood of kings stains the ground.”

Aemond stiffened, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. “What are you saying, Helaena?” He reached out for her, his voice strained as he tried to ground her in reality. “What does Visenya have to do with this?”

But she did not respond to his question. Instead, her gaze darkened, and her voice trembled as she spoke again, as if reciting from some terrible vision. “A girl of silver and gold… she rises from the ashes, but behind her, the wings of death spread wide. A brother will fall, and the flames will consume us all.”

“Helaena…” Aemond’s voice was firmer now, panic rising in his chest. He stepped closer, taking her hands into his, feeling the coolness of her skin. “You mustn’t speak like this. I will protect you. I will protect our children.”

But Helaena’s eyes remained glassy, lost in the terror of her vision. She continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “I saw us… our children… they cry in the dark, their screams swallowed by the fire. The shadow comes for us, Aemond… and nothing will stop it.” His breath hitched, and he gripped her hands tighter, desperate to pull her back from whatever nightmare she was trapped in. “No,” he said, his voice trembling. “I won’t let that happen. I will keep you safe, Helaena. I swear it. No harm will come to you or our children.”

Her eyes flickered for a moment, as if some brief recognition passed through her mind, but the haunting detachment returned almost immediately. She stared at him, her lips quivering as she whispered her final words. “It will not change anything.”

__

Rhaenyra and Daemon walked through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, their footsteps echoing softly as they approached Viserys’s bedchambers. The air was thick with the scent of incense, an attempt to mask the stench of sickness that permeated the walls. Daemon's eyes narrowed at the flickering candlelight that illuminated the various symbols of the Faith of the Seven, now scattered throughout the halls, reminding him of how the Hightowers had slowly turned the Keep into a monument of their own power.

They reached the heavy doors leading to Viserys’s chambers, the guards posted outside bowing deeply as they pulled them open. The room was dim, save for the faint glow of the hearth, and the figure lying in the grand bed seemed almost unrecognizable.

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat as she saw her father—thin, frail, and worn down by the weight of time and illness. His once-strong frame had withered, his skin pale and sallow. His breathing was labored, every rise and fall of his chest a reminder of how little time he had left.

Daemon stood still for a moment, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his brother. The fire that had once burned brightly in Viserys’s eyes was now barely a flicker. As much as Daemon had his differences with him, seeing Viserys like this twisted something deep within him. He felt Rhaenyra’s grip tighten on his arm, and he covered her hand with his own in silent support.

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her voice soft and trembling, “Father?”

Viserys stirred at the sound of her voice, his eyelids fluttering open. His eyes, though clouded with pain, brightened slightly at the sight of his daughter. “Rhaenyra,” he rasped, his voice weak, yet full of love. “You’ve come… I knew you would.”

Daemon stayed back, watching the exchange closely, but it wasn’t long before he spoke.

“Where are your keepers?” he muttered, looking around the room, noticing the absence of the maesters and servants. “Left to die alone in this cold tomb?” Viserys chuckled weakly, though it sounded more like a rattle. “Even in my final days, Daemon… you still can’t resist the urge to provoke.”

Rhaenyra knelt beside her father, taking his frail hand into hers. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to remain composed. “Father, you should not  be alone. I’m here now. We are here.” She glanced back at Daemon, who gave a small nod.

Viserys’s gaze softened as he looked at his daughter, but there was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he hadn’t been able to lift in years. “The realm… is in your hands, Rhaenyra. You must… be ready.”Rhaenyra’s heart clenched. “I will, Father. I swear it. But you—” Her voice broke, and she paused to steady herself. “You need rest. You need to regain your strength.”

Viserys smiled weakly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “There is no strength left… not in this old body. But you… you are my strength, Rhaenyra. You always have been.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer, his eyes flicking to the empty throne that now stood in Viserys’s stead. “You should have sent for us sooner,” he said, his tone carrying the frustration he couldn’t hide. “Letting them—” his voice darkened, “—rule in your place, was a mistake.”

Viserys closed his eyes, exhaustion weighing him down. “Otto… has done… what I have asked of him,” he whispered.

Daemon scoffed. “What you allowed him to do was tighten the noose around your neck.” Rhaenyra shot Daemon a look, but she couldn’t fully disagree with him. She knew the truth of it—the Hightowers had gained too much power, their grip on the realm tightening with every day her father grew weaker. The Faith of the Seven, the symbols in the halls, Otto’s influence, and now, the very throne itself—all of it had been allowed to fester while Viserys had grown blind to the threat.

Viserys opened his eyes once more, the effort clearly taxing him. “Daemon… there are more important things… than power,” he murmured, his voice barely audible now. “You must… be patient.”

Rhaenyra squeezed his hand, leaning closer. “Rest now, Father. We will stay with you.”

As Viserys drifted off, his breathing shallow and uneven, Rhaenyra and Daemon shared a heavy glance. The reality of what lay ahead pressed down on them. The Hightowers had already begun to move, and soon, the realm would be thrown into turmoil. However, Daemon had only noticed his brother reaching out for him as Rhaenyra left the chambers. He stayed behind and approached his brother who groaned in pain and said, “You married her against my wishes.”

“I did and I hold no regret,” Daemon answered firmly and Viserys weakly laughed at that then said, “You rarely hold regret dear brother. And what of-.”

“Rhaenyra’s last child with Laenor was named Laena, she’s a spirited young girl, much like Visenya, and she spends most of her days training at the sword with Ser Qarl,” Daemon recounted and Viserys softly smiled at that, and yet, a question still danced within his eyes.

Daemon relented, “A son named Aegon was born to us not long after Laena and two moons from today, we were blessed with another boy we named Viserys.”

“Viserys…a name fit for a king,” his brother said we a wide smile this time and Daemon grimaced, a part of him still awaiting his brother’s blessing. Viserys smile faltered as he noticed Daemon’s dark expression. Even when his eyes rarely succeeded in helping him see, he saw his brother so clearly in this moment. Viserys finally confessed, “I will not pretend to be a fool. My daughter has always held affection for you and I was not blind, I just could not accept it. You are reckless in nature Daemon. It drove father mad, it drove myself to madness at times but you have always been loyal to Rhaenyra. I know you want to see her on the throne. You pretend to have no heart, dear brother, but you do. Any fool would look for it within you but your heart had always been with her.”

“Brother-.”

“Please Daemon, let me speak while I still can,” Viserys faintly pleaded and yet he would not wait for Daemon’s approval, “Please protect my daughter, protect my girl. Promise me, Daemon.”

“I will always protect her, she is my duty, she is my love,” Daemon reassured Viserys and that was all the old king needed to hear as he closed his eyes and took his rest whilst he said, “Then I can be at peace.”

Daemon nodded and suddenly dark sister felt heavier around his waist.

__

Rhaenyra did not bother waiting for Daemon, she knew the brothers needed to talk. Even if Daemon would not let on his worries, Rhaenyra already knew his troubles. She stood in the dim light of her bedchamber, her mind racing. She knew the time had come—her father’s death was imminent, and the Hightowers were already tightening their grip on King’s Landing. There was no more time to wait.

Rhaenyra turned to face her children: Visenya, Jace, Luke, Baela, Rhaena, and Aegon, her son-in-law. They had gathered in the room, their faces a mixture of apprehension and resolve. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air. "We must act swiftly and carefully," Rhaenyra began, her voice steady but filled with tension. "We cannot afford to let them see our next moves. We must gather our allies, but we do so discreetly."

Luke, standing beside Jace, stepped forward, his face determined. "Let me go to Storm's End," he offered. "I can speak with Lord Borros Baratheon and secure his loyalty. He is a man who values honor. He may stand with us."

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened at her son’s bravery, but concern flickered in her gaze. "It is  a dangerous task, Lucerys. The Baratheons are unpredictable." Visenya placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder. "I will go with him, Mother," she said, her voice calm but firm. "We will secure the Baratheons. If the storm is coming, we need them on our side."

Aegon shifted beside her, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. "Visenya speaks true. I will go too if needed. We cannot risk losing such a powerful house."

Rhaenyra looked between her children, her heart swelling with pride and dread. She glanced at Daemon, who had entered silently and now stood beside her. His gaze was hard, a silent agreement that the time for peace had passed. But this was her decision. "Very well," Rhaenyra said, her tone resolute. "Luke, you will go to Storm’s End. Take Arrax. And Visenya take Vaehaemion with you,” she hesitated, knowing her daughter’s fierce heart, "keep a close watch on your brother. We cannot lose either of you."

Visenya nodded, though her gaze was already distant, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. She sensed something was off, something darker brewing beneath the surface.  As the family began to leave the chamber to make preparations, Aegon grasped Visenya’s hand. "Are you certain about this?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with concern. "Something does not feel right." Without missing a beat, Alyssa tugged on her father’s clothes and said, “Papa? Mama leave?” Aegon’s eyes softened as he looked down at Alyssa, who clung to his leg, her wide, questioning eyes a mirror of his own fears.

Baelon, who had only has his second nameday, sat at Aegon’s feet, playing with a carved dragon, while baby Aegea squirmed in her nursemaid’s arms nearby, her tiny fists waving in the air. Aegon crouched down to Alyssa’s level, placing a gentle hand on her head. "Yes, Alyssa, Mama has to go for a little while," he said softly, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. "But she will be back soon, I promise."

Alyssa’s lip quivered as she looked up at her mother, her small hands gripping tighter to Aegon. "Why?” Her voice was soft, pleading. Visenya’s heart tightened painfully as she knelt beside Aegon, her fingers brushing a lock of hair from Alyssa’s forehead. "I have to help your uncle, little one," she said gently, though her voice carried the weight of her resolve. "But I will return. I promise I will come back to you."

Nearby, Baelon, sensing the tension, dropped his toy and crawled over to his father, clinging to his leg as well. "Mama," he mumbled, his little voice muffled by Aegon’s tunic. His innocent plea sent a ripple of pain through Visenya, but she forced a reassuring smile. Aegon’s gaze flickered between them, the unease from earlier still gnawing at him. His hand found Visenya’s, his fingers brushing hers as if seeking to hold on to something solid. "I do not…I do not want you to go,” he whispered, his voice thick with worry. "Something feels wrong. Something about this does not sit right with me."

Visenya gave him a sad smile, her eyes reflecting the same unease that had settled deep in her bones. "I know," she admitted softly, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of his hand. "But I cannot let Luke go alone. If Aemond even catches a whiff …” She did not need to finish the sentence. Aegon knew well enough the hatred his brother harboured for Luke, a resentment that had burned bright for years.

“Nothing will sway him,” Aegon said, his jaw tightening. "You know his nature. He’ will chase him, Visenya." Visenya’s expression hardened with resolve, her lips thinning into a grim line. "Then I will stop him." Aegon stood up, pulling her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her as though he could shield her from the storm brewing beyond the walls of the Red Keep. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice a raw whisper. "Just come back to us," he pleaded, his voice heavy with emotion.

"I will," she murmured, her face pressed against his chest, finding momentary comfort in his warmth. "I will come back."

At her side, Alyssa tugged again on Visenya’s sleeve, her voice breaking through the quiet moment with soft, desperate words. "Promise?"

Visenya knelt again, her heart aching as she cupped Alyssa’s cheek. "I promise, Alyssa. I’ll come back. You be strong for Papa, alright? And look after Baelon and Aegea." Alyssa’s face was serious, far too serious for her tender age, as she nodded solemnly.  Baelon’s tiny hand reached out, grabbing onto his mother’s finger, his innocent eyes watching her closely. "Mama," he mumbled, his words tugging at her heartstrings.

Visenya leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then gently ran her hand over baby Aegea’s soft hair. "I will be back soon, my sweet ones," she said softly, though the weight of her words felt heavier than ever. As she straightened, Aegon’s hand lingered on hers for a moment longer, their eyes locking in a silent exchange that neither wanted to end. But there was no turning back. She had to go. Luke needed her, and even the possibility of Aemond’s wrath was far too great to ignore. Aegon held Alyssa and Baelon close, his heart heavy as Visenya turned and walked toward the door, the image of her retreating figure burning into his memory. His eyes flicked to Aegea, who cooed softly, oblivious to the danger, then back to Alyssa, whose eyes were still wide with worry.

"Papa," Alyssa whispered as she clung to him, her voice small and trembling. "Mama be alright?"

Aegon swallowed hard, his heart aching as he looked at his daughter’s innocent face. "She will," he said, though the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. "Mama will come back to us.”

____

The first rays of dawn stretched across the sky, casting a soft, golden glow over King’s Landing, but in the courtyard, the mood was heavy with anticipation. The quiet hum of armor being strapped into place and the low whispers of parting words filled the air. Visenya stood beside her brother Luke, both adorned in gleaming dragon-scaled armor, the faint shimmer reflecting the approaching sunrise. They had prepared for this moment—trained for it—but the gravity of the task ahead still weighed heavily.

Visenya adjusted the vambrace on her arm, her fingers trembling slightly. A few feet away, Vaehaemion, her sleek, dark dragon, waited impatiently, his wings twitching as if sensing the tension. Luke’s dragon, Arrax, was also nearby, the young beast shifting nervously, much like his rider.

Rhaenyra stood at the edge of the dragon pit her eyes clouded with worry as she watched her children prepare for what might be their final flight together. Daemon stood close, his face unreadable, but his posture tense, every muscle coiled and ready, as if he could fight the battle that awaited them himself.

Visenya glanced over at Aegon, who held their children close—Alyssa perched on his hip, her wide eyes reflecting both curiosity and fear, while Baelon and baby Aegea sat at his feet.  Visenya’s heart ached as she kissed her daughter’s forehead. She then picked up Baelon, who had now been clinging to her leg, and hugged him tightly before kissing Aegea, who was now in her nuirsemaid’s arms, on the top of her head. “I will be back,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow in her mouth.

When she stood, Aegon’s eyes were fixed on hers. He reached out, taking her hand. “Are you sure?” His voice was thick with emotion. “You do not have to go.” Visenya squeezed his hand tightly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “I do, Aegon,” she said softly. “Luke needs me, and I need to protect him.” She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “You know I have to do this.”

Aegon swallowed hard, his grip tightening. “Just come back to me,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Come back to us.” Visenya’s throat constricted as she kissed him, a lingering kiss filled with unspoken promises. “I will,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She looked at her children one last time before stepping back.

Nearby, Luke was saying his own farewells. Rhaena, his betrothed, stood with her arms crossed, her face a mix of fear and frustration. “You do not have to go alone,” she said, her voice strained. “I can come with you. I will ride with you.” Luke shook his head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “No, Rhaena. It is too dangerous. Storm’s End is neutral ground, but… I need to do this. I will be back before you know it.” His attempt at reassurance fell flat, but Rhaena bit her lip and nodded, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Just come back to me,” she whispered against his armour.

“I will,” Luke promised, though the uncertainty hung heavy in the air. He kissed her forehead and stepped back, glancing at Visenya, who gave him a reassuring nod. Rhaenyra approached Visenya next, her eyes filled with a mother’s pride and fear. “You look like a warrior queen,” she said, her voice trembling slightly as she smoothed down the edges of Visenya’s armor. “I always knew you had this fire in you. But remember…” Rhaenyra’s voice faltered. “Remember to be careful. You may be fierce, but you are not invincible.”

Visenya smiled softly. “I know, Mother. I will come back. For you. For the realm.” Rhaenyra’s hand lingered on her daughter’s cheek before she pulled her into a tight embrace. “I am so proud of you, my dragon,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Fly high and return safely.”

Finally, Daemon stepped forward, his sharp eyes assessing Visenya’s readiness. His expression remained stoic, but there was a flicker of something deeper—worry, perhaps, or the weight of memories shared only between them. “You know what is to come?” he said in a low voice, his gaze steady.

Visenya met his eyes, her own fierce and determined. “I do,” she said firmly. “Aemond will soon notice our absence.” Daemon nodded, though a shadow of concern passed over his features. “You have trained well,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “But remember, battles are not just won with strength. You must outthink him. Use your mind as much as your blade.”

Visenya nodded. “I will remember,” she promised. Daemon’s gaze softened for a moment, rare affection breaking through his hardened exterior. “And if things go wrong… you come back to Dragonstone, we will be there. Do not let your pride cost you everything. Your family needs you.” Visenya swallowed, the weight of his words settling on her shoulders. She nodded again, her throat tight. “I will not let them down.”

Daemon clasped her shoulder, his grip firm. “Good.” Then, with a rare moment of tenderness, he pulled her into a brief embrace. “Fly swift and return.” As Visenya and Luke turned toward their dragons, the air crackled with tension. The distant roar of Vaehaemion and Arrax filled the sky, and soon, the siblings mounted their dragons, ready to fly toward Storm’s End.

Aegon stood with Alyssa in his arms, Baelon clutching his leg, and Aegea in the nursemaid’s embrace. His eyes never left Visenya as she soared into the sky, her silhouette sharp against the rising sun.

Chapter Text

Aemond paced the cold stone halls of the Red Keep, suspicion gnawing at him. The absence of Rhaenyra’s family at breakfast had been glaring, a strange silence falling over the castle since dawn. The tension in the air was palpable, and Aemond could feel something was deeply wrong.

As he reached the courtyard, Ser Criston Cole hurried to meet him, his face set with concern.

"My prince," Criston greeted, bowing swiftly, "I bring troubling news."

Aemond’s gaze narrowed, already sensing what was coming. "Speak."

"The dragonkeepers noticed something unusual early this morning," Criston began, his voice low. "Two dragons left the Dragonpit at dawn—Arrax and Vaehaemion."

Aemond’s breath hitched, his mind immediately leaping to the riders of those dragons. Arrax belonged to Luke, and Vaehaemion to Visenya. The realization struck like a blade: they were gone.

"And the rest?" Aemond demanded, his voice sharp.

Criston’s expression darkened further. "The keepers noted that the rest of Rhaenyra’s dragons, those belonging to her and Daemon as well as their sons and daughters, left not long after. It appears they all departed for Dragonstone under the cover of dawn. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their children are no longer in King’s Landing."

Aemond’s jaw clenched. "They have fled." His voice was cold, fury building behind his eyes. "They must have left discreetly," Criston continued. "The servants whispered about preparations being made late into the night. Rhaenyra and Daemon… they have begun to gather their allies. And sending Luke and Visenya… they are likely on their way to Storm’s End, to gain Borros Baratheon’s support, seeing that Princess Rhaenys herself has ties to the Great House.”

Aemond's fists tightened at his sides as the full weight of what had transpired sank in. Rhaenyra had moved swiftly, sending her children ahead to secure the loyalty of one of the most powerful houses in the realm. If Borros sided with them, it would shift the balance in Rhaenyra’s favor, giving her the upper hand before Aemond or the Hightowers could even react.

"Storm’s End…" Aemond muttered, his thoughts racing. He knew Borros Baratheon was unpredictable, but he also knew that Visenya, with her fierce Targaryen nature, and Luke, with his youth and charm, were dangerous emissaries. They were sent to play on Lord Borros’s ego, to flatter and cajole him into their cause. But they were vulnerable. Luke was young, inexperienced in war and diplomacy, and Visenya… Aemond’s thoughts lingered on her. She was formidable, her fierce spirit undeniable, but she was no match for him. Not in the skies. And he would be damned if he let them secure Borros Baratheon’s support without a fight.

Aemond's pulse quickened as the plan formed in his mind. They had to be stopped before they reached Storm’s End. "They think they can move against us and secure alliances," Aemond said, his voice thick with barely controlled rage. "They will not succeed." Criston looked at him with hesitation. "My prince, if you pursue them…" Aemond cut him off, his tone icy. "I will chase them myself. I will ensure they do not reach Storm’s End."

Criston bowed his head in understanding. "Then I will make the arrangements."

Turning on his heel, Aemond’s mind was already set. This was not just about stopping Luke and Visenya—it was about crushing Rhaenyra’s rebellion before it could gain momentum. As he strode toward the courtyard where Vhagar awaited, the weight of the coming confrontation settled over him like a storm.

__

Aemond found Helaena standing by the window, her pale hands resting on the stone ledge as she stared out at the distant horizon. Her expression was serene, but her eyes held a sadness he knew all too well. The soft glow of dawn highlighted the golden strands of her hair, and for a moment, Aemond hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he could leave her like this.

Stepping closer, he spoke quietly. "I have to go."

Helaena turned to face him, her large, thoughtful eyes taking him in. She didn’t seem surprised, as though she had known this moment would come. Her lips trembled slightly, but she said nothing for a long moment. "You are going after them?” she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond sighed, his gaze softening. "I have no choice. Rhaenyra is already moving to secure allies. If they reach Storm's End, we may lose Borros Baratheon to her side."

Helaena’s hands trembled as she clasped them in front of her, and she looked down, sorrow filling her eyes. "The blood will spill in the sky, and the fires will consume us all," she murmured, her voice distant. "They think the flames will cleanse, but it only spreads further… further until the darkness swallows us whole." Aemond frowned, stepping closer to her, his voice soft yet firm. "I will protect you. I will protect our children."

Helaena lifted her head, her eyes glazed over, lost in one of her trances. She wasn’t seeing him anymore, not fully. Her lips parted, her voice eerily calm. "Wings of fire will rise... they will rise and fall. But no one will escape the jaws of the beast. Not you, not me, not them. It is already written, Aemond. It cannot be undone." A chill ran down Aemond's spine as he listened, her cryptic words lingering like an ominous shadow. She saw too much, her visions always half-veiled in riddles. He had learned long ago not to ignore her, but he couldn't let her prophecies bind his actions either.

Taking her hands in his, he squeezed them gently. "I will not let it come to that. I swear it."

Helaena blinked, her eyes clearing momentarily as she focused on him. "It will not change anything," she whispered, her gaze heavy with sorrow. "The blood of dragons cannot be undone. You know this."

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of her words pressing down on them both. Aemond leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "I must go," he said, his voice thick with resolve. "But I will come back to you." Helaena did not say anything more, her eyes clouded once again as her mind drifted back into her visions. Aemond pulled away, his heart heavy, but his purpose clear. Without another word, he turned and left her standing by the window, the distant roar of Vhagar calling him back to his destiny.

As Aemond walked toward the courtyard where his dragon awaited, Helaena’s voice echoed faintly behind him. "Beware the storm… beware the shadows that follow. They are closer than you think."

___

The winds howled fiercely as Visenya and Luke soared through the clouds, their dragons cutting through the sky with the grace and power only dragons could command. Ahead of them, the dark and stormy silhouette of Storm’s End loomed, its swirling clouds promising tempestuous weather. Luke had been unusually quiet on their journey, his usual bravado replaced by a shadow of uncertainty.

“Luke,” Visenya called over the rushing winds, guiding Vaehaemion closer to Arrax. “What’s troubling you? You’re too quiet. This was your idea.”

Luke glanced at her, his young face marred with doubt. "It was my idea, but…" His voice trailed off as he looked down at his hands gripping the reins.

"I am not like Mother, Visenya. She always knows what to say, how to command respect. People listen to her. I… I am not sure they will listen to me." Visenya’s heart softened at the vulnerability in her younger brother’s words. Luke was eager to prove himself, but the burden of their legacy—of being Rhaenyra’s son, a prince of House Targaryen—often weighed too heavily on him.

“You do not have to be perfect, Luke,” she replied firmly. “You are not Mother, and no one expects you to be. You are your own man, Rhaena adores you for the man that you are. You have trained for this. And more than that… you are not alone.” Luke’s face twisted in frustration. “But what if I fail? What if Borros laughs at me? What if I make a mistake?”

Visenya guided her dragon a little closer, her eyes locking onto Luke’s. “You will not fail. And you know why? Because I am here with you, as I always have been. We are doing this together.” Luke’s lips twitched into a small smile, though doubt still flickered in his eyes. “But Aemond…” he began, his voice growing quieter. “Aemond will not be there,” Visenya said sharply. “And even if he were, we would not let him stand in our way. Do not let his vile and malicious demeanour scare you, he is a wounded animal seeking to wound others.”

Luke glanced at her, the memories of Aemond still fresh in both their minds. The same name hung heavy between them, though neither had spoken it until now. “Aemond killed our father,” Luke said, his voice tightening with anger. “I have not forgotten. I will not let that injustice go.”

Visenya’s face hardened. She had not forgotten either. The cold-blooded murder of Laenor Velaryon still echoed in her heart, a wound that had never healed. “We are doing this for him,” she said, her voice steady and filled with purpose. “We carry Father’s name, his legacy. We cannot let Aemond’s treachery go unanswered. We must do what Father would have wanted—secure our allies, and bring justice.” Luke nodded, his grip on Arrax’s reins tightening as the resolve in his eyes deepened. “You are right. For Father… I will not let him down.”

Visenya smiled, though it was laced with bitterness. “None of us will. We will make sure his death was not in vain.” Luke looked at her, a bond of shared pain and purpose solidifying between them. “Together then,” he said, more firmly this time. “Always,” Visenya echoed.

As they neared Storm’s End, the stormy sea crashed against the cliffs beneath the keep, the winds growing more violent around them. The Baratheon stronghold loomed large, ominous, yet it felt as though the real storm was brewing within them—one tied to the injustice they had suffered, and the vengeance they sought for their father. “Remember,” Visenya said as they descended toward the ancient keep. “Lord Borros respects strength and loyalty. Show him that you carry not just Mother’s blood, but Father’s too. You are a Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, and he will see that.”

Luke nodded, determination now replacing the uncertainty. “I will make sure he does,” he promised. Visenya glanced at Luke, noticing the tension still lingering on his face. She knew her younger brother well enough to see that despite his determination, the weight of the task ahead was pressing on him. They were flying into uncertain waters, and though they shared a fierce love for their family, the looming shadow of Aemond and the memory of their father's death lingered.

But right now, they were alive, they were flying, and for a moment, Visenya decided they could do a respite from the gravity of their mission. She tilted her head toward Luke, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Tell you what, little brother—I am inclined to make this trip more exciting. First one to Storm’s End wins.”

Luke blinked, caught off guard. “Wins? Wins what?”

Visenya’s grin widened. “Bragging rights, of course. I will finally get to say I am faster than you since I have not yet raced you before.” Luke straightened in his saddle, a spark of competitiveness flashing in his eyes. “You will have to actually beat me first, Visenya. Arrax is faster than you think.”

Visenya chuckled, steering Vaehaemion just ahead of him. “Faster than Vaehaemion? You must be dreaming. But if you think you’ve got a chance…” She smirked. “On my signal, then. Ready?” Luke set his jaw, but he was smiling now, the seriousness of their mission momentarily pushed aside. “I am always ready.”

“Good,” she said, raising her hand dramatically. “On three. One… two… three!” Before Luke had time to react, Vaehaemion roared and surged forward, his wings beating powerfully against the wind as Visenya sped ahead.  Luke let out an exasperated laugh, quickly urging Arrax to catch up. He leaned forward, gripping the saddle tightly, and shouted in High Valyrian, his voice sharp with excitement and urgency.

"Āeksia, Arrax! Sīr jevi!"

"Faster, Arrax! Now fly!"

Arrax responded with a powerful beat of his wings, the young dragon surging forward, cutting through the wind as he gained on Vaehaemion.

“Hey! That was not fair!” he called out, though his own dragon began closing the gap between them. Visenya laughed, the sound carried away by the rushing wind. “All is fair in war, little brother!” Luke leaned low over Arrax, urging him to fly faster, the distance between them narrowing. “You are only winning because you cheated!” “Oh, please,” Visenya shouted over her shoulder, her voice teasing. “Are you really going to blame cheating for the fact that Rhaena’s been distracting you?”

Luke’s face flushed red, but he managed a laugh. “I am not distracted! Besides, Rhaena’s—” “Rhaena’s what?” Visenya interrupted, clearly enjoying her brother’s embarrassment. “The most beautiful girl in Westeros? Or maybe you are just nervous about kissing her in front of everyone when you get back?” Luke shook his head, trying to focus on flying, but the flush on his cheeks gave him away. “Visenya—”

“Oh, do not act like I have not seen the way you look at her,” she teased, urging Vaehaemion into a playful dive before swooping up again. “When was the last time you even spoke to her without stumbling over your words?” Luke groaned, now fully embarrassed. “I do not stumble over my words! And besides, she’s my betrothed. It is… different.”

Visenya’s laughter rang out again. “Exactly! Which is why you should make sure you are fast enough to impress her. Imagine telling her you lost a race to your sister. That is not very princely of you, Luke.” Luke rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across his face. “I willwin this race and make sure Rhaena knows I’m faster than you.” “Confident now, are we?” Visenya said with a grin, glancing back at him as Arrax closed the distance between their dragons. “Better catch up, or she might start wondering why she is betrothed to the slower Targaryen.”

With that, Luke pushed Arrax even harder, the young dragon surging forward with renewed energy, his wings slicing through the wind as they neared Storm’s End. The storm clouds were growing darker and heavier in the distance, but for this moment, it was just the two of them—siblings laughing, teasing, and racing across the skies like they had done when they were younger. Luke was gaining on her now, and Visenya could not help but smile at how much he had grown—no longer just her little brother, but a prince determined to prove himself. She would let him have this moment, even if she was still the better rider.

“Come on, Luke!” she called out, her voice carrying over the winds. “Rhaena is watching!” That was enough to spur Luke forward with everything he had, the two dragons flying neck and neck as they approached the dark silhouette of Storm’s End. For a moment, the weight of the world felt far away, and they were just two siblings, racing through the skies, laughing at the storm ahead.

___

The storm outside Storm’s End raged as Visenya and Luke stood before Lord Borros Baratheon in the great hall. The wind howled through the stone walls, almost drowning out the tension that crackled between the two sides. Lord Borros sat upon his seat, his eyes narrowing as he weighed their words, the flames in the hearth flickering with the turbulence outside.

Luke stood tall, despite the cold weight of Borros’s skepticism. “My lord,” Luke said, “we seek your support for my mother, Princess Rhaenyra. The Greens have made plans to usurp her claim, but we can restore the rightful order with your strength.”

Borros leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Your mother’s claim means little without alliances, boy. What do you offer me?” Visenya stepped forward, her voice steady. “You gain the support of House Velaryon. Our ships, our armies—our dragons.” But before Borros could respond, the heavy doors of the hall creaked open with a groan, and the wind seemed to grow even fiercer. A cold presence filled the room, and Visenya’s stomach clenched as she turned to see who had arrived.

Aemond Targaryen, tall and imposing, strode into the hall, his sapphire eye gleaming in the firelight. Behind him, Vhagar’s distant roar echoed through the storm. The guards stiffened, and a hush fell over the room.

“Well, well,” Aemond drawled, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Luke, Visenya. I did not expect to see you here. Oh…of course I did, that is why you are graced with my presence.”

Luke’s hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his sword, and Visenya stepped slightly in front of him, her own posture tense but measured.

Borros rose from his seat, a scowl darkening his face. “What is the meaning of this? I did not invite two dragons into my hall to burn it to the ground.” Aemond’s gaze flickered to Borros, his expression unreadable. “I’ve come to seek your support, Lord Borros. The realm is shifting, and you would do well to align yourself with those who can provide strength.”

Borros crossed his arms, clearly intrigued. “And why should I favor you, Aemond? Your brother sits the throne.” Aemond smiled, a predator’s smile. “Because I am not weak like them. Unlike my weak brother Aegon who has chosen to be ordered around by his wife, I am willing to take a second wife, just as Aegon the Conqueror did and marry one of your daughters. Imagine what it would mean for you to be tied to a powerful Targaryen house in this way.”

Luke’s jaw tightened at Aemond’s words, and he stepped forward, anger flashing in his eyes. “You think you can win support by playing games with alliances? This is our mother’s claim at stake, not your ambitions., you are an heir to nothing” Aemond shrugged dismissively. “Your mother’s claim means little without action. Besides, I have the largest dragon among all the dragon riders. Vhagar will strike fear into any who dare oppose us.”

Visenya, feeling the tension escalate, interjected. “We are not here to play games, Aemond. We came for genuine support for our mother, not to barter with lives and loyalties.” Borros looked between the three of them, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You are all bold, but I will not tolerate a brawl in my hall. If you want my support, it cannot come through threats or petty squabbles.”

Aemond stepped closer, ignoring Borros’s warning. “I offer power and strength. Marry one of your daughters to me, and you will have a seat at the table when we claim what is rightfully ours.” Luke’s patience snapped. “You would use marriage as a bargaining chip while you plot against your own family? You have no honor!”

The two young men faced off, swords nearly drawn, but Borros’s voice boomed through the tension. “Enough! There will be no bloodshed in my hall. You both need to learn that alliances are forged in unity, not in anger.”

Visenya turned to Aemond, her expression fierce. “You think you can intimidate us with your threats? We came here to protect our family, not to succumb to your schemes.” Aemond’s expression darkened, the fire in his eye unwavering. “You should remember, Visenya, that in this game, power speaks louder than blood.”

As the tension simmered, Luke finally lowered his sword, breathing heavily. “We came for support, not a fight. If you are not interested, we will find our allies elsewhere.” Borros watched them with a bemused expression, clearly entertained by the spectacle. “You have made your case, but I will not be swayed by Targaryen arrogance today. Return to your mother and tell her I will make my decision in my own time.”

Visenya nodded stiffly, pulling Luke back by the arm. “Thank you for your time, Lord Borros,” she said, though her tone was strained. As they turned to leave, Aemond’s voice followed them, cold and confident. “We will meet again, and when we do, you will wish you’d accepted my offer.”

__

As Visenya and Luke soared through the turbulent skies, eager to return home, the roar of the storm matched the turmoil in their hearts. Just as they began to breathe a sigh of relief, the unmistakable shadow of a dragon loomed behind them.

“Luke, we are not alone!” Visenya shouted, her voice cutting through the wind. Luke glanced back, dread pooling in his stomach.  “Do not look back—just fly!” Visenya commanded, determination hardening her voice. She pushed Arrax to go faster, but the dark silhouette of Vhagar was relentless, closing in with terrifying speed. “Visenya, he is not going to let us go!” Luke exclaimed, urgency rising in his tone. “We need to get back to Dragonstone!”

“I will not let him touch you,” she replied fiercely, adrenaline surging through her veins. “I have to confront him, Luke, go home to mother!”

Aemond’s laughter echoed ominously through the storm. “You think you can run from me? You are just as weak as your father!” Visenya’s heart raced with anger. “Weak? I will show you what weakness looks like, Aemond!” She maneuvered Vaehaemion, positioning herself to face him and blocking him from catching Luke. “If you want to settle this, face me now!”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, fury igniting his features. “You are a fool to challenge me, Visenya! You have always chosen most unwisely, choosing my brother Aegon when I could have offered you more!”

“I would choose Aegon over you in every life!” she spat, her defiance burning bright. “You are a monster and you deserve nothing!” With a surge of power, Aemond lunged forward, Vhagar’s massive wings creating gusts that threatened to throw Vaehaemion off course. “You think you can protect him? You will both pay for your attempts at an alliance!” Visenya’s grip tightened on Vaehaemion’s reins, her resolve unshaken. “I am not afraid of you, Aemond! You are nothing but a coward hiding behind your anger!”

“Coward? I will show you what true strength looks like!” he shouted, closing the gap between them. With a fierce determination, Visenya veered Arrax into a steep climb, preparing for the confrontation ahead. “You will have to defeat me first if you wish to harm my brother!” she declared, her heart pounding with fierce courage.

“Then so be it,” Aemond delighted, his voice dripping with malice.

The sky crackled with tension as they faced off, their dragons roaring in defiance. Visenya felt the fire of her ancestors coursing through her, and she was ready to unleash the warrior within, no matter the cost. Meanwhile, Luke urged Arrax to fly faster, his heart pounding. “Gīda ilagon arrax, dīnagon adhirikydho” he commanded his dragon.

“Calm down Arrax, move quickly.”

“Focus, Luke!” Visenya shouted, her eyes locked on Aemond as they circled in the sky. “Get to safety!”

Aemond snarled, pushing back against Visenya’s strength. “You think you can protect him? You will amount to nothing, your mother will amount to nothing!” He thrust his blade forward, grazing Visenya’s arm as she tried to lunge on Aemond by swiftly swerving Vaehaemion.

She winced but pushed through the pain. “I am heir to the Iron throne, you are heir to nothing. You will never be chosen!” As their dragons continued to circle each other, Visenya saw Luke’s determined face. “Leave me Luke, I command it!” she urged, knowing that if Aemond turned his focus on her brother, they would both be in danger.

But Aemond, sensing Luke’s hesitation, shifted his attention. “You cannot escape! Your family is weak, and I will make you pay for your father’s death!” He launched himself toward Luke, who was struggling to manoeuvre Arrax away. “No!” Visenya screamed, her heart lurching. She lunged at Aemond again, but he dodged, and with a swift movement, he urged Vhagar to chase Arrax. “Leave him alone!” Visenya cried, and in a desperate bid to protect her brother, she swerved Vaehaemion to block Vhagar’s path. The move irritated the old dragon who slashed her claws against Vaehaemion, injuring his wing and one of her sharp claws caught Visenya her side, breaking her armour and breaking skin. The pain was searing, but she fought through it. “You will have to do better than that!” she shouted, determination shining in her eyes.

With a wicked smile, Aemond turned back to Luke, who was still trying to escape. “You cannot save her, Luke! You are running away like the coward you are!” His voice was cold, filled with malice. “Stay away from him!” Visenya shouted, struggling to stay on Vaehaemion, her strength waning. She felt the warmth of blood trickling down her side, but her spirit remained unbroken.

Luke, fueled by anger and fear, gripped Arrax’s reins tighter. “I will not let you hurt her!” He urged the dragon to climb higher, but Aemond was relentless, his focus now entirely on Luke. “Your sister will pay for your weakness, Luke! You are nothing without her!” Aemond yelled, determination clear in his eyes as he pursued them.

Visenya, gasping for breath, called out desperately, “Luke, do not look back! You have to keep going!” But Aemond was closing in, and the storm raged around them, reflecting the chaos of their hearts. Visenya knew she had to stop him, even if it cost her everything. “Face me Aemond!” she shouted, steeling herself to dive towards Aemond again. Arrax weaved and dipped, trying to evade Aemond’s relentless pursuit, while Vaehaemion soared with fierce grace, responding to Visenya’s every command.

Luke was frantic on Arrax, his heart pounding. “Visenya! We need to leave!” he called, glancing back at the escalating fight. The sight of Aemond’s cold determination sent chills down his spine. “Leave me Luke! Do not look back!” Visenya urged, her focus on Aemond as she maneuvered Vaehaemion closer, preparing for another strike.

“Fly, Luke!” Aemond shouted, his voice dripping with malice. “Fly away like a coward who sacrificed his sister because he could not face me.” Their dragons roared as they engaged in the dance of death, spiraling through the sky. Visenya maneuvered Vaehaemion to block Aemond’s path, forcing him to veer off course. “Stay away from him!” she declared fiercely.

Luke, seeing the opportunity, pushed Arrax to gain distance. “I am not leaving you!” he shouted, his voice filled with desperation.

“Fly, Luke! Now!” Visenya insisted, her heart aching as she fought against Aemond. She could feel her strength waning, but she would not back down. “You have to go!” Aemond lunged again, aiming for Luke, but Visenya intercepted him. “Get away from my brother! Dracarys Vaehaemion” she yelled, Vaehaemion breathing pure red fire towards Vhagar’s neck as the she-dragon howled in pain. As the fight raged on, Aemond’s focus sharpened. He saw an opening when Vaehaemion faltered in his flight and with a swift, brutal strike, he dipped Vhagar lower and aimed for Visenya’s shoulder. Aemond’s blade bit deep, and Visenya gasped as pain surged through her, her grip faltering on Vaehaemion’s reins.

“No!” Luke cried, watching helplessly as his sister faltered. His heart dropped as he saw Aemond smirk, his eyes glinting with triumph.

Visenya grit her teeth, fighting through the pain. “Luke, go!” she shouted, but the urgency only seemed to embolden Aemond. With Vaehaemion’s wing slightly impaired, the dragon struggled to maintain its altitude. Aemond seized the moment, pushing Vaehaemion aside to pursue Arrax, who was already gaining distance. “You cannot escape me!” he yelled, his voice echoing across the stormy sky.

“Luke!” Visenya shouted, desperation clawing at her throat. She urged Vaehaemion forward, though the dragon's movements were labored. “I am right behind you! Just keep flying!” Aemond’s dragon surged ahead, the wind roaring past him. “I will catch you, Luke! You will die just like your father! You will pay for my eye!” he taunted, the malice in his voice sending shivers down Luke’s spine.

ond was relentless, his eyes locked onto Luke as he began to gain on him.

“Leave him be, Aemond!” Visenya cried, fury igniting within her. But with each beat of Vaehaemion’s wings, she felt her strength waning, blood trickling from her wound. Luke urged Arrax faster, his heart racing. “I will not let you die in his hands!” he shouted, determination mixing with fear. “I am coming back for you, Visenya!”

“Just go!” Visenya shouted again, her voice fierce despite the pain. She could not allow Aemond to catch Luke. Not after everything they had endured.

“Your sister cannot save you!” Aemond yelled, drawing closer. The sound of Arrax’s wings flapping frantically filled the air, but Luke was notready to give in. With one final burst of speed, Luke turned sharply, hoping to throw Aemond off. But Aemond’s dragon was right behind him. Visenya fought to regain her strength as she struggled to keep pace with Aemond and Luke. Every beat of Vaehaemion's wings felt heavier, and the blood seeping from her wounds clouded her vision. But she had to catch up; she had to save her brother.

Visenya fought against the pain radiating from her side, desperation driving her to command Vaehaemion to close the distance. “Vaehaemion, ābrajūn! Gēn jāhor!” she shouted, her voice strained but determined.

"Vaehaemion, attack! Bite him!"

“Luke, keep flying!” Visenya cried, her heart pounding as she urged her dragon to go faster. But the wound in her side threatened to pull her down, and every beat of Vaehaemion's wings felt like a battle against the very air itself. Aemond grinned wickedly as he commanded Vhagar, “Vezof iksos!” The command rang clear, and in a swift, terrifying motion, Vhagar’s massive jaws descended toward Arrax.

“Bite the boy”

Visenya watched in horror as the dragon’s teeth clamped down on her brother’s dragon, a sickening crunch echoing through the air. “No! Luke!” she screamed, desperation clawing at her throat as she urged Vaehaemion to push harder. But it was too late. Arrax cried out in pain as Vhagar’s grip tightened, and Luke’s terrified eyes met Visenya’s for one last moment. “Visenya!” he shouted, fear etched into his features.

Aemond’s voice carried through the chaos, taunting, “You should have never taken my eye!” And then with a final, merciless snap of Vhagar’s jaws, Arrax was gone, taking Luke with him into the abyss. “NO!” Visenya howled, her heart shattering as she felt the loss like a physical blow. “You will pay for this, Aemond!” Aemond turned to her, a victorious smirk plastered across his face. “You should have known better than to challenge me.”

“Vaehaemion, ābrajūn! Gēn jāhor!” she commanded again, the words fueled by rage and sorrow. But it felt futile against the crushing weight of her brother’s loss.

Visenya felt the world around her blur, the edges of her vision darkening as Aemond circled above, a predator ready to strike. She fought against the pain, every instinct urging her to retaliate. “Vaehaemion, jāhoris! Rhae jorrāel!” she shouted, but the words came out weaker than she intended.

"Vaehaemion, bite! Strike him!"

Aemond’s laughter filled the air, mocking and cruel. “You think you can defeat me? You are just a child playing at war!” With a final surge of adrenaline, Visenya steeled herself, Vaehaemion barrelling towards Vhagar but Vhagar’s large wing tossed the dragon aside, sending Visenya sprawling on Vaehaemion’s back. Pain shot through her side, and she gasped, struggling to stay conscious.

“Enough of this!” Aemond roared, his dragon circling ominously. “You are outmatched.”

Visenya could feel her strength fading. Desperation clawed at her throat as she fought to keep her eyes open. “Vaehaemion, jorrāel, dracarys! Rhae jorrāel!” she commanded, her voice a fragile whisper, desperation dripping with every word as skies clouded and turned dark, her eyes closing.

"Vaehaemion, strike, dragonfire! Strike!"

The dragon seemed to sense her urgency but he also sensed his rider’s life fading. He surged upward, ignoring Visenya’s command, the wind rushing past them as it took off toward Dragonstone. But darkness was closing in on her, the weight of her injuries dragging her under. Aemond watched them go, a smirk still on his lips. “Run back to your mother, Visenya. But know this—you have failed.”

__

Viserys exhaled one final, ragged breath, the life fading from his weary body. Alicent stood by his side, her heart heavy as she watched the man she had endured for so long slip away.

With his passing, the dance of dragons had truly begun.

Chapter Text

Vaehaemion's powerful wings beat against the sky, but his flight was laboured, each stroke growing heavier with the strain of his injuries. Blood dripped from his sides, his normally gleaming scales marred by deep cuts from the battle. Yet, his determination was unyielding as he pushed forward, flying toward Dragonstone with all the strength he had left.

On his back, Visenya lay slumped, her armor dented and blood-stained, her body limp and unconscious. A low, unconscious muttering slipped from her lips. “I have failed… I failed…” Her voice was faint, barely audible against the wind as Vaehaemion struggled to maintain his course.

The cliffs of Dragonstone came into view, and as the dragon neared the island, his pained roars echoed across the sky, alerting those below to their return. On the ground, Rhaenyra, Aegon, Daemon, Jacaerys, Baela, and Rhaena rushed to the courtyard. The distant sound of Vaehaemion's strained roars reached them, filling the air with dread. Rhaenyra’s heart tightened with worry. “They have been gone too long,” she whispered, her eyes scanning the horizon.

Aegon’s gaze was fixed on the sky, his breath caught in his throat. “Vaehaemion!” he shouted, recognising the large, injured dragon. The sight of his wife slumped on the dragon’s back sent a wave of terror through him. Without a second thought, he ran to meet them, urging the nursemaids to avert his children from the sight of it all. Vaehaemion landed heavily on the beach, his legs buckling slightly under the weight of his exhaustion. The dragon’s head lowered as if in mourning, a low whine escaping his throat as he gently settled Visenya on the ground.

Aegon reached her first, kneeling by her side, his hands trembling as he lifted her into his arms. “Visenya… Visenya!” he called her name, his voice frantic, searching for any sign of consciousness. Her eyes fluttered briefly, but her lips only moved to whisper, "I failed... I failed Luke..." before she slipped back into unconsciousness. Rhaenyra rushed to their side, her eyes wide with panic as she took in her daughter’s bloodied form. “What happened?” she demanded, her voice thick with worry. “Where isLuke?”

Daemon’s eyes darkened, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister as he glanced from Vaehaemion’s injuries to the horizon. The absence of Arrax sent a cold chill through him.

“Where is your brother?” he asked quietly, though the unspoken answer already haunted his thoughts.

Aegon clutched Visenya tightly to his chest, his face pale and eyes wild with fear as she remained limp in his arms. Her unconscious muttering was barely more than a whisper, but the words clawed at him. "I failed... Luke... I failed him..." Rhaenyra’s breath hitched at the mention of Luke. Her hands gripped Aegon’s shoulder, then moved to cup her daughter’s bruised and bloodied face, her eyes filled with rising dread. “Visenya, please... wake up,” she pleaded, her voice cracking, desperate to know Luke’s whereabouts.

Jacaerys stepped forward, his voice trembling as he asked, “Where is Luke? Where is he?” Vaehaemion, though wounded, let out a low, mournful growl, his massive head lowering to the ground as if in grief. The dragon's agony was palpable, and its reaction deepened the sense of dread hanging over them all.

Baela and Rhaena exchanged worried glances, fear etched in their faces. “She would not have left him behind, Visenya knew her duty” Baela muttered. “Something terrible must have happened.” Daemon’s expression darkened further as he took a step toward the injured dragon, his gaze scanning the horizon again, desperate for any sign of Luke and Arrax.

Rhaenyra’s hands trembled as she continued to cradle Visenya’s face. “Wake up, my love... please, tell us what happened. Where is your brother?” she whispered, her own dread mounting. But Visenya remained unresponsive, her breathing shallow. Her earlier words echoed in their minds: “I failed... Luke... I failed him.”

Aegon, still holding her, clenched his jaw. “We need the maesters—now!” he shouted, his voice sharp with urgency. Servants scrambled to obey, rushing toward the keep for help. But Aegon’s mind was racing—his wife was hurt and her breathing was beginning to slow.  Daemon’s hands tightened into fists as a grim realization settled over him. “Arrax is not with her. Luke... he is gone.” His voice was low, but the finality in his tone sent a jolt of horror through them all. “No!” Rhaenyra gasped, tears welling up in her eyes as she shook her head in disbelief. “No I need Visenya to tell me…..”

Jacaerys stepped forward, his face pale. “Mother... we have to know. Visenya was with him. Maybe—maybe it is not too late—” But Daemon, with his gaze still locked on the skies, knew better. He gripped the hilt of Dark Sister tightly, his eyes blazing with fury and sorrow. “Aemond will pay for this,” he growled, his voice laced with vengeance. “I will hunt him down myself.” Rhaenyra’s grief turned to worry over her husband’s determination, “No you will not, I cannot lose you Daemon.” Her voice trembled as she looked away from Daemon’s eyes as she said, “I cannot lose any more of you.”

Aegon pressed a kiss to Visenya’s forehead, his own heart torn between the woman he loved and the knowledge that they had been outmaneuvered—his brother could not have Visenya and now he intended to kill her.

___

The chambers were thick with tension as the maesters worked swiftly, their hands moving with a practiced urgency as they tended to Visenya’s wounds. Blood stained the bedclothes beneath her, and her breathing was shallow, ragged, each rise and fall of her chest a battle against the darkness trying to claim her. Her face was pale, lips cracked, and her once-strong frame now seemed fragile.

Rhaenyra hovered near the bedside, her fingers tightly gripping the edge of the bed as she watched her daughter fighting for her life. The air felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls of Dragonstone themselves mourned what had been lost. "Will she survive?" Rhaenyra's voice was barely a whisper, the tremor in her words betraying the strength she had tried so hard to maintain. Her heart was in pieces—Luke was gone, taken from her, and now Visenya lay before her, slipping further from her grasp.

Maester Gerardys hesitated, exchanging a grave look with his companions. "She is strong, Princess... but these wounds are deep. We are doing all we can." Rhaenyra swallowed hard, tears filling her eyes as she reached out to brush a strand of Visenya's white hair from her sweat-soaked brow. "Visenya... you must fight. You must come back to us, my darling girl, your father would not forgive me if your soul meets his so soon…I would not forgive myself” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief.

Daemon stood silently behind her, his face a mask of stone, though the fire in his eyes betrayed the rage simmering beneath. He had always been the warrior, the man who fought and conquered, but this... this was a different kind of battle. One where his skill with a blade could not save his daughter. He had yet to admit it but Visenya had always been a daughter for him and his training was not enough, she was outmatched by Aemond and it gnawed at him.

Aegon sat by Visenya’s side, clutching her limp hand in his own, his thumb brushing over her skin in a desperate attempt to keep her tethered to life. "You cannot leave us," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Our children need you... I need you." His grip tightened as if sheer force of will alone could stop her from slipping away.

Jacaerys stood near the door, his eyes red from holding back tears. Baela and Rhaena were beside him, their hands clasped tightly together as they tried to remain strong for their mother. But the room felt hollow, a cruel reminder of Luke's absence. Every second that passed without news of his survival twisted the knife deeper. Rhaenyra’s breath hitched as she turned to Daemon, her eyes filled with both sorrow and fury. "How can I lose them both, Daemon?" she choked out. "I cannot bear it. Not Luke... and not Visenya."

Daemon’s jaw clenched, the rage inside him threatening to spill over. His hand rested on the hilt of Dark Sister, the familiar weight offering no comfort now. He leaned closer, his voice low and fierce, but laced with a tenderness reserved only for Rhaenyra. "She will survive. Visenya is a dragon, like her mother. She will fight through this, just as you have fought your whole life." Rhaenyra shook her head, tears falling freely now. "I was not there to protect Luke... and I sent them both into the storm. It is my fault. I should have—"

"Rhaenyra." Daemon’s voice cut through her guilt like a blade. He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "This is not your fault. Aemond is to blame. He will pay for what he has done, but not before we see Visenya returned to us. She needs you now. Stay with her." She nodded weakly, though the guilt still gnawed at her. A part of her knew Daemon was right, but her heart was consumed by the agonizing thought of Luke's final moments, alone in the sky with Aemond's fury raining down on him.

Aegon’s voice broke through the silence, barely above a whisper. "She is muttering again... she keeps saying she failed."

Rhaenyra bent closer to Visenya, her heart breaking as she heard the faint, broken words escaping her daughter's lips. "I failed... Luke... I failed him..."

Rhaenyra’s tears fell onto Visenya’s skin as she gently stroked her daughter’s hair. "No, my love... you did not fail him," she whispered, her voice trembling at the thought of Luke’s death “You did everything you could." The maesters continued their work, their faces grim but focused. The hours stretched on, and still, there was no news of Luke. The absence of his dragon, the absence of Arrax, weighed heavily on them all.

___

The quiet of Dragonstone was suffocating. The eerie stillness in the halls seemed to mirror the dread that had settled over Rhaenyra and her family. It was a silence that held a thousand unsaid words, a quiet that screamed of loss, even if they had not yet spoken it aloud. Rhaenyra sat by Visenya’s bedside, her hands clasped tightly around her daughter’s limp fingers. The maesters had done all they could; Visenya was stable, but the wounds ran far deeper than flesh. Rhaenyra stared down at her eldest daughter, her vision blurred with unshed tears. She was alive, but Luke—her sweet, laughing boy—was still out there, somewhere in the storm, and he had not come home.

Daemon stood by the window, his jaw clenched so tightly that it looked as though it might shatter. His eyes flickered to the skies every few seconds, as if willing another dragon to appear. Aegon paced the room, his movements restless, desperate. Baela, Rhaena, and Jacaerys hovered nearby, their faces pale and haunted. No one spoke. They were all waiting for the same terrible truth.

Suddenly, Visenya stirred, her breath hitching as consciousness began to pull her from the darkness. Rhaenyra sat up straight, her heart hammering in her chest, hope mingling with fear. She squeezed her daughter’s hand, whispering softly, “Visenya? Visenya, can you hear me?” Visenya’s eyes fluttered open, but there was no relief in her gaze, no sense of safety. Instead, there was a hollow emptiness that sent a shiver down Rhaenyra’s spine. Visenya blinked, her brow furrowing as her gaze swept the room in a daze. Then, like a dam breaking, the memories came rushing back.

Luke.

Her body tensed, and a broken gasp escaped her lips. “Luke…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her face twisted with raw pain, and her chest began to heave as the reality of what had happened crashed down on her. “Luke…” she repeated, the word a desperate, heart-wrenching plea. Rhaenyra’s heart shattered at the sound. “Visenya, please,” she choked, her own voice cracking under the weight of her grief. “Where is Luke? Where is my boy?”

Visenya’s eyes filled with tears, her face contorting with agony. “I—” she gasped, her words faltering. “I tried… I tried to save him…”

Daemon moved forward, his face pale as stone, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What happened, Visenya?” His voice was tight, barely controlled. “Tell us.” Visenya’s breath came in ragged sobs, each one tearing at her chest. “I failed him,” she whispered, her voice so broken it was barely a sound at all. “I—Luke—he is gone.”

The room fell into an unbearable silence. Rhaenyra’s world crumbled. The breath left her lungs in a harsh, ragged gasp, her body trembling as if the ground had disappeared beneath her. Her sweet boy. Her Luke. Gone. A broken sob tore from her throat, and she clutched her chest, as if the pain inside her heart would tear her apart. “No… no, no, no!” Her cries were filled with a mother's anguish, a grief too deep for words. She clung to Visenya’s hand, but it was as if she had been ripped apart.

“He is gone!” Visenya wailed, tears streaming down her face, her whole body trembling as she collapsed under the weight of her guilt. “I could not save him! I could not stop Aemond! He—he killed him, Mother! He killed Luke! I tried to tell Luke to go home but he would not leave me and Aemond chased him relentlessly-“

Rhaenyra sobbed uncontrollably, her fingers digging into Visenya’s hand, her chest heaving with the force of her grief. She had been trying to stay strong, but the dam had broken, and she couldn’t stop the flood of tears. “My boy… my Luke…” Aegon dropped to his knees beside his wife, his face stricken with pain. His arms went around her, pulling her close, though his own tears glistened in his eyes. “Visenya, it is not your fault,” he said, his voice hoarse. But Visenya shook her head violently, her sobs growing louder. “I failed him!” she cried, her voice broken beyond recognition. “I was supposed to protect him! I should have been stronger… faster… I let him die!”

Jacaerys stood frozen, his hands shaking as he stared at his sister. His eyes were wide, glazed over with shock, as if he couldn’t comprehend the words being spoken. His little brother was gone, it only felt like a few moons ago when he was still scolding Luke to be careful with the dragon eggs. Baela and Rhaena clung to each other, their tears silent but no less painful. The room was filled with the sound of Visenya’s gut-wrenching cries, of Rhaenyra’s broken sobs, of the quiet despair that clung to each person like a suffocating cloak.

Daemon moved closer to Rhaenyra, his face grim and hollow. He placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to anchor her, but he, too, looked like a man shattered by the loss of his child. His hand trembled as he stroked her hair, his voice cracking as he murmured, “We will avenge him. I swear it, Rhaenyra. We will make Aemond pay for this.” But Rhaenyra did not hear him. Her mind was consumed by her son’s absence, by the emptiness that now gnawed at her heart. “He was just a boy,” she whispered through her sobs. “My sweet, innocent boy…”

Visenya’s cries intensified, her whole body trembling as she rocked back and forth, her hands clutching the sheets. “I wanted to die with him,” she confessed, her voice a broken whisper. “I wanted to stop Aemond, to kill him… but Vaehaemion brought me home. I should have stayed. I should have died.” “No, Visenya!” Rhaenyra cried, shaking her head. “No, do not say that. You survived… you survived, and that means something. But Luke… oh, gods, Luke…”

The room was suffocating under the weight of sorrow. The air was thick with grief as Rhaenyra clung to Visenya’s hand, her sobs quieting but her tears endless. Daemon stood nearby, his hand still on her shoulder, his face a mask of cold fury and devastation. The others were frozen in their own torment, their faces pale and haunted by the loss that had yet to fully settle in.

Through her haze of pain, Visenya's tear-streaked face turned towards Rhaena, her heart aching not just for herself but for the sister who had loved Luke as much as she did. Her voice was weak, trembling, but filled with a desperate need to give Rhaena something—anything—to hold on to.

"Rhaena," Visenya whispered, beckoning her with a trembling hand. "Come here… please." Rhaena hesitated, her eyes wide and filled with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. Baela gave her a gentle nudge, and slowly, Rhaena moved toward Visenya’s bedside, her hands trembling as she knelt beside her sister.

Visenya swallowed hard, her breath shaky as she forced herself to speak. "Luke… he loved you, Rhaena. He loved you with all his heart." Her voice cracked, but she continued, her gaze locking onto Rhaena’s tear-filled eyes. "He was so excited to come back to you… to make you his wife."

At those words, Rhaena’s composure broke. A sob tore through her chest, and she collapsed at Visenya’s side, her body wracked with uncontrollable grief. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed, her head bowing as the tears flowed freely, her heartbreak echoing through the room. "No, no, no…" she cried, her voice hoarse and shattered. "He cannot be gone, Visenya… he cannot be. We were supposed to be together…"

Visenya reached out with a trembling hand, resting it on Rhaena’s head, her own tears falling silently. "He wanted nothing more than to come home to you," she whispered through the pain. "He told me… he could not wait to see you again. He was going to make you happy, Rhaena. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you."

Rhaena sobbed harder, her whole body trembling as she clung to the bed, she gasped, her voice breaking under the weight of her loss. "I did not get to tell him how much I loved him…" Visenya’s heart twisted, guilt and sorrow tearing her apart from the inside. She stroked Rhaena’s hair, her own tears mingling with the grief in the room. "He knew, Rhaena," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "He knew you loved him. He felt it every day. And he loved you more than anything."

Rhaena’s sobs filled the silence, her hands gripping the sheets as if she could hold on to some piece of Luke, some piece of him that had not yet slipped away. Baela knelt beside her, wrapping her arms around her sister, her own tears silent but no less painful. Across the room, Jacaerys turned away, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His jaw was set, his face a mask of restrained anger and grief.

Daemon’s gaze flickered between them all, his expression hardening as the reality of Luke’s death settled deep within him. His hands trembled at his sides, the fire of vengeance building beneath his skin, but he said nothing, his silent fury simmering beneath the surface.

Rhaenyra’s heart broke again as she watched her daughter crumble under the weight of her brother’s loss. She wanted to be strong for her children, to hold them all together, but the pain was too much, too raw. She looked down at Visenya, then over to Rhaena, her sobs choking her throat once more. "My sweet boy…" she whispered, her voice barely audible through her tears. "My Luke…"

__

Everyone had left the chambers to get their rest except for Aegon.

Aegon could not stop the tremors in his hands as the memory of that moment replayed in his mind—the moment when Vaehaemion landed, bloodied and exhausted, with Visenya slumped lifelessly on his back. In that instant, his heart had shattered. He had rushed to her, fully believing that she was gone, that the gods had taken her from him.

Now, sitting by her bedside, holding her cold hand, he was powerless against the sobs that wracked his body. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had never felt so utterly helpless. "When I saw Vaehaemion bring you back… gods, Visenya…" His voice was thick with grief, barely a whisper. "I thought you were gone." He squeezed her hand tightly, as if afraid that if he loosened his grip, she would slip away for good. "I thought… I thought I had lost you forever."

Visenya, pale and weak, could hardly keep her eyes open. Her body was battered and broken, and her mind was clouded with grief and guilt. But hearing Aegon’s sobs broke her heart all over again. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was all right, but the words wouldn’t come.

Aegon shook his head, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, though they kept coming. "Mortal years…" His voice cracked. "They are never enough with you. I have always known that. But to think that our time could have been cut short, that you could’ve been taken from me… and I was not there to protect you…"

His voice broke entirely, and he pressed her hand to his lips, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief. "I could not bear it. I cannot… I cannot live without you."Visenya’s heart twisted painfully at his words, but her own guilt was suffocating her. She had survived, but Luke… Luke was gone. And she had failed him.

Before she could respond, there was a soft shuffle at the door. Three small figures stood in the doorway, hesitant and frightened. Alyssa, only so young, held her brother Baelon’s hand tightly, while the nursemaid cradled baby Aegea in her arms. Their wide eyes were filled with confusion and fear. Aegon turned to see them, hastily wiping his face as he tried to compose himself. "Come here," he whispered, his voice still trembling.

Alyssa, her little face tear-streaked and trembling, climbed onto the bed beside her mother, her tiny hand reaching out to gently touch Visenya’s face. "Mama?" she whispered, her voice shaking with uncertainty. "Mama, wake up."

Visenya’s lips trembled as she mustered every ounce of strength to look at her daughter. "I am here, my sweet girl," she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with as much love as she could manage. Tears spilled from her eyes as she cupped Alyssa’s hand against her cheek. Visenya kissed her daughter’s forehead despite the ache of her bruised lips and said, "Mama’s here."

Baelon, usually so full of energy, was clinging to Aegon’s leg, his small face pale with fear. "Papa," he whimpered, looking up at Aegon with wide, anxious eyes. "Is Mama hurt?” Aegon knelt down, pulling his son into his arms and holding him tightly, his voice breaking as he tried to reassure him. "Yes, Baelon," he whispered, though the pain in his chest felt unbearable. “But Mama’s going to be alright.”

Aegea, still just a baby, let out a small, confused whimper from the nursemaid’s arms, reaching out her tiny hands toward her mother. The sound was like a knife to Aegon’s heart. He gently took her from the nursemaid and held her close, dismissing the woman as Aegea’s little face nuzzling into his neck as she fussed.

Visenya, though weak and fighting to stay conscious, looked at her children through her tears. The sight of their innocent faces, so full of love and fear, shattered what was left of her strength. She wanted to be strong for them, to be the mother they needed, but all she could feel was the crushing weight of failure. She had survived, but Luke… her sweet, brave little brother… was dead. Aegon sat beside her, holding Baelon in one arm and Aegea in the other, as Alyssa nestled herself against Visenya’s side. He watched as the woman he loved more than anything lay there, broken and fragile, and his heart ached with a pain he couldn’t describe.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "And I thank the gods every moment that you’re still here with us." Tears continued to fall as he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently to hers. "I cannot… I cannot lose you, Visenya. I cannot bear it."

Aegon leaned in slowly, pressing his lips gently to Visenya’s forehead, his kiss soft and tender, filled with all the love and fear he had been holding inside. His breath trembled as he pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his hands cupping her face as if she might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of the wind outside, the distant roar of their dragons, and the soft breaths of their children who huddled around them. It was as though the world had stopped in this fragile moment.

Aegon’s voice was low and hoarse, his lips just inches from hers. "Visenya…" he began, his voice breaking slightly as the words fought their way out. "If you ever… if you ever feel your life slipping away in the heat of this war…" His grip tightened on her, his forehead pressing harder against hers, as if willing her to stay with him, always. "Come back to me. Come home to me."

His eyes were red from crying, the weight of everything they had lost, everything they still stood to lose, crushing down on him. "I will always need you," he whispered, his voice trembling with the sheer force of his love and desperation. "No matter what happens, no matter how hard this fight gets… I need you by my side. You are my heart, Visenya. I… I cannot do this without you."

Tears spilled down Visenya’s cheeks as his words reached her, sinking deep into her soul. She had never heard him sound so vulnerable, so broken. Her fingers weakly gripped his shirt, as if she too were clinging to him with every last bit of strength she had. She wanted to say something, to promise him she wouldn’t leave, that she would come back no matter what. But the words were trapped beneath her grief, beneath the weight of Luke’s death and the horrors she had witnessed.

Aegon’s tears mixed with hers as he kissed her again, softer this time, his lips lingering against hers, desperate and full of love. His kiss felt like an anchor, grounding her to the world, to him, pulling her back from the darkness that threatened to engulf her. "I will always need you," he whispered again, his voice barely audible now, as though the words themselves could break if he spoke them too loudly. Visenya, her body aching and her heart shattered, closed her eyes and nodded faintly, her tears falling freely. She felt so small in that moment, so fragile. But in Aegon’s arms, with their children surrounding them, she also felt a flicker of something else—something warm. It wasn’t hope, not yet, but maybe… it was enough to keep her here.

To keep fighting. For him. For her children. For Luke. Her lips trembled as she managed to whisper, her voice cracked and barely audible, "I will always come back to you."

____

Aemond landed Vhagar in the shadow of the Red Keep, the dragon’s wings folding with a resonant boom that echoed across the courtyard. As he dismounted, the weight of his actions pressed heavily on him, a storm of guilt and fury raging within. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting ominous shadows that seemed to mirror his inner turmoil.

Alicent stood at the entrance, her silhouette stark against the dim light, her expression a volatile mix of concern and anger. "Aemond," she called, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. "What happened?"

He hesitated, feeling the tempest within him churn as he stepped closer. "It did not go as planned, Mother," he said, his voice low but laced with an edge of frustration. "I—"

"You what?" Alicent interrupted, her gaze piercing. "You failed to secure Borros Baratheon’s support? You let Luke and Visenya slip through your fingers?"

"They were stronger than I anticipated!" Aemond's voice rose, fueled by a mix of rage and shame. "Visenya fought like a dragon unleashed, and Luke—he was defiant."

"Defiant? Or brave?" Alicent retorted, her tone now a simmering fury. "You let your emotions dictate your actions. Do you understand the consequences of your failure? They will rally for him. They will seek revenge. I know Rhaenyra and the polite demeanour she brings to court hides the violence she has the power to inflict.”  Aemond’s jaw tightened, anger boiling beneath the surface. "They were a threat to us. Luke should have known better than to confront me."

Alicent stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "And what did that achieve? A dead boy, and a family in mourning. You think this will intimidate them? It will only fuel their fire. You cannot let vengeance cloud your judgment, Aemond. You will lose everything!" He turned away, fists clenched, his heart racing with a mix of regret and defiance. "I cannot allow them to take what is ours. I will not be made a fool of. I’ll make them pay.”

"You think killing Luke will bring you peace?" Alicent’s voice softened, but her eyes were fierce. "This is a game of thrones, not a slaughterhouse. You need allies, not more enemies. If you keep charging ahead blindly, you’ll end up alone and defeated. Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth. Aemond swallowed hard, the fire within him flickering uncertainly. "I will find a way. I must."

"You must think like a ruler, not a soldier," she insisted, her hand reaching out to steady him. "The realm is fracturing. Rhaenyra’s family is vulnerable. Use that to your advantage. Let them tear each other apart while we build our strength." His eyes darkened, a mix of determination and doubt swirling inside. "You’re right. I cannot let this slip through my fingers again."

"Then we will find a way together," Alicent said, her voice low and steady. "But you must reign in your rage. Use it strategically, like a dagger hidden in your cloak." Aemond nodded, though the weight of his desire for revenge still hung heavily on him. As he turned to stride into the keep, he felt the shadows closing in around him. His heart thudded in his chest, a relentless reminder of what he had lost and what he stood to gain. The path ahead was treacherous, and he would need every ounce of cunning and strength to navigate it.

___

Aemond stepped into their chambers, the air thick with tension. Helaena sat by the window, her gaze distant and unfocused, lost in thoughts that seemed to drift beyond the room. He could see the flicker of unease in her posture, but she didn’t acknowledge his presence immediately.

“Helaena,” he began, his voice attempting to bridge the growing chasm between them. She turned her head slowly, but her expression remained dreamlike, detached.

“You chased him,” she said softly, almost as if it were a mere observation rather than an accusation. “Luke did not want this. He wanted to speak to Borros and come home to Rhaena without bloodshed. Why provoke him?”

Aemond felt a surge of frustration. “He was a threat! You know that!”

“Was he?” Helaena asked, her tone flat, eyes still clouded with something he couldn’t quite grasp. “Or were you looking for a fight?”

The room felt heavy with unspoken words. Suddenly, her gaze seemed to drift again, her mind wandering into a trance. “I see flames and shadows... a crown made of thorns. The dance has begun,” she murmured, her voice distant, as if she were speaking from another realm.

“Helaena!” he called, shaking her lightly to draw her back. “What are you seeing? What dance?”

She blinked, returning to the moment, though her expression was still hauntingly serene. “You need to leave me be, Aemond. Please do not touch me.”

“Why are you doing this?” he pressed, hurt creeping into his voice. “We are supposed to stand together.”

“Am I?” she replied, her aloofness unwavering. “You are lost in your vengeance. It will only lead to ruin, but you don’t see that, do you?”

Her words floated in the air, lacking the fire he expected. Instead, they felt like a soft breeze—unsettling, yet gentle. “The child will bear witness to your choices, but it will not end well for any of us.” Aemond clenched his fists, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “I am trying to protect us! To keep our family safe!”

Helaena’s expression remained unchanged, almost placid. “You seek for what is not there. You lament a lost eye. You are drowning in darkness, and it will consume you. It will take us all.”

He searched her face for a flicker of the sister he once knew, but all he found was the distance. “Helaena, I cannot—”

She turned her gaze away, her voice barely above a whisper. “The dragon will chase the sun, but the sun will set on your ambitions. You must find your way back before it is too late.” The weight of her words settled in his chest, heavy and ominous. Aemond felt the chill of her prophecies, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. “Helaena—”

__

Days had passed and Rhaenyra had no choice but to hide her shed tears, realising that the crown she had inherited had been heavier than she thought. Even when her father named her heir, the realm had made it abundantly clear that she could never satisfy their wants like a man would. Her father’s crown heavy on her head as she tried her best to listen to the council, ever grateful for Ser Erryk for bringing back to her a piece of her father.

The council chamber at Dragonstone was thick with tension as Rhaenyra's advisors stood around her, faces grim with the latest reports. Daemon, as ever, stood close to her side, his eyes filled with a determined fire. Jacaerys, her eldest, had grown more serious in recent days, his boyishness long gone. The losses they had suffered weighed heavily on them all.

The silence was broken by Ser Harrold, who stepped forward, his expression dark. "Your Grace, the Greens have moved swiftly. The Hightowers have consolidated their power in the Reach, and now, with Borros Baratheon’s pledge to Aemond, the Stormlands are lost to us. The lords of the Riverlands are divided. Some still hold loyalty to you, but others are beginning to waver under the threat of the Greens’ brutality."

Rhaenyra tightened her grip on the arm of her chair, her mind racing. The news of Borros' defection was a heavy blow, but not entirely unexpected. Aemond’s marriage pact had won them a formidable ally, one that could turn the tide of battle if left unchecked. And worse still, the Greens were executing lords who refused to swear fealty to Aemond’s cause of challenging Rhaenyra, spreading lies of her weakness and how her rule would ruin the realm.

Daemon’s voice cut through the silence, his tone full of cold resolve. "We cannot let Aemond secure the Riverlands. If we lose the Riverlords, the Greens will have the center of Westeros, and our allies in the North and the Vale will be cut off." Jacaerys, standing tall beside his mother, spoke with the fierce determination that mirrored her own. "We still have House Stark, and Lord Cregan will honor his oath. If I fly to Winterfell, I can secure their forces."

Rhaenyra met her son’s gaze and nodded. "The North is crucial. The Starks are loyal, but they need to see our strength. You will go to Winterfell, Jacaerys. We must remind them of the bonds that tie our houses."

Jacaerys gave a firm nod, determination etched in his young face. He had already lost a brother to this war, and he would not let the Greens tear down their family’s legacy. Rhaenyra then turned to Daemon. "And the Riverlands?"

Daemon’s eyes glinted with dangerous intent. "I will go to the Riverlands myself. The Tullys still support us, and the Blackwoods are loyal and we can rally them to help gain support from the Brackens . If we can rally them, the Riverlands will be ours. The Greens are ruthless, but they lack loyalty. Aemond might think he’s won Borros, but the Riverlands are ours for the taking." Rhaenyra’s heart ached at the thought of Daemon flying into battle, but she knew his presence would inspire loyalty where others might fail. His reputation preceded him, and with his dragon, Caraxes, by his side, he was a force to be reckoned with.

"Very well," she said quietly. "Daemon, you will secure the Riverlands. Jacaerys, you will fly to Winterfell. Remind Lord Cregan Stark of his oaths and the bond of blood that unites us."

Both men nodded, prepared for what lay ahead. The weight of their mission settled heavily on them all. Rhaenyra knew that the next few days would determine the course of the war. If they lost the Riverlands and the North, their cause would be lost. "Mother," Jacaerys spoke, his voice steady but lined with emotion, "I will return with the full strength of the North. We’ll fight for Luke’s memory, for the family we have lost."

Rhaenyra’s heart clenched at the mention of Luke. She nodded, forcing herself to remain strong. "Go, my son. And return safely."

Daemon, ever the warrior, leaned in toward her, his voice low. "We will not lose, Rhaenyra. We have fire and blood on our side." She placed a hand on his arm, her eyes filled with a love that spoke of years of shared battles and sacrifices. "I know," she whispered. "But be careful, Daemon. I cannot bear to lose you, too."

He smirked, his familiar arrogance hiding the deeper affection he held for her. "I will return to you, my queen. With the Riverlands at our back."

Visenya had stood silently in the corner of the council room, shrouded in shadow, her presence unnoticed by most. Her heart ached with every word spoken about the war, the lives already lost, and the perils yet to come. The thought of Jacaerys flying north, or Daemon heading into battle once more, filled her with an overwhelming sense of dread. They had already lost so much—too much—and the idea of watching them leave without saying goodbye felt unbearable.

As the council dispersed and Jacaerys and Daemon made their way out of the hall, Visenya’s chest tightened. Her breath came in short gasps, and she knew she couldn’t let them leave without a word. Without thinking, she ran after them, her footsteps echoing down the stone corridors of Dragonstone. “Wait!” she called, her voice shaky with emotion. Both men turned at the sound, surprise flickering in their eyes as they saw her rushing toward them. Jacaerys, ever the eldest son, gave her a reassuring smile, though the worry etched into his face was unmistakable. Daemon, stern and sharp, raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk softened at the sight of Visenya.

Visenya stopped in front of them, struggling to catch her breath, her eyes darting between the two. She wanted to be strong, like her mother, but the thought of them leaving—of never seeing them again—overwhelmed her.

“I…” Her voice faltered as she tried to find the right words. “I could not let you both leave without saying goodbye.”

Jacaerys’ smile faded slightly, and he stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Visenya, I will be fine. Winterfell is far, but Lord Stark is an ally. We’ll bring the North to our cause. I’ll come back to you. I swear it.”

Visenya bit her lip, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. “You better. I have already lost one brother. I cannot bear to lose another.”

Jacaerys’ expression softened, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. “I will not let that happen. Not to you, not to Mother. I will fight for all of us.”

As they broke apart, Visenya turned to Daemon. The Rogue Prince, her stepfather, had always been a source of strength for her. But now, in this moment, all she saw was a man heading into battle, with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Daemon,” she said softly, her voice breaking, “I know you’re fearless, but please… be careful.” Daemon’s usual cocky grin flickered for a moment, replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable. He took her hand in his, a rare show of affection from the man who rarely let his guard down. “You have always been a sharp one, Visenya,” he said, his tone gruff but affectionate. “But you do not need to worry about me. I have fought wars before, and I will fight this one. I will come back. I had spent more than a decade away from your mother, I do not think I could risk a lifetime without her.”

Visenya shook her head, her eyes glistening. “I do not care how many wars you have fought. This one is different and you know it. We are fighting for our family. For everything.” Her voice caught as she added, “I already lost father and Luke, I will find you in the afterlife and kill you myself if you die now.”

Daemon’s expression softened even further, his grip on her hand tightening. “You will not lose me, Visenya. You are strong, like your mother. But I will do everything I can to come back. For you, for her. For now, heal your wounds and spend time with your family as much as you can.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she tried to hold herself together. “Promise me. Both of you. Promise me you will return.” Jacaerys and Daemon exchanged a glance, both of them seeing the same fear in her eyes—the fear they felt themselves but couldn’t show. They knew the danger, knew the risks, but in this moment, they couldn’t bear to burden her with the full weight of it.

“We promise,” Jacaerys said softly, his voice trembling a little.

Daemon, always more cryptic, simply smirked. “I have never broken a promise to you, have I?”Visenya wiped at her tears, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “No. You have not.”

With that, she embraced them both one more time, her heart heavy with the knowledge that they might not return, but clinging to the hope that they would.

__

Rhaenyra had once enjoyed bidding her family farewell from the dragon pit, remembering her own youthful joy when she rode Syrax under the glowing sun and feeling the distinct warmth on her skin that only the skies could feel. Now, all she felt was dread, her sweet boy’s body engulfed by the sea and the sight of Visenya near death on her dragon’s back.

Daemon stood tall, his usual smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "You worry too much, wife. I have dealt with worse foes," he teased lightly, his voice dripping with the confidence that had always marked him. But as his eyes flicked to Rhaenyra, he noticed the tears glistening in her eyes, threatening to spill over. His smirk faltered. "Daemon," Rhaenyra's voice was softer now, raw with the weight of everything that had happened. She had already lost Luke, her sweet boy, to Aemond’s cruelty, and Visenya had barely made it back alive. Her heart couldn’t take more loss, and the thought of Daemon not returning from the Riverlands gnawed at her insides.

"I cannot lose you again," she whispered, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. She clutched his hand tightly, her knuckles white as if afraid that letting go would mean losing him forever. Daemon’s eyes softened. The arrogance, the bravado—it all slipped away. He cupped her face gently, brushing a tear away with his thumb. “I will return, Rhaenyra. I swear it.”

But Rhaenyra was not done. She pulled his hand down, pressing it to her belly. Daemon froze, his breath catching in his throat. His violet eyes widened for a brief second in surprise before understanding dawned. "Come back to us," she whispered, her gaze imploring, filled with hope and fear all at once. For a moment, Daemon was silent, the realisation settling in. Then, he leaned in, kissing her deeply, as if sealing the promise with his lips. His forehead pressed against hers, and his voice, usually so full of fire and mischief, softened to a tender murmur. “I will come back, Rhaenyra. To you... to all of you.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer, foreheads resting together, the world around them forgotten. The war, the bloodshed—it all faded away in that brief moment of shared vulnerability. Daemon kissed her once more before pulling away, his eyes lingering on her, taking her in as if memorizing her face. "Goodbye, my love," he whispered, before turning to leave.

___

Aemond stood at the head of the chamber, his single eye gleaming in the dim light of the small council room. His jaw clenched, impatience boiling just beneath the surface. His grandfather, Otto Hightower, leaned over the table, his expression stern and calculating.

"Rook’s Rest," Otto began, pointing to the map spread across the table. "The Blacks grow bold. Rhaenyra’s forces may seek to fortify it after losing their grip on the Reach. If we strike swiftly, we can lay a trap. Rhaenys will be quick to defend the stronghold, crucial stronghold on the eastern coast of Westeros, north of Dragonstone and the Crownlands. Controlling it is essential for defending the Black faction's naval and coastal power. Rhaenys is a warrior and she will see to it that not another Targaryen princess is passed over for a son, she must be subdued.”

Aemond listened, his face unreadable, but inside, a storm brewed. The recent victory at Storm’s End had only stoked the fires of his ambition. His encounter with Luke, and the events that had followed, still echoed in his mind. He had won, yes—but the hollow feeling gnawed at him. His pursuit had left a trail of blood, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Otto continued, oblivious to Aemond’s inner turmoil. “The Velaryon fleet is likely to defend it, but they can be outmaneuvered. If we act quickly, we will catch Rhaenys off-guard. Meleys is the biggest dragon they have for now since you have managed to injure Vaehaemion and your cowardly brother would not dare face you.”

Ser Criston Cole nodded in agreement. “She is one of Rhaenyra’s strongest supporters. If she falls, the morale of the Blacks will plummet.”

Aemond’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Rhaenys is no fool. She will sense a trap if we move too openly.” Otto met his grandson’s gaze with a raised brow. “Which is why we must be subtle in our approach. Let her believe she has the upper hand, do not attack immediately, we can lose a few men but we cannot lose a dragon. When she thinks she has won, we crush her.”

Aemond stared down at the map. The idea of another victory, of taking down one of Rhaenyra’s most trusted allies, should have excited him. But all he could think of was his unfinished business with Rhaenyra herself—and with Visenya. The confrontation at Storm’s End had left him unsatisfied, hollow, and now, the weight of that emptiness tugged at his thoughts.

He looked up at Otto, his voice quiet but edged with danger. “If we strike at Rook’s Rest, we must ensure Rhaenys does not escape. I will fly ahead with Vhagar, draw her out. I want her dragon in the skies where we can meet.”

Otto’s gaze narrowed. “You must be careful, Aemond, do not let her know your presence, hide Vhagar in the forest and strike when she is vulnerable Rhaenys is experienced. She may seek to ambush you if you go alone.” Aemond gave a slight, cold smile. “Let her try. I am not a boy playing at war anymore. I will deal with her.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable as the council members exchanged glances. Criston Cole finally broke the silence. “And what of Rhaenyra? She will not sit idle while we take another stronghold.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. The mention of Rhaenyra’s name was like a spark to kindling. “Let her come. Let her see her world burn.”

Otto nodded slowly, satisfied with the course they had set. “Then it is decided. We march on Rook’s Rest.”

As the council dispersed, Aemond lingered by the map, tracing the route from King’s Landing to Rook’s Rest with his gloved finger. His thoughts were elsewhere—on the war, on his family’s enemies, on Visenya’s narrow escape, and on the bloodshed that awaited.

Otto approached him, his voice low. “Aemond, this battle is crucial. We cannot afford missteps.”

Aemond’s eye flickered up to meet his grandfather’s. “There will be no missteps,” he said softly, but the weight in his voice carried the unspoken threat. "This time, no one escapes." As Otto left, Aemond turned to gaze out the window. The sky outside was dark, but soon enough, it would be lit by fire. His mother, who had always had a say in these matters remained silent, realising that Aemond had brought them into the battlefield with his actions.

Aemond had no time for regrets, even when Helaena seemed more distant than ever. The loss of his eye and the prowess he knows he holds has to amount to a throne.

___

Helaena was alone again, sewing yet another embroidery on Aemond's clothes, an eye on the hilt of a sword. A quietness had settled within her and the tears on her face had already dried. She was always between worlds, her mind and what her eyes see. She saw Aemond, she saw how he had been fiercely protective of their family, but the Aemond in her dreams had been engulfed by fire, bleeding from the only eye he had left. she found herself captured by her mind once again, muttering with every stitch, "When the blood of brothers stains the skies, the mother will weep, and dragons will fall like cinders in the wind. The crown will sit heavy on a child's brow, but only after the fires have claimed all who seek it. The sun will set on those who fly too high, and the sea will swallow what remains of their pride. Beware the storm that rises from within, for it will leave naught but ash and shadows in its wake."

Chapter Text

Rhaenys had always understood her duty to the realm. When she was a young girl, riding on her father’s dragon as he soared them through the skies, she had always known she would be inherit the realm but now she had been shunned of it. She did not like to admit it but she felt cheated, wronged even, and it did not help that her husband had a distinct taste for power.

For now, she lay in bed with her husband after a passionate night. For all the things their marriage and their lives have suffered, she would remain loyal to Corlys…even if she knew he had not always been loyal to her. His silvery locs tickled her ear as she rested her head on his chest, sighing as they lay in quietness when suddenly, she heard her husband sniffling. Rhaenys turned to look at him and saw that the tears were fresh on his cheeks as he looked away, trying to save face. “Corlys?,” she asked and he quickly wiped away his tears then said, “I apologise, I find myself more emotional these days. The loss of our children was immense but to lose what remains of Laenor that we see in his children, it is much more painful than I thought.”

Rhaenys could not help but share her husband’s worries. She carefully wiped away his tears with her thumbs then said, “I understand completely. Our grandchildren are a memory of our children so we must do our best to protect them. With your fleet and my dragon, we must defend them with our lives.”

Corlys took a deep breath, his large hand covering Rhaenys' delicate one, resting on his cheek. The vulnerability in his eyes faded into steely resolve as he nodded. "Aye, we must," he agreed, his voice firmer now. "But it is a dangerous game we play, Rhaenys. The greens are closing in. Aegon may be on our side and is loyal to our granddaughter, but he is no match for Aemond. Aemond... Aemond is more dangerous than any of them. And with Vhagar at his command—" His voice trailed off, the thought too heavy to finish.

Rhaenys' jaw clenched at the mention of Aemond, her mind briefly flashing back to the bloody day at Storm’s End when Luke was lost, and Visenya returned broken, barely alive. Her own heart still ached for the children who remained—the ones who had been left vulnerable to the Greens' greed and cruelty. "Let them come," she said quietly, her voice filled with an icy determination. "Let Aemond bring his war, and I will burn him from the sky. They took our children from us. They will not take our grandchildren. We have already lost one, I will not lose another. If Laenor were here, he would have died defending his children.”

Corlys gave a solemn nod, his expression unreadable as he stared into the fire burning in their chamber. "The Sea Snake and the Queen Who Never Was," he mused, his tone almost bitter. "Once, we were unstoppable. But now..." His voice caught, and Rhaenys' heart ached for him—this man who had built a legacy greater than any House but had suffered so much loss along the way.

"We still are," she said firmly, tightening her grip on his hand. "We will not be brought low by grief, Corlys. We cannot afford it. For Laena, for Laenor, for all we have lost... and for the legacy we still have to protect."

Corlys closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, the weight of their burdens settling between them. "Visenya," he murmured after a long pause, his voice thick with emotion. "Do you think she will ever recover? The girl barely survived Aemond's wrath... and Luke—"

"She carries the weight of her brother's death as if it were her own doing," Rhaenys replied softly. "But I see a fire in her still, Corlys. She will rise again. She is her mother's daughter, and a granddaughter of Driftmark. She was born to survive. And I may not always agree with Daemon but he fought for you and he will not see Rhaenyra’s heart break again.”

Corlys nodded slowly, but his worry remained clear. "We must stand with her then. We must ensure she has the strength of our fleet, and you at her side on Meleys. We know the greens seek war at Rook’s Rest, let them find it. They will regret ever thinking we could be broken." Rhaenys’ eyes blazed with determination. "We have nothing left to lose," she whispered, leaning in closer to him, "but they do."

Rhaenys’ words settled between them like the stillness before a storm, and Corlys felt the air shift—thick with unspoken truths he had never expected her to voice. His chest tightened as her gaze, usually so calm, bore into him with a quiet intensity. She was always composed, always in control, but tonight, there was something raw behind her eyes.

“We have nothing left to lose,” she repeated, her voice almost a whisper, yet it held all the weight of the years they had shared. “But they do.”

Corlys blinked, caught off guard. The fire in the hearth crackled, filling the silence with its warmth, but he felt cold. He tried to search her face, to understand what had just shifted between them, but Rhaenys was already leaning into the truth she had kept hidden for so long.

"I know about them, Corlys," she said, her voice steady but tinged with the sadness of unspoken betrayal. "You have never spoken of it, but I have always known."

Corlys’ heart pounded. He felt the bed give way beneath him, like the sea pulling at the shore in a relentless tide. "Rhaenys," he began, his voice low, almost pleading, but she cut him off with a single, firm glance. "I am not blind," she continued, her tone controlled yet carrying a weight he had never heard before. "Do you think I did not see the truth? That I could not recognize the faces of your bastards, close in age to our own children, one of them your first mate? Do you think I did not feel it, the distance between us when you strayed?"

His throat tightened, words failing him as guilt washed over him in waves. Rhaenys, his rock, had always known, and yet she had never confronted him—not until now. The realization hit him like a blow to the chest.

"I thought…" He trailed off, struggling to find his footing in the flood of emotions. "I thought you did not know. Or that—"

"That I did not care?" she finished for him, her eyes flashing with a sadness so deep it cut him to the core. "I cared, Corlys. I cared every time you went to them. Every time I watched you disappear from us—from me, from our children. But I held my tongue. But it did not make it hurt any less."

Corlys felt a lump in his throat, his chest tightening with shame. He had never expected this—her silent knowledge, her quiet endurance. He had believed she didn’t see it, that her loyalty to him was unshakeable, and now he realized just how much she had sacrificed, how much she had held inside. "I am sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with regret. "Rhaenys, I never wanted to hurt you. I thought… I thought you did not see me anymore."

Rhaenys’ eyes softened slightly, but the pain lingered there, etched deep in the lines of her face. "I always saw you, Corlys. Even when you did not see me."The silence that followed was heavy, charged with years of unspoken truths, of betrayals and forgiveness left unsaid. Corlys stared at her, the woman who had borne so much, the woman he had taken for granted. His chest tightened with a flood of emotions—guilt, sorrow, love.

"But it does not matter now," she said softly, breaking the silence. "Not when war is at our doorstep, and the greens are closing in. Your bastards are not a threat to me or to our house. What matters is that we stand together now. For our grandchildren. For the memory of our children."

Corlys blinked away the moisture in his eyes, overwhelmed by the strength she showed, the resilience he had always admired but never fully understood. "You have forgiven me?" he asked, his voice small, almost incredulous.

Rhaenys gave a small, sad smile. "I forgave you long ago. But forgiveness does not mean forgetting, Corlys. It means I choose to look forward, not back. And right now, we must look forward—for them. For Laenor’s children. Jacaerys still remains and he is your heir, he is brave but Aemond is relentless.”

He nodded slowly, the weight of her words sinking in. His heart ached for what they had lost, for what he had done to her, but Rhaenys was right. The past couldn’t be changed, but they had a future to fight for. "I will stand by you," he promised, his voice steadier now. "We will stand with Rhaenyra. We will not let the greens take what is ours."

Rhaenys’ eyes blazed with determination, her sadness tempered by the fire of her resolve. "Good," she whispered, leaning closer to him, her hand resting gently on his chest. "Because the greens are coming. They have set their sights on Rook’s Rest, I know it, they see to weaken us, and Aemond will not stop until he thinks he has broken us. But we will show him the strength of House Velaryon."

Corlys reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly as if to reassure her—and himself—that they would stand strong. "With my fleet and your dragon," he said, his voice firm, "we will make sure they regret ever crossing us."

Rhaenys nodded, her expression fierce as she leaned in closer, her voice soft but laced with steel. "Let them come. We have nothing left to lose, Corlys, but they do." She paused, her eyes narrowing as she added, almost as an afterthought, "And should the greens believe they can break us with whispers of your bastards… let them try."

Corlys stared at her, shocked by her calm acknowledgment of what he had long buried. He had expected anger, confrontation, but instead, she had shown him nothing but quiet strength. And in that moment, he realized just how much he needed her, how much she had held them together through it all.

"We stand together," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and gratitude.

"Always."

"Always," Rhaenys agreed, her hand still resting on his heart as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "And we will make sure they know what it means to face the blood of Driftmark."

__

Alicent descended the cold stone steps of the Red Keep, her heart heavier with every stride. The courtyard was alive with activity—horses being saddled, men preparing for war—but none of it felt real. Her eyes found Gwayne Hightower, her brother, standing beside Ser Criston Cole. Wayne was armored in the green and gold of their house, and Ser Criston was clad in his Kingsguard armour, their faces hardened by the burdens they carried. She had grown used to seeing men adorned for battle, but it did nothing to quell the ache in her chest.

As she neared, Gwayne turned to her, his stern expression softening for a moment. "Sister," he greeted, a flicker of warmth in his eyes as he bowed his head. "You should not be out in this weather."

Alicent gave a faint smile, though her heart was not in it. "I needed to see you before you left." Her voice trembled, barely audible over the bustling preparations around them. Gwayne glanced at Criston, then back at her, his face shadowed with the weight of what was to come. "We are almost ready. Cole and I will ride out for Rook's Rest. Aemond has a plan... one that could end this quickly."

Alicent’s breath caught at the mention of Aemond. Ever since Lucerys’ death, she had felt the dark turn in her son. She feared where his rage would lead him, and what he might become if it wasn’t tempered. And now... now they were laying a trap for Rhaenys. "Aemond’s plans are dangerous," she said softly, her voice tight. "Rhaenys is no easy foe. She rides Meleys, and Corlys commands the largest fleet in Westeros. This is no simple victory."

Gwayne’s eyes clouded with the same doubt she felt, but he squared his shoulders. "We know the risks. But the greens cannot falter now. If we wish to see Aemond’s reign, it depends on our strength. If we crush Rook’s Rest, we send a message to all those wavering."

She bit her lip, her hands clasping together tightly. "And at what cost, Gwayne? How many more lives will be taken before we can call this war a victory?" Her voice wavered, the plea in her eyes betraying the fear she had tried so hard to hide. Gwayne turned away for a moment, unable to meet her gaze. He too understood the cost—how could he not, after all they had already lost? But duty, loyalty, and family weighed on him like chains. "We fight for Aemond. For Helaena’s children. For the Hightower legacy. Rhaenys must fall, or we risk everything.”

“Luke was just a boy,” Alicent softly said, and Gwayne shook his head, “Sister, he was just a boy when you wanted his eye. Now the sea has claimed his entirety.”

Before she could reply, Criston Cole approached, his eyes unreadable beneath his helm. "Your Grace," he said with a bow. "The time to ride is upon us."

Alicent’s throat tightened as she looked at Criston. "You must protect him," she whispered. "You must protect them all." Criston gave a measured nod. "I will do what must be done."

Her heart raced as she turned back to Gwayne, tears threatening to fall. She stepped forward and grasped his hands, her fingers trembling.

"Promise me," she whispered. "Promise me you will return." Gwayne held her gaze, seeing the desperation in her eyes. "I promise," he said softly. He had made similar promises before, and they all weighed heavy now.

Alicent swallowed her fear, her eyes lingering on her brother’s face as though memorizing every feature. Then, with a sudden thought, she looked away for a moment, her voice catching as she asked, "And Daeron? Have you heard word from him in Oldtown?" Gwayne hesitated, the briefest flicker of concern in his eyes. "Last I heard, Daeron was still securing the Reach. The Hightower forces are strong, sister. He will join us when the time is right.”

Alicent nodded, though the mention of her youngest son did little to ease her mind. "I fear for him," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I fear for all of you."

“He was raised well, he is a smart boy and handsome enough to charm many ladies,” Gwayne said, trying to offer comfort. "Daeron is in good hands, he does what is necessary, and the Reach is with us. We will not fail."

Criston cleared his throat. "The time has come, my Queen.”

She turned back to Gwayne, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Go, then," she whispered against his ear, her voice cracking. "But come back to me."

"I will," he promised, though even he seemed unsure.

With that, Gwayne mounted his horse, and Criston did the same. Alicent stood there, watching them ride away, their green banners flapping in the cold breeze. She stayed rooted in place, the emptiness of their departure settling deep in her chest. As their figures disappeared through the gates, her whispered prayer hung in the air.

"May the gods protect us all."

__

The war table in Dragonstone was dimly lit, shadows cast by flickering candles dancing over the faces of those gathered around. Rhaenyra stood at the head, her face tight with concern. Her council sat in silence as Maester Gerardys finished reading the reports, his voice grave.

“The Hightowers have begun to march. Their army, led by Ser Criston Cole and Gwayne Hightower, is making its way to Rook’s Rest. If they are not stopped, the Greens will seize a vital stronghold. Lady Rhaenys,” the maester paused, glancing at the Sea Snake’s wife, “we fear they are seeking to weaken us by blocking us off.”

Rhaenys, ever composed, stood tall. The fire in her eyes reflected the pride of Driftmark, the blood of old Valyria. She glanced down at the map, her finger tracing the path from King’s Landing to Rook’s Rest. “They will be expecting me,” she said, her voice steady. “Meleys will turn the tide. With Corlys’ fleet and my dragon, we can break their forces.”

Rhaenyra swallowed, her eyes moving from the map to her cousin. “Rhaenys, I would not ask this of you if there were any other way.”

Rhaenys’ lips quirked into a faint smile. “You do not need to ask, Your Grace. I know my duty.”

The room fell silent again until a voice broke through. “I will go.”

Visenya stepped forward from where she had been sitting quietly in the corner. Her face, pale from weeks of healing, was set with determination.

Her wounds had not fully healed from her previous encounter with Aemond, but her spirit was unyielding. "Vaehaemion and I are strong enough," she continued, her voice steady though her body still bore the weight of her injuries. "Let me take this fight. Meleys is not the only dragon we have." Aegon’s gaze snapped to his wife, his jaw tightening. He had been silent for most of the council, but the gnawing worry in his chest now felt like a vice tightening around his heart. He watched as Visenya, still wounded from their previous battles, insisted on throwing herself into another.

“No,” Rhaenys said firmly. “You and Vaehaemion are still healing, Visenya. Meleys is the largest dragon we have, and we need her strength. You know this.”

“I am not broken,” Visenya shot back, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I can fight.”

Aegon’s hand clenched at his side, his throat tight. He could see the fire in his wife’s eyes, the same fire that had driven her to defend their family again and again. But his worry gnawed at him. He had watched her nearly die once, and the thought of seeing her hurt again made his blood run cold. "Visenya..." Aegon finally spoke, his voice low, almost pleading. "You have done enough. You and Vaehaemion need time to heal. Meleys is—" He stopped himself, unable to say the words aloud.

Visenya’s gaze softened for a moment as she looked at him, sensing the weight of his fear. She opened her mouth to argue again, but Rhaenys cut her off, her tone brokering no argument. “You fought bravely, Visenya,” Rhaenys said, her voice steady. “But this is my fight now. Meleys and I will defend Rook’s Rest, as is my duty. You will live to fight another day. You cannot always be the sword.”

Visenya looked between Rhaenys and Aegon, her defiance slowly giving way to acceptance. Aegon’s eyes met hers, filled with unspoken concern, but he said nothing more. He trusted Rhaenys, but the thought of sending her to face a trap gnawed at him.

“Is there no reports of a dragon? My brother would not stand by and do nothing, there must be,” Aegon finally said, his voice tense. “The Hightower army is a simple force when faced with one of our dragons but they would not be so foolish to go without a dragon to defend themselves.”

Rhaenys gave a firm nod, her expression calm yet resolute. "I will face whatever is to come," she said, her voice carrying an edge of finality.

Rhaenyra's gaze flickered between her council, her family, and the flickering flames that danced over the map. She could feel the weight of each decision, the lives that hung in the balance. Her heart ached for her children, for her husband, for her allies, but the realities of war left her no room for sentiment.

“Then we act,” Rhaenyra said, her voice steady. “We cannot let Rook’s Rest fall.”

__

Aegon’s footsteps echoed through the stone corridors of the Dragonpit, his chest tightening as he neared Meleys’ enclosure. The Red Queen stood tall, her fiery scales shimmering in the low light. Rhaenys was already there, her back to him as she rested a hand on her dragon’s side, the weight of what she was about to do etched into the set of her shoulders.

Aegon hesitated before speaking, his voice thick with concern. “You know Aemond will be there, don’t you?”

Rhaenys did not turn at first. She seemed to gather her thoughts, her hand running slowly along Meleys’ massive flank. “I know,” she said, her tone steady. “I have known since the moment the council spoke of Rook’s Rest.”

Aegon stepped closer, his heart pounding. “Then why remain silent? They could have sent others with you, more dragons, more men—anything to help.” Rhaenys finally turned to face him, her expression calm, though her eyes gleamed with something far deeper. “Because I did not want to give them the chance to stop me. I have fought alongside Corlys in wars before, and I know what must be done.”

Aegon’s frustration bubbled to the surface. “Aemond is cunning. He will not let you escape alive. He awaits you.” Rhaenys’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze unwavering. “I am not naive, Aegon. I know what awaits me, and I do not fear it.” Aegon stepped forward, his voice dropping as worry gnawed at him. “Why are you so eager to face him, Rhaenys? Why put yourself at such risk?”

There was a pause before she spoke again, her eyes softening as she looked at him. “Because there is nothing left for me here.”Her words hit Aegon like a blow, and for a moment, he stood there in silence, stunned.

Rhaenys continued, her voice quiet but firm. “I have lost my children—Laena, Laenor—and with them, the future I thought I would have. The future I believed in. What remains for me now are only memories and the shadow of a realm that has forgotten me.”

Aegon’s throat tightened, and he struggled to find his voice. “You still have Rhaenyra. You still have your grandchildren. Visenya would be heartbroken if you do not return. They need you.” Rhaenys gave a small, sad smile, the light in her eyes flickering for a moment. “I was wary of you at first, you know.” She sighed softly, as if the memory was an ache she had long buried. “You are not what I imagined Visenya would wed, but I have watched you closely, Aegon. I have seen how you look at her, how you care for her. You remind me of how Corlys used to look at me, in the days when we were younger, when the world still felt full of promise.”

Aegon blinked, surprised by her admission. He hadn’t expected her to say such a thing, especially not now. Rhaenys looked away, her hand still resting on Meleys. “It has been a long time since Corlys looked at me that way,” she added, her voice softer now, laced with a melancholy that cut through Aegon’s heart. “But you... you have that same devotion to Visenya. And that is why I trust you. She needs you now, more than ever.”

Aegon’s breath hitched, the weight of her words settling over him like a lead cloak. “Then stay,” he whispered. “For her. For your grandchildren. Don’t throw your life away. We still need you here.” Rhaenys shook her head slowly, her eyes distant as she looked out toward the sky. “I have fought beside Corlys in many battles. I’ve faced death before, and I have always come through. But I do not fear it now. I just want to see my children again, Aegon. That is all.”

Aegon clenched his fists, his voice rising with desperation. “Rhaenys, please—do not let Aemond be the one to take you down. Do not let him win.” Her eyes softened as she looked at him. “This is not about winning or losing. It is about doing what is right for Rhaenyra, for Driftmark, for my grandchildren.” She paused, her voice thick with emotion. “And I know Aemond. He will not leave Rook’s Rest without a fight. But neither will I.”

Aegon’s heart ached as he stared at her. “Then promise me,” he said, his voice raw. “Promise me you will fight. Promise me you will not let him take you without a battle.”

There was something that hurt within Aegon’s heart. He had barely spoken to Rhaenys for all the years he has lived, but in this very moment…she had shown him more kindness and affection than his mother ever gave him.

Rhaenys’s lips curled into a faint smile, though sadness still lingered in her eyes as she cupped his cheek, almost reminded of Laenor when he was younger,, “I promise you, Aegon. I will not go quietly.”

With that, she turned back to Meleys, climbing into the saddle with the grace of someone who had spent her life in the sky. The Red Queen stirred beneath her, wings stretching wide, ready to take flight. Before she took off, Rhaenys looked down at Aegon one last time, her expression a mix of determination and sorrow. “Rhaenyra will need her allies, do not forget our cause,” she said softly. “And take care of my grandchildren. They will need all of you when this is over.”

Aegon nodded, his throat tight. “I will.”

And then, with a final look, Rhaenys spurred Meleys into the air, the great dragon’s wings beating powerfully as they soared into the sky. Aegon stood there, watching her disappear into the horizon, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last time he would ever see her alive.

Aegon stood in the shadow of the Dragonpit, his heart pounding in his chest as Rhaenys and Meleys disappeared into the horizon. The gnawing worry that had been building inside him now burned fiercely. He could not shake the sense of doom that hung in the air, nor could he ignore the relentless pull deep in his gut—he had to follow her. He had been alive for more than 20 years now and had only gotten to know Visenya and her family in this light for 3. But in these short years he had felt accepted, he had felt seen, he had felt at home. Everything suddenly mattered.

His mind raced. The council would never agree with this, not after what had happened to Visenya. Rhaenyra would be furious, Visenya would be terrified. But this was not about politics or plans anymore. This was about family. This was about doing something before it was too late. Without another thought, Aegon turned on his heel and made his way toward the part of the Dragonpit that housed his own dragon, Sunfyre. He moved quickly, his steps almost frantic, and before long, he was standing before the golden beast.

Sunfyre, majestic and shimmering in the low light, sensed his rider’s urgency. The dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, its eyes gleaming with anticipation. Aegon’s chest tightened as he placed his hand on Sunfyre’s massive side, feeling the warmth of the creature’s scales beneath his palm. "We must go," Aegon whispered, his voice trembling with determination. "We cannot let her face this alone."

Sunfyre huffed, as if understanding. The dragon's massive wings shifted as Aegon quickly mounted, every nerve in his body on edge, he felt how light he was without his armour. He looked back at the entrance to the Dragonpit for a brief moment, knowing he was defying every bit of counsel they’ would have given him. But that did not matter now.

No one knew. No one would stop him.

Aegon gripped the reins tightly, his heart hammering against his ribs. He took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the sky. Rhaenys had been right—there was nothing left to lose. But he could not bear the thought of bringing another pain to Visenya’s life. She had risked everything to fight for their family, and he could not stand by idly while she walked into danger alone.

"Sōvegon sunfyre," Aegon commanded, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him.

Fly Sunfyre.

With a powerful beat of its wings, Sunfyre launched into the sky, the force of the takeoff nearly knocking the breath from Aegon’s lungs. They soared higher and higher, the wind whipping through his hair as they gained speed. His thoughts raced just as fast, his mind flashing to Visenya—her pale face when she had been brought back on Vaehaemion, wounded and unconscious. The fear that gripped him then surged through him now.

He would not let that happen again, if he can end Aemond now, then he will.

The ground fell away beneath them, and soon Aegon could see the vast expanse of the realm stretching out below. Somewhere ahead, Rhaenys was already flying toward the storm that awaited her at Rook’s Rest. And so was Aemond. His hands tightened on the reins, a grim resolve settling over him. Aemond was waiting for her, and if Aegon knew his brother at all, he would be merciless. He had to reach Rhaenys before it was too late.

The sky darkened as they flew on, the distant sounds of battle already beginning to fill the air. Aegon’s heart pounded, every beat echoing the urgency driving him forward. He didn’t know what awaited him when they arrived at Rook’s Rest, but one thing was certain—he would not let Rhaenys face Aemond alone. Not today. Not ever.

__

Visenya stood beside her mother in the great hall of Dragonstone, her brow furrowed as they discussed the plans to bring the young children to safety. A sense of urgency filled the room, the tension thick as they knew war was closing in on all sides. Rhaenyra’s voice was calm, but beneath the surface, Visenya could sense her worry, her dread. They had already lost so much—Luke, injured soldiers, and nearly Visenya herself—and now the only focus seemed to be how to keep what was left safe. But then, faint at first, Visenya heard it. The unmistakable roar of Sunfyre tearing through the sky. Her heart stilled for a moment before it began to race. She turned toward the window, eyes wide as she saw the golden beast gliding through the air, the sun catching on its wings, illuminating the sky.

“Aegon,” she whispered, the name catching in her throat.

Rhaenyra followed her gaze, her expression darkening as the realization hit. “He would not…” But Visenya already knew. She felt it in her bones—Aegon had gone after Rhaenys, and they both knew what awaited her at Rook’s Rest. Without hesitation, Visenya spun on her heel, already moving toward the door. “I need to get my armour.”

“Visenya, no!” Rhaenyra’s voice was sharp, stopping her in her tracks. She stepped forward, grasping her daughter’s arm. “You have barely recovered. You are not going out there again, not after what happened to you, not after—”

“I will not let him die,” Visenya interrupted, her voice fierce, her eyes burning with determination. She yanked her arm free from Rhaenyra’s grip, her hands trembling as the memories of her last battle resurfaced. “I failed Luke. I will not make that mistake again. Not with Aegon.”

“Visenya,” Rhaenyra’s voice softened, “I cannot lose you. You have already given too much. I cannot bear it…” Visenya turned, her expression hardening. “You raised me to fight, mother. Do you think I have not been preparing for this my whole life? Daemon trained me, he told me a day like this would come—when I would have to make a choice. To be your daughter, or to be your warrior.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes filled with tears as she reached out, trying to grasp her daughter’s hands, her voice pleading now. “You are my daughter, Visenya. You have always been my daughter first. I cannot ask you to—”

“You do not have to ask.” Visenya’s voice broke, her resolve shaking but not crumbling. “I have chosen. I am your daughter, but I am also a dragon. And I will fight. If I stay here and Aegon dies, if I do not at least try to save him, it will break me. I cannot live like that. Not again. When I fight for your claim, I am also fighting for mine.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her hand gripping her daughter’s arm once more, desperate to hold on to her. “He would not want you to do this. He would not want you to risk yourself—”

“He would do the same for me,” Visenya said, her voice barely a whisper now, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “And I will be damned if I let him go to his death alone.” Rhaenyra closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to find the words to stop her, but Visenya’s resolve was unbreakable. Her daughter’s strength—the same strength she had always admired—was now the very thing tearing her apart. Rhaenyra’s hands shook as she pulled Visenya into a fierce embrace, tears slipping down her cheeks. She held her daughter tight, as if trying to will her to stay.

But she knew Visenya had already made her choice.

“I love you,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice trembling. “I love you with all my heart my darling girl. Come back to me.”

Visenya pulled back slightly, looking into her mother’s eyes with a soft but determined gaze. “I will. I swear it.” She wiped at her mother’s tears before turning on her heel, her steps quick as she moved toward her armour.

Rhaenyra’s heart pounded in her chest, her fear suffocating her. But there was a flicker of pride too, even amidst the terror. Her daughter was strong—stronger than she had ever imagined. She watched as Visenya donned her armor, the same armour Daemon had insisted she wear, the weight of it a reminder of the battles to come.

Visenya paused at the door, her hand resting on the frame as she turned to face her mother one last time.

“I am your warrior, mother,” she said softly, her voice unwavering now. “And I will not fail you again.”

__

Visenya stood in the dim light of her chambers, the soft coos and murmurs of her children filling the air mixed with the clank of her steel. Alyssa sat quietly by her feet, her wide eyes watching as her mother knelt to kiss her forehead. Baelon lay fast asleep in his crib, his small chest rising and falling with each soft breath. And Aegea gurgled softly in her nurse’s arms, too young to understand what was happening.

Visenya’s heart tightened painfully. She had stared death in the face, but this—saying goodbye to her children—this felt like the most excruciating pain she had ever known. Alyssa reached up, her tiny hand brushing against Visenya’s cheek. “Mama, where are you going?” Her voice was so small, so innocent, it nearly shattered Visenya’s composure.

Visenya swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto her lips as she took her daughter’s hand in her own. “Mama has to go on a very important journey,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “But I will come back to you, I promise.”Alyssa blinked up at her, her brows furrowing in confusion. “When?”

Visenya’s throat tightened, her eyes filling with tears that threatened to spill over. She kissed Alyssa’s small hand, pressing it to her cheek. “Soon, my love. Very soon.” She moved to Baelon’s crib next, her fingers trembling as she smoothed the soft curls from his forehead. His tiny form seemed so peaceful, so unaware of the storm brewing around them. Visenya’s chest ached, the weight of the goodbye almost unbearable. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Be strong for me.” She pressed a kiss to his soft skin, lingering there for a moment, memorising the warmth of his tiny body.

Finally, she turned to Aegea, her heart shattering at the sight of her youngest. So small, so fragile, with no understanding of the world she had been born into. Visenya reached out, gently cradling Aegea’s tiny hand in hers, the tears she had been holding back finally breaking free. She kissed Aegea’s forehead, her lips trembling against her baby’s soft skin. “I love you, my sweet girl. More than you will ever know.”

For a moment, she simply stood there, her children surrounding her, and the reality of it all washed over her like a wave. This could be the last time she held them, the last time she saw their faces. The weight of that truth crushed her, and the fierce warrior inside her faltered. She did not want to leave them. Not like this. Not when there was a chance she might never return. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, but the tears would not stop. The thought of Aegon already in the skies, flying toward battle, gnawed at her soul. He was out there, risking his life, and here she was, leaving behind the very pieces of her heart.

A soft sob escaped her lips, and she quickly wiped at her face, forcing herself to stay strong. She had to do this. For them. For Aegon. But the fear would not leave her, the thought that this might be the last time she kissed them, the last time she whispered promises of safety into their ears. As she rose, the heaviness of the moment threatened to crush her. She turned one last time to look at them—Alyssa watching her with innocent eyes, Baelon still in his peaceful slumber, and Aegea resting quietly in her nurse’s arms. They looked so small, so vulnerable.

Visenya took a deep breath, steeling herself. She had to leave them to fight for a future where they would be safe. But the thought of not being there to see them grow, to hold them, to love them…it tore her apart.

With that, she turned and walked out of the room, her heart breaking with every step. But as the door closed behind her, the weight of her choices pressed down on her chest like a stone. This war demanded everything—her strength, her bravery, and now, possibly, her life. She had accepted that. But leaving her children behind, knowing she might never return—that was a cost she could barely stand to bear.

Tears blurred her vision as she made her way down the hall, her hand brushing against the cool stone walls for support. In her mind, their faces stayed with her, their voices calling out to her in the quiet of her heart.

Visenya had barely made it half-way down the hall when she heard the frantic pounding of tiny feet behind her, followed by a heart-wrenching scream that froze her in place.

"Mama! Mama, stay!” The sound tore through Visenya, deeper than any wound she had ever felt in battle. She turned quickly to see Alyssa sprinting toward her, her small face twisted in pure terror, her cheeks wet with streams of tears. Before Visenya could react, Alyssa hurled herself at her mother, clinging desperately to her leg, her fingers gripping the steel of her armour as if she could hold her there forever.

Visenya dropped to her knees, scooping Alyssa into her arms, holding her trembling daughter tightly against her chest. "Alyssa..." she whispered, but her words were lost in the storm of her daughter’s sobs. "My sweet girl, I have to go." "No!" Alyssa screamed, her voice ragged and broken. "Please, Mama! Stay!” Her tiny fists pounded weakly against Visenya’s chest, as if her frail strength alone could stop the inevitable. "Stay with me! Stay here with us!"

Visenya’s chest tightened, her own tears now streaming down her face. She cupped Alyssa’s tear-streaked face, wiping her cheeks with her trembling thumb. "I wish I could, my love. But I have to protect you—your brothers and sisters. I am doing this for you." Alyssa wailed, shaking her head fiercely, her voice growing more desperate with every second. "No! No, Mama, no! Stay with us, Mama, please!" Her cries were so raw, so full of despair, they seemed to reverberate through the stone walls of Dragonstone itself.

Visenya’s heart shattered with each sob that wracked Alyssa’s small body, her words laced with the kind of agony no child should ever know. She clung tighter to her daughter, trying to quiet her own grief, but Alyssa’s desperate pleas tore at her resolve. The handmaiden appeared, hesitant, her face pale with sorrow as she approached. "Princess, you must go..."

Visenya shook her head, unable to let go of her daughter, her body torn between duty and the unbearable weight of this moment. Alyssa’s cries grew more frantic, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s neck, as if by holding on she could stop the world from moving. "No! NO!”

The handmaiden stepped forward, her hands gentle but firm as she tried to pry Alyssa’s arms away. "Come, my lady," she whispered, though her voice was thick with emotion. "Your mother must leave."

Alyssa screamed louder, her voice cracking with the force of her grief. "Mama! No! Please! Please, Mama! I need you!" Visenya felt her knees buckle beneath her, her entire body trembling as she tried to hold herself together. Every instinct in her screamed to stay, to pick Alyssa up and run as far away as she could from the war, from the death that waited just beyond the horizon. But she could not.

"I love you, Alyssa," Visenya whispered through her tears, her voice trembling. "I will come back, I swear it."

But Alyssa was not hearing her. She fought against the handmaiden’s grasp, kicking and screaming, her sobs so fierce they shook her tiny frame. "No! No! Please, Mama! Do not go!" Her screams were piercing, echoing off the stone walls, her voice filled with such raw agony that it seemed to reverberate through Visenya’s soul.

As the handmaiden pulled Alyssa away, the little girl’s hands reached out, still grasping for her mother, her wails so desperate they made Visenya’s heart bleed. "Mama! Please!"

Visenya turned away, her body shaking uncontrollably, tears blurring her vision as she forced herself to walk. Each step felt like a death sentence, the weight of Alyssa’s cries growing heavier with every second, tearing at her like claws. The sound of her daughter’s final scream echoed down the hall, "Mama! Come back!"

Visenya stumbled, her breath catching in her throat, her legs barely able to carry her as she moved toward the inevitable battle. Alyssa’s voice haunted her, each cry a reminder of the cruel cost of duty.

She whispered to herself as if pleading with the gods, “Please, let me come back to them.”

__

Visenya stood tall, her armor glinting under the dim light of the braziers, but the weight of the moment pressed down on her as heavily as her plated armor. Sunfyre’s distant roar echoed outside, a reminder of what was to come, and yet her heart ached for the final words she knew must be said. Rhaenyra stood just behind her, her eyes fixed on her daughter’s back. She hadn’t spoken much since they arrived at the Dragonpit, her heart clenched tightly in her chest. The wind tugged at her dark hair as she stepped forward, her breath visible in the cold air. The words she wanted to say were trapped in her throat, burning like wildfire, but she held them in.

She could not ask her to come back.

Not because she did not want her daughter’s return more than anything in the world—but because the pain of hoping, and knowing there was a chance Visenya would not return, was too unbearable to voice. Rhaenyra’s eyes lingered on Visenya’s armored form, and her mind drifted to the first time she had held her in her arms, the tiny child who had been her salvation in the midst of turmoil. She had been so small then, so fragile, but now here she was, standing tall and fierce, ready to fly into the heart of war.

Visenya turned, her eyes meeting her mother’s. “Mother,” she said softly, her voice calm, though Rhaenyra could hear the tremor of uncertainty beneath it. “I am ready.” Rhaenyra swallowed hard, stepping closer, her hand reaching out to touch the cold steel of Visenya’s armor. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the distant roar of dragons. She stared at the armor for a long moment before looking up into her daughter’s eyes. “I know you are.”

Visenya nodded, her jaw tight as she fought to keep her own emotions at bay. She could see the unshed tears in her mother’s eyes, the way Rhaenyra’s fingers trembled as they brushed against the cold metal. But they both knew what needed to be done. They had always known.

The wind picked up again, swirling around them as Rhaenyra gently cupped her daughter’s cheek, her thumb brushing softly across Visenya’s skin. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many warnings, so many hopes, but they all seemed to lodge in her throat. What words could she offer that hadn’t already been spoken?

“I’ve watched you grow into the woman you are now,” Rhaenyra said, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “You’ve always been my warrior, Visenya. My strong, fierce dragon. And now you are not just my daughter—you are the protector of us all.”

Visenya’s lip quivered, but she didn’t speak, didn’t dare break the fragile moment hanging between them.

“I will fight for us, Mother,” Visenya whispered, her voice strained with emotion. “For you. For our family.”

Rhaenyra smiled sadly, a tear finally escaping down her cheek. “I know you will,” she said softly. She stepped back, letting her hand fall to her side, knowing she couldn’t hold her daughter any longer. Not here. Not now.

Visenya glanced toward the vast archway where her dragon, Vaehaemion, awaited her, wings twitching in anticipation. But before she moved, she turned to her mother once more. Her gaze softened, and for a brief moment, she was no longer the warrior, but the girl Rhaenyra had raised—the daughter who had clung to her skirts as a child, who had looked to her for protection, who had filled her heart with love beyond measure.

Rhaenyra’s heart clenched painfully as she watched her daughter walk toward the dragon. She opened her mouth to call out, to say the words burning inside her, but the air left her lungs, and she said nothing. She couldn’t ask Visenya to promise she would return. Not this time. The weight of that hope would be too much to bear if it was broken.

That was her little girl.

Her little girl is going to face death once more.

Instead, she forced a smile, her tears now flowing freely, though she made no move to wipe them away. “Fly well, my daughter,” she whispered, her voice lost to the wind as Visenya mounted Vaehaemion, her dragon’s great wings unfurling in the dark sky above.

Visenya met her mother’s gaze one last time, and though no words were spoken, there was an understanding between them—a silent goodbye, wrapped in love and fear. And as the great dragon lifted into the sky, its roar echoing through the Dragonpit, Rhaenyra watched, her heart breaking into pieces, knowing she had to let her daughter go—knowing she might never see her again.

__

The battlefield was alight with fire. The searing heat from Meleys’ breath scorched the earth below, turning the Hightower troops into nothing more than ash and charred remnants. Rhaenys flew with fury, her face set in a grim expression as she watched the enemy forces scatter like leaves in the wind. The smell of smoke and death clung to the air, but the Queen Who Never Was showed no mercy. She had lost too much, and there was nothing left for her to spare.

With each roar of Meleys, the red queen of the dragons, the ground trembled beneath the ferocity of her power. The Hightower banners wilted in the blaze, their men reduced to frightened, fleeing shadows beneath her. Rhaenys had led countless battles beside Corlys, but this felt different—this felt final. Every part of her screamed with the need to end this madness, to put an end to the bloodshed that had stolen her children, that threatened the legacy of Driftmark. There was nothing left for her here.

As she circled back for another strike, something caught her eye—a figure in the distance, cutting through the haze of fire and smoke. A shape that moved swiftly through the chaos. Rhaenys squinted, her heart skipping a beat. The figure became clearer as it grew nearer, and then she saw him—Aemond.

The One-Eyed Prince, mounted on Vhagar, the massive, ancient beast whose wingspan darkened the sky. His silhouette loomed like death itself, his sapphire eye gleaming even from afar. He had come, just as she had known he would. Rhaenys’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to still around her. She knew this was inevitable. She had always known Aemond would come for her. He was cunning and ruthless, and he wouldn’t let her escape this battle alive—not after her support for Rhaenyra.

Meleys shrieked beneath her, sensing the coming threat, her fiery eyes fixed on the enormous form of Vhagar. Rhaenys tightened her grip on her saddle, steeling herself for the fight ahead. Aemond’s voice carried over the battlefield, cold and mocking. “So, you have come to die, old woman?” His words were laced with venom, and Rhaenys could hear the smirk in his tone even from where she hovered.

Rhaenys's gaze hardened, her lips set in a thin line. She guided Meleys to rise higher into the sky, away from the burning earth below, positioning herself to face Aemond head-on. “I came to protect my family,” she called back, her voice strong despite the tremor of fury beneath it. “Something you have long forgotten how to do.”

Aemond’s grin was sharp as he spurred Vhagar forward, their enormous shadow consuming the battlefield. “You should have stayed away, Rhaenys. You will find no victory here.”

The two dragons circled each other in the sky, titans preparing for a clash that could only end in death., unaware of more dragons that will join them in the near future. Rhaenys’ heart raced, but she kept her focus, her eyes never leaving Aemond. She was not foolish. She knew this could be the end for her. She had no delusions of surviving, but she was ready to face whatever came next.

There was nothing left for her here.

“I am not looking for victory,” Rhaenys said, her voice steady. “I just want to see my children again.”

With that, she urged Meleys forward, “Angōs Meleys”

“Attack Meleys”

Chapter Text

As the winds howled around them, the tension in the air thickened with anticipation. Rhaenys and Aemond glared at each other, the animosity between them palpable. Suddenly, a familiar roar echoed through the sky, cutting through the chaos of battle. Rhaenys turned, eyes widening in disbelief as she saw Sunfyre, Aegon’s majestic dragon, soaring toward the battlefield, his golden scales glinting fiercely in the sunlight.

Before Rhaenys could shout a warning, Aegon shot through the air, descending swiftly toward Vhagar. With a fierce determination, he raked his claws across Aemond's dragon’s eye, causing a shriek of pain to erupt from Vhagar. The ancient beast thrashed in response, disoriented and enraged.

Rhaenys’s heart thundered in her chest as she watched Aegon’s reckless act unfold. “Aegon!” she cried, the anger surging within her, but he was already committed, flying beside her as he readied for the impending clash. Aemond howled in fury, his attention shifting from Rhaenys to Aegon, the pain from the scratch igniting a fire of vengeance in his single eye. Rhaenys felt a mixture of fear and admiration for Aegon’s bravery, but a dark cloud of dread loomed over her. “Aegon, you fool!” she managed to shout, her voice barely reaching him over the chaos, but he ignored her, his focus locked on Aemond.

The two dragons circled each other, preparing for battle, flames flickering from their jaws. Rhaenys tightened her grip on Meleys’s reins, knowing that this fight was now more than personal—it was about survival, and Aegon had thrown himself into the heart of it without hesitation.

Rhaenys saw it—the danger, the folly of Aegon’s charge. He was no match for Aemond. The way he fought, the way he flew, left too many openings, too many chances for Vhagar to end him. And Aemond, with his one cold, sapphire eye, was ruthless enough to take advantage of every single one.

Rhaenys urged Meleys forward, faster and faster, her heart pounding in her chest. She was not Aegon’s mother, but at that moment, it did not matter. He was a son—a Targaryen, a child born of fire and blood. And no matter how reckless, no matter how foolish, Rhaenys could not let him die.

With a fierce roar, Meleys launched herself between Sunfyre and Vhagar just as Aemond drove his dragon into a savage dive.

Rhaenys could feel the heat of Sunfyre’s flames at her back as Aegon tried desperately to recover from the assault, Sunfyre beginning to plummet down to the earth with a large wound on his chest. Meleys twisted in the air, her body blocking Vhagar’s crushing jaws as the two dragons collided. The impact was monstrous. Vhagar's teeth sank into Meleys’ neck, and Rhaenys felt the shudder of pain run through her dragon as they tumbled in the sky, locked in a deadly embrace. Rhaenys clung to her saddle, her body slammed against Meleys’ back as the Red Queen fought valiantly, her wings beating desperately to keep them both aloft. But Vhagar was larger, older, and far stronger. It was a fight Meleys could not win.

Aemond’s cold laughter echoed across the battlefield as Vhagar overpowered the smaller dragon, the weight of her immense form dragging them both toward the ground. Rhaenys fought for control, her eyes blazing with defiance even as the wind screamed in her ears. She had fought too many battles to surrender now. She had lost too much. Her children taken from her. And she would not go quietly.

But the ground was rising to meet them, and Rhaenys knew there was no escaping this. The weight of Vhagar’s relentless attack was too much for Meleys. The Red Queen’s wings faltered, and they began to fall. Rhaenys had moments. Mere moments. She could feel the heat of Vhagar's breath behind her, the rush of air as they plummeted toward the earth. She turned her gaze to Aegon, who watched in horror from atop Sunfyre, his eyes wide with disbelief as he realised what was happening.

For a heartbeat, Rhaenys felt a sharp pang of something unexpected—affection. He was not her son. But in this moment, he was hers to protect. She never had the chance to save Laena and Laenor. But not this time. Not this boy. With a final, desperate effort, Meleys shifted, using the last of her strength to block Aemond’s killing strike. Rhaenys felt the shockwave as Vhagar’s jaws snapped inches from Aegon’s dragon.

Meleys’ scream filled the air, a cry of defiance, even as she began to fall.

And then the sky disappeared. The earth rushed toward them, the horizon spinning in a dizzying whirl of fire and ash. Rhaenys held on, her fingers gripping the saddle as tightly as she could, but she knew it was over. She felt some relief as she briefly glimpsed SUnfyre regaining some flight and safely landing with Aegon on the battlefield. Meleys’ body twisted beneath her, shielding her from the worst of the fall, but nothing could stop the inevitable. They hit the ground with a sickening thud, the force of it knocking the breath from Rhaenys’s lungs. Meleys, the mighty Red Queen, roared one last time, her body crushed beneath the weight of the fall. And then all was still.

Rhaenys lay there, the world around her fading in and out of focus, her body broken and bloodied. The pain was unbearable, but she could barely feel it through the numbness that spread over her. Her mind drifted, to Driftmark, to her family, to the faces of her children she would never see again. And then she heard it—a scream.

“Grandmother!”

The sound pierced through the chaos, sharp and raw, filled with the kind of grief that tore the heart in two. Rhaenys’s fading vision caught a glimpse of Visenya, her granddaughter, descending from the sky on Vaehaemion. Her silver hair streamed behind her, her face pale with horror as she watched the scene unfold before her. “Grandmother!” Visenya screamed again, her voice cracking with desperation. She urged Vaehaemion faster, her dragon’s wings beating furiously, but it was too late. Rhaenys had already fallen. The moment Visenya touched the ground, she was running, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Arrows flew through the air as the men of Rook’s rest desperately tried to defend the stronghold. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision as she reached the crumpled form of Rhaenys, her hands trembling as she fell to her knees.

“No,” Visenya whispered, her voice barely audible, her fingers brushing the cold, lifeless skin of her grandmother’s cheek. “No, please…”She could not believe it. This could not be real. She could not accept it. She had protected Aegon with her life, but at the cost of her own. Visenya’s sobs ripped through her, uncontrollable and loud, as she cradled Rhaenys’s broken body, barely whole in her arms. “Please…please come back,” she begged, her voice hoarse and broken. “Please…” But there was no answer. Rhaenys was gone, her body still and cold, her once fiery spirit extinguished.

Visenya’s heart shattered, her grief overwhelming her as she held her grandmother’s lifeless form. She had arrived too late, too late to save her, too late to change anything. All she could do now was weep, her cries lost in the roar of dragons and the smoke of war.And high above, Vhagar circled, Aemond watching from his perch, the predator triumphant but ready for his next prey…Aegon. Visenya reluctantly left Rhaenys’ body and ran to her dragon and quickly mounted him. Visenya’s scream tore through the sky as she flew Vhagar to meet Aemond, but no amount of rage could alter the reality before her. Vhagar was too strong, too massive, and too ancient. Despite Vaehaemion's ferocity, the young dragon was no match for the monster that was Vhagar. The clash between the two was brutal, but every move Visenya made seemed futile. Her heart pounded in her chest, fueled by grief and anger over the loss of Rhaenys, yet it was not enough.

Vhagar’s jaws snapped at Vaehaemion, her talons raking across his scaled hide, and Visenya could feel the impact of each blow. Her dragon roared in pain, his once-fluid movements now stiff with exhaustion as Vhagar’s size and strength overpowered him. Aemond’s laughter, sharp and cruel, echoed across the battlefield. He controlled Vhagar with ease, every movement calculated, every attack devastating.

“Is this all you have you ambitious bitch?” Aemond's voice was mocking, cold as winter’s wind. He relished the torment he was putting her through.

Visenya gritted her teeth, the sting of his words cutting through her anger. She spurred Vaehaemion forward, determined to strike back, but as they lunged for Vhagar, the larger dragon twisted in the air with shocking speed, countering Vaehaemion’s attack. “Angōs Vaehaemion! Dracarys!” Visenya shouted, her voice filled with fury and desperation. Vaehaemion opened his jaws, a stream of fire erupting from his throat, the bright flames blazing across the sky. But Vhagar turned her head, avoiding the worst of the blast, the fire barely scorching her thick scales. She roared in response, the sound deafening, shaking the very bones of everyone below.

Vaehaemion tried to retreat, but Vhagar loomed over him with ease. Her massive wings beat the air, carrying her forward with terrifying speed. Her claws latched onto Vaehaemion’s side, tearing into his flesh, and Visenya could only hold on as her dragon screamed in pain. She felt the tremors of his agony beneath her, her hands trembling with the knowledge that they were losing. Vhagar’s jaws snapped around Vaehaemion’s wing, ripping through the membrane with a sickening tear. Visenya gasped, her heart sinking as her dragon’s strength began to fail. Vaehaemion struggled, trying to shake Vhagar off, but the larger dragon’s grip was relentless. Blood poured from Vaehaemion’s side, staining the sky beneath them as Vhagar's talons dug deeper.

The clash between Vhagar and Vaehaemion was fierce, a storm of fire and fury in the sky, but Vhagar’s immense size and power quickly overwhelmed Visenya’s dragon. Despite Vaehaemion’s best efforts, every strike from Vhagar was a mountain crashing down, every roar a declaration of dominance. Visenya fought valiantly, her heart consumed by the need to protect her family, to avenge her fallen grandmother Rhaenys, but as the minutes wore on, the bitter reality set in.

They were losing. Above the din of battle, Visenya’s breathing grew labored, the strain of the fight heavy on her body. She tugged at the reins, urging Vaehaemion to retreat but there was no escape. Vhagar was relentless, a testament to all the wars the old dragon has fought. Aemond guided his ancient beast with a chilling precision, his eye locked on Visenya, his grin ever widening with cruel delight.

“You cannot win this Visenya! You should have joined me when I offered!” Aemond shouted over the roar of their dragons, his voice cold and triumphant. “Submit, or die as your grandmother did.”

Visenya gritted her teeth, fury boiling in her veins at the mention of Rhaenys. “Never!” she screamed, her voice hoarse from grief and rage. Vaehaemion roared in response, trying once more to unleash a torrent of fire, but Vhagar swerved out of the way, too quick for the younger dragon to land a solid hit. Vhagar’s massive claws swung out, raking across Vaehaemion’s side. Visenya felt the impact through her saddle, the blow so strong that it almost threw her off. Vaehaemion’s cries of pain echoed in her mind, the bond between them flaring with agony. He was trying, fighting with every ounce of strength he had, but Vhagar was too strong, too vicious. Blood poured from the deep wounds in Vaehaemion’s flank, staining the sky in a crimson spray, the screams of men from below covered in the thick ooze of it. The mighty dragon faltered, his movements slowing as Vhagar closed in for the kill.

Suddenly, Vhagar’s jaws snapped toward them. Visenya had only a moment to react, yanking the reins, but the sudden jolt sent her careening out of her saddle. She screamed as her body was flung through the air, the world spinning wildly around her. She reached out in vain, trying to grasp onto something—anything—to stop her fall, but there was nothing but open sky.

Aegon watched from below, his heart seizing in his chest as he saw his wife plummet from her dragon’s back. “Visenya!” he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. Sunfyre, battered and bloodied, could do nothing but watch as well, unable to take flight so soon in his wounded state. Visenya’s vision blurred as she fell, the wind screaming past her ears. In that moment, she thought it was over. This was how she would die, just as her grandmother had moments before. Her body tensed, bracing for the impact of the ground far below.

But then, through the haze of panic, something moved beneath her.

Vaehaemion roared in defiance, his mighty wings battered and torn, but still he flew. Despite the pain, despite the blood that stained his scales, he dove after her. In one final, desperate act of loyalty, Vaehaemion reached out with his claws and caught her. Visenya gasped as she felt the familiar warmth of her dragon’s embrace, his chest heaving with exhaustion as he cradled her in his great talons. His torn wings wrapped around her protectively, shielding her from the unforgiving winds as they plummeted toward the earth.

“Vaehaemion,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her heart swelling with gratitude and sorrow. He had saved her, even as he lay dying. She could feel his labored breaths, the tremors in his muscles as he fought to hold on. Tears streamed down her face, her hand reaching out to touch his bloodstained scales.

The ground rushed toward them, faster and faster. Aegon, watching from below, held his breath, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst. He wanted to scream, to fly up and save her, but Sunfyre was too weak, too injured to even lift off the ground in such swiftness.  The moment of impact came with a deafening crash. Vaehaemion hit the earth with the force of a falling star, his body shielding Visenya from the worst of the collision. The ground trembled beneath the force of the crash, dirt and debris flying into the air in a cloud of dust. Vaehaemion’s wings, already tattered, crumpled under the weight of his fall, and for a moment, everything was silent.

Aegon’s heart sank into his stomach as he watched the scene unfold, frozen in place by the horror of it all. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he stared at the wreckage, fear gnawing at his insides. “Visenya,” he whispered, his voice cracking. She couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t.

Vhagar circled above, victorious, her massive shadow casting a pall over the battlefield. Aemond grinned from atop his beast, certain of his triumph, “You never had a chance.” Aegon clung to Sunfyre, the dragon’s labored breaths matching his own. The once-magnificent golden beast was battered and bloodied, its wings barely managing to keep them aloft. Aegon’s heart ached, not just from his dragon’s wounds, but from the sight he had just witnessed—the fall of Visenya. His wife. His love. He still saw it in his mind’s eye: Vaehaemion’s final, desperate act of protection as he cradled her in his claws, shielding her broken body from Vhagar’s wrath.

Visenya had been everything to him—fierce, untamed, the fire that had kept him burning in the darkest of times. And now, she was gone. Aegon’s grief was all-consuming, a storm inside him that threatened to tear him apart. His hands clenched the reins, his knuckles white as his dragon struggled to take flight. There was no strength left in him, no will to fight anymore.

Aemond. His brother.

The cause of all this pain.

Aegon’s mind was a haze of fury and despair as he thought of Aemond—the cold, calculating prince who had brought this ruin upon them. He had always been ruthless, always hungry for power. And now, he had claimed victory, standing tall atop Vhagar, his one eye gleaming with satisfaction. Aegon knew that Aemond could have killed him too, could have finished them all. But Aemond hadn’t. He had let Aegon go, watching with cold indifference as Sunfyre precariously flew away from the battlefield.

Aegon wanted to scream, to turn back and challenge his brother once more, but he could not. Not now. Sunfyre was barely holding on, and he had to retreat, had to carry the weight of this loss back to Dragonstone.

Rhaenys had died protecting him. In the chaos of battle, with Vhagar’s jaws closing in on him, it had been Rhaenys and Meleys who had thrown themselves between him and death. She had saved him, sacrificing her own life in the process. Aegon could still see it—the moment Meleys fell, her red wings ablaze, her roar of defiance cut short. Rhaenys had looked at him then, just before the end, her eyes filled with something he hadn’t expected—love. Not the distant affection of an aunt for her nephew, but the fierce, protective love of a mother. In that moment, she had not been a queen or a warrior; she had been his shield, and she had died for him.

And then Visenya… His heart twisted painfully. She had arrived too late, just in time to see her grandmother fall, her scream piercing the sky. He had thought she was lost too when Vaehaemion had plunged toward the ground, Vhagar’s monstrous claws tearing at him. Tears flowed from his eyes like a river as he laid his forehead against Sunfyre’s neck, sobbing at his recklessness. How could he be so foolish? Visenya would have noticed his absence and in an attempt to bring him back, she died.

And now, as Sunfyre flew toward Dragonstone, Aegon’s heart was shattered. He was alone, broken by the weight of his losses.But he had to keep going. He had to return to Rhaenyra, to tell her what had happened. She had to know.Aegon could feel the weight of his brother’s gaze even now, long after he had left the battlefield behind. Aemond had let him go, but why? Was it mercy, or was it cruelty? Did Aemond want him to carry this burden back to Dragonstone, to deliver the news of their failure and defeat?

The thought gnawed at Aegon as he urged Sunfyre forward, the dragon’s wings faltering with each beat. Sunfyre let out a low, pained growl as they neared the shores of Dragonstone. Aegon could barely keep his eyes open, his mind fogged by exhaustion and grief. He had to make it—had to deliver the news.

When they finally landed, Aegon nearly collapsed as he dismounted, his legs trembling beneath him. The guards rushed forward, their faces pale with fear and concern. But Aegon had no words for them. He pushed past the gathered soldiers, his heart heavy, his mind reeling. He needed to see Rhaenyra. She had to know what had happened. He had to tell her about Rhaenys and Visenya. As he made his way through the dimly lit halls of Dragonstone, the weight of his grief pressed down on him, each step heavier than the last. How could he face Rhaenyra now? How could he tell her that they had lost everything?

Aegon’s chest tightened as he reached the chamber where Rhaenyra waited. She turned as he entered, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of him—bloodied, broken, barely holding himself together.

“Aegon,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. “What has happened? Where is Visenya? Where is Rhaenys?”

Aegon’s throat closed up, the words caught in his chest like shards of glass. How could he say it? How could he tell her that they were gone?

“They are gone,” he choked out, his voice hoarse with grief. Rhaenyra’s face went pale, her eyes filling with tears as the full weight of his words hit her. She staggered back, her hand clutching at her chest as though the news had struck her like a physical blow. “No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “No…”

Aegon stood frozen in the chamber, Rhaenyra’s words crashing down on him like the waves against Dragonstone’s cliffs. He had told her everything—Rhaenys was dead, and Visenya was gone—but the truth was a blade, and now that it had been spoken, it cut deeper than he could have imagined. “You…” Rhaenyra’s voice trembled, thick with an unrelenting grief that twisted her features into something raw, almost unrecognizable. She took a step toward him, her breath ragged, her eyes bloodshot and blazing with fury. “You were supposed to protect her.”

Aegon flinched, the accusation landing like a punch to his gut. He had tried to protect Visenya. He had tried to protect everyone. But it hadn’t been enough. He had failed. “If it were not for you…” Rhaenyra spat, her voice rising in pitch, shaking with rage. “If you had not gone after Rhaenys, if you had not been there—Visenya would still be alive!”

Her words sliced through him, sharper than any blade. Aegon stumbled backward, his pulse thundering in his ears. “I… I did not mean for—” he started, but the words died in his throat as Rhaenyra’s grief-stricken gaze bore into him.“She went after you!” Rhaenyra screamed, her voice raw, a mother’s agony poured into every syllable. “She flew into that battle because of you! And now she is gone, Aegon! My daughter—gone!”

Aegon felt the room closing in on him, the walls pressing down with the unbearable weight of her blame. Visenya’s face flashed before him, her eyes fierce and determined, the flames of Vaehaemion illuminating her. But she had fallen, and now… now she was lost. He had watched her fall—watched her dragon plummet from the skies, broken and defeated.

“I did not ask her to come after me,” Aegon whispered, his voice hoarse with guilt, barely audible over the storm of Rhaenyra’s anguish.

“You did not have to ask!” Rhaenyra’s voice cracked, breaking under the weight of her despair. She was standing in front of him now, her face pale with grief, her eyes wild. “She loved you. She would have done anything for you. And now she’s dead because you could not leave well enough alone. You should have stayed out of it, Aegon!”

Aegon’s heart shattered at the accusation, each word sinking deeper into his chest, suffocating him. He had only wanted to help. He had seen Rhaenys in danger, had acted without thinking. But Visenya… she had come after him, had thrown herself into the fray to protect him. He could still hear her scream, still see her dragon’s wings as they burned beneath Vhagar’s relentless assault. “I am sorry,” Aegon breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper, but it was drowned by the intensity of Rhaenyra’s grief.

Her hands were trembling now, her eyes blazing with unspeakable pain. “Sorry? Sorry will not bring her back! Sorry doesn’t undo what you have done!” Tears streamed down her face, unchecked, as she shook her head in disbelief. “You were supposed to love her, to keep her safe. And now you have taken her from me!” Aegon’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, his hands gripping his head as if he could crush the overwhelming guilt threatening to consume him. “I did not mean for this to happen… I did not…” His voice cracked, breaking under the weight of his sorrow.

Rhaenyra took a step back, her hands wrapping around herself as though trying to hold the pieces of her shattered heart together. “Visenya would still be alive,” she said, her voice low and guttural, every word trembling with agony, “if you had not gone after Rhaenys. If you had not dragged her into that battle, she would still be here.” The truth of her words slammed into Aegon like a tidal wave, pulling him under. He had seen Visenya fall, her body limp as Vaehaemion tried in vain to shield her. He had watched it all unfold, powerless to stop it. And now, Rhaenyra’s words branded him with the unbearable truth: Visenya had died because she had tried to save him.

Aegon’s throat tightened, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “I did not ask her to…” His voice was barely a rasp now, choked with tears. Rhaenyra’s eyes burned with fury, her chest rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths. “You did not have to ask,” she hissed. “She went because you were there. Because you could not stay out of it. You dragged her into this war, and now she’s dead. My daughter is gone because of you.”

Aegon crumpled under her words, his body shaking with sobs as he buried his face in his hands. He had failed her. Failed Visenya, the woman he loved more than life itself. And now she was gone—ripped from the world, from him—because of his actions. Rhaenyra turned away, her back to him, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back the storm of her grief. “You should have been the one to fall,” she said, her voice hollow, barely audible over the suffocating silence that followed. “Not her. Never her.”

Her words left Aegon breathless, the weight of her grief crushing him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All he could see was Visenya’s face, her body falling, her dragon plummeting to the ground, broken and bleeding. He had lost her. He had lost everything. “I am sorry…” Aegon whispered again, but it was as if the words dissolved into the air, unheard, unacknowledged. Rhaenyra didn’t turn to face him again. She simply stood there, staring out of the window at the darkening sky, her grief a tangible force that filled the room, suffocating them both.

__

Aegon stepped into the dimly lit chamber where his children played, the soft glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. His heart felt heavy as he approached them, each step a painful reminder of the weight he carried. Alyssa sat on the floor, her tiny fingers weaving a simple crown from wildflowers, her innocent laughter ringing like a bell. Baelon was nearby, his small hands grasping at a wooden dragon, roaring in delight as he imitated the beasts of their house. And in the corner, swaddled in a soft blanket, lay Aegea, cooing softly, blissfully unaware of the turmoil surrounding her.

But to Aegon, this moment was a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. He cleared his throat, his voice breaking as he spoke.

“Children,” he began, and the laughter faded. Alyssa looked up, her bright eyes wide with curiosity. “Where is Mama?” she asked innocently, her voice like a knife to his heart. Aegon knelt down, forcing a smile that felt more like a mask than a true expression. “Mama went to help our family,” he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “She… she’s not coming back.” The room fell into a haunting silence. Alyssa’s brow furrowed, her tiny hands stilling as she processed the words. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why not?”

Aegon swallowed hard, his heart aching as he searched for the right words. “It was a fight, my sweet. A fight to protect us all. But sometimes people have to make sacrifices.” Baelon, still clutching his wooden dragon, looked confused. “But Mama’s strong!” His young voice trembled, his innocence shattering like glass. “I know, little one,” Aegon replied, his voice thick with grief. “But even the strongest can’t fight everything.” He fought to hold back tears, knowing he had to be strong for them, even as his heart shattered.

Alyssa stood up, her small hands trembling. “But she promised! She promised she would come back!” Aegon’s heart twisted painfully at her words. “I know she did. And I believed her too. But… but things do not always go the way we hope.” He looked at Aegea, still oblivious to the pain swirling around them. “We have to be brave now. For her.” Alyssa’s face crumpled, and Aegon felt a surge of pain as she collapsed into his arms, her small body shaking with sobs. “I want Mama!” she cried, her wails echoing in the chamber.

Aegon held her tightly, his own tears finally spilling over as he rocked her gently. “I know, my sweet Alyssa. I want her back too.” He glanced at Baelon, who was now looking down at the wooden dragon, his little face a mask of confusion and sadness. Aegea began to cry, her wails piercing the air, as if sensing the heartbreak around her. “Shh, shh,” Aegon soothed, trying to calm them all, but the weight of loss pressed down on him, nearly suffocating.

“Alyssa, Baelon,” he whispered, “we have to be strong for each other. Your mother loved you more than anything in this world. She will always be with us, in our hearts.”Alyssa pulled back, her tear-streaked face filled with anguish. “But it is not the same! I want to hug her! I want her to read stories to me!”

“I know,” Aegon replied, his voice breaking. “I wish I could give you that, but she… she fought bravely for us. And she will always be your mother, even if she is not here.”

__

Aemond surveyed the battlefield with cold detachment, his one good eye scanning the smoldering wreckage, scorched earth, and the remnants of fallen dragons. Vhagar loomed behind him, her wings casting a long, dark shadow over the carnage. Criston Cole and Gwayne Hightower walked beside him, their armor battered but their posture firm. Aemond strode with confidence, his sapphire eye gleaming with a mix of triumph and disdain.

They made their way through the battlefield, stepping over broken shields and charred bodies, until they reached the massive, still form of Vaehaemion. The once-mighty dragon lay in a crumpled heap, his wings tattered and torn, his body broken. Aemond’s lips twisted into a grim smile. “Visenya had always been far too brave for her own good, she thought she best me when I possess Vhagar,” he muttered, a hint of mockery in his voice. As they approached the dragon, something caught Aemond’s attention—a subtle movement beneath Vaehaemion’s broken wings. Criston paused, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Did you see that?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Aemond held up a hand, signaling for silence. He stepped closer, his heart pounding with sudden excitement. Gwayne looked on, tense and uncertain. "Could it be?" Aemond whispered, more to himself than to the others. With deliberate caution, Aemond crouched beside Vaehaemion’s immense body and gently lifted the dragon’s tattered wing. What he found beneath it sent a surge of satisfaction through him.

There, barely conscious and covered in dirt and blood, lay Visenya. Her breathing was shallow, her once-sharp eyes now glazed with exhaustion. She was alive, but only just. Aemond’s smile grew wider, amusement flickering in his gaze as he stared down at her. “Well, well,” he said softly, his voice laced with dark humor. “It seems you are harder to kill than I thought, my darling Visenya”

Criston stepped forward, ready to deliver a finishing blow, but Aemond stopped him with a raised hand. "No," Aemond said, his voice low and commanding. "She’s mine."

He knelt down, slipping his arms beneath her fragile, limp form. Visenya barely stirred as he lifted her from beneath Vaehaemion’s protective wings, cradling her against his chest. Her head lolled to the side, her breath faint and shallow. Aemond looked down at her, his expression a mixture of amusement and something darker. "You fought well,” he murmured, mockingly emphasizing the word. “But it seems fate has a sense of irony, does it not? You thought you would die a hero on the battlefield, but instead… you are my prisoner now.”

Gwayne exchanged a glance with Criston, uncertain but silent as they watched Aemond carry Visenya away from the wreckage of her dragon.

As they walked away from the battlefield, Aemond's mind whirled with thoughts of what was to come. His brother, Aegon, believed her to be dead. He could see the shock and grief in his brother’s eyes when Sunfyre limped away, convinced that Visenya had perished in the flames. Aemond chuckled under his breath at the thought. How fitting, he mused. His brother, shattered by her loss, while she remained alive in his hands.

“She will be a useful bargaining chip,” Criston observed.

Aemond’s smile deepened. "Indeed. But it is not just about politics. There is something… poetic in this." He glanced down at Visenya, her face peaceful despite the blood and dirt. “I could kill her. But where is the fun in that?”

As they moved farther from the battlefield, Aemond’s satisfaction grew. He would take her back to King’s Landing, not as a prize of war, but as a reminder of his power over his brother and over her. The battle had broken her in body, but Aemond relished the thought of breaking her spirit too.

“She wanted to play at war,” he murmured, half to himself as they walked. “Now she will learn what true conquest looks like.”

Visenya stirred slightly in his arms, her lips parting as if trying to speak, but no words came. She was too weak, too broken. Aemond’s grip tightened around her, possessive yet cruelly amused.

“Rest now,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her forehead, relishing on how close he could be to her, “You will need your strength for what comes.”

Chapter Text

Visenya awoke to a darkness that felt suffocating, her body heavy and aching as though every bone had been shattered and put back together wrong. A throbbing, searing pain pulsed through her with every shallow breath she managed, each exhale more difficult than the last. Her vision was a blur, the world around her fading in and out as she tried to remember where she was, what had happened.

Then the pain hit her with full force.

It crashed over her like a wave—her entire body burning, torn, and broken from battle. Her limbs felt leaden, barely responsive to her commands. The bruises, the gashes, the stiffness of dried blood, the soreness of muscles strained to their limits—all of it assaulted her at once. She blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dim light around her. Cold stone walls greeted her, damp and slick with moisture, and the iron bars before her confirmed it—she was in a cell.

Her mind struggled to piece together the fragments of memory, but one thing remained clear above all else.

Vaehaemion.

His death alone nearly killed her with heartbreak.

Her dragon, her beloved companion, was gone. She could still feel the weight of his final moments—the way his wings had curled around her, his great body shielding her from the world even as he died. He had saved her from the fall, caught her in his claws, but the cost had been his life. The sharp agony of losing him coursed through her, more painful than any wound inflicted by battle.

Tears welled in her eyes, her heart constricting painfully in her chest. Vaehaemion had been part of her soul, her constant shadow in the sky, and now he was gone. The bond severed. She could still feel the echo of his presence, the absence of him like a missing limb.

Her thoughts drifted, however briefly, to Aegon.

Was he alive? What if Aemond had come after him for she failed again?

The image of her grandmother falling, of Meleys twisting in the air as they plummeted toward the ground, consumed her.

Tears fell, hot and bitter, as Visenya lay in the cold darkness, unable to move. It was too much. The losses were too great. She had failed them all—her dragon, her grandmother, her husband.

Would she ever see Aegon again? Would he even know she was still alive? Would she ever see her mother.

At this moment, she wished she was young again, in the arms of her mother and father in a loving…perfect family. All the years that have passed only seemed to chip away at the foundation that held her family together and they were falling apart. Visenya thought of her children waiting for her and the pain that was already unimaginable seemed to deepen like a knife being twisted into her heart.

Her thoughts spiraled in that familiar haze of pain and loss, but they were cut short by the sound of footsteps approaching. Slow, deliberate, and accompanied by the clank of metal. A figure loomed beyond the bars, and as the torchlight flickered, it revealed a face she knew all too well.

Aemond.

His eye gleamed with a dark satisfaction, his lips curling into a smirk as he surveyed her broken form. "Ah," he said softly, his voice dripping with mockery. "Look who is still breathing."

Visenya’s heart skipped, her mind racing with a sudden surge of fear and rage. She tried to sit up, but the effort sent fresh waves of agony through her body, forcing her back down. She glared at him through her bruised and battered face, teeth clenched as she fought against the weakness that threatened to consume her.

Aemond took a step closer, his smirk deepening as he stared down at her. "Did you think I would let you die so easily?" he mused, amusement flickering in his single eye. "No, dear Visenya. You are far too valuable for that.”

Visenya’s chest tightened, the anger she had been clinging to simmering just below the surface. "Bastard," she spat, her voice raspy and weak. "You… you think you have won."

Aemond chuckled, a low, cold sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "I do not think, Visenya. I know." He crouched beside her, his presence looming over her like a shadow. "Vaehaemion is dead. Rhaenys is dead. And you? You’re at my mercy."

The weight of his words hit her like a blow. Vaehaemion’s loss was still raw, the pain of it radiating through her entire being. Rhaenys’ death was a wound that would never heal. But hearing Aemond revel in it, hearing him take pleasure in her suffering, fanned the flames of her rage.

"You will pay for this," Visenya hissed, her voice trembling with the effort to speak. "I swear it."

Aemond’s smile widened. "Perhaps," he said lazily, standing up and pacing around her cell. "But not today. Today, you are mine." He looked down at her again, that cruel smirk never leaving his face. "And your dear husband… thinks you are already dead. My poor brother never had the sharpest mind, if anything, he is nothing but your lap dog.”

Visenya’s heart sank at the realization. Aegon believed her gone. He had flown away, broken by his own grief, while Aemond had carried her back to the Red Keep. She was a prisoner, and Aegon had no idea she was still alive. Her body trembled, not just from the pain, but from the horror of it all. She had lost everything, and now, she was trapped, her fate in Aemond’s hands.

Aemond stepped forward, his hand resting on the iron door to the cell. The metallic creak echoed ominously through the cold stone walls as he pushed it open. His figure filled the narrow doorway, and with a cruel smirk playing on his lips, he stepped inside. Visenya’s body stiffened, every muscle in her body screaming in pain, but her eyes met his with unyielding defiance.

Without warning, Aemond’s hand shot out, grabbing her by the hair. She let out a strangled gasp, the sharp tug sending waves of agony through her skull as he forced her head back. His face hovered inches from hers, his single eye glinting with cold amusement as he surveyed her bruised, battered form.

"Look at you," he sneered, his grip tightening painfully. "Once again at my mercy. Just like before." His voice dripped with venomous satisfaction, and his lips curled into a mocking smile. "Do you remember what happened the last time my darling? When you were helpless, beneath me? That time bore fruit." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin. "A permanent reminder of my claim. Your daughter, Alyssa. Perhaps a proper introduction is due.”

Visenya’s heart lurched at the mention of Alyssa, but she kept her face emotionless, refusing to give Aemond the satisfaction of seeing her pain. He laughed softly, the sound sending shivers down her spine. "Yes, Visenya. Every time you look at her, you’ll be reminded of that night. The night I proved my strength, and you—" he let go of her hair, his fingers brushing against the iron chains binding her wrists, "—were left broken, bound by chains like a common slave." Visenya’s breath hitched, but her expression hardened, her eyes blazing with fury. She would not let him reduce her to that moment of helplessness again. She spit on his face out of disgust and said, “Alyssa is my daughter, not yours, she will never be yours. When I look at my daughter I am reminded that I have a beautiful family and that she is loved by me and my loving husband.”

“You would not know that would you?,” she taunted, “You do not seek vengeance for your lost eye, you seek vengeance for the lost love you never had. Your mother sees you as a vengeful monster, your father never even spared a glance at you because what are second born princes for? You are not the heir, you are only a spare.”

"Do not mock me,  you are dragonless now," Aemond continued, trying to hide his frustration, his voice laced with mockery as he circled her like a predator. "No Vaehaemion to protect you. No great winged beast to shield you from the consequences of your defiance. And now here you are—bound, bloodied, and utterly mine."

He stopped in front of her, tilting her chin up with a mocking gentleness. "You should be grateful that I even spare your life, Visenya. You could be rotting in the dirt with your dragon, but instead, I offer you a place… in my bed."

Visenya’s stomach churned with revulsion, her lip curling in disgust as he leaned in closer. Without hesitation, she spat in his face again. The act was filled with all the rage she had been holding back, her eyes burning with fury. Aemond recoiled slightly, his face twisting into a snarl as he wiped the spittle from his cheek. "You dare—"

"Do not mock my dragon’s death," Visenya growled, her voice trembling with hatred. "Vaehaemion died protecting me—and may the gods punish you for seeing dragons as pets and playthings for a war you started. He was worth a thousand of you, Aemond." Her chest heaved, the pain in her body overwhelmed by the fire raging in her heart, “I would rather be flayed alive than ever share a bed with you." Aemond’s eyes flashed with fury, and for a moment, the air between them was thick with tension. His fingers twitched, as if contemplating whether to strike her or worse. But instead, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

"We will see how long your defiance lasts," he murmured, his smirk returning. "In the end, you will break, Visenya. You all do."

__

Daemon stood in the dimly lit hall of Dragonstone, the raven’s message crumpled in his fist. It was already difficult to rally the Riverlands to Rhaenyra’s claim, but somehow the news was more difficult to bear. The heavy silence in the air weighed down on him as if the very stones of the castle had absorbed the grief. He didn’t need to say a word—Rhaenyra already knew. She had been the one to send the raven, the parchment stained with her tears and the handwriting shaky. Her letter was filled with mistakes as if she struggle to find the words to write.

Visenya. Rhaenys. Gone.

Daemon’s heart thundered in his chest, each beat filled with a searing, unbearable loss. He had fought a hundred battles, faced down countless enemies, but nothing could prepare him for this. She was not his own but she was his daughter. As he stormed through the halls, his boots echoing off the stone, he found Rhaenyra in the council chamber. She sat in her chair, the firelight casting harsh shadows across her face, but there was no mistaking the hollow look in her eyes. Her gaze was distant, as though she couldn’t bear to face the world around her. She held her hands tightly together, knuckles white from the force of her grip, yet her face remained emotionless. Rhaenyra had already shed her tears. Now, all that remained was cold, unrelenting rage.

As Daemon stormed into the council chamber, his eyes burned with a fury that threatened to spill over. His gaze immediately landed on Aegon, standing by the fire, his face pale and drawn. Aegon was hunched over, shoulders slumped under the weight of grief and guilt. His eyes flickered toward Rhaenyra, who remained seated, her face an emotionless mask, but Daemon’s arrival shattered the fragile silence of the room. Without a word, Daemon lunged forward, his hand seizing Aegon by the collar of his tunic. The younger man staggered back, caught off guard, but Daemon yanked him forward with a force that sent the chair behind him clattering to the ground.

“You fool,” Daemon snarled, his voice low and filled with venom. His face was inches from Aegon’s, his breath hot with rage. “You led her into this. You let her die!” Aegon’s hands shot up to grab Daemon’s wrists, but he didn’t fight back. His grief was too heavy, his guilt too raw. “I did not—” he stammered, voice hoarse, eyes brimming with pain. “I did not mean for her to—”

“Did not mean?” Daemon’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. “Visenya went after you! She died because of you! She protected you, and for what? For you to come crawling back here with nothing but her blood on your hands?” Aegon’s face twisted with anguish. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. There was nothing he could say. Daemon’s accusation tore through him like a blade, a truth he had been grappling with since the moment he left the battlefield.

“Daemon, enough.” Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cold. She hadn’t moved from her seat, her gaze fixed on the fire, but her words carried the weight of command. Daemon hesitated for a moment, his chest heaving, before releasing Aegon with a violent shove. Aegon stumbled back, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, but he did not retaliate. He simply stood there, his face a mask of torment.

Rhaenyra finally looked up, her eyes locking onto Aegon’s. “Daemon is right,” she said, her voice flat, almost detached. “Visenya went after you. If you had not gone after Rhaenys, she would still be alive. But I have said it enough already so let us cease bringing this back from the dead.” Aegon flinched at the cold accusation, his heart pounding in his chest, he had heard it plenty but It always felt fresh. He wanted to scream, to defend himself, but he couldn’t. Because it was true. Visenya had chosen to protect him, and now she was gone.

“I tried to help,” Aegon’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with the weight of his own despair. “I tried to save Rhaenys. I did not… I did not want Visenya to follow.” Daemon’s lip curled in disgust. “And yet you let her.” His words were like poison, sinking deep into Aegon’s skin. “She fought for you, and now she is gone, and you return empty-handed, with nothing but a broken dragon and your pathetic excuses.”

Aegon’s head hung low, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists. His throat tightened as tears threatened to fall, but he forced them back. He had no right to cry. Not when Visenya’s blood was on his hands.

“I will find Aemond,” Aegon choked out, his voice rough with the emotion he could barely contain. “I will make him pay for what he’s done.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened, but there was no warmth in her gaze, no comfort for her brother. “You will do nothing,” she said, her voice chilling. “You have done enough already.” Aegon’s voice trembled as he tried to steady his breathing, his chest heaving with a mixture of grief and desperation. He looked at his mother, her face still a mask of cold fury, and for a moment, he felt like a child again, seeking comfort that would never come. His voice was barely a whisper, raw and broken.

“I just… I just want to see her. One last time,” Aegon choked out, his words faltering. “Let me… let me bring her body back with us.” For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but its warmth did nothing to dispel the chill that had settled in the room. Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his fury unabated, but it was Rhaenyra who finally broke the silence.

Her gaze shifted from the fire to Aegon, and for the briefest moment, something flickered in her eyes—something softer, a glimmer of the sister who had once cradled him in her arms. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cold, unyielding queen who now sat before him.

“You want to see her?” Rhaenyra’s voice was low, her words edged with bitterness. “You want to look upon the body of the woman who died because of your recklessness?” Aegon swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. His hands trembled at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because he knew she was right. He had failed her—failed Visenya—and now all he had left was the hollow ache of her absence.

Daemon remained silent, though his eyes never left Aegon, watching him with a mixture of disdain and barely concealed rage. Aegon’s head hung low, his chest tightening under the weight of guilt and grief. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, but he fought them back. He did not deserve to cry, not now, not when his own actions had led to this. But still, the ache in his chest refused to subside. “Please,” Aegon whispered, his voice cracking under the strain of his anguish. “I just want to see her one last time. Let me collect her body. Let me… let me bring her back.”

The council chamber was deathly quiet as Rhaenyra stared at her son. Her jaw clenched, the muscles in her face tight with unspoken emotion. For a long, agonising moment, she said nothing, simply watching him with eyes that had already cried their last tear. The flicker of something human surfaced again, but it was swallowed up by the queenly composure she forced herself to maintain. “Her body,” Rhaenyra finally said, her voice breaking slightly, though her expression remained hard. “Her body is not what you will find, Aegon. There will be nothing left of the woman you knew—nothing left of the wife who protected you.”

The words struck him like a blow. Aegon’s breath hitched, and the tears he had fought so hard to suppress finally fell. He was crumbling before her, unable to maintain his composure any longer. The weight of everything—Visenya, his children, the war—was too much to bear. “Please…” Aegon’s voice was barely audible, the plea almost lost in the chamber’s cold air. “I have to see her. I have to bring her home.” Rhaenyra’s expression wavered, her lips tightening as she fought her own battle with grief. Slowly, she stood from her chair, moving toward Aegon, her eyes locked on him. When she reached him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch cold but firm.

“There is no home for her anymore,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice filled with a quiet, bitter sorrow. “There is no body to bring back. She is gone, Aegon. Truly gone.”

Aegon’s breath hitched again, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. His mother’s words pierced through him like a blade, the weight of her grief and certainty only deepening his guilt. But there was something she didn’t know, something that clung to the smallest sliver of hope buried within him.

“There will be a body,” Aegon whispered, his voice strained and broken, but firm in its conviction. Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, and she stared at him, confused by his words. Daemon’s eyes flickered with skepticism, but Aegon did not back down. He forced himself to stand straighter, his fists clenched at his sides. “I saw it,” Aegon continued, his voice trembling but filled with a desperate certainty. “Vaehaemion caught her. As they fell… her dragon shielded her with his wings. He held her—protected her with what was left of his strength. Visenya… there will be something to bring back.”

The silence in the room was thick, heavy with the weight of his words. Rhaenyra’s expression remained hard, but her eyes softened with the briefest flicker of hope, though it was quickly swallowed by her grief.

Daemon, who had been silent for the longest time, narrowed his eyes at Aegon. “You think she survived that?” His tone was sharp, biting with disbelief. Aegon shook his head. “No… I do not think she survived. But Vaehaemion—he protected her in his final moments. I know there is something left. I have to go back. I have to bring her home.”

Daemon’s lips curled into a grimace, but his fiery temper seemed to simmer, if only slightly. He turned his back, pacing for a moment as he wrestled with his own fury and grief. The idea of recovering Visenya’s body—of retrieving something that would allow them to bury her with honor—was a bitter necessity. Rhaenyra stood quietly, her hands shaking at her sides. “You will find her,” she said softly, her eyes closing as she fought to contain the torrent of emotions swirling inside her. “Bring her back to me.”

Daemon’s pacing stopped abruptly. He glanced at Rhaenyra, then at Aegon, his jaw clenched in frustration. But despite the venom that had filled the room earlier, he found himself begrudgingly agreeing with Aegon’s need to return. “I will go with you,” Daemon said, his voice low and steely, his eyes locking onto Aegon’s. “You will not face this alone.”

Aegon blinked, his heart still heavy with grief but touched by Daemon’s unexpected willingness to accompany him. The tension between them was palpable, but in that moment, they shared a common goal—to recover Visenya, even in death.

“There is no time to waste,” Daemon added, his tone more commanding now. “We leave for Rook’s Rest at first light.” Aegon nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as the weight of what lay ahead settled on his shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to collapse from exhaustion, to give in to the grief tearing him apart, but there was no time. Visenya’s body awaited him, and he would not rest until she was returned.

As Daemon strode toward the door, his heavy boots echoing in the council chamber, Rhaenyra’s voice stopped them both.

“Daemon,” she called, her tone hollow yet filled with an unspoken plea. She did not need to say more—Daemon understood. He would bring her daughter back.

__

As the dawn broke over Dragonstone, Aegon and Daemon rode swiftly toward Rook's Rest, the bitter wind cutting across their faces. The weight of grief pressed down on them both, but they did not speak of it—there was no need. The unspoken mission to recover Visenya’s body hung over them, and with it, the hope of providing her a proper burial.

The landscape of Rook’s Rest was a desolate ruin, still smoldering from the devastating battle. The once-proud castle was reduced to rubble, the remnants of dragonfire and bloodshed clear on the charred earth. Vaehaemion’s massive, lifeless form lay in the distance, unmistakable against the ash-stained sky. Aegon’s heart clenched at the sight, knowing Visenya’s body should be somewhere beneath those tattered wings.

The two men dismounted from their dragons without a word. Aegon’s legs felt weak as he approached Vaehaemion’s fallen form. Daemon walked beside him, his expression grim, though he remained silent, allowing Aegon the moment. Aegon’s hands trembled as he lifted Vaehaemion’s torn wings, just as he had imagined back in the council chamber. His chest tightened, his breath shallow as he prepared to find Visenya’s broken body beneath the protective embrace of her dragon.

But there was nothing.

He stood there, frozen, staring at the empty space where her body should have been. The cold reality hit him like a punch to the gut. He blinked, looking again, his mind racing to make sense of the emptiness. He had been so certain, so sure that Vaehaemion’s final act had been to shield her.

“Where…?” Aegon’s voice cracked, his words falling into the silence around them.

Daemon’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his sharp eyes scanning the area. He moved to another side of the dragon, searching for any sign of Visenya. His face darkened as the realization set in.

“She is not here,” Daemon muttered, his tone harsh.

Aegon’s heart pounded in his chest, a sickening panic rising in his throat. “No… she has to be.” He frantically searched, moving the dragon’s wings, overturning debris, but there was no sign of Visenya—no bloodied body, no broken armor, no trace of her at all. Daemon watched him for a moment before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “There should be a body,” he said, his voice filled with cold certainty. “If she had died here, we would have found her by now.”

Aegon paused, his chest heaving as he stared at the place where his wife should have lain. Slowly, the thought began to form in his mind, and dread curled in his gut. “Then where is she?”

Daemon’s face darkened, his jaw clenching. “Aemond.”

The name fell like a stone between them, heavy with accusation. Aegon’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. He now realises why Aemond let him go. If Visenya’s body was not here, there was only one explanation.

“Aemond must have taken her,” Daemon said, his voice tight with barely contained fury. “That bastard didn’t leave her to die. He’s taken her as a prize.”

Aegon felt a cold, bitter anger rising within him. The thought of Aemond holding Visenya, even in death, made his blood boil. But a darker thought began to take shape—what if she was not dead? What if Aemond had her, alive and in chains? “He has her,” Aegon whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair. “He must have taken her alive.”

Daemon’s eyes hardened as he turned to Aegon. “If Aemond has her, we will find her,” he said, his voice steely with determination. “But make no mistake—KIng’s Landing will burn” Aegon’s breath hitched, his mind reeling at the prospect of Visenya being held captive by his own brother. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white with the intensity of his rage. He had lost her once—he would not lose her again.

Daemon mounted his dragon once more, his eyes fixed on Aegon. “We will return to Dragonstone. Prepare for what is coming.”

___

Aegon and Daemon returned to Dragonstone with heavy hearts, their minds racing with thoughts of what Aemond might be doing to Visenya. The wind howled around them as they landed their dragons, the foreboding sense of war hanging thick in the air. There was no time for rest, no time for solace. Visenya was out there, alive or dead, and Aemond held her fate in his cruel hands.

The moment they arrived back at the castle, they headed straight for the council chamber, where Rhaenyra was waiting. She sat at the head of the table, her eyes dark with grief but also steely with resolve. Beside her, the council murmured quietly, their eyes fixed on the empty chair where Rhaenys once sat. The weight of her loss still lingered, a fresh wound none of them had yet come to terms with. As Daemon and Aegon entered, all eyes turned toward them. Rhaenyra stood, her gaze intense as she locked onto Daemon’s. “Did you find her?”

Daemon’s silence spoke volumes, and Rhaenyra’s heart sank. Aegon stepped forward, his voice rough as he spoke, “Visenya is not dead… but she’s not there. Aemond took her.” A wave of tension swept through the room. The council exchanged wary glances, but Rhaenyra remained frozen, her mind reeling with this new information. Aemond had taken her daughter-in-law. If she was alive, she was in his hands, subject to whatever cruel plans he had in store.

Before anyone could respond, the doors burst open, and Jacaerys entered, his face flushed from the ride. His expression was grim but determined. “I have secured the North’s support,” he said, breathless but resolute. “House Stark stands with us.” However, he had not received a Raven on his sister’s disappearance. His brows furrowed, feeling the tension of the council and the absence of Visenya.

Rhaenyra nodded, her focus returning to the matter at hand. "We will need them," she said, her voice hardening as she looked toward Daemon and Aegon. "Aemond has her, but we need a plan to get her back." The small council fell into deep discussion. War was now inevitable, but there were still decisions to be made about how they would rescue Visenya. As they debated tactics, Baela stepped forward, her voice clear and unyielding.

“Let me go,” she said, her eyes fierce. “I can help rescue Visenya.”

Daemon’s head snapped toward her, his face a storm of emotion. “No,” he said sharply, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You will not.”

Baela stood her ground, her hands clenched at her sides. “I am a dragonrider. I can fight—”

“You will not risk yourself,” Daemon interrupted, his tone softer but still firm. “I will not lose you and your mother will never forgive me if I do.”Baela’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t press further. The grief in Daemon’s eyes was enough to silence her protest. Rhaenyra watched the exchange, her own heart aching at the thought of more loss. It was then that Aegon, his face pale and worn from the weight of guilt and grief, spoke up. “I will go,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “If something goes wrong… if it fails… then no one important is lost.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. Rhaenyra’s expression softened slightly, a flicker of maternal instinct surfacing as she regarded her son. He looked so small, so broken beneath the weight of what had happened. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Aegon, then back at Rhaenyra. “He is not going alone,” he said, his voice a dangerous growl. “Aemond will be there, and Aegon is not enough to face him. I will go with him.” Rhaenyra’s gaze shifted to Daemon, her heart torn between her duty as queen and her love for her family. She hesitated, her eyes flickering between her husband and her son. After a long, agonising pause, she finally nodded, though the fear in her eyes was evident.

“If you go,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “bring her back. Both of you.” Daemon nodded, his expression resolute. But before the council could disperse, Corlys Velaryon, who had been sitting silently in his grief, finally spoke. His voice was rough, filled with sorrow that still weighed heavily on him.

“Daemon,” Corlys began, his eyes fixed on the man who had once fought beside his wife, “bring her back. Bring Visenya back. It is the last thing we can do to honor Rhaenys… and what she was fighting for.” Daemon paused, his expression unreadable, but he gave a solemn nod. “I will.”

The council adjourned soon after, and as Daemon and Aegon prepared for their journey to confront Aemond and rescue Visenya, the tension in the castle only grew thicker. The weight of what lay ahead loomed over them all.

__

Visenya lay slumped against the cold stone wall of her cell, her body bruised and her wrists raw from the iron shackles that bound her. The darkness was suffocating, but her mind remained alert, counting each passing moment, waiting for any sound that might signal her end. When she felt she could not live any longer with the little food and water she was given, she would close her eyes and remember her children’s laughter and the memory of Aegon’s kiss on her lips. Aemond had been here more times than she could count, his presence a constant reminder of her helplessness. Yet tonight, something felt different—there was an unfamiliar quiet beyond the bars, a silence that unsettled her more than the usual taunts and threats.

Then came the softest of footsteps, barely audible, approaching her cell. Visenya’s pulse quickened, expecting Aemond’s cruel smirk to emerge from the shadows once again. But instead, a different voice whispered her name.

“Visenya…”

The voice was soft, delicate, filled with a strange sorrow. Visenya’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as the dim light from the corridor revealed a figure standing just beyond the bars.

“Helaena?” Visenya rasped, her voice hoarse from days of silence.

Helaena stood there, her face pale and ethereal in the faint light, her expression distant but somehow filled with emotion. She hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, kneeling by the iron door. In her hand was a small, rusted key. Visenya’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her breath shallow as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment.

Helaena said nothing at first, her hands trembling slightly as she inserted the key into the lock. The door creaked open, and she stepped inside. She knelt beside Visenya, her fingers working quickly to unlock the chains that bound her to the wall. But even as the heavy shackles fell, Helaena left the irons clamped around Visenya’s wrists. Visenya glanced down at the remaining restraints, her confusion deepening. “Why…?” she began, her voice thick with disbelief. “Why are you helping me?”

Helaena’s pale blue eyes flickered with something distant and dreamlike, as if she were seeing through Visenya, through the cell walls, into something only she could understand. “I cannot take the shackles off completely,” she whispered, her voice tinged with regret. “He will know. Aemond will know.”

Visenya stood slowly, the cold metal still weighing down her wrists. She stared at Helaena, trying to make sense of the strange act of mercy from the woman who was supposed to be her captor’s wife. “Helaena, come with me,” Visenya urged, her voice suddenly urgent. “We can both leave. We can escape together. Take your children and I will protect them, you can have your babe at Dragonstone, we have excellent maesters, my mother would welcome you.”

Helaena’s eyes softened at Visenya’s words, but she shook her head gently, a sad smile playing at her lips. “I cannot,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “It would not change anything, Visenya. Nothing will change. I can only see but I cannot do, I cannot change what is to be.”

Visenya furrowed her brows, Helaena spoke like her grandfather. Her mother told her that her grandfather was a dreamer but she never quite understood why.  Still, Visenya’s heart clenched, she had always believed that the future was not set and fate was in her hands, “But if you stay—if Aemond finds out what you’ve done, he will—”

“I know,” Helaena interrupted, her gaze drifting, unfocused. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if warding off a chill that only she could feel. “I know I am going to die. I have seen it. In my dreams.” Her voice was distant, accepting, as though the thought of her death brought her a strange kind of peace. Visenya’s breath hitched. “You do not have to die, Helaena. We can stop this. We can get away. I can change it, we can change it together.”

But Helaena shook her head again, more firmly this time. “It is already done,” she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet resignation. “I have made my peace with it.” Visenya stood there, stunned into silence. She couldn’t fathom why Helaena would choose to stay, to face a certain death. But as she looked into Helaena’s eyes, she saw the truth—a deep acceptance of her fate, as if Helaena had long since given up hope of changing it. “I am sorry,” Helaena murmured, her voice trembling. “For Luke.”

The name hit Visenya like a blow. She had never expected an apology for her brother’s death, especially not from Helaena, who had never been directly involved. Her eyes stung with tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed. “It was not your fault,” Visenya whispered, her voice cracking.

Helaena’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know… but I saw it. In my dreams, I saw it. It was not your fault either, I see it in your eyes, you still hold yourself responsible even when you only tried to protect him.” Her voice wavered, filled with guilt that ran deeper than Visenya had realised.

Visenya swallowed hard, her heart breaking for the woman before her. “Helaena… come with me,” she pleaded one last time, her voice soft. “You do not have to stay here and wait for it to happen.” But Helaena only shook her head, the same faraway look in her eyes. “Go, Visenya. You still have a chance. You still have something to fight for.”

The cold truth of Helaena’s words settled over Visenya like a weight. There was nothing she could do to change Helaena’s mind, nothing that could save her from the future she had already accepted. Still, she wondered if Helaena’s aid was in the future she saw.  Visenya stepped toward the door, her chains rattling softly as she moved. She hesitated, glancing back one last time at Helaena, who stood in the center of the cell, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes gazing off into some distant place.

“Thank you,” Visenya whispered, her voice thick with gratitude and sorrow.

Helaena smiled faintly, though it was tinged with sadness. “Go,” she said softly. “Before he comes.”

With that, Visenya turned and slipped into the corridor, her heart pounding in her chest as she made her way toward freedom. She didn’t look back, knowing that the woman who had just freed her had already accepted her fate. As the darkness of the castle swallowed Visenya, Helaena remained behind, her eyes closing as she let the cold embrace her, resigned to the ending she had seen in her dreams.

__

Aegon stood at the edge of the war table, his armor half-fastened as he prepared for the journey ahead. His mind was a storm of thoughts, none of them settled, all of them circling around Visenya. He tightened the strap on his gauntlet, the weight of the task ahead pressing heavily on his shoulders. Daemon and Corlys were already making final preparations, their grim determination mirrored by his own. But now, in the quiet before he left, Rhaenyra stepped forward, her face unreadable.

“Aegon,” she called softly, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. He turned to face her, surprised by the softness in her eyes—a look he had not seen from her in years. “I need a word with you before you go,” she said, her tone carrying a gravity that made him pause. He nodded, setting aside his preparations to listen. Rhaenyra hesitated for a moment, as if struggling to find the right words. “You probably do not remember,” she began, her voice quieter now, almost tentative. “When you were just a baby, I used to try to teach you how to say my name.”

Aegon blinked, taken aback. He had no memory of this, no recollection of her ever trying to be close to him. He had always seen her as distant, her warmth reserved for her children or for their father.

“I would sit by your cradle,” Rhaenyra continued, a faint, sad smile tugging at her lips. “You could barely form words, but I would say ‘Rhaenyra’ over and over, hoping one day you’d get it right. You never did, though.” She gave a soft, almost self-deprecating chuckle, but the sadness in her eyes deepened. “And after a while, I stopped trying.”

Aegon’s heart clenched. He never knew this—never knew she had ever tried to bond with him. He had always assumed she resented him from the start, just as he had always resented the distance between them.

“I need to apologize,” Rhaenyra said, her voice thick with emotion. “For not wanting to get to know you—or any of the others. After our father remarried so soon… after my mother’s death… I was so angry. I could not forgive him for marrying Alicent, for moving on like that. It felt like a betrayal, like my mother’s memory was erased before the grief had even settled.”

She looked away for a moment, her gaze distant. “And because of that, I distanced myself from you, from Helaena, Aemond, all of you. You were just children, but all I could see was my father’s mistake, his betrayal. I resented you, not because of who you were, but because of who your mother was.” Aegon did not know what to say. He had never expected this kind of confession from Rhaenyra. He’d grown used to the cold distance between them, never questioning it, but now he saw the pain that had always been underneath.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I am sorry for how  your own mother treated you. She hated me so much that she took it out on you, trying to mould your mind into a crown that drove all its wearers to their death. And I never stood up for you, never tried to make things better. I should have been your sister. I should have been there for you.”

Aegon swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. He’d never thought much about his childhood, never let himself dwell on the harshness of it, but hearing Rhaenyra’s apology stirred something deep inside him.

“And I am sorry for what I said,” Rhaenyra continued, her voice barely a whisper now. “When I said I wished you had died instead of Visenya… I did not mean it. I was so angry, so heartbroken after Luke—after losing him, I could not bear the thought of losing anyone else. I lashed out at you, and I am so sorry for that.”

Her voice trembled as she took a step closer, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You did not deserve that. You did not deserve any of it. You never deserved to be so loathed by your own mother, least of all me.” For the first time, Aegon saw the vulnerability in his sister—the grief, the regret, the wounds that had not healed. He had always thought of Rhaenyra as strong, as untouchable, but now he saw her as something more. She was a sister who had suffered as much as he had, who had carried her own share of burdens and guilt.

Without thinking, Rhaenyra reached for him, pulling him into an embrace. Aegon stood frozen for a moment, unsure of how to respond, but then something inside him cracked, and he wrapped his arms around her in return. It was the first time they had ever embraced like this—without tension, without anger, without duty,  just the shared grief of two siblings who had lost too much. They held each other for a long moment, the weight of their past lingering between them, but in that embrace, something shifted. It was not forgiveness, not entirely, but it was understanding—something they had both needed for so long.

Finally, Aegon pulled away, his hands still resting on her shoulders. He looked down at her, his voice low but filled with determination. “I will bring Visenya back,” he promised, his eyes hardening with resolve. “Or I’ll die trying. She’s always been my only purpose. I….I never wanted a throne, sister. Fuck all of it, I never wanted titles and crowns. All I wanted was a home. Visenya is my home.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes filled with tears, but she said nothing, simply nodding as she released him. There was nothing more to say.

___

The soft flicker of candlelight bathed the stone walls of Helaena's chambers in a warm glow, casting long shadows that danced across the room. Helaena lay in the large bed, her pale hair spilling across the pillow like a shimmering halo. Her breathing had grown heavier, more laboured, as the hours dragged on and the pains in her belly worsened.

Aemond stood near the window, his arms crossed, his gaze distant as he looked out over the dark sea, expecting the Blacks to come marching at any point for Visenya’s whereabouts. The wind stirred the curtains, but he paid no mind to the cold air that crept into the room. He had always been distant, reserved, even with her. His presence here, in her chambers, was less of concern but more out of duty. She was his wife, the mother of his children, and to him, she was his possession—a part of his life that was meant to serve its purpose, just as any other. Aemond’s mind was twisted with his hunger for the throne that whatever affection he held for Helaena had dissipated into something malicious.

Helaena groaned softly from the bed, her face twisting in pain as another contraction rippled through her body. She reached out, her hand trembling as she clutched at the sheets. “Aemond…” she whispered, her voice strained with both effort and fear. Despite everything, she still reached out for him, even when she knew he had betrothed himself to one of Borros’ daughters. She still reached for him even when knew he had offered Visenya to be his mistress.

He turned at the sound of her voice but made no move toward her. His violet eye swept over her with a detached coolness, the emotions playing out on her face barely registering in his own. He approached the bedside but kept his distance, his hands resting at his sides, indifferent to her suffering.

"Is it time?” Helaena asked, her breath catching as another wave of pain rolled through her, her demeanour changing as she realised her fate was ever so close

Aemond glanced down at her, his expression unreadable. “It would seem so,” he replied evenly, his voice devoid of warmth or comfort. Helaena’s face tightened in response to his coldness, but she tried to hold onto some semblance of hope that he might care, that his presence might bring her solace before he had killed Luke and had gained a taste for blood. She gripped the bed sheets tighter, her knuckles white from the strain, as another sharp contraction tore through her.

Aemond watched her impassively, his gaze flicking to her belly and then back to her face, noting the tension and the sweat forming on her brow. "I will fetch the maesters," he said abruptly, stepping back from the bed. His tone was flat, detached, as though this were nothing more than another task to be done. "Aemond… wait…" Helaena's voice cracked as she reached out for him, desperation creeping into her words. He paused, turning to face her again but making no move toward her. His cold, distant demeanor did not waver, even as she struggled to speak through the pain.

"I…" Helaena's eyes were glassy with fear and uncertainty. "I need to tell you… before…" Her voice trailed off, another spasm of pain cutting through her, some part of her wanted him to live, unlike the Aemond in her dreams, "Please… stay."

Aemond’s gaze hardened slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "There is no time for this, Helaena," he said, his tone almost dismissive. "The maesters will tend to you. I will summon our mother as well." Without waiting for her reply, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

Helaena’s hand fell back to the bed, her breath shaky as she watched him go. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, knowing that Aemond would not return until it was necessary. He had not always been like this—distant, calculating, treating her more like an obligation than a partner. Even in the short time they had peace, some part of him once held her so gently.

The door closed behind him with a soft thud, leaving Helaena alone in the dimly lit chamber, the weight of her labor pressing down on her. She bit her lip, trying to steady her breathing as the pain surged again. She was alone, as she had always been, only the visions ever kept her company, even with Aemond by her side.

Chapter Text

Aegon and Daemon dismounted their dragons under the cover of thick morning mist along the coast, far from the prying eyes of King’s Landing. The waves crashed softly against the shore as they moved swiftly, the silence between them weighted with purpose. Daemon’s loyal Gold Cloaks, hidden in the shadows of the city’s walls, awaited their arrival.

As they approached the secret gate near the southern wall, the Gold Cloaks greeted them with curt nods, no words exchanged. These men were handpicked by Daemon—those whose loyalty still lay with him rather than the current regime. Their presence was crucial to the plan, ensuring that Aegon and Daemon’s movements through the city would remain unnoticed.

Inside the gate, Daemon led them through the narrow, winding alleys of King’s Landing. The early hour meant few were awake, but the familiar stench and clamor of the city stirred old memories in Aegon’s mind—memories he quickly pushed aside. This was not the time for sentiment. His mind was locked on one singular objective: Visenya. They moved in near silence, keeping close to the shadows, their cloaks blending with the early dawn fog. As they approached the Red Keep’s towering walls, Daemon turned, his sharp gaze meeting Aegon’s.

“Listen closely,” Daemon said, his voice a low whisper. “We have eyes within the Keep, men loyal to me, watching the guards’ movements. They will signal us when it is clear to enter. We will go through the servants’ passages. Few know they even exist.” Aegon nodded, his expression tight with focus. He had gone over the plan with Daemon countless times during the flight from Dragonstone. There was no room for error.

“We know Visenya is being held in the lower levels,” Daemon continued, his tone clipped and precise. “Once we are inside, we will head to the dungeons. That’s where they will keep her—isolated, away from any risk of discovery.” Aegon’s heart tightened at the thought of her in chains, locked away in the cold, dark depths of the Keep. He forced himself to stay calm, though the urge to rush forward, to tear through the walls and find her, clawed at his chest.

“We will split up,” Daemon added, his voice firm. “I will keep watch, deal with any of Aemond’s men that come too close. You—” he looked at Aegon, “—you find her. When you do, signal me with this.” He handed Aegon a small horn, no larger than his hand. “One blow, short and sharp. That is all it takes.”

Aegon took the horn and nodded, slipping it into his cloak. The simplicity of the signal felt both reassuring and daunting. He wasn’t afraid of the fight that awaited him, but he knew that once he blew that horn, their escape would have to be swift.

“Once we have Visenya, we will retrace our steps to the coast,” Daemon continued. “Your dragon and mine are hidden in the cliffs. We’ll make our way back through the southern gate and out to the shore. The Gold Cloaks will clear a path. We will be gone before anyone realizes.”

Aegon’s gaze sharpened. “And Aemond?”

Daemon’s lips curled into a grim smile. “He will not sit idle. If we are lucky, he will not know we are here until it is too late. But if he does… I will handle him.” Aegon’s blood burned at the thought of facing Aemond again. This time, there would be no restraint. No hesitation. But as much as he longed for vengeance, he knew the plan came first.

Daemon’s eyes softened, if only slightly. “Remember, the priority is Visenya. This is not a rescue mission for revenge. Get her out, and we can deal with Aemond later.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened. “I will not leave without her.”

“You will not have to,” Daemon assured him, his tone hardening once more. “Now stay sharp. This city is a pit of vipers, and we don’t know which ones might strike.”

The fog around them began to lift as the first light of dawn broke through the sky. Daemon’s loyal men dispersed ahead of them, clearing the path toward the Keep’s secret entrance.

Aegon’s heart pounded with anticipation, his fists clenched as they neared the hidden servants’ passage beneath the Keep. This was it—the moment he had been waiting for.

__

The dimly lit war room hummed with a tense silence as Aemond, Otto Hightower, and Ser Criston Cole stood around the massive table. Its surface was littered with maps of Westeros, troop movements, and detailed plans of action. A single candle flickered, casting long shadows on the walls, and the cold air hung heavy with the weight of decisions yet to be made. The screams of Helaena reverberating through the walls of the keep as she continued her labours, proving to be more difficult with each hour.

Aemond leaned over the table, his one good eye tracing the jagged lines marking Dragonstone on the map, not even flinching at the sound of Helaena’s pained cries. His face was hard, detached, as though he were looking at a simple military target rather than the home of his sister and queen. His fingers drummed against the wood, his mind already calculating every move in the grim plan he was about to set in motion.

Across from him, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, spoke with a calm, measured tone. "Now that they will be focused on Visenya’s rescue, Dragonstone will be vulnerable. Rhaenyra, by all accounts, will be sending her children away to the Vale or even further from this war. It leaves her isolated, without her dragons or her most loyal protectors. If we are to strike, it must be now."

Aemond's jaw clenched slightly, but his voice was smooth, controlled. "It is time for her reign to end. She has ruled in defiance of what the realms wishes for too long. Lord Tyland has secured us a mercenary fleet that will surround the island of Dragonstone to ensure none will escape, even on dragon back.” His words were devoid of emotion, as if Rhaenyra were merely a piece on the board he intended to remove. His own hunger for power eating away at the heart that used to occupy his chest.  Ser Criston Cole, standing rigid in his white cloak and armour, nodded in agreement. "The strike must be quick. We will ensure that none of her loyalists know what happened until it is too late. Dragonstone is remote, and the news of her death will be easy to control for a short time. The shock will throw the Blacks into chaos.”

As the men spoke, the door creaked open, and Alicent Hightower entered the room. She looked older than her years, the strain of the civil war etched into her face even when a year had not even passed. Alicent had been with her Helaena who continued to scream with her difficult labours. She walked with purpose, determined to know their plotting, but there was a hesitation in her step as she approached the table. Her eyes lingered on Aemond for a moment, a mother’s concern barely hidden beneath the surface, before she turned her gaze to her father.

"I heard what you are planning," Alicent said, her voice tinged with unease. "Assassination? How could that possibly bring peace? Do not underestimate Rhaenyra’s influence.” Her words hung heavy, and for the first time, the room fell into a cold silence. Aemond glanced up at her briefly, then returned to the map. He showed no reaction, no guilt or hesitation. His expression remained impassive, hiding his disappointment on his mother’s doubt.

"We have no choice," Otto said, his voice firm but calm. "The war has progressed beyond the point of forgiveness or mercy, Alicent. You hold on to a friendship that you have thrown away. Rhaenyra cannot be allowed to continue her claim. With Luke dead, she will stop at nothing to destroy the Hightowers and take her place in King’s Landing. This war will tear the realm apart if we do not act decisively."

Alicent’s eyes flickered with emotion at the mention of Luke, her thoughts swirling back to the innocent boy who had been lost in this bitter war. She closed her eyes briefly, struggling with her own emotions. "She was my friend once, that remains true," Alicent whispered, a note of nostalgia in her voice. "There was a time when Rhaenyra and I… we were close, before any of this. Before the crown, before the bitterness." Her voice cracked slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. "Is there truly no other way?"

Aemond’s lips curled into a slight sneer as he looked at his mother. "She will not spare us, Mother. I killed Luke. There will be no peace, no truce. Rhaenyra’s grief will only fuel her vengeance. Do you think she will forgive me, forgive any of us? Least of all me? I will ascend and she must die.”

Alicent’s face twisted with conflicting emotions—her son was right, and yet, the memories of her bond with Rhaenyra tugged at her heart. The guilt, the nostalgia, it all weighed heavily on her.

Otto stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Alicent’s arm. "My daughter," he said softly, "Rhaenyra may have been your friend once, but that time is long gone. You have already distanced yourself from her, villainised her, why change your mind now?"

Alicent turned her gaze toward the map, her eyes clouded with regret. "I do not want to see her die like this."

Aemond’s voice was cold and unrelenting. "Until now, you show your weakness mother. Our blood must be on the throne, that has always been our purpose. The Blacks will be leaderless, scattered. Without Rhaenyra, their forces will crumble."

Alicent’s hands trembled slightly, but she took a deep breath, her mind fighting to reconcile the past with the brutal present. She could see that there was no stopping them—no room for sentimentality or old bonds in this war. Rhaenyra was not just a rival anymore; she was a threat to her children, to her grandchildren, to everything she had tried to protect.

"Very well," Alicent whispered, her voice heavy with sorrow. "But remember, Aemond, once you start down this path, there is no turning back. Killing your own sister... it will haunt you, even if you think it will not." Aemond gave a slight nod, though his expression remained unreadable. "I know," he said simply then he smiled and said, “Unfortunately, I quite enjoy chasing my prey, it makes it sweeter.” Helaena’s screams scattered through the walls yet again and this time, Alicent grabbed her son’s arm and insisted, “She needs you Aemond, Helaena needs you. Look past your pride and be with her.”

Aemond pushed his mother away and replied, “I will see her when it suits me.”

With that, Alicent turned and left the room, her heart heavier than ever. Behind her, the war council continued, but the weight of what was to come pressed on her soul.

___

Visenya’s breath came in shallow, panicked bursts as she darted through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep. Her wrists ached, still bound in the cold shackles that clinked softly with every step. She was so close—freedom was just ahead. But with every step she would look back, regret washing over her as she heard Helaena’s screams, the all too familiar sound of labour that she never found pleasant either. Still, she had to cease her hesitations, Helaena had made her choice.

The air felt different here, fresher, the open night beckoning her toward the outside world. If she could just— A chilling voice shattered her thoughts. "Going somewhere, princess?" She spun around to see Ser Criston Cole stepping out from the shadows, his cold eyes locking onto hers. His hand rested easily on the hilt of his sword, a dark sneer curling at the corner of his lips.

"You look just like her," Criston spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Like your mother. The same arrogance. The same disdain. I have waited for this moment." Visenya’s heart raced, her body tensing as she took a step back, but the walls of the Red Keep seemed to close in on her. Criston moved closer, a sadistic gleam in his eyes as he drew his sword. “I hated Rhaenyra," he growled. "She destroyed everything—my honor, my reputation, my life. But I will make sure her legacy dies with you. Aemond will not kill you, he carries a fondness I will never understand… but I will."

Just as Criston raised his sword to strike, a voice roared from behind him. "Stay away from her!" Aegon lunged into the hall, his eyes blazing with fury. He tackled Criston, sending him stumbling backward. Visenya’s eyes widened as tears immediately welled in her eyes realising that Aegon…her husband…was still alive. He survived Aemond and that had given peace to the part of her heart that longed for him, longed for the sight of him.

The clash of armour and grunts of effort echoed through the hall as the two men struggled, but Criston quickly regained his balance, throwing Aegon off with a powerful blow to the chest. Even when he was advanced in years, Criston proved to be an excellent swordsman, one of the feats that no one could take away from him.  Aegon scrambled to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he drew his sword. He moved toward Visenya, and with trembling hands, he freed her from the chains that still bound her wrists, striking the weak chains once with his sword. But Criston was not done. With a menacing growl, he charged at Aegon again, their swords clashing in a chaotic blur of metal and fury. It became clear all too quickly that Aegon was outmatched. Criston fought with brutal efficiency, his strikes calculated and merciless. He knocked Aegon’s sword from his hand and sent him crashing to the ground.

Criston loomed over him, sword poised for the killing blow. "You are going to die, Aegon," he hissed, his voice thick with contempt. "You always skipped your sword training for debauchery, always too soft. You were never meant for this and you will pay your price for betraying your family.”

Aegon’s chest heaved with pain, but his eyes met Visenya’s in one last desperate plea. Without hesitation, he grabbed the fallen sword beside him and tossed it toward her.

"Visenya," he gasped, "take it!"

Visenya caught the sword mid-air, her fingers curling around the hilt as she stepped forward. Her eyes narrowed, cold fury burning in their depths even when her body was starved. "He is no warrior," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "but I am." Criston’s sneer faltered, but before he could react, Visenya lunged at him with the skill and precision of a trained fighter. Their swords clashed in a flurry of blows, the sharp ring of steel reverberating through the hall.

Visenya fought with a ferocity that surprised even her. The years of anger, grief, and loss fueled every strike. She knew Criston had once bested Daemon, and that he was larger than her but she would not give up now. For all the women that belonged to her family who had suffered from men like Criston, forced to marry, forced to birth children out of duty more than love, for all the slander they received for mere existence, she would end it now…starting with this man.

Criston was fast, but Visenya was faster, her movements calculated and fluid, each one aimed to dismantle him piece by piece. Criston snarled as he tried to regain control, but Visenya was relentless, thinking about all she had lost, her father, her brother, her dignity, she would not let another man take more from her. She danced around him, her blade a blur of deadly precision, cutting him across the arm, then the leg. His strength began to wane, his movements slower, more desperate.

Finally, with a swift strike, Visenya disarmed Criston, sending his sword clattering to the floor. He fell to his knees, panting heavily, blood trickling from his wounds. Visenya stood over him, her chest heaving with exertion, her eyes cold as ice. "You have said enough," she hissed, her voice dripping with disdain. She raised her sword and, in one swift motion, sliced off his tongue. Criston gasped in agony, choking on his own blood as he clutched at his mouth, but Visenya was not finished.

"For all the slander you spoke of my mother," she snarled, her voice shaking with fury, "this is only the beginning." Criston’s eyes widened in terror as Visenya began her brutal work. She slashed at his limbs, methodically cutting off his arms, his legs—slowly, cruelly, with every strike accompanied by a vicious insult.

"You hated her because she refused to bend to you. You called her names because you could not stand her power, could not stand that she would not give away her birthright to run away with you,” she spat, her sword slicing through flesh and bone with merciless precision. "You think you are strong? You are nothing. You were always nothing. You began as nothing and you will die as nothing.”

Criston’s screams echoed through the halls, but Visenya was relentless, her expression one of cold fury. She cut deeper, slower, savoring every moment as she stripped him of his pride, his limbs, and his life. And finally, when Criston was nothing more than a broken, bloodied heap on the floor, Visenya raised her sword high and said her finally words to the fallen knight, “I can see it in your eyes Ser Criston, you never thought that I would be the cause of your demise. How does it feel…knowing that your reckoning is a woman?”, then brought the sword down in a final, decisive strike—severing his head from his body.

The room fell silent. Blood pooled at her feet, Criston’s lifeless form crumpled before her. Visenya stood there, her chest heaving, her hands trembling from the exertion and the raw emotion that coursed through her veins. To her surprise, the carnage had not sickened her, it empowered her.  Behind her, Aegon struggled to his feet, his face pale and grim, but filled with awe at what he had just witnessed. He limped toward her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.

"It is over," he whispered, his voice hoarse, “And thank the gods you are alive, I thought I had lost you because of my own foolishness.” Visenya smiled in relief and kissed her husband fervently, “I would never blame you Aegon, I did what I wanted.” He nodded and grabbed her hand, taking the small horn from his pocket and blowing it,  and said, “Daemon is waiting, we must leave.”

As they moved swiftly through the dim, cold corridors of the Red Keep, Visenya’s pace slowed. Aegon, just ahead, stopped, turning to her with a look of concern. His hand reached out, thinking something was wrong, but before he could speak, Visenya caught him by the arm and pulled him close. To his surprise, her lips met his in a sudden, fervent kiss. Aegon’s breath caught, but he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. When she broke away, she lingered for a moment, her forehead resting against his chest, her breathing shallow.

“Visenya,” Aegon started, his voice low, “we need to keep moving.”

But she shook her head, tightening her grip on him. Before he could say anything more, she kissed him again, more urgently this time, as if every second was precious, fleeting. Aegon could feel the desperation in the way she held him, the weight of something unsaid between them. When she pulled back, her eyes met his, filled with emotions she had kept hidden for far too long.

“I do not want to wait anymore,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I cannot and I will not waste another moment without telling you.” Aegon stared at her, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Telling me what?”

Visenya’s hands trembled as they slid down his arms, her fingers gripping his tunic. She took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “I love you, Aegon. I always have. And I am sorry—sorry that I waited too long to say it.” Her words hit him like a punch to the chest, leaving him speechless. She looked down, her fingers twisting on his hand as she continued. “I was afraid. Afraid of this life we have been forced to live, of everything pulling us apart. But now… with everything happening, I could not bear the thought of never telling you. Of something happening to us, and you never knowing.”

Aegon’s heart pounded in his chest. He lifted his hand to her cheek, brushing away a tear that had escaped. “Visenya…” She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “I know it is not fair, not after all this time. But I don’t want to leave anything unsaid. Not when the future is so uncertain.”

Aegon pulled her close again, wrapping her in his arms as if trying to protect her from the world outside. “I have loved you since the moment we were married,” he whispered against her hair, his voice raw. “You have always been the only thing that mattered.” Visenya pulled back slightly, her hand moving to cup his face, her thumb gently tracing the edge of his jaw. “I could not face losing you without telling you this,” she said softly, her eyes locked on his. “I love you, Aegon. And I am sorry it took me so long to say it.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the cold air. “We are not losing each other. Not now. Not ever.”

Visenya smiled through her tears, though it was filled with both hope and fear. Aegon kissed her again, softer this time, savouring the warmth and tenderness of the moment, as if trying to make it last forever.

“We need to go,” Aegon finally said, pulling back but keeping her close.

“But I promise you, we will have all the time in the world to talk about this later.” Visenya nodded, though her grip on him lingered for a moment longer. “I just could not wait,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

With one final glance, they turned, their hands still entwined as they continued through the darkened halls, knowing that no matter what awaited them, they had each other—no longer bound by unspoken words, but by love that had finally found its voice.

__

The sunlight filtered as dawn broke through the windows of Dragonstone’s great hall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Rhaenyra paced, her heart heavy with the weight of the decision she had made. The war had taken too much from her—her son Luke, the peace she had known, and now, she feared, her very life. But her duty as a mother was clear. She would not risk her remaining children’s lives any longer. It was time to send them away, to keep them safe from the storm that was approaching.

In the corner of the room, Ser Qarl Correy stood quietly, his face solemn as he waited for her. Beside him, little Laena, Rhaenyra’s last child with Laenor, looked up at her mother with wide, innocent eyes. The girl was too young to understand the dangers that surrounded them, but she would soon enough. Rhaenyra knelt beside Laena, gently brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. “You will be leaving tonight, my sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Ser Qarl, your papa, will take care of you, just as I promised your father.”

Laena nodded, though she did not fully understand. “Will I see you again, Mama?” Rhaenyra forced a smile, though her heart ached. “Yes, Laena. One day, when it is safe. But until then, you must be brave for me. Listen to Ser Qarl. He will keep you safe.” Ser Qarl stepped forward, bowing deeply before his queen. His eyes, though stoic, held the weight of years spent at Laenor’s side. He had loved Laenor fiercely, as a companion, and Rhaenyra trusted him with the life of her daughter.

“Your Grace,” he said, his voice steady. “Had Laenor been alive, he would not have let this foolishness stand. The realm is blind, foolish to think a man would serve as a better ruler than you. You are the true queen, and it is the realm that fails you.” Rhaenyra looked up at him, her throat tight with emotion. “Thank you, Ser Qarl. I trust you, as Laenor did. Keep Laena safe… and love her as you loved him.”

“I will, my queen,” Ser Qarl vowed. “I swear it by the memory of Laenor. He would not have let any harm come to his daughter, and neither will I.”

Rhaenyra placed a hand on Laena’s cheek, her fingers trembling slightly. “Go now, my sweet girl. Stay strong, and know that I love you.” Laena hugged her mother tightly, her small arms wrapped around Rhaenyra’s neck. “I love you too, Mama.”

As Ser Qarl led Laena away, Rhaenyra felt a tear slip down her cheek knowing that the uncertainty of war left all her dreams and hopes in uncertainty, though she quickly wiped it away. She had no time for tears. Not now. There were more arrangements to be made, Ser Alfred patiently awaiting by the ornate doors her to finish her affairs so they could call on the council again and discuss further action.  Turning to Baela and Rhaena, who stood nearby, Rhaenyra straightened herself, commanding their attention. “You both will take the younger children to the Vale, and their young dragons with them” she instructed, her voice firm though her heart trembled. “Aegon and Visenya’s children—Alyssa, Baelon, and Aegea—along with my young children. See to it that they arrive safely. Lady Jeyne Arryn will protect them, as long as you give her protection with your dragon Baela.”

Baela nodded, her eyes flashing with determination. “We will see it done, your Grace. The children will be safe with us.” Rhaenyra’s gaze softened as she looked upon them. Baela and Rhaena had grown so much, strong and capable like their father Daemon. “You are both the daughters of dragons,” she said quietly. “Stay true to that strength.”

But as she turned to Jacaerys, her eldest, her heart caught in her throat. His jaw was set with determination, his eyes fierce with resolve. “I am not leaving, Mother, my task of gathering the North is done and I will not leave you alone here,” he said, his voice resolute. “I will not abandon you. I will stay here and await Daemon and Aegon’s return.”

“Jace,” Rhaenyra began, but her son shook his head.

“No, Mother,” he insisted. “I will not run away. I will fight by your side, as a prince should. As your son should.” Rhaenyra’s heart swelled with pride and fear all at once. She knew he had inherited some of Daemon’s fire, but she could not bear to lose him, too. “Jace… you are the heir to Driftmark. If something happens to you—”

“Nothing will happen to me,” Jace interrupted, his voice firm. “Daemon and Aegon will return, and we will win this war.” Rhaenyra sighed, pulling Jace into a tight embrace. “I pray that you are right,” she whispered. “But if you stay, you must promise me this—you will be careful.”

Jacaerys nodded, his arms tightening around his mother. “I promise.” Baela, who had not expected this at all, gave her husband one last look. Their eyes exchanged understanding as they turned away from each other, understanding the places they have chosen.

__

As they approached the southern gate of King’s Landing, a sense of foreboding settled over Aegon, Visenya, and Daemon. Daemon stood tense, his expression grave. The moment he spotted them, relief flickered in his eyes before it hardened again.

“Something is amiss,” he said urgently, pulling Visenya into a fierce embrace, momentarily engulfing her in warmth. He stepped back, gaze sharp. “Aemond has not moved, he should know that you are missing by now. My men have also reported that Otto has sent the Kingsguard away from the keep last night.”

Visenya’s heart sank, unease settling in her stomach. “What do you mean? Why would they do that?”

“That is what we need to find out,” Daemon snapped, eyes narrowing. “We need to move. Now.”

A cold shiver ran down Visenya’s spine. She felt the air thicken around them, the atmosphere pregnant with danger. Aegon’s grip on her hand tightened, but Visenya felt strangely detached, as if they were walking toward a storm they could not see. Still, she revelled on the sight of Ser Criston’s blood on Aegon’s sword that she kept on her side.  As they hurried through the winding streets of King’s Landing, the sounds of the city seemed muffled, shadows looming larger with each step. Visenya felt out of place, acutely aware that she was about to mount Sunfyre, Aegon’s dragon—her heart ached for Vaehaemion, her fallen dragon, whose wings had shielded her in her most desperate moment. He had saved her life, and now he was gone, leaving her to navigate this perilous path without his strength beside her.

When they reached the southern gate, the eerie silence deepened. Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre, loomed, its massive form a blend of power and beauty, but the familiarity felt strange to Visenya. She had never flown on another dragon since Vaehaemion had perished. “Stay alert,” Daemon warned, his voice low, scanning the skies for unseen threats.

Visenya approached Sunfyre, her heart heavy. The dragon’s golden scales glimmered in the dim light, but it felt wrong—like a ghost of what should have been. She hesitated, a mix of longing and grief swirling within her.

“Vaehaemion,” she whispered, pain slicing through her. The air around her felt charged with the weight of her loss, memories of her dragon flashing in her mind—moments of soaring through the skies, the rush of freedom, the bond they had shared.

Aegon mounted Sunfyre, glancing back at her, concern etched on his face. “We need to go. Now.” She swallowed hard, nodding, but the specter of Vaehaemion loomed large in her heart. As she climbed onto the dragon behind Aegon, a knot of unease tightened in her stomach. The ground felt distant beneath her, the sense of safety she once found in flying felt diminished, replaced by the haunting presence of her lost dragon.

Aegon felt the tension in her body. “Hold on,” he said, but she sensed the urgency behind his words. With a powerful beat of Sunfyre’s wings, they ascended into the air, the city shrinking beneath them.

__

The salty wind whipped through Jace's hair as he soared high above the coastline, Vermax's powerful wings slicing through the crisp morning air. Below him, the ship carrying Baela, Rhaena, and a handful of crew members was already underway, the sails billowing like ghosts against the azure sky.  Jace’s heart ached as he glanced down at the young children on board—Aegon and Visenya’s children as well as his younger brothers, clinging to Baela and Rhaena, eyes wide with innocence.

“Be safe!” he shouted down, trying to mask his rising anxiety. Baela turned, her expression firm, while Rhaena, holding little Aegea tightly, flashed a strained smile. Suddenly, Jace’s gaze snapped to the horizon, a foreboding shadow emerging from the shimmering sea as the familiar sounds of a dragon filled the sky, a roar that did not belong to neither Caraxes or Sunfyre. A fleet of dark ships surged forward, their sails taut and ominous against the bright backdrop. His pulse quickened as he squinted, focusing hard on the looming threat.

“Baela! Rhaena!” he bellowed, urgency coursing through him. “You need to leave! Now!” The urgency caused Baela’s dragon, Moondance, to roar in urgency, prompting Baela to try and calm her down.  Both girls looked up, fear and confusion etched across their faces. “What do you see?” Baela shouted back, the crew starting to stir, their attention drawn to the young prince's distress.

“There are ships coming! More than my fingers can count!” Jace's voice cracked as he gestured toward the horizon. “And a dragon—” The sight of a smaller dragon swooping above the fleet made Jace’s blood run cold. It circled ominously, its wings casting dark shadows over the approaching ships, creating a sinister atmosphere as it neared.

“Get ready to leave!” Jace shouted, his heart pounding like a war drum. “Do not head for the Vale now, the open seas will be dangerous, find a safe place to dock! I will warn Mother!”

Baela’s eyes widened, the resolve faltering for a moment. “Jace, wait! We cannot leave you here—”

“Just go!” he urged, desperation rising in his throat. “Please! If they are coming for us, you need to leave now!” Rhaena’s eyes widened as Aegea began to cry, holding her close and rocking her to soothe her. Baela sighed, knowing what must be done. Even if her and her husband had spoken about what this war could mean, it did not make it easier for her to leave him.

“Go!” Jace commanded, his tone brokering no argument. He could feel the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. The sight of the children, innocent and unknowing of the impending danger, fueled his determination. Baela’s eyes born to his, so much unspoken words between them and yet so much had been said with just a mere look between them. I love you. Be safe. I will see you again.

With a nod, Baela turned toward the ship’s helm, Moondancer perched on the hull of the ship, her expression set in a fierce resolve. “Rhaena, hold on tight!” she yelled, and the crew scrambled to adjust the sails, urgency igniting their movements. As the ship began to pull away, Jace felt a mixture of relief and dread. He watched them sail further into the safety of the sea, the glistening waves crashing against the sides of the vessel. He turned his gaze back to the encroaching threat, his heart racing as he felt the cold grip of fear tightening around him.

“Vermax sōvegon adhirikydho!” he shouted, urgency flooding his voice. The dragon responded immediately, diving lower toward Dragonstone, Jace’s mind racing with thoughts of the danger that lay ahead.

“Vermax fly faster”

The fleet of ships was closing in, the smaller dragon now soaring above the dark sails, a flash of cobalt and copper staining the sun’s rays. He had to warn his mother, to prepare her for whatever storm was coming. Every beat of Vermax's wings pushed him closer to his mother,  and he could feel the weight of her life resting heavily on his shoulders. As they approached Dragonstone, the sight of the shadowy fleet behind him sent a chill. The dragon’s roar echoed, a terrifying sound that reverberated through the air, promising violence. Jace pushed Vermax to fly faster, urgency coursing through him like wildfire.

Chapter Text

The heavy doors of the council chamber groaned open, and Rhaenyra entered with her head held high, her black dress flowing behind her like a shadow. The flickering candlelight cast long, wavering shapes across the stone walls, and for a moment, everything seemed eerily still. Corlys stood at the head of the table, his silver hair glinting, his face a mask of concentration. Others in her council sat in silence, waiting.

It was supposed to be just another meeting, a moment to discuss the war, the movements of Aemond, the survival of her children. But something felt wrong. The air was too thick, too still. Her gaze swept across the room, and unease crawled beneath her skin, a shadow of something she could not yet place. Before she could speak, the doors behind her slammed shut. The sound echoed through the chamber, and in that instant, a dozen Kingsguard knights stepped forward from the darkness. Their white cloaks, the symbol of supposed loyalty, swayed as they unsheathed their swords in perfect unison, the metallic sound slicing through the silence like a death knell.

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed. Where were her Queensguard? Where were her protectors?

The answer came in the form of Ser Alfred, who stepped forward, his face twisted in a grin that barely hid his contempt. He moved toward her slowly, the flickering firelight casting strange shadows across his expression, and there was something smug in the way he held himself—like a predator who had already caught its prey.

"Your Grace," he said mockingly, a vicious gleam in his eyes. "I am afraid tonight’s council meeting has a... different agenda." Rhaenyra’s spine stiffened, but she gave no indication of fear. Instead, she raised her chin defiantly, her voice cold and sharp. "Where are my Queensguard?"

Ser Alfred chuckled darkly. "Replaced, my queen. You trusted them, and that was your first mistake. They were loyal, but not as skilled as the Kingsguard.”He gestured to the Kingsguard surrounding her. "We have been here since last night, waiting for this very moment. Waiting for you. Waiting for the right moment to strike.”

Before Rhaenyra could react, a cold blade pressed against her throat, the steel biting into her skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood. Corlys, too, was held at swordpoint, his eyes blazing with fury but unable to move. The rest of her council sat frozen, eyes wide with fear, held hostage by the very men who were meant to protect them. Rhaenyra’s heartbeat quickened, but her expression remained calm, her gaze hard as steel as she locked eyes with Ser Alfred. "You think this will end well for you?" she hissed, her voice a sharp, cold blade of its own. "If I die tonight, you will burn for it."

Ser Alfred’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments, but he quickly recovered, stepping closer until he was mere inches from her. "Oh, I know the risks, Your Grace," he sneered. "But you will not die tonight. Not yet. We are waiting for someone special." Her stomach churned, dread curling in her gut, but she refused to let it show. "Aemond," she spat. "He is coming for me, is he not?"

Ser Alfred’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Oh no," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Prince Aemond is well on his way to Harrenhal by now. Daemon is no longer stationed there, is he? He is far too busy playing hero, trying to rescue your precious Visenya. Aemond has other priorities—more important missions." He took a step closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "No, this task is beneath him."

The words hit her like a blow, but Rhaenyra didn’t flinch. She had always known Aemond’s ruthlessness, his hunger for blood. But the idea that this was all part of a larger scheme, that she was merely another piece in his twisted game, made her blood run cold.

"If Aemond will not be the one to kill me," she said, her voice venomous, "who are you waiting for?" Ser Alfred’s eyes glinted with something dark, and he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he motioned to the Kingsguard holding her and Corlys captive. "You see, Your Grace, we do not intend to kill you just yet. We are waiting for another prince."

A moment of silence stretched thin between them, like a drawn bowstring ready to snap.

Rhaenyra's breath quickened, and she could feel the cold steel at her throat, but she refused to give Ser Alfred the satisfaction of seeing fear in her eyes. "No matter who comes," she said, her voice icy, "you will burn. For this treachery. For all of it."

Ser Alfred's expression flickered, but the arrogance remained. "Oh, you still cling to your throne, your titles, your power. But you are isolated now, Rhaenyra. Your children are scattered, your allies weakened. And soon, you

will have no more children left to fight for you."

"You are wrong," she said, her voice steady, even as rage boiled beneath her skin. "Daemon and Aegon will return. And when they do, you will pay for this." Ser Alfred leaned in closer, his face so near that she could smell the sweat on him. "If they make it back," he whispered. "Do you really think they can save you? This war is a storm, and you are caught in its heart, Rhaenyra. But unlike you, we have planned every move." The Kingsguard around her shifted, their swords steady, their eyes watching her every movement. The air in the room grew suffocating with tension, the cold stone walls closing in around her. And still, Rhaenyra did not falter.

"If I fall tonight," she said, her voice like a whisper of death, "this realm will bleed for it."

The room was still, save for the slow breaths of those who knew the gravity of her words. Even Ser Alfred hesitated for a brief moment, the weight of her defiance settling over him like a cold hand.

"Perhaps," he finally said, his voice quieter now, as if some part of him understood the truth in her threat. But then, he straightened, his smirk returning. "But not before you die by a prince's sword." Rhaenyra's eyes darkened, but she remained silent. The game was not over yet. Not as long as she still drew breath.

__

Jace soared high above the waves, watching as Baela, Rhaena, and the children’s ship struggled to stay ahead. The crew was scrambling, hands gripping the ropes as they adjusted the sails, trying to find a safe place to dock, but there was no time.

Not with an enemy dragon closing in.

From his vantage point, Jace could see the shadow of the bronze beast—Tessarion—gliding closer, her rider, Prince Daeron, leading the charge. And there, just beyond the horizon, a fleet of enemy ships followed, their black sails catching the wind. Baela and Rhaena were aware of the threat. They’d already seen it. Baela’s voice echoed across the waves, shouting orders to the crew, her silver hair whipping in the wind. She was urging them to go faster, but Jace knew the sea would betray them. They were too exposed, too far from any safe harbor. The horizon offered no sanctuary, and Tessarion was closing in fast.

Jace’s heart pounded. He had no choice.

He urged Vermax into a sharp dive, abandoning his high perch as he angled toward the approaching dragon. He couldn’t leave them to face Daeron alone. If Tessarion reached the ship, Baela, Rhaena, and the children wouldn’t stand a chance.

His mother would never forgive him.

The wind howled around him as he descended, the spray of the sea misting his face. Below, he saw Baela glance up at him, her expression fierce, determined, but there was fear there, too. She knew what was coming. They all did.

Jace tightened his grip on Vermax’s reins, his eyes narrowing as he closed the distance between them and Tessarion. Daeron had spotted him now, and the young prince turned his dragon with a swift, practiced movement, angling her directly toward Jace.

The sky was filled with the sound of flapping wings and roaring fire as the two dragons charged at each other, the wind carrying the scent of salt and smoke. The air crackled with tension, the anticipation of battle hanging thick.

Jace’s heart hammered in his chest, but there was no turning back now.

For Baela. For Rhaena. For the children.

He barely had time to think before the first clash. Tessarion dove at them with terrifying speed, her gleaming bronze scales catching the fading light. Jace shouted for Vermax to veer left, dodging the blast of blue flame that shot from Tessarion’s maw. The fire roared past them, dangerously close, the heat searing the edges of Vermax’s wings.

Jace twisted in his saddle, drawing his sword as they circled back toward Tessarion. Daeron’s eyes locked onto him, cold and calculating, his face set with grim determination. There was no hesitation, no mercy.

“Dohaeragon issa Vermax!” Jace roared, his voice lost to the wind as he urged Vermax forward.

“Serve me Vermax!”

The two dragons collided with a thunderous crash, their claws tearing at each other as they tumbled through the sky. Jace felt the impact reverberate through his bones, his muscles straining as Vermax fought back with equal ferocity. Blood sprayed through the air as Tessarion’s claws raked across Vermax’s side, but the green dragon retaliated with a savage bite, sinking his teeth into Tessarion’s flank.

Jace barely had time to register the pain that pulsed through their bond before Daeron came at him, sword drawn, steel flashing in the dying light. Their blades met with a sharp clang, sparks flying as they clashed, neither willing to back down.

“You should have stayed with your mother, and hid behind the skirts of your elder sister!” Daeron snarled, his voice filled with venom as he swung his sword with deadly precision. Jace blocked the strike, his arm trembling under the force of it. Daeron was fast, relentless, but Jace had been trained by Daemon himself. He would not fall so easily.

“I fight for my family and for a cause that has integrity. Can you say the same?,” Jace spat back, pushing Daeron off with a powerful strike of his own. They clashed again, swords meeting in a flurry of blows, each strike more brutal than the last. Below them, the sea churned, and Jace could see the ship in the distance, its crew still scrambling as they tried to outpace the enemy fleet. But Tessarion was faster, more dangerous, and Daeron knew it.

The bronze dragon let out a deafening roar as she twisted in midair, her tail lashing out at Vermax. The blow connected, sending Jace and his dragon spiraling to the side. Jace gritted his teeth, fighting to regain control as Vermax righted himself, his claws digging into Tessarion’s scales in a desperate attempt to stay aloft.

Daeron pressed the advantage, lunging at Jace with a vicious overhead strike. Jace barely had time to raise his sword, the impact sending a jolt of pain up his arm. Daeron’s skill was undeniable—he fought with a brutal precision that matched Jace’s own, but neither could gain the upper hand.

“You will die just like your brother did!” Daeron sneered, his voice thick with contempt. “Your whole family will burn!” Jace’s eyes blazed with fury at the mention of Luke. He twisted his sword free, driving Daeron back with a savage strike, their dragons locked in a deadly embrace as they plummeted toward the sea below.

Vermax roared in anger, his wings beating furiously as he fought against Tessarion’s grip. The battle raged on, each dragon tearing at the other, each rider trading blows with lethal intent. Blood dripped from their wounds, staining the sky and sea alike, but neither could land the final strike. Below, the ship was beginning to pull away, but the enemy fleet was closing in. Jace knew they were running out of time, but he couldn’t leave. He could not turn his back on this fight.

The battle was far from over.

__

In the dimly lit chambers of the Red Keep, the air was thick with the scent of sweat, fear, and the whispers of maesters. Helaena lay on the grand bed, her face pale, glistening with fever, her body trembling from the pain that racked her with every passing hour. The babe had not yet come, and the maesters exchanged worried glances, their hushed conversations laden with dread.

Alicent sat beside her daughter, her face streaked with tears, clutching Helaena’s hand, which was growing weaker with each contraction. She had witnessed her daughter’s strength over the years, seen her endure the harsh realities of their world with a quiet grace that few understood. But now, as the hours dragged on, Alicent feared she was watching that strength slip away.

“Helaena… please, you must hold on,” Alicent whispered, her voice trembling as she brushed a damp strand of hair away from Helaena’s face. “You must stay with me, my love.” But Helaena’s breaths were shallow, her chest rising and falling with labored effort. Her once luminous eyes were clouded with pain, but there was something else there too—something far more haunting. She had begun speaking again, slipping into that strange trance, the same visions that had plagued her since she was a child.

“A dragon will rise from the ashes…” Helaena murmured, her voice distant and strained. “What they thought was dead… will live again.”

The maesters paused at her words, their anxious hands stilling for a moment as they glanced at each other. Alicent’s heart clenched at the sound of her daughter’s voice, so detached from the pain she was in, so lost in her visions.

“Helaena, no,” Alicent’s voice cracked. “Stay with me, please.” But Helaena’s eyes were fixed on something beyond the room, beyond the pain of her labor, something only she could see.

“Our family… our house… we will burn for all we have done,” she whispered, her voice growing weaker with each breath. “Fire and blood… fire and blood will consume us.” Alicent's heart sank. Those words chilled her to the bone. The prophecy—the doom that Helaena often spoke of—always left her unsettled, but now, with her daughter on the brink, they were unbearable. Alicent’s grip on Helaena’s hand tightened, but Helaena barely responded. Her grip, once firm, was now feeble, as if she was slipping from her mother’s grasp both in body and in spirit.

The maesters worked feverishly, wiping her brow and whispering prayers to the gods. One of them glanced toward Alicent, his eyes filled with the kind of sorrow only those who had seen too much could understand.

“There is nothing more we can do,” one of the maesters said quietly. “The babe… it is not coming. And the princess… her strength is fading.” Alicent’s throat closed, a strangled sob escaping her. She leaned over Helaena, her forehead resting against her daughter’s, her tears falling freely now, mixing with the sweat that clung to Helaena’s skin.

“No… no, please…” Alicent whispered through her tears. “Gods, do not take her from me.” Helaena’s eyes fluttered, and for a brief moment, she looked at her mother, truly seeing her. Her lips quirked in a weak, sorrowful smile, as if she already knew her fate.

“I see it, mother… the flames…” Helaena breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “The fire that will consume us all.”Alicent could not hold back the sob that escaped her. She shook her head, pressing her hand to her daughter’s cheek. “No, my love… no flames… you will survive this… we will survive this.”

But Helaena’s gaze drifted away once more, lost to the darkness of her visions. In the corner of the room, the maesters whispered amongst themselves, their faces grim. Alicent’s heart was breaking, but she couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not while her daughter still clung to life.

Helaena’s voice drifted off into silence, her visions leaving her as she descended into a fitful unconsciousness, her body wracked with exhaustion. Alicent remained at her side, praying to any god that would listen.

Aemond’s boots echoed off the cold stone floors as he approached Helaena’s chambers. His stride was purposeful, his face set in the emotionless mask he had perfected. Inside, he felt little for what awaited him. Helaena’s labor had been long, and from what the maesters had reported, it wasn’t going well. He had known that for hours, yet he had stayed away, busy with more pressing matters. In his mind, Helaena had served her purpose long ago—giving him children, strengthening the bonds of their house. Now she was just another burden, a possession that had lost its luster.

Aemond stood at the foot of Helaena’s bed, his gaze cold and detached. Her labored breathing filled the room, each breath more shallow than the last, as the maesters hovered nearby, whispering their worries. Alicent was at her side, tears streaking her face as she clutched her daughter’s weakening hand. The grief in her eyes was unbearable, but Aemond paid it no mind. He had only come for one purpose.

“Leave,” he ordered, his voice sharp as steel, cutting through the tense air. Alicent looked up at him in shock, but before she could protest, he repeated more firmly, “Both of you, leave.”

The maesters hesitated, exchanging nervous glances, but Alicent, broken and reluctant, released Helaena’s hand and stood. She gazed at her son, confusion and sorrow etched across her face, before reluctantly obeying. She lingered by the door for a moment, eyes pleading, but Aemond’s expression was impassive. She turned and followed the maesters into the hall, the heavy door closing behind her.

The room was still now, save for Helaena’s ragged breaths. Aemond approached slowly, his boots tapping softly against the stone floor. He stood over her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Helaena’s eyes fluttered, clouded by pain and exhaustion, but still, that haunting distance remained. She had always been somewhere else, even before this. She tried to speak, her lips trembling as if forming a prophecy, but no words came this time. Aemond lowered himself, bringing his forehead to hers, feeling the cold sweat on her skin. His voice, when it came, was low, almost tender, a whisper that only she could hear.

“Our children will rule,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing against her brow. “I will make sure of it. No one will stand in their way.”

Helaena’s eyes flickered for a brief moment, something almost pleading in their depths. “No…” she whispered, her voice cracking, the barest hint of resistance. “I… do not want… I want them…to be happy…play with their toys…”

But her words faded into the silence, swallowed by the crushing weight of her final breaths. Aemond pressed his forehead harder against hers, his eyes closing as he whispered once more, “Rest now.” For a heartbeat, he hesitated. He could feel the life slipping from her, her grip on the world loosening. Her body trembled faintly beneath his touch. The moment stretched on, and something unfamiliar stirred within him, a brief crack in the cold armour that had shielded his heart for so long. For the first time, he felt her absence—not just as his wife, but as the mother of his children, the woman who had been there in the quiet shadows of his life.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. He stood, straightening as the light in Helaena’s eyes dimmed. Her chest rose once more, a final, desperate breath, before it fell for the last time. Aemond stepped back and watched, expressionless, as Helaena’s lifeless eyes remained open, wide and unseeing, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her face, once gentle, was now frozen in exhaustion, the haunting look of a woman who had fought in agony for hours. The pain had finally left her body, but the toll of her suffering remained etched in her hollow gaze. Her lips, still parted, seemed frozen in the unspoken words she would never say.

Aemond lingered for a moment, his heart as cold as the stillness around him. He cast one last glance at her, her haunting, lifeless face, and turned away. Opening the door, he stepped back into the hallway where Alicent and the maesters waited anxiously. Alicent’s tear-streaked face searched his for some sign of hope, but she knew the answer before he spoke.

“She is gone,” he said flatly, his voice betraying no emotion. Alicent’s eyes widened in horror, her knees giving way as she stumbled back into the room. She fell beside Helaena’s bed, her sobs wracking her entire frame as she reached for her daughter. The sight that greeted her was unbearable—Helaena’s eyes, still open, still lifeless, her gaze empty, as if she were staring into a void that no one could pull her from. The exhaustion of her final hours was etched into every line of her face, her body slack and drained from the agony she had endured.

Alicent cradled her daughter in her arms, pressing her cheek against Helaena’s cold, lifeless skin. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she wailed, her tears soaking Helaena’s face, her cries echoing through the stone halls of the Keep. “My sweet, sweet girl…” But Aemond did not stay to witness his mother’s grief. He had no time for it. He turned on his heel and walked away, his mind already focused on what lay ahead. Harrenhal awaited. The realm would burn, and he would be the one to light the fire.

___

Aegon, Daemon, and Visenya soared through the tumultuous skies, the silhouette of Dragonstone looming ever closer. The chilling wind whipped around them, carrying the salty tang of the sea, but it was the sight of the mercenary fleet that seized their breath. Black sails unfurled ominously, cutting through the mist like the wings of harbingers of doom.

Aegon tightened his grip on Sunfyre, a cold dread creeping into his heart. They had been lured away from Dragonstone, leaving it vulnerable. Visenya clung to him, her mind racing as she realized the implications. With a swift glance over her shoulder, she confirmed her fears; the enemy had come for her mother.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a flurry of scorpion bolts arced through the air, whistling with deadly intent. Aegon steered Sunfyre low, dodging the vicious onslaught. Daemon, always a heartbeat ahead, maneuvered Caraxes with fluid grace. He could feel the tension coiling in his chest, a storm of fury ready to erupt.

With a fierce battle cry, Daemon leaned forward, eyes blazing with determination. “Nābēmagon zirȳ Caraxes!”, he commanded, urging Caraxes down, where the surface of the sea danced with whitecaps.

“Attack them Caraxes!”

In a single, fluid motion, Daemon guided his dragon toward a ship that had drawn too close, its crew scrambling to load another bolt into their scorpion. Daemon’s heart thundered as he veered sharply, Caraxes snapping his jaws open, revealing a gaping maw of molten fire.

“DRACARYS!”

As the ship’s men turned in horror, Caraxes unleashed a torrent of flames that engulfed the vessel. The fire roared to life, crackling and snapping as it consumed the wooden hull. Men screamed, their frantic attempts to escape thwarted by the flames licking at their heels. Daemon reveled in the chaos, the heady scent of burning timber filling the air. The ship buckled under the heat, smoke spiraling into the sky like a dark omen.

He pulled Caraxes back, watching as the burning ship began to sink, a mass of flames and twisted metal disappearing into the depths. But there was no time for satisfaction; the others would soon retaliate. He could see the mercenaries scrambling to regroup, preparing their weapons, fury igniting among them.

Aegon’s voice broke through the haze of battle. “They are coming for us!” His eyes were wide with urgency, filled with the weight of their task.

But Daemon’s focus was sharp, each instinct honed for war. He wove through the chaos, avoiding the scorpion bolts that soared past like thunderclaps. He could feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, the thrill of combat igniting a fire deep within his soul.

“ Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon Caraxes! Nābēmagon!”, he roared, guiding Caraxes into the fray. The dragon roared in agreement, soaring high, circling above the remaining ships. The mercenaries had not anticipated such ferocity, and the sight of a dragon in full battle mode sent panic rippling through their ranks.

“Do not be afraid Caraxes! Attack!”

Visenya’s heart raced as she watched Daemon move with unparalleled skill. A flicker of pride ignited in her chest, but dread soon followed. Every moment spent away from Dragonstone felt like an eternity, each second bringing her mother closer to danger. Aegon dove low, keeping close to Daemon as they charged through the fray, the scent of smoke and salt in the air thickening with every passing second. His only concern being Visenya’s safety. The sound of battle enveloped them, the roar of dragons and the screams of men mingling into a symphony of chaos.

With the battlefield swirling in chaos, Visenya tightened her grip around Aegon’s waist, her heart pounding in time with the beat of Sunfyre’s wings. The mercenary ships loomed like dark specters in the sea, their scorpions ready to unleash hell. Aegon’s focus was split, and Visenya felt the urgency coursing through him.

“Aegon! On your left!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. Aegon trusted her instincts, knowing that in this moment, she was his lifeline. The bolts whistled past them like angry hornets, each one a deadly reminder of their precarious position.

“Keep your eyes sharp, Visenya!” Aegon urged, his voice steady but filled with urgency. “Guide me!”Visenya scanned the skies and the ocean below, the gleaming hulls of the ships jostling against the waves. She spotted a scorpion crew preparing to fire again. “There! Right ahead!” she cried, pointing toward the ship that was loading another bolt. “They have a bolt ready!” Without hesitation, Aegon pulled Sunfyre into a sharp turn, banking hard to the right just as the bolt flew past them, narrowly missing the dragon’s flank. The force of the maneuver sent a thrill through Visenya, her heart racing as she felt the wind whip through her hair.

“We have to help Daemon!” Visenya shouted, her voice filled with resolve. They spotted another ship, slightly off balance, its crew distracted by their previous missed shot. “That ship seems to be struggling, we have to attack!” she commanded, urgency propelling her words. Aegon nodded, understanding her intent. With a quick glance at Daemon, who was still engaged in combat, Aegon dipped low toward the ship.

As they approached, Aegon  called on Sunfyre’s strength. “DRACARYS!” he commanded, willing the dragon  to unleash the flames.

Aegon leaned forward, feeling the heat rising from Sunfyre’s depths. The dragon roared, unleashing a stream of fire that ignited the air. The flames erupted from Sunfyre’s mouth, a brilliant inferno that enveloped the ship in an instant. The crew of the mercenary ship froze, eyes wide with horror as the flames consumed their vessel. Screams echoed across the water, mingling with the roar of the fire, filling the air with an acrid smoke. The ship buckled under the onslaught, its hull cracking and splintering as the flames spread, consuming everything in their path.

“Aegon, we need to reach my mother, the Greens have tricked us and we have left her vulnerable!” Visenya urged, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. “But we cannot let these ships sail any further!” Aegon pushed Sunfyre forward, the dragon’s wings beating powerfully against the air. The sight of destruction fueled their resolve, igniting a fury deep within them. They would not let their family fall; they would protect their own at all costs.

As the last remnants of the ship sank beneath the waves, Visenya felt a surge of adrenaline. “Aegon, on your right!” she shouted suddenly, pointing to a nearby ship, its scorpion reloading for another attack.

“Hold on tight!” Aegon called out, pulling Sunfyre into a steep dive. Visenya clung to him, her heart racing as they spiraled downward, weaving between the remaining ships. Just as the crew aimed their scorpion, Sunfyre unleashed another torrent of fire, igniting the bolt before it could be launched. The mercenaries stumbled back, thrown into disarray as the heat washed over them.

With a fierce battle cry, Aegon steered Sunfyre back up, ready to continue the fight. Together, they had become an unstoppable force, navigating the chaos with precision, each breath echoing their commitment to protect their family.

As Daemon continued to wreak havoc on the opposing fleet, Visenya and Aegon fought with a fire ignited by love and purpose.

__

Rhaenyra stood in the center of the council chamber, her hands still bound but her head held high, but now, Ser Alfred’s blade held against her.!The tip of Ser Alfred Broome’s sword pressed lightly into the skin of her neck, but she did not flinch. The tension in the room was thick, the flickering torches casting dancing shadows across the cold stone walls. The silence was only broken by the sound of Ser Alfred’s laboured breathing, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

“I see the fear in your eyes,” Rhaenyra said, her voice low but cutting. “You have held this sword for minutes now, yet you have done nothing. It seems the weight of killing a queen is heavier than you expected.” Ser Alfred’s jaw tightened, and he pressed the sword harder against her skin, but she barely noticed. “You are in no position to speak, your Grace, and you are no queen, not to me,” he spat. “You may still be breathing, but that will change soon enough.”

Rhaenyra laughed, a bitter sound that echoed through the chamber. “Do you truly think you will be remembered for this? Do you think history will sing songs of Ser Alfred Broome, the man who betrayed his queen? No. You will die forgotten, while my name will live on for centuries.”

His hand trembled slightly, and she could see the doubt creeping into his eyes. He had been waiting for this moment, waiting for the prince to arrive, to end her reign in one fell swoop. But the longer he stood there, the more he began to realize that killing her would not be the victory he imagined. It would be the beginning of something far worse.

“The moment you spill my blood, the realm will burn,” Rhaenyra continued, her voice steady despite the threat to her life. “My children will rise, and they will be more ruthless than I ever was. You have lit a fire, Ser Alfred, but it will not burn me. It will consume you.”

Ser Alfred’s face twisted in anger, but beneath it, she saw the uncertainty gnawing at him. He looked at her, then back at the door, as if willing the prince to arrive and take this burden from him. But there was no sound of footsteps, no sign of the prince he so desperately awaited.

“You thought this would be simple,” Rhaenyra said softly, almost pityingly. “You thought you could slip in, put a sword to my throat, and end my reign. But you forget—this is not the end. It is merely the beginning.”

“I am not afraid of you,” Ser Alfred snapped, though his voice wavered.

“Then why do you hesitate?” Rhaenyra’s eyes gleamed with defiance. “Do it, then. Strike me down. But know this—when my sons find out what you have done, they will not rest until you are dragged through the streets and burned alive for treason. Your family will be cursed, your name stricken from the annals of history. And when they ask how this war started, they’ll speak of you, but not as a hero. No, they will remember you as the coward who struck down a queen when her back was turned.”

His hand trembled more now, his grip faltering. “Your sons? You think they will have any power when this is over? Aemond will see to it that they meet the same fate as you.”

“Do you think Aemond cares for you? Rhaenyra’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “All he cares for is himself. You are a pawn to him, just as you were to Otto. Do you believe he will reward you for this? No. You will be discarded the moment you have outlived your usefulness.”

Ser Alfred flinched, and she saw the flash of doubt cross his face again.

“He’s on his way to Harrenhal,” Ser Alfred finally said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “While you—while you die here. Aemond knew you would send Daemon and Aegon to rescue Visenya. It has all gone exactly as we planned. I do not fear anything.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. “A trap. A simple trick to draw them away from Dragonstone,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. She could see it now, the pieces falling into place. Her hands clenched at her sides, but her face remained impassive.

Ser Alfred’s gaze darted nervously around the room. The tension was unbearable now, the air thick with the weight of impending violence.

Rhaenyra’s voice dropped to a low whisper, but the threat in her words was unmistakable. “You may think you have won, Ser Alfred. But you have no idea what’s coming. When my children find out what you have done, they will burn this world to the ground. And when that day comes, when the dragons descend upon you, remember this moment. Remember the queen you betrayed.”

Ser Alfred tightened his grip on the sword, his face pale with uncertainty. But Rhaenyra never broke eye contact, her gaze burning into him with a quiet fury as she tilted her head to gaze upon him. She would not die with fear in her heart. She would die a queen, with her head held high, knowing that even in death, her fire would not be extinguished.

The realm would pay for murdering her, murdering the chosen of the gods.

“Go ahead,” she whispered. “Strike me down, and let the realm feel the fury of the dragon’s blood. The gods are watching Ser Alfred, and may you burn for your betrayal.”

The chamber fell silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

__

The clash between Jace and Daeron raged above the churning waters, the roars of dragons blending with the crashing waves. Jace’s dragon, Vermax, twisted through the air, keeping Tessarion at bay, the two dragons clashing with teeth and claws. Blue and green flames streaked the sky as the beasts grappled, their riders locked in a desperate struggle for control. Below them, the ships rocked violently in the water, scorpions and ballistae turning upwards, adding to the chaos.

Jace could faintly hear Caraxes and Sunfyre fighting their own battles and that gave him a glimmer of hope.

Daeron’s face was a mask of determination, his eyes locked on the ship carrying Baela, Rhaena, and the young children. He urged Tessarion forward, his voice rising above the din. "I will burn that ship down, and your mother's dreams with it!" he shouted, his voice echoing over the sea.

But Jace would not let him. With a furious cry, he urged Vermax into a dive, colliding with Tessarion and forcing Daeron back. The two dragons spun through the air, their bodies slamming against each other, wings beating furiously as they fought for dominance. For a moment, they were locked together, claws raking against scales, fire streaming from their jaws. It seemed like neither would relent.

Suddenly, a shadow streaked beneath them—Baela, riding her own dragon, Moondancer. She flew with precision, slipping under the two warring dragons, then soared back up, releasing a burst of flame toward Tessarion. The flames struck true, catching Daeron off guard, forcing him to pull Tessarion back with a snarl.

"Now, Jace!" Baela shouted, her voice fierce as she maneuvered Moondancer around the edges of the battle. Jace seized the moment. Vermax surged forward, clawing at Tessarion’s wings, and with a final push, he drove Daeron and Tessarion away from the ship, forcing them toward the rocky cliffs lining the coast. The blue dragon struggled to regain control, Daeron clutching the reins desperately as he fought to steady his mount. Blood dripped from Tessarion’s wounds, staining the waves below.

But Jace pressed his advantage. Vermax slammed into Tessarion, sending Daeron crashing into the rocks, his dragon barely catching itself before tumbling into the sea. Daeron’s eyes flashed with anger as he met Jace’s gaze, but he knew he was beaten, at least for now. With a final roar of frustration, he pulled Tessarion back, retreating toward the horizon.

Jace watched as Daeron fled, his chest heaving with the adrenaline of battle. He turned back to the ship below, where Baela was circling protectively around her sister and the young children, guiding the vessel toward a small, secluded inlet along the coast.

Baela’s voice rang out as she flew near Jace, her eyes fierce but full of urgency. “Go, Jace! Rhaenyra needs you. We will be safe now—go!”

He hesitated, looking back toward the direction where Daeron had disappeared, then down at Baela, who met his gaze with unwavering determination. “I will keep them safe, I swear it,” she shouted. “But you must go!”

Jace’s jaw tightened, his heart torn between the duty to protect his family and the need to warn Rhaenyra of the danger that now loomed over Dragonstone. But Baela’s face, full of resolve, gave him the strength to make his choice.

With a final nod, he urged Vermax to turn, the dragon’s wings beating powerfully as they ascended into the sky. He looked back one last time, seeing Baela and Rhaena’s ship slipping into the shadows of the cliffs, hidden from view. Then he faced forward, determination blazing in his eyes. He would reach Dragonstone in time.

He had to.

As Jace streaked toward Dragonstone, the wind whipping around him, a dark sense of foreboding filled his chest. He could only hope that he was not too late, that his mother’s defiance had bought her enough time for him to change the tide.

Jace raced through the stormy skies, Vermax’s wings cutting through the air as Dragonstone loomed closer. His heart pounded with every beat of his dragon's wings, a cold dread spreading through him. As he neared the ancient castle, he glimpsed the flickering torches inside the council chamber through the large windows and froze at what he saw—his mother, Rhaenyra, on her knees, a sword at her throat held by Ser Alfred Broome, and her council members surrounded by treacherous Kingsguard.

His mind raced, and fury burned through him. Jace gritted his teeth, a desperate plan forming in his mind. He guided Vermax downward, urging the dragon to circle around the keep, lining up their approach. Vermax’s breaths grew harsher, his muscles coiling with the building tension of his rider. Jace locked his eyes on the council chamber window, feeling the heat of Vermax's breath warm his back as he prepared to strike. He whispered a prayer to the old gods and the new, hoping they would grant him the strength to save his mother. With a deep, guttural roar, he urged Vermax forward. The dragon surged ahead, wings folded, diving straight toward the wall of the council chamber.

With a thunderous crash, Vermax smashed through the stone walls, the ancient masonry crumbling under the force of the impact. Dust and debris exploded into the air as the wall shattered, sending a shockwave through the chamber. The Kingsguard scattered in all directions, their armored bodies crushed beneath the collapsing stone and rubble. Cries of pain and terror echoed through the chamber as they were buried under the weight of Dragonstone itself.

Jace leapt from Vermax’s back, rolling to his feet among the chaos. He scanned the scene quickly—his mother struggling to rise amid the rubble, her face streaked with blood and dust. His breath caught in his chest when he spotted Ser Alfred, who had managed to leap clear of the collapse. The traitor’s face twisted with fury as he seized Rhaenyra by the arm, pulling her to her feet with a savage yank. Blood trickled from a fresh cut on her neck where Ser Alfred's sword pressed into her flesh, the blade trembling with barely restrained violence.

“Thought you’d be a hero, did you, princeling?” Ser Alfred spat, his eyes gleaming with malice as he held the sword to Rhaenyra’s throat, the edge biting deeper into her skin. “Look at you now! You have done nothing but deliver her into my hands, and she’ll die with her son as a witness.”

Jace’s hands curled into fists, rage and despair colliding within him as he took in the sight of his mother, her strength nearly spent but her eyes burning with a fierce defiance. “You coward!” he roared, his voice shaking with anger. “You think you will live to see the end of this? You’ll be ash beneath our flames before long!”

Ser Alfred sneered, digging the blade deeper, drawing a line of crimson across Rhaenyra’s pale skin. “Go on, boy—make your threats. But you will watch her die before your dragon can save her this time.” He dragged Rhaenyra closer to the shattered edge of the chamber, where the cold sea wind whipped through the breach, carrying with it the smell of salt and smoke.

But even in her peril, Rhaenyra’s voice remained steady, defiant. “My death will not save you, Alfred. It will not save any of you. You will all burn in the end—my son will see to that.”

Jace moved to take a step forward, but Ser Alfred yanked Rhaenyra back sharply, the blade at her throat. “Stay back, or I will slit her throat here and now!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation, but Jace saw the flicker of fear in his eyes. The traitor’s confidence was crumbling, but the danger remained real, the sword ever so close to ending his mother’s life. Rhaenyra winced at the pressure on her neck but met her son’s gaze, her lips curling into a defiant smile. Blood dripped from the cut, staining her white gown, but she refused to falter. “Jace,” she rasped, her voice cutting through the wind. “Remember your promise.”

Jace’s heart clenched, but he held his ground, every nerve on edge as he locked eyes with Ser Alfred, who pressed his blade even closer, ready to make good on his threat. The room crackled with tension, the broken stone walls echoing with the sound of Vermax’s growls, the dragon’s eyes fixed on the scene before him.

The air inside the ruined council chamber was thick with dust and the acrid scent of scorched stone. The sea wind howled through the shattered walls, carrying the distant cries of the gulls as Vermax’s great wings beat in agitation outside, his eyes fixed on the dire scene before him. Inside, Rhaenyra stood rigid against the blade at her throat, her chest rising and falling with each pained breath as she met her son's desperate gaze.

Jace felt his legs tremble, his fingers twitching with the need to do something—anything—to save his mother. But Ser Alfred’s blade pressed deeper into her neck, the edge slicing into her skin, a trickle of blood rolling down her throat. Rhaenyra winced, but she refused to look away from Jace, even as her vision blurred with tears. Ser Alfred’s grip tightened, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he sensed the boy’s helplessness.

“Go on, princeling,” Ser Alfred taunted, his voice laced with a dark glee. “Try to save her. One more step, and I will spill her blood on this very floor.”

Jace’s mind reeled, the weight of his failure crashing down on him. He could not see a way out, no path that led to his mother’s safety. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms, and he swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat. He had promised his mother that he would protect her, that he would be the shield between her and all who sought to harm her—and here he was, powerless, failing her when it mattered most.

Tears burned in Rhaenyra’s eyes as she saw the agony in her son’s face. She knew what he was feeling—knew the anguish of being unable to save the ones you loved. Her voice softened, trembling as she forced herself to speak, though every word felt like it tore her apart. “Jace,” she whispered, her voice cracking with raw emotion, “there is only one way now. You must do something for me... something that I would not ask of you, if there were any other choice.”

Jace shook his head frantically, taking a half-step forward before stopping himself, his hands reaching out as if he could will the distance between them to disappear. “Mother, no. I—I cannot—” His voice broke, a sob clawing its way up his throat. “There has to be another way. Please, just hold on a little longer, I will—”

Jace could not even bear the thought. Even with all the armour, even with all the wisdom he had gained, his heart remained longing for his mother like any child would.

But Rhaenyra shook her head, her expression filled with a heartbreaking resolve. Her tears glistened in the dim light as she reached out a hand, her fingers trembling as they hovered over her son’s. She could feel her life slipping away, could feel the blade at her throat biting deeper with every heartbeat, and she knew she had to be strong now—for him. “There is no other way, my love,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You must give me a dragonrider’s death... a death worthy of our blood. Let me die with fire, Jace, with the honor of a queen... of a dragonrider.”

Jace’s face twisted with anguish, his whole body shaking with the weight of her words. He looked at her, his mother who had fought so fiercely, who had been his guiding star, and now she was asking him to be the one to end her life. His breath hitched, and he pressed a fist to his mouth, choking back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. “No, I—I will not do it. I can’t... I cannot do that to you, Mother, please do not ask this of me—”

Rhaenyra’s tears fell freely now, but she forced herself to smile through the pain, to offer her son what little comfort she could give in her final moments. “Jacaerys... my sweet boy,” she whispered, her voice breaking on his name. “This is the last thing I ask of you. If you love me... if you want me to be at peace... then grant me this mercy. I will not love you any less. You are my pride and joy Jacaerys. Do not let this traitor take my life. Let me die as a Targaryen, as a dragonrider. Please, Jace... please.”

Her words shattered something inside him, cutting deeper than any sword ever could. Jace’s vision blurred with tears, his heart breaking in his chest as he looked into her eyes—those same lilac eyes that had once held so much fire, so much life. He could see the desperation there, the acceptance of her fate, and he realised with a hollow, wrenching pain that she was right. If he did nothing, Ser Alfred would take her life, and she would die at the hands of a traitor.

A sound like a wounded animal tore from Jace’s throat as he staggered back, his hands clutching his head, trying to block out the reality of what he had to do. He looked up at his mother one last time, his vision swimming with tears, and he saw her nod—saw the silent plea in her eyes.

“Dracarys,” he choked out, the word barely more than a broken whisper. Rhaenyra grabbed her crown and tossed it aside, her eyes remaining on her son.

For a moment, nothing happened. The world seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with grief and loss. Then, with a roar that shook the very stones of Dragonstone, Vermax opened his maw, flames building in the back of his throat. The dragon’s eyes, like molten gold, fixed on his rider, sensing his agony, and for a heartbeat, the dragon hesitated, as if understanding the pain of what was to come.

But Jace’s command could not be taken back, and the fire surged forward, a torrent of blazing heat that swallowed the chamber whole. Rhaenyra closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek as the flames rushed toward her. She felt the heat sear her skin, felt the fire engulf her in its fierce embrace, but she did not scream. She did not flinch. She let the flames consume her, taking her back to the sky, to the place where she had always belonged.

Ser Alfred’s scream was swallowed by the roar of the flames, his face twisted with horror as he realized what was happening. He tried to shield himself, to pull Rhaenyra between himself and the fire, but the heat was merciless. The flames washed over him, charring flesh and bone, and he died clawing at the air, his body crumbling to ash.

Jace fell to his knees as the flames surged around him, his hands clutching the broken stones of the floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the heat of Vermax’s fire licked at his skin. He watched, helpless and broken, as the flames devoured his mother, her silhouette disappearing into the inferno, until there was nothing left but a pile of smoldering ash where she had once stood.

The fire faded, leaving only the charred remains of the council chamber, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh. Vermax’s growl rumbled through the ruined halls, low and mournful, as if the dragon, too, grieved for what had been lost.

Jace collapsed forward, his hands digging into the scorched ground, his body wracked with sobs that tore through him like jagged glass. He had done what his mother had asked, but it felt as though he had torn out his own heart in the process. He had given her a dragonrider’s death, but all he could feel was the hollow, aching emptiness that remained.

The wind howled through the shattered walls, carrying with it the echoes of Rhaenyra’s last words, the memory of her smile, and the weight of a loss that would never heal. And Jace, broken and alone, wept for the mother he had loved more than life itself.

__

As Daemon, Aegon, and Visenya approached the crumbling ruins of Dragonstone, their dragons’ shadows stretched over the sea, wings carving through the wind like blades. The cold air bit at Visenya's skin, and her heart pounded, her hands clutching tightly to Aegon’s chest as Sunfyre descended, the shimmering gold of his scales catching the fading sunlight. Caraxes roared beside them, Daemon leading the way, his face twisted with a storm of emotions as they neared the keep, smoke rising from its shattered walls.

Sunfyre touched down heavily on the scorched grounds, and Visenya slid from his back, her legs unsteady as they hit the charred earth. Aegon watched his wife’s movements, worry etching on his face as he scanned the ruined walls. The air was thick with ash and smoke, swirling around them like the remnants of a battle long lost. Her eyes darted across the ruined keep, and her breath caught when she spotted the scene inside—Jace on his knees, slumped against the rubble, his face buried in his hands, his whole body trembling with deep, wrenching sobs. His dragon, Vermax, lay beside him, keening softly, his head bowed as if sharing in the grief that weighed down his rider's heart.

Visenya’s steps faltered, her mind struggling to make sense of the devastation before her. She stumbled forward, her gaze locking on the charred remains that lay in the heart of the ruins, the twisted, blackened shapes of two bodies that had been reduced to ash. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, her hands clutching the scorched earth beneath her, the reality of it slamming into her chest like a physical blow.

It was her mother—Rhaenyra—reduced to nothing but ash and bone, taken by the fire that should have been her ally, her protector. And yet, as Visenya stared at the remnants of her mother’s final moments, she understood. Rhaenyra had died by dragonfire, the death of a Targaryen, consumed by the very flames that had defined their house for centuries. She’d left this world like a dragonrider, like the queen she was—defiant to her last breath, choosing fire over the blade of a traitor. A twisted, bittersweet pride mingled with her grief, a bitter comfort that her mother had kept her dignity, even in the end.

But the thought did little to ease the ache in her chest, the raw, burning loss that hollowed out her insides.

She turned her gaze to Jace, her brother, her heart breaking anew as she saw the ruin of him, his shoulders heaving with every shuddering breath. Vermax, his once fierce and proud companion, had curled his body around Jace, offering a kind of wordless comfort, his eyes dim with sorrow as he watched over his rider. It was as if dragon and rider grieved as one, both mourning the loss that had ripped their family apart.

Aegon took his place by her side, his own face pale, drawn tight with grief. He moved to her side, his hand reaching for hers, but Visenya barely registered the touch. Her eyes were fixed on the crown, lying abandoned in the ashes of the council chamber, its once-polished edges now dulled by soot and flame. Her mother’s crown—now her crown, though the thought twisted like a knife in her gut. She reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing against the tarnished metal, feeling its cold weight against her palm as she stood up and tried to brush off the ash.

Without a word, Corlys Velaryon stepped forward from the shadows of the ruin, his face lined with sorrow and age. His gaze lingered on the remains of his queen, then shifted to Visenya,his son’s and Rhaenyra’s eldest, her face streaked with tears and soot. He had never paid as much attention to Visenya like Rhaenys did but now he saw her in an even clearer light. As the sun’s rays broke through the ruins, it shined upon her as if she was being baptised with light. There was a strength that emanated within her that all the Targaryen rulers before her were said to have.

His expression softened, though his voice was rough with grief as he carefully took the crown from Visenya’s hands, cradling it in his weathered hands.

Slowly, reverently, Corlys placed the crown on her head. The cool metal touched her brow, settling heavily against her temples, the burden of her mother's legacy pressing down on her shoulders.

"Your mother’s fire is gone, Visenya," Corlys said, his voice thick with emotion. "But you carry her flame now. And the realm still needs its queen." Corlys kneeled and bowed his head, saying, “My queen.”

Visenya bowed her head, tears slipping down her cheeks as the crown settled into place, the realization of what she had become sinking into her bones. Around her, those who had survived the chaos knelt as well—Daemon, his fury tempered by sorrow, and Aegon, his hand still gripping hers. Even the remnants of her mother’s court lowered their heads in the ruins of what had once been their seat of power, their faces shadowed by grief but united in their acknowledgment of her as their queen.

All of them echoed the same two words.

“My queen.”

Visenya’s breath hitched as she looked down at her mother’s ashes, at the place where Rhaenyra Targaryen had met her end. She had wanted to be proud, to be brave, but all she could feel was the emptiness, the cold ache that throbbed in her chest where her heart had once been whole. The dragonfire that had claimed her mother’s life lingered in the air, the heat of it clinging to the ruins like a ghost.

She squeezed Aegon’s hand, drawing what little comfort she could from his touch. But as she looked up, across the kneeling figures before her, the silence pressed in like a shroud, the wind sweeping through the shattered walls of Dragonstone. Vermax’s low keening filled the void, mingling with Jace’s quiet sobs, a haunting, sorrowful melody that spoke of loss and the bitter cost of war.

And in that silence, with the crown heavy on her brow and the weight of her family’s legacy burning in her chest, Visenya mourned the fire that had been lost, even as she felt its embers glowing faintly within her. She looked at her mother’s remains once more and closed her eyes, the weight of her losses tearing her heart apart and building it anew.

She opened her eyes again, and saw that they were still all kneeling, their heads bowed to their queen. Visenya’s breath hitched as the gravity of the moment washed over her. Each bowed head felt like a reminder of the expectations that lay heavy on her shoulders. Her mother’s fierce spirit seemed to whisper through the air, urging her to rise, to reclaim the fire that had once burned so brightly within her.

A new resolve took its root within her heart.

They would pay.

They would all pay.

And if the realm would burn for her justice.

So be it.

Chapter Text

The days after Rhaenyra’s death had turned Dragonstone into a place of shadows and silence. Within the ruins of the council chamber, where the air still smelled faintly of ash and charred stone, Visenya stood amidst the wreckage. Her eyes were fixed on the blackened floor—on the place where her mother’s body had burned, reduced to nothing but a memory of fire. She could not tear her gaze away, as if expecting to see the outline of Rhaenyra’s form etched into the stone.She refused for anyone to touch this room, afraid that there was even a single ash left of her mother than lingered within the ruined walls.

Aegon lingered near the doorway, watching her with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. He could see the weight pressing down on her, the crown on her head casting a shadow that seemed far heavier than the golden metal itself. But every time he reached for her, trying to bridge the distance that had grown between them, it felt as though she were slipping further into some unreachable place.

“Visenya,” he called softly, his voice barely carrying through the emptiness of the chamber. He took a step closer, his boots crunching over the debris that littered the floor, but she did not turn to look at him. Her focus remained on that scorched patch of stone, as if she could still see her mother lying there, engulfed in flames. Aegon’s hands clenched at his sides, his voice cracking as he tried again, more urgently this time. “Visenya, please... you do not have to carry this alone. I am here. I—”

She barely seemed to hear him. His words faded into a dull murmur, overtaken by the relentless replay of that awful moment in her mind: the sight of her mother’s charred body, the anguish in Jace’s eyes as he broke down on the cold floor, and the unbearable heat that had filled the room as her mother was consumed. A bitter taste lingered on her tongue, as if the smoke had lodged itself there, and she raised a hand almost absently, brushing her fingers against the edge of the crown resting on her brow. The weight of it pressed down with a sharp, suffocating pressure, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into her chest like a shadow.

Was this truly what she wanted?

Visenya squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shove the doubt away, but the flicker of uncertainty only made the memory sharper—the charred remains, the scent of burned flesh that she could never quite forget. Her throat tightened, a tremor running through her as she forced herself to remain upright, to keep breathing through the crushing emptiness.

Aegon saw the movement, saw her touch the crown, and thought perhaps there was a chance. He stepped closer, reaching out as if to catch her hand, to offer some kind of comfort. “Visenya, talk to me—” She pulled her hand away from the crown as if burned, her face turning slightly towards him. But her expression was distant, her eyes hollow, as if she were looking straight through him. “There is nothing left to say, Aegon,” she said, her voice a brittle, emotionless murmur.

Aegon flinched at the coldness in her tone, the emptiness that had replaced the fire that once burned in her every word. He had seen her fierce, unyielding, full of life—now it was as if she were hollowed out, all the warmth leeched away by the flames that had claimed her mother. “Visenya, you are not alone—our family, our—”

“Our family?” she cut him off, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, though it held no real mirth. “Our family is ashes, Aegon. Just like her.” Her eyes drifted back to the charred stone, where she saw her mother’s body  in her mind’s eye, the sounds of her brother’s sobs reverberating through her ear.

Aegon’s breath caught, the desperate hope that had been clinging to his words fading as he saw how lost she had become. He took a step back, his hand falling to his side, his own frustration and helplessness twisting through him. He wanted to shake her, to make her see that there was still a future beyond this, that she could find her way back to who she had been. But every time he tried to reach for her, she slipped further away, buried beneath the weight of grief and vengeance.

Visenya’s gaze remained fixed on that same spot, as though she were trying to burn it into her mind, to brand herself with the memory of what had been taken from her. The chamber was cold, the wind howling through the shattered windows, but it was nothing compared to the ice that seemed to have settled in her chest. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, but she forced them into stillness, her expression hardening into something unbreakable. She could not afford to be weak—not now, not ever. She had a war to fight, a throne to hold, and there was no room for softness or hesitation. Whatever doubts she had, whatever pain she carried, she would bury them beneath the crown she now wore.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered that perhaps she had burned away with her mother too, leaving only a hollow shell behind. Aegon lingered for a moment longer, watching her with a growing sense of dread. He could see the change in her, the way she had withdrawn behind a wall of steel, unreachable and untouchable. And as he looked at the woman standing before him now, he realized with a heavy heart that he might never truly reach her again.

The wind howled through the shattered windows of the ruined council chamber, carrying with it the chill of Dragonstone’s cliffs. Visenya’s gaze remained fixed on the floor, her mind trapped in the looping memory of her mother’s last moments. Aegon, watching her from a few steps away, struggled with the silence between them, unable to break through the distance that had grown like a chasm.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the chamber, small and unsteady. Aegon turned, and his breath caught at the sight of two little figures, having slipped from the watchful eyes of their maids. Alyssa, with her wild curls and determined frown, ran towards them, while Baelon trailed behind, holding onto a stuffed dragon that had lost much of its color and stuffing over the years.

“Mama!” Alyssa called, her voice bright and clear in the somber space, her arms outstretched as she hurried towards Visenya. Baelon clung to his sister’s side, his wide eyes darting nervously around the broken room. He followed her lead, lifting his arms in a hopeful plea, as if expecting to be swept up into his mother’s embrace. But Visenya did not move. She barely seemed to notice the presence of her children, her eyes still locked on the floor where her mother’s ashes had scattered. When Alyssa reached her, wrapping her small arms around her mother’s legs, the contact barely registered. Baelon tugged gently at the edge of her dress, looking up with wide, imploring eyes.

“Mother,” he murmured, his voice soft and uncertain. “Are you... are you hurt?” Aegon’s heart twisted at the sight, and he stepped forward instinctively, wanting to pull the children away from the coldness he saw in Visenya’s eyes. But they clung to her, looking up with desperate hope, as if they could sense that something was terribly wrong and wanted to fix it with their touch.

Visenya finally tore her gaze from the floor, blinking as if emerging from a long dream. She looked down at the little faces staring up at her, but her expression did not soften. There was no warmth in her gaze, no hint of the fierce love that had once filled her when she held them close. Instead, she saw the echoes of their bloodline, the duty that she had to protect them, but the tenderness that might have been there had burned away with Rhaenyra’s flames.

Alyssa shifted, her frown deepening as she stared up at her mother’s unreadable face. She tightened her hold, trying to nestle against her mother’s side. “Mama, will you read to us tonight?” she asked, a faint tremor of uncertainty creeping into her usually confident voice. Visenya’s hand moved almost mechanically, brushing over her daughter’s curls, but the touch was as cold as winter air. She said nothing, her mind still distant, trapped in the lingering fog of grief. Baelon tugged again, a little harder this time, his small face crumpling as he searched for any sign of comfort in his mother’s eyes.

“Please, Mama.. we miss you,” Baelon whispered, his voice quavering as if the cold silence was starting to seep into him too. Aegon watched the exchange, his jaw tightening as he saw the hurt flicker across their children's faces. He could no longer bear it—he reached out, gently prying their little hands away from Visenya’s unyielding form. He scooped Baelon into his arms and knelt beside Alyssa, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s forehead.

“Come now,” he murmured softly, trying to keep his voice steady for their sake. “Your mother is... she is very tired. Let her rest a while.”

Alyssa’s lip quivered, as Baelon’s arms tightening around Aegon’s neck as he buried his face into his shoulder, the disappointment in his small frame unmistakable. Alyssa, too, clung to her father's side, casting a last, searching look at Visenya before letting herself be led away.

As they turned to leave, Baelon whispered something into Aegon’s ear, too soft for Visenya to hear. “Will Mama come back?” Aegon’s breath hitched, but he could not find the words to answer his daughter. Instead, he glanced back over his shoulder, looking at the woman who now bore the weight of the crown but seemed to have lost something far more precious in the process. He could see the shadow of the person she had once been, buried beneath a layer of ice that seemed unbreakable.

Visenya did not watch them go. Her gaze returned to the floor, the weight of the crown pressing down harder with each passing moment. The memory of her mother's final words echoed in her ears, mingling with the faint sound of her children’s footsteps fading into the distance.

She touched the crown on her head once more, but the flicker of doubt she had felt earlier did not stir again. It was buried too deep beneath the grief that hollowed her out, the resolve that filled the emptiness in its place. And as the chamber grew silent again, she sank deeper into the shadows that clung to the broken stone, her heart as cold and unyielding as the ruined walls around her. Her legs finally gave out as she sat on the cold stone, staring at the ashen floor with growing intensity.

Suddenly, a small set of footsteps echoed in the chamber, light but determined. Aegon turned, his grip tightening on Baelon as he saw Alyssa dart back into the room. She moved with a child’s stubborn determination, unafraid and unyielding. He opened his mouth to scold her, but he hesitated when he saw the look in her eyes, so earnest and filled with concern.

Alyssa ignored her father’s presence as she approached her mother, her little feet scuffing against the broken stones. She slowed as she neared Visenya, crouching down until she was eye-level with her. Her young face was set with a frown, the kind a child makes when they are trying to understand something far beyond their years. Visenya blinked, as if Alyssa’s presence had drawn her out of a deep fog. She looked at her daughter, her vision swimming with the memory of flames, the sight of Rhaenyra’s blackened remains. But Alyssa’s bright, earnest face slowly came into focus, pulling her away from the shadows. The little girl reached out, placing her small hands against her mother’s cheeks, cupping her face with surprising gentleness.

“You are sad, Mama,” Alyssa whispered, her voice trembling but steady. Her little hands pressed firmly against Visenya’s skin, as if she could somehow hold her mother together through sheer force of will. “But I am here.” Visenya’s breath caught in her throat, a sharp hitch that broke the silence of the room. Her hands hovered for a moment, as if she was unsure whether to reach out or to pull away. But then, slowly, as if against her own will, she wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled Alyssa against her chest. It was a clumsy embrace, one that trembled with a thousand unspoken emotions, but it was real. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she allowed herself to hold on to something that wasn’t made of fire and ashes.

Alyssa nestled against her, her small body warm against Visenya’s chest, her tiny arms wrapping around her mother’s neck. Her touch was soft and unyielding, the kind of comfort that only a child could give. She pressed her face into Visenya’s shoulder, her breath warm and steady against her mother’s skin. Aegon stood back, watching with a mix of hope and sorrow as he held Baelon tightly. He could see the slight shift in Visenya’s expression, the way her lips quivered and the hardness in her eyes seemed to waver, just for a moment. Alyssa’s small body shielded her mother’s vision from the scorched stones where Rhaenyra had fallen, and it was enough—enough to bring a sliver of warmth back into the frozen chamber.

Visenya’s grip on Alyssa tightened, her fingers digging into her daughter’s tunic as if afraid that the moment might slip away. Her breath came out in a shaky exhale, and for the first time since her mother’s death, a single tear slipped down her cheek, warm and bitter against her cold skin. She pressed her face into Alyssa’s hair, letting the warmth and innocence of her daughter seep into the cracks of her broken heart. “Mama don’t be sad,” Alyssa repeated, her voice soft but unwavering, like a promise that she didn’t fully understand. “I am here”

Visenya’s heart tightened. She was in awe of how Alyssa reflected upon her the affection she always gave. When her daughter would be afraid from nightmares, Visenya would hold her close and soothe her worries. Now, her daughter was saving her from her own.

Visenya held her daughter closer, her body trembling with the force of emotions she had tried to bury. She closed her eyes, the image of Rhaenyra’s burned body fading behind the touch of Alyssa’s small, comforting hands. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to feel, to let the weight of her grief mingle with the warmth of her child.

Aegon’s throat tightened as he watched his wife’s shoulders shake, the silent tears that she could no longer hold back slipping down her face. He could see that something in her had cracked open, and though the pain still lingered in her eyes, there was a new, fragile light there, a sign that she had not yet been completely swallowed by the darkness.

He remained silent, holding Baelon close as he watched his wife and daughter in their quiet embrace. He didn’t move, didn’t dare disturb the moment that was unfolding before him. Instead, he waited, letting Alyssa’s innocent touch do what no words could. Visenya’s tears fell onto Alyssa’s small shoulder, warm and unbidden, each one a mark of a grief that could not be fully expressed. She held onto her daughter, clinging to that flicker of warmth like a lifeline in a sea of shadows. And though the pain was still there, deep and unyielding, for the first time she felt something else—something that might one day grow into hope.

Aegon stood quietly for a moment longer, holding Baelon in his arms as he watched Visenya clutch Alyssa. His own heart ached at the sight—his wife, broken but not defeated, and his daughter, offering what little comfort she could with the pure, unfiltered love of a child. Baelon, oblivious to the gravity of the moment, reached out with his tiny hands, his eyes wide as he looked toward his mother and sister. Slowly, Aegon took a step forward, kneeling beside Visenya and Alyssa on the cold stone floor of the shattered council chamber. He held Baelon closer to his chest as he leaned in, the space between them shrinking until he was right there beside his wife.

Aegon lowered himself carefully beside Visenya, mindful of the weight of the crown upon her head—the crown that had once belonged to her mother. He positioned himself where he could see her face, her eyes still distant and filled with a pain that he wished he could ease. Baelon clung to him, squirming slightly, while Alyssa remained nestled in her mother's arms. Visenya glanced at Aegon, her expression a mixture of grief and exhaustion, as if she was carrying the weight of the realm on her shoulders. Aegon reached out with a gentleness that contrasted the turmoil that raged within him. He brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his thumb tracing a line down her temple.

Then, with a tenderness that brought a fleeting softness to her gaze, he leaned in and kissed her forehead, right below the edge of the crown. His lips lingered there, a silent promise of his unwavering support, his quiet vow to be her strength. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he exhaled slowly. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, a fragile connection amidst the sorrow that surrounded them. Visenya’s hand tightened around Alyssa, but she leaned into Aegon’s touch, feeling the warmth of his presence.

Baelon’s small hands reached up to rest against his mother’s arm, his face scrunching up with a child’s curiosity. Alyssa remained nestled against Visenya’s chest, her head resting over her mother’s heart, unaware of the heaviness that filled the air around them. For a moment, time seemed to still in the shattered council chamber. The family clung to one another in a shared embrace, a moment of unity in a world that had grown colder and darker. Aegon’s forehead stayed pressed to Visenya’s, a silent exchange passing between them—of pain, of love, of a promise that they would carry on despite everything.

Visenya closed her eyes as she felt a tear escape, sliding down her cheek to where their faces touched. Aegon felt its warmth against his skin and pressed closer, his fingers curling gently around the nape of her neck. She let out a shaky breath, the memory of her mother’s death still haunting her, but here, with Aegon and their children, she found a fleeting sense of solace. They stayed that way, heads bowed together, their children cradled between them as they held onto one another amidst the broken remnants of their world. It was not enough to banish the darkness, but it was enough to keep them holding on—to each other, to the faint hope that the ashes of the past might yet give rise to a new beginning.

Aegon pulled back slightly, still keeping Visenya close as he studied her face. Her features were weary, the weight of her newfound crown seeming to press down heavily upon her. He reached up, brushing away the tear that lingered on her cheek with the pad of his thumb. The sorrow in her eyes cut through him, and he took a breath, steeling himself for what he needed to say.

“You know,” he began softly, his voice a gentle murmur in the quiet chamber, “you are the strongest woman I have ever known, Visenya. I see no one more deserving of that crown than you. You are intelligent, you are kind, and you fight for a worthy cause. I want you to wear that crown with pride.” Visenya looked at him, her expression wavering between disbelief and the exhaustion that had seeped into her bones. She could barely comprehend his words, so wrapped up in the turmoil that churned inside her—images of her mother’s charred remains flashing through her mind, mingling with the weight of responsibility she never thought would fall upon her shoulders so soon. But Aegon’s hand, warm against her cheek, was a lifeline pulling her back.

Aegon’s gaze remained unwavering, his brow still resting against hers. He reached up with his free hand, cupping the side of her face, letting his thumb trace a line down to her jaw. He spoke with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “I have seen your strength, Visenya. You have survived so much... even when the realm would have broken anyone else. And I know... I know you did not ask for this. You fought for your mother to be on the throne but you cannot waver now. Not after all that we have lost. I need you back, I need you to claim what is now…rightfully yours. The realm will be stronger with you as its queen. You cannot let Aemond rule.”

Visenya's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, the hard mask she had worn since her mother’s death faltered. She glanced down at Alyssa nestled against her chest, and Baelon’s curious, wide-eyed stare, then back to Aegon. His belief in her, despite everything, was like a warmth that fought against the bitter coldness in her heart.

“I do not feel strong,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, cracking with the weight of her pain. Her fingers absently brushed over the edge of her mother’s crown, the cold metal a reminder of what she had lost. “I feel... empty. Like I should have died with her.”

Aegon’s grip on her tightened, his expression hardening as if he could will her pain away. “But you did not,” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “You are here, Visenya. And I believe in you. I believe in what you can be... even if you do not yet.”

She closed her eyes, letting his words sink in, clinging to them even as the doubt still gnawed at her. When she opened her eyes again, there was a flicker of determination amidst the sadness. Aegon watched her closely, his heart aching for the woman he loved—the woman who, despite her own doubts, he knew could rise above them.

“You are not alone in this,” he promised, his forehead brushing hers once more. “We are going to face this together. For our children, for the realm... for you.” Visenya swallowed hard, her gaze softening as she held onto that promise, even if she could not quite believe it yet. She shifted closer, leaning into the warmth of his embrace. For a moment, the broken council chamber around them faded into the background, leaving only their shared breaths, their children’s presence, and the unspoken vow that bound them.

She clutched his hand, clinging to the quiet strength he offered, and though her doubts still lingered, Aegon’s words and the warmth of their embrace carved a small space within her heart where hope might yet take root.

__

Alicent sat alone in her chambers, the air heavy with tension and the scent of incense that couldn’t mask the chill seeping into her bones. She had barely slept; every time her eyes closed, she saw Helaena’s lifeless face, felt the ghost of her daughter’s hand slipping from her grip. She clung to the small comforts she had left, the well-worn prayers, the rosary of regrets that whispered through her mind—each decision she had made, each compromise she had accepted in the name of family.

A knock came at her door, and before she could rise, Otto strode in, his expression hard and unyielding, the way it always was. But there was a glimmer in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place, something that set her nerves on edge. He stood there, silent for a moment, as if savoring the weight of his own words before he finally spoke.

“It is done,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Rhaenyra is dead. Her cause is finished. Burned by dragonfire I believe.”

Alicent froze, the world around her narrowing to those words. She stared at Otto, unable to breathe, unable to fully comprehend what he had just said. Rhaenyra. The name struck a chord deep within her, a place she had tried so hard to bury. Images flashed through her mind—two young girls sharing secrets, laughter echoing through the halls, and the trust that had once been between them before it had all twisted into bitterness and betrayal. Her lips trembled, her carefully composed mask slipping for the first time in years. “Dead?” she whispered, the word barely a breath. “She is... truly gone?”

Otto’s expression did not soften; it never did. He looked at his daughter with the same calculating gaze he had given her since she was a girl, as if weighing her usefulness, measuring her against the ambitions he had nurtured for so long. “She fell at Dragonstone, burned by her own son’s dragonfire. The usurper’s line is broken. We have won.”

Alicent’s knees buckled, and she caught herself against the edge of a chair. She clutched the armrest, her knuckles turning white, her breaths coming out in sharp, panicked gasps. The room spun around her, and the enormity of it all crashed down on her, sweeping her back through the years, through every bitter choice, every whispered order, every step that had led her to this moment. The mask she had worn for so long—of a dutiful wife, a loving mother, a loyal queen—finally shattered, revealing the cracks beneath.

“I never wanted this,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “Not like this. I did what I did for my children... to keep them safe... I thought...” Her voice faltered as tears spilled down her cheeks, as the weight of all her choices—every betrayal, every lie—pressed down upon her. “Gods, what have I done?”

Otto’s eyes narrowed, his expression turning cold as he stepped closer, his shadow looming over her. His voice was as sharp as a blade, slicing through the air. “You cannot afford regret now, Alicent. Regret is a luxury for those who have not already stained their hands with blood.” He leaned down, his gaze boring into hers, his voice lowering to a whisper, every word a calculated barb. “You speak of protecting your children, but that was never the true reason, was it? You wanted power, just as much as I did. You feared being powerless, being cast aside like so many others. And you clung to that fear, let it guide your every choice, every betrayal.”

Alicent flinched, his words striking at the very heart of her anguish, and she looked away, trying to hide the raw pain on her face. But Otto did not relent. He grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him, his grip unyielding. “Look at what you have wrought, daughter. Look at the world we have shaped together. You would not be where you are now without your ambition, without your willingness to do whatever it took to secure our place.”

A sob caught in Alicent’s throat, her tears flowing freely now, unbidden and unrestrained. She tried to pull away from his grip, but he held her firm, his gaze relentless, as if he could force her to see the truth he had crafted for so long. “You have always known what needed to be done, Alicent. You made those choices yourself. This is not the time for weakness. It is the time to stand firm, to see our family through the storm.” She shook her head, a desperate, frantic motion, her voice breaking as she cried out. “She was my friend! She trusted me once... and I—” Her voice cracked, her words dissolving into a sob that tore through her chest, raw and unrestrained. “I betrayed her. I destroyed everything we had.”

Otto released her, stepping back with a sneer, as if her grief were an inconvenience, a weakness he could not abide. “She would have seen us all destroyed, Alicent. Do not romanticize her, not now. You did what was necessary. Do not falter when we are so close to seeing the fruits of our labour.”

He turned his back to her, his tone turning dismissive as he straightened his cloak. “Dry your tears, daughter. A queen does not have the luxury of remorse. Remember that.” With that, he strode out of the room, leaving Alicent crumpled where she stood, her body wracked with silent sobs. She clutched her hands to her chest, as if trying to hold the pieces of herself together, but the pain in her heart was too deep, too consuming. Her gaze fell to the cold stone floor, her tears pooling there, and for the first time, she let herself mourn—not only for the woman she had lost, but for the girl she had once been, and the choices that had brought her to this desolate place.

As the door slammed shut behind Otto, the sound echoed through the room, leaving Alicent alone in the heavy silence. For a moment, she stood still, her shoulders trembling with the force of her sobs, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her chest tightened around the grief that threatened to consume her whole. She stared down at the cold, unyielding stone floor, her mind a whirl of memories she had tried so hard to bury, now clawing their way to the surface.

Images flashed in her mind—Rhaenyra, laughing under the warm sun as they ran through the gardens of the Red Keep, their hands clasped, their voices bright and carefree. The way they had whispered secrets to each other, dreams of a future where they would fly far away and eat cake. And then, the vision shifted, twisting into the look of betrayal in Rhaenyra’s eyes the last time they had faced one another. A look that had burned itself into Alicent’s memory, haunting her dreams.

A scream tore from her throat—anguished, raw, uncontainable. Her hands flew out, sweeping across the table, knocking over the goblets and ink pots that shattered against the floor. She didn’t care about the mess, about the delicate porcelain that broke underfoot as she moved with a wild, frantic energy, her hands gripping the edges of chairs and hurling them aside.

“Why?!” she cried out to the empty room, her voice cracking with the force of her grief. “Why did it have to come to this?” She stumbled towards the hearth, the flames casting erratic shadows on the walls, and gripped the edges of the mantle until her knuckles turned white. Her tears blurred her vision as she gazed into the fire, its warmth mocking the cold ache in her chest. Memories burned there too—of quiet evenings spent with Rhaenyra in front of a different fire, when they were just two young girls dreaming of a world that had no place for the bitterness that now defined their lives.

She spun around, grasping a vase from the nearby table and hurling it against the stone wall, watching as it shattered into a thousand pieces, the sound ringing through the air like the breaking of her own heart. She moved to the tapestries, ripping them down with a strength she didn’t know she had, her nails tearing at the fabric until it came apart in her hands. Her voice dropped to a broken whisper, echoing through the empty chamber. “We were supposed to be .. you promised me... you promised...”

Her hands trembled as she clutched the shredded tapestry to her chest, her tears soaking into the fabric, her body shaking with sobs. “You promised we would never turn on each other... I should have held onto that... should have fought for it... instead of letting it all slip away.”

Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor, surrounded by the wreckage she had created, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. The memories kept coming, battering her with their relentless intensity—Rhaenyra’s bright smile, the warmth of her arm around Alicent’s shoulders, the way they had once trusted each other without question. It was a lifetime ago, a world that seemed so far beyond her reach now, broken beyond repair.

She pressed her hands to her face, digging her nails into her skin as if she could somehow claw away the pain. “I should have done something... I should have stopped it... Gods, what have I done?” The words came out choked, barely a whisper, but they held the full weight of her torment, her regret, her anguish. For the first time in years, she let herself feel it all—the loss, the longing, the shattered dreams that lay at her feet. The pain coursed through her like a storm, fierce and unrelenting, leaving her raw and exposed. She pounded her fists against the stone floor, feeling the sting of each impact, but it did nothing to ease the ache in her heart, the gaping wound that had been left behind.

At this very moment, as she stared at the fires of her chambers, Alicent had realised that Rhaenyra was the only one she had truly loved. And yet, Rhaenyra was the one she has truly hurt the most.

She had lost Rhaenyra long before her death, but only now, in the silence of this broken chamber, did she truly understand the depths of that loss. And as she knelt there, surrounded by the remnants of their childhood friendship, Alicent knew that she would never escape the shadow of what she had done, the choices that had led them both down a path of ruin.

__

The storm clouds over Dragonstone mirrored the turmoil within the ancient castle. Daemon paced the war room like a restless dragon, each step measured yet erratic, as though he might combust at any moment. The room felt colder than it had ever been, the chill seeping into his bones, but he welcomed it, let it numb the pain that clawed at his insides. He kept his hands clenched behind his back, fingers digging into the fabric of his tunic, each knuckle turning a ghostly white.

Maps and strategies littered the table, scattered and abandoned. Plans meant nothing now—no markers or movements could change the emptiness that Rhaenyra had left behind. They had prepared for every kind of battle, every twist and betrayal, but they had not prepared for this. Daemon had not prepared to lose her—not like this. The sound of the door creaking open pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned sharply, eyes blazing with a fire that barely masked the despair beneath. Baela stood in the doorway, rain dripping from her cloak and hair, her face lined with worry. She hesitated, eyes flicking between her father and the war table, before she stepped inside, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

"Father," she began, her voice trembling with a mix of determination and dread. “The lords are growing restless. They need direction. The council must be convened, and Visenya... she will not listen to anyone. She barely speaks. She—”

Daemon’s expression twisted, his jaw clenching tight as he cut his daughter off with a harsh breath.  The image of her charred remains burned in his mind, and with it, the cruel reality that not only had she died, but so had their unborn babe—their child, snatched away before they could ever lay eyes on them. He could still remember how she guided husband on her belly, a look full of hope and promise. Now that was all gone, she had asked him to come back to her and she was the one to leave him first.

“She is gone,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper, raw and jagged like a wound. “They are both gone. Rhaenyra... and the babe.” The words trembled out of him, as if speaking them aloud would make them true all over again. His vision blurred, and he gritted his teeth, trying to steady the storm inside him. Baela flinched at his tone, her own grief flickering in her eyes. She had lost another mother and a sibling she would never know, and she could see the unbearable weight of it all pressing down on Daemon’s shoulders, crushing him. She never had the chance to admit it, but Rhaenyra had become her and Rhaena’s mother as well. She would always listen to their worries and even offer kind words. Now even that was taken away from them.

But she steeled herself, knowing she could not let him fall apart now. Not when they all needed him. She took a step closer, reaching out as if to touch him, but then hesitated, her hands curling back against her sides. “I know, Father,” she whispered, her voice softer, more pleading. “But we need you. She would have needed you—to be strong, for us, for Visenya. You cannot let this break you.” Daemon’s hands tightened into fists, the veins in his arms straining as he fought to keep the tears at bay. “She wanted peace,” he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness, with the memory of their last nights together, lying side by side, speaking of a future they’d never have.

“She wanted a world where our children could be safe, where we could rule together. Now... she will never see it. She will never hold our child. It’s all gone, Baela. Everything we fought for... everything we were. I just had her Baela, I just got her back. I was supposed to die first, not her, never her.”

He slammed his fist against the edge of the table, the sound reverberating through the empty chamber like a thunderclap. The maps and tokens trembled, some falling to the floor, as if the very ground itself shuddered under his grief. Baela winced, but she did not step back. She had never seen her father so undone—never seen him stripped of his armour of pride and rage. It terrified her, this rawness, but she refused to leave him alone in it.

“You still have us,” she said fiercely, her voice gaining strength. “We need you. We cannot do this without you, Father.” Daemon looked at her, his face a mask of torment, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might crumble entirely, as though he might break down and fall to his knees under the weight of his grief. But then his face hardened again, the mask sliding back into place. He could not afford to be weak, couldn’t afford to let his anguish consume him. He was Daemon Targaryen—prince, warrior, dragonlord—and he had survived too much to let this destroy him.

Slowly, he straightened, the last of his tears burning away as he forced himself back into cold resolve. He met Baela’s gaze with a grim determination, his voice low and unsteady. “We will burn them all for this,” he swore, his words carrying a promise of fire and vengeance. “We will make them pay for what they’ve taken from us.” Baela’s expression tightened, but she nodded, accepting the darkness in his words, the hatred that would now drive him. It was not what she wanted to hear—she wanted her father back, the man who had found some semblance of peace with Rhaenyra, who had laughed with her again. But that man was gone, lost with Rhaenyra and the babe they had never met.

As Daemon turned away from her, the shadows in the war room seemed to deepen, closing in around him. He stared at the broken floor, at the remnants of the life they had once envisioned, and he felt the emptiness settle deeper into his bones. He had won Rhaenyra’s heart back not so long ago—had thought he would have the chance to make things right, to build a new future together. But now that future was gone, burned away like ash on the wind, and all that remained was the cold, hollow ache of a man who had lost everything that had ever mattered to him.

__

Visenya made her way to the Dragonpit, a sense of hollowness echoing through her heart with each step. The wind howled through the ruins of King’s Landing, carrying with it the salt of the sea and the ash that still lingered from the battles. She barely registered the chill; her thoughts were consumed by a single desire—to see Syrax, her mother’s dragon, one last time. She longed to cling to any remaining memory of Rhaenyra, to hold onto a piece of her mother’s legacy. After Vaehaemion’s death, she hadn’t dared think of bonding with another dragon. She was hoping to find anything more that would remind her of her mother, she did not want her memory to slip away.

As she neared the iron doors of the Dragonpit, they groaned open under the hands of the dragonkeepers, each of them casting wary glances toward her, uncertain of her purpose. Visenya did not acknowledge them, her focus set entirely on the depths ahead, where Syrax would be mourning for her fallen rider. But before she could even take a step inside, a low rumble rolled through the ground beneath her feet, vibrating up her legs and settling in her bones. Visenya stopped, her breath catching in her throat as the shadows within the Dragonpit began to shift and move. The dragonkeepers stiffened, their eyes widening in disbelief.

From the shadows emerged a hulking shape, the dull bronze scales catching the flickering torchlight, revealing a massive form that moved with the heavy grace of age. Vermithor. The Bronze Fury. He was larger than she had imagined, his wings spread wide like ancient battle flags, their edges tattered by time. His molten gold eyes gleamed with a cunning light, tracking her movements with an intensity that made her feel like prey caught in the sights of a predator. The dragonkeepers exchanged stunned glances, muttering under their breath. Vermithor had been known to be stubborn, resistant to new riders, and he had not made an appearance in months. He had rejected many who had tried to claim him, preferring solitude in the depths of the Dragonpit. Yet now, unbidden, he walked toward Visenya, his claws scraping against the stone, each step heavy with purpose. It was as if he sensed something in her—a call she hadn’t even realized she was making.

Visenya froze, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as she took in the sheer size of him. His neck arched like a great bronze serpent, scars running across his scaled hide from battles fought long before she was born. Vermithor let out a thundering roar, but remained a distance from Visenya who now stood at the edge of the dragon pit.

“Naejot Māzīs Vermitos,” Visenya called on the great dragon.

“Come forth Vermithor”

Vermithor slowly crept forward but he taunted Visenya once again, as if gauging her as he snapped his jaw at her. Visenya remained unmoving, her heart and mind hardened by the war.

“Vermitos Lykiri,” Visenya calmly commanded but the old dragon was as stubborn as ever, roaring into Visenya’s face, causing her hair to fly back and yet the crown remained still on her head.

“Vermithor, calm down!”

“Lykiri! DOHAERAS!”, Visenya shouted sternly, commanding the dragon to listen to her, challenging his roar with a resounding authority.

“Calm down! Serve me!”

Vermithor’s eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint, a challenge hidden within the molten depths. He stopped just a few paces away, his head tilting as if assessing her, as if deciding whether she was worthy of his presence. A shiver ran down her spine. She had come here to find Syrax, to bask in the warmth of her mother’s memory, but instead, she faced a creature older than her mother’s reign, older than the grief that had twisted itself into her heart. Vermithor let out a low growl, a rumble that seemed to shake the very air around them, and lowered his head slightly, the tip of his snout nearly brushing the ground.

For a heartbeat, Visenya could only stare at him, feeling the weight of his ancient gaze pressing into her. Then, slowly, she took a tentative step forward, feeling the heat radiating from his body, the scent of smoke and earth that clung to his scales. Her heart pounded in her chest, but as she held his gaze, she saw something else within those molten eyes—something that stirred a flicker of recognition within her. It was as if he was offering her a challenge, daring her to reach for a power she had not yet accepted.

She took a deep breath, feeling the cold air burn her lungs, and took another step forward. And another. With each step, she felt something shift inside her—a spark that began to smolder, burning through the numbness that had gripped her heart since her mother’s death. Vermithor watched her approach, a low, rumbling sound vibrating through his chest, the heat of it brushing against her skin. The challenge in his eyes sharpened, as if daring her to match his strength with her own.

Visenya’s lips twitched, a shadow of a smile forming at the edges. She reached out a steady hand, her fingertips brushing against the rough, ancient scales on Vermithor’s snout. Heat seared through her touch, a rush of energy she hadn’t felt in weeks. Vermithor rumbled again, a sound that felt like a storm contained within his chest, but he did not pull away.

For the first time in days, something other than grief and rage filled her. She had not come here to find this, had not expected this connection, but as her fingers pressed into the warmth of his scales, she realised she might have found something else—a force that could reshape her pain into something stronger. And as the dragon’s golden eyes glinted with a wild, knowing light, she could not help but feel the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile, the flicker of a fire rekindling within her.

Visenya could see the challenge in Vermithor's eyes—an ancient, searing dare that burned within the molten gold depths, urging her to prove herself. The great Bronze Fury shifted his massive weight, his wings stirring up gusts of hot wind that swirled dust and ash around them, making the air thick with heat. She knew then that he was not simply offering himself; he demanded that she earn his respect. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she approached him. Vermithor’s head jerked back, and with a sudden, thunderous roar, he unleashed a wave of fire that licked dangerously close to where she stood. The dragon’s fire heated the air until it stung against her skin, and she could feel the heat singeing the ends of her hair.

She flinched but held her ground, refusing to let fear take root. If he was testing her resolve, she would not falter. Vermithor’s eyes narrowed as if measuring her reaction. Then, without warning, he snapped his tail, sending a cloud of dust billowing up around her, obscuring her vision. Visenya shielded her face with her arm, the grit biting into her skin, but she pressed on. She moved quickly to his side, trying to find a grip on the jagged scales of his forelimb. As her fingers sought purchase, Vermithor shifted again, his body rippling beneath her touch, and she nearly lost her balance.

The dragon let out a rumbling growl, low and mocking, as if to say she would have to do better than that. He twisted, his scales grinding against the stone floor of the Dragonpit, forcing her to stumble back. But Visenya grit her teeth and surged forward again, her fingers slipping across the heat-slick scales until she finally managed to find a hold. She began to climb, each movement testing her strength and determination. Her limbs burned with effort, muscles straining as she pulled herself higher. Still, the crown did not slip from her head as if it had found its home.

Vermithor’s head turned, and he blew out a stream of fire that arced above her, lighting up the dimness of the Dragonpit with a blinding flash. She ducked her head, feeling the heat singe the air just above her, her grip tightening. But the flames did not dissuade her. She gritted her teeth, her mind locked onto one goal—to reach his back, to show him she could endure whatever he threw at her.

Vermithor twisted sharply, his body rippling beneath her hands, trying to dislodge her from her precarious hold. Her fingers scraped across his scales, and for a moment, she dangled in mid-air, her feet scrabbling for a foothold. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she could feel the dragon’s rumbling challenge reverberating through her bones. But she dug deep, drawing strength from the memory of her mother, her losses, and her unyielding determination. With a fierce cry, she swung herself up, finding a groove in his scales to anchor herself. Her legs wrapped tightly around his side as she climbed higher, clinging to the sinew and muscle beneath. Vermithor’s wings flared out to their full, immense span, the force of them nearly knocking her loose, but she clung on. Sweat poured down her brow, mingling with the ash and dust, but she pushed forward, inch by inch, until she reached the crest of his back.

At last, with a final, desperate lunge, Visenya hoisted herself up and swung her leg over, settling herself between his shoulders. She felt the breath shuddering out of her chest, her hands trembling from the effort. For a moment, she could barely believe she had done it—mounting the Bronze Fury where so many before her had failed. Vermithor went still, his massive form quivering beneath her, the rumble in his chest ceasing as if he was considering her triumph. Then, slowly, the great dragon turned his head to look back at her, his molten eyes locking onto hers. There was a shift in his gaze—no longer testing, but something deeper, almost akin to acknowledgment. With a low, resonant growl, Vermithor lowered his head in a gesture that struck Visenya like a blow to the heart—a bow, a pledge.

The air was thick with the scent of fire and charred stone, and the dragonkeepers who had watched the scene unfold stood in silent awe, their eyes wide with disbelief. They had known Vermithor to be stubborn and fiercely independent, but now they saw him yield, offering his respect to the young queen who had fought her way to his back. Visenya sat atop the great dragon, breathless and triumphant, a new fire burning in her veins. She reached down, her fingers brushing lightly over his warm scales, and felt the answering rumble beneath her—a shared understanding, a bond forged in the fires of their challenge. In that moment, something within her that had been frozen since her mother’s death began to thaw, replaced by a searing determination. She had found her strength again, and with Vermithor beneath her, she felt the power of a true dragonrider once more.

Without hesitation, as if driven by a force she could not quite name, Visenya tightened her grip on Vermithor's rough scales. The dragon let out a deep, resonating growl that vibrated through her entire body, and she could feel the pulse of his immense strength beneath her. It called to her—urged her upward, to where the air was thin and the sky lay open beyond the confines of the dragonpit. For a moment, she paused, feeling the weight of the crown on her head, the symbol of her new burdens and responsibilities. But then, with a breath that tasted of ash and determination, she gave in to the impulse.

“Soves Vermitos,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the ambient heat and rumble of the dragon. Yet Vermithor understood.

“Fly Vermithor”

He surged forward, muscles rippling beneath her, and the ground trembled as his enormous claws pushed off the stone floor. Visenya braced herself, pressing against the powerful arc of his spine, as he unfurled his wings with a mighty crack that echoed off the walls of the Dragonpit. Dust and embers swirled in the gust that followed, blinding the dragonkeepers below as Vermithor launched them into the air.

They burst from the confines of the Dragonpit, Vermithor’s wings cutting through the cool, salt-tinged air of Dragonstone. The ancient dragon let out a triumphant roar, a sound that reverberated through the sky like thunder, announcing his presence to the world once more. Visenya’s grip tightened, her body pressed close against the warmth of the scales beneath her as the wind whipped against her face. Her heart hammered, and she felt the wild freedom of the skies fill her chest—a feeling she thought she’d lost forever.

The clouds parted around them as Vermithor climbed higher, carrying her beyond the cliffs of Dragonstone, the island stretching out below like a rough jewel set in the glittering sea. Visenya’s hair streamed behind her, mingling with the smudges of ash on her cheeks, and she let out a breath she did not realise she’d been holding. The weight of her grief still lingered, but for the first time since her mother’s death, she felt something else stirring within her. It was a raw, untempered feeling—one of purpose and fierce, unyielding strength.

Vermithor twisted his massive head to glance back at her, his eyes glinting with a mischievous fire as if to ask whether she would truly ride with him. Visenya, feeling the adrenaline course through her veins, answered without words, leaning into the flight, her legs pressing tightly against his sides. They soared over the turbulent sea, each powerful wingbeat propelling them further from the shadows of the past and into the open sky. Below, the churning waves reached out as if to drag them down, but Vermithor climbed higher, leaving the ocean far beneath their path. Visenya’s breath came in ragged gasps, her mind whirling with the rush of the wind and the pure, untamed power beneath her.

She had not planned to claim another dragon after Vaehaemion’s loss. She had not thought she had the strength left in her. But now, with Vermithor’s heat warming her and the sky stretching boundless above, she realized that the spirit of a dragonrider still burned within her. She had lost so much, her father, her mother, her dragon, and nearly herself—but here, amidst the clouds and wind, she found a piece of herself that refused to break.

She leaned into the surge of the wind, feeling the world blur beneath them as they flew. For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the sensation of the flight wash over her—feeling alive, feeling powerful, and above all, feeling a kind of hope she thought had died with Rhaenyra. It was not a light, but a flame—a small, fierce flame that burned against the darkness that had consumed her heart. Vermithor roared again, the sound echoing over the crashing waves below, and Visenya let herself release a cry into the open sky—one of defiance, of pain, of new determination. And with it, she found a promise in the rush of air and fire: that she would not bow, she would not break. Her father and mother’s legacy, her own strength—they would continue to live on, through her and through the fire that flowed within her blood.

__

Daemon stormed into the Dragonpit, irritation evident in every step, his mind racing with thoughts of how and why Vermithor had left its lair. He threw a scalding look at the dragonkeepers who scrambled out of his path, their faces pale and apprehensive. Before he could unleash his fury upon them, demanding an explanation for the rogue dragon’s escape, one of the keepers found the courage to speak up.

“Vermithor... sought her out, my lord,” the dragonkeeper stammered. “He has found his rider again, but not as you’d expect. It was... the Queen.”

Daemon froze, the words sinking in slowly, their implications rippling through his mind. Visenya. She had claimed Vermithor. For a moment, he could scarcely believe it. The great bronze beast, stubborn and wild even in his age, had chosen her.

He turned sharply, leaving the keepers behind, and made his way swiftly toward the beach, where he saw something that took his breath away—a shadow, larger and darker than any he had seen in years, soared above the cliffs, framed against the midday sun. As he reached the shoreline, he caught sight of Visenya in the distance, mounted upon the massive frame of Vermithor. The ancient dragon cut through the sky with a power and grace that matched the formidable will of its new rider.

Vermithor circled once, a long, proud roar echoing across the sea before he descended, landing with a ground-shaking thud. Sand flew in every direction, and Daemon shielded his eyes, squinting against the sudden gust. As the dust settled, he saw her: Visenya, sitting tall on the back of the bronze dragon, her face steeled with a cold determination, her mother’s crown gleaming on her brow as sunlight caught its golden metal.

The clouds parted, the sun casting a golden glow upon her, and for a moment, Daemon was struck by the sight—Visenya had transformed into a queen of fire and vengeance, her presence commanding and unyielding. The grief that had haunted her eyes seemed to have been forged into something sharper, a relentless focus that burned with the desire for retribution.

For a moment there, he caught a glimpse of Rhaenyra and the illusion faded quickly.

She did not dismount, keeping her place upon the dragon's back as Vermithor's breath rumbled deep and low, a promise of the fury he was ready to unleash at her command. Her eyes met Daemon's, and she spoke with a voice as hard as iron.

"I want Aemond Targaryen’s head on a pike.”

Daemon smirked as he bowed down to Visenya and said, “As the queen wishes.”

Chapter Text

Visenya sat at the head of the council chamber, the air thick with tension and the lingering scent of smoke. It was the first time she had dared to use the room since her mother’s death, and the scars of battle still marred its stone walls. A map of the Riverlands lay sprawled across the table, marking strongholds and roads that wound like veins through the fractured realm.

Visenya’s expression was cold, her jaw set as she listened to the remaining voices of her mother’s council—her grandfather Corlys, Maester Gerardys, and Daemon, whose fiery presence was as volatile as ever. But they might as well have been speaking to the winds. Her mind was fixed on a single name that seemed to echo off every corner of the room—Aemond.

Maester Gerardys cleared his throat, looking over the last raven from Harrenhal, its wax seal broken on the table. “The last word from Simon Strong arrived nearly a week ago. It reported Aemond's arrival at Harrenhal, but there has been no news since. It is troubling, Your Grace—either Simon is silenced, or he’s choosing not to speak.”

Corlys nodded, his expression grim. “We should not act rashly. We must send out more ravens, gather intelligence before making any move. Aemond is cunning—he’s likely lying in wait, hoping to draw us out of Dragonstone.” Visenya’s fingers drummed against the arm of her chair, the weight of her mother’s crown pressing heavily against her brow. She barely heard them, her focus on the map, her eyes tracing the path to Harrenhal over and over again.

Each curve of the rivers seemed to lead to a single thought: Aemond. His taunting smile, the cold look in his eye, the way he had brought her low and left her family vulnerable. It ignited a fire in her veins, a hunger that she could not temper. Daemon, who had been silent, suddenly leaned forward, a dangerous look in his eyes. He, too, had lost everything—his wife, his unborn child—and his grief simmered beneath his skin like molten steel. “If Aemond thinks he can hide in Harrenhal, let him try,” Daemon said, his voice a low growl. “Let me take Caraxes and burn him out. We will take the fight to him, leave no corner of that cursed castle unscathed.”

The rest of the council exchanged wary glances, knowing that Daemon’s words carried the weight of vengeance more than strategy. But Visenya’s eyes lit up with a fierce, unyielding determination as she considered his suggestion. The image of Aemond’s face, twisted with smug satisfaction, flashed in her mind. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms.

“I should be the one to face him,” Visenya said, her voice cold and unyielding. “I will make him pay for everything he has done. For my mother, for my brother, for every drop of blood spilled.”

Corlys stiffened, stepping closer to the table. “Your Grace, that would be playing right into his hands. Aemond wants us to come to him, to abandon our defenses. We cannot afford to risk you—you are the queen.”

Visenya’s expression hardened, a sharp contrast to Corlys’ plea. Her voice grew more fervent, her emotions barely concealed beneath a thin veneer of control. “If I am to wear this crown, then I will face the enemies who dare threaten it. I will not cower behind walls and wait for Aemond to come to us. I will cut him down myself. I have my children to succeed me, should I fall, the matter of succession is not in question here.”

Corlys sighed, “Visenya, I understand you are angry but do not waist the losses we have suffered.”

“The calm approach my mother took has killed her,” Visenya argued, “Do not try to persuade me into a calm approach, the reason why we have lost so much is this need for peace. My brother’s death should have been enough to tell us that there is no peaceful resolution to be found, only fire and blood.”

Daemon’s lips curled into a slight smile, the only one in the room who shared her thirst for blood. But even he seemed to sense the recklessness behind her words, the fire that burned too hot, too quickly. He placed a hand on the map, leaning closer to her. “Visenya, you do not need to do this alone. Let me go with you. Together, we can end him and take back the Riverlands.”

Visenya’s gaze snapped to him, a sharp edge in her eyes. “No. This is my fight. Aemond took me, humiliated me, and left our family in ashes. I will be the one to end him. I need this, Daemon.” The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace that cast long shadows across the stone. Maester Gerardys and Corlys exchanged a look of growing unease, sensing the danger of her conviction. But Visenya’s mind was already made up. She could feel the fire surging through her veins, the same fire that had burned so brightly in her mother before her. It called her to action, to take what was hers, to carve out her vengeance with dragonfire and steel.

Daemon’s expression softened, but only slightly. He understood the hunger in her eyes, for he had once worn the same look. “Just know this, Visenya,” he said, voice low and rough. “If you go after Aemond, you already know he will not fight fair. He will do everything to see you brought low again.”

“I do not care,” she shot back, her tone as sharp as a blade. “I will see his head on a pike before I return to these halls.”

Corlys attempted one last protest, his voice heavy with concern. “Your Grace, if you fall into this trap, you risk everything we have left—”

“Enough,” Visenya snapped, her patience finally fraying. “You do not understand. None of you do. This is not just about the war, or power, or who sits on the throne. This is about justice—for my mother, for our blood. Aemond will die by my hand, or I will burn Harrenhal to the ground trying.”

With that, she turned sharply on her heel, the council chamber falling silent in her wake. As she stormed from the room, Daemon watched her go, a flicker of pride and worry mingling in his expression. He understood the fire that burned within her, but even he feared where it might lead her.

Visenya’s footsteps echoed down the darkened halls of Dragonstone, her heart thundering in her chest as she made her way toward the stables where Vermithor waited. She knew the council believed her reckless, but it did not matter. The rage in her heart was a consuming inferno, and there was only one way to quench it. She would face Aemond head-on, no matter the cost. And she would see him brought to his knees, just as he had once done to her.

Visenya’s boots struck the cold stone floors of Dragonstone’s corridors, her footsteps echoing like a war drum. Her mind was ablaze with a single purpose: Aemond. The cool breeze that cut through the open halls did little to calm the fire burning in her chest. As she neared the stables where Vermithor awaited, the air thrummed with the distant roar of the sea crashing against the blackened cliffs. Behind her, she heard the hurried steps of Daemon. He matched her pace, his voice sharp as he called out to her. “Visenya. Wait.”

She did not slow, her jaw set, but she heard him closing the distance until he was beside her. His face, usually so unyielding, was lined with a mix of anger and worry. “You are letting vengeance guide you. If you fly to Harrenhal now, you are walking into a trap.” Visenya turned sharply to face him, her eyes blazing like wildfire. “I do not  care if it is a trap. Let Aemond wait for me. Let him think he’s won. He will see what it means to face a Targaryen when I bring dragonfire down upon him.”

Daemon’s expression twisted into a scowl, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a heated whisper. “And what if he is ready for you? What if this is exactly what he wants? You could be handing him your life, Visenya—giving him another victory.” For a moment, her mask faltered, and a flicker of pain crossed her face. The memory of her mother’s charred remains flashed in her mind, the smell of burning flesh and smoke that she could not scrub from her senses. But that pain quickly hardened into a steely resolve, her expression sharpening like the edge of a blade.

“I will not fail this time, his dragon is old and has been injured. I will not fail, I cannot afford to,” Visenya spat back, her voice trembling with barely suppressed fury. “He took everything from me, from us, and you think I should wait? No, Uncle. This is my fight.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He saw the desperation in her, the hunger for blood that mirrored his own when he was younger—when he was reckless enough to take on the world with only a dragon and a sword. He recognized that same fire in her now, and it stirred something deep within him, a sense of both dread and fierce pride.

“You are too much like me,” Daemon muttered, his voice thick with a bitter edge. “And it will get you killed.”

Visenya turned away, her hands shaking slightly as she forced herself to breathe through the rage. She had no room for doubt, not now, not when she was so close to facing the one who had brought her to the brink. But before she could take another step, Daemon’s hand clamped onto her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

“You are not going alone,” he said firmly, his grip tightening. “I am coming with you.”

Visenya spun around, her eyes narrowing. “This is not your fight.”

Daemon’s lips twisted into a grim smile, one that held a world of unspoken grief and anger. “It became my fight the moment Aemond laid his hands on you. The moment he spilled our blood. And after what he has done to your mother, to my Rhaenyra—no. You will not deny me this. Not this time. Whatever you lost, I lost too.”

Visenya hesitated, staring up at the man who had once been her mother’s fiercest protector, the man who had lost nearly as much as she had. She searched his face, looking for some sign of doubt, but found only the unrelenting determination that mirrored her own.

“You will follow my lead,” she said, her voice edged with warning. “This is still my choice.”

Daemon’s smile grew sharper, more dangerous, and he inclined his head ever so slightly. “As you command, Your Grace.”

Visenya’s command rang through the air, and Daemon’s dark smile curled with satisfaction as he followed her out of the council chamber. The fire of her resolve burned fiercely, but he knew better than to let it run unchecked. He caught up to her as she stalked through the castle halls, his pace matching hers, his voice low but sharp as he spoke into the silence between them.

“You will follow my lead,” she declared, her voice edged with a warning, eyes forward and unyielding. “This is still my choice.”

Daemon’s smile turned sharper, more dangerous. He inclined his head ever so slightly, his tone both mocking and respectful. “As you command, Your Grace.”

Yet as they neared the Dragonpit, Daemon’s steps slowed, and he reached out, catching her arm. Visenya turned, eyes flashing with impatience, but Daemon’s grip was firm, his expression unexpectedly somber.

“If you want to face Aemond, then prove to me that you’re ready,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. Visenya scoffed, wrenching her arm from his grasp. “You question my strength now?”she snapped, the fire in her gaze matching the one that seared inside her chest. “I have proven myself time and time again.”

“Not with swords,” Daemon cut in, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “With dragons. You have lost to him twice already Visenya, know your limits.”

For a heartbeat, the air between them was taut with tension, then Visenya’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “You want me to prove myself, on dragonback?” she asked, her voice a low, challenging whisper. “Fine. I will show you how ready I am.”

Without another word, they continued their stride toward the Dragonpit, the challenge hanging in the air like an unsheathed blade. By the time they reached the vast cavernous space, word of their intentions had spread like wildfire among the dragonkeepers, and a small crowd had gathered, whispering and pointing as the pair approached their respective mounts.

Vermithor, the ancient bronze dragon, waited for Visenya, his molten eyes watching her approach with a calculating gleam. He rumbled deeply, the sound vibrating through the stone beneath their feet, and shifted his massive weight as if sensing the coming contest. Smoke curled lazily from his nostrils, and his wings twitched, stretching as though he were ready to take flight. Vermithor showed a hunger in his bones with the way he awaited Visenya, as if he craved the same hunger as Visenya did.

Beside him, Caraxes coiled and uncoiled his serpentine form, his blood-red scales rippling with every movement. The Blood Wyrm hissed softly, his yellow eyes fixed on Vermithor, the promise of a challenge gleaming within them. Daemon stroked Caraxes’ neck, offering a quiet word to his dragon before turning to Visenya with a raised brow.

Visenya approached Vermithor, feeling the heat radiating from his scales, the power humming beneath his skin. She placed a steadying hand on his flank, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. She glanced sideways at Daemon, who had already mounted Caraxes with the ease of a man who had long been one with his dragon.

“Try to keep up old man,” she taunted, her smirk sharpening as she vaulted onto Vermithor’s back. The old dragon growled beneath her, his wings stretching wide, shadows spilling across the stone ground like spilled ink.

Daemon’s laughter rang out, wild and unrestrained, as he guided Caraxes into the air. “We will see if you are as good as you think you are, Your Grace!” he called, his voice echoing against the vaulted ceilings as Caraxes leapt into the sky.

Daemon’s eyes glinted with the thrill of the challenge as he looked toward Visenya. “Let us see what you have learned!” he shouted over the wind, his voice carrying with a taunting edge. Then, without warning, he urged Caraxes forward, diving sharply downward in a display of pure speed, his dragon’s serpentine form cutting through the air like a blade.

Visenya wasted no time. “Soves Vermitos,” she commanded, and the bronze dragon roared in response, the sound reverberating through the air as he launched himself into the sky. His wings beat with a powerful rhythm, propelling them forward with a speed that belied his age. The rush of wind whipped against her face, and she leaned into the movement, feeling the sheer force of their ascent.

“Fly Vermithor”

Vermithor gained on Caraxes swiftly, his larger form closing the gap with each powerful stroke of his wings. But Daemon twisted in his saddle, a grin stretching across his face as he saw her approach. With a sharp command, he banked Caraxes hard to the left, the Blood Wyrm’s body coiling and turning with the fluidity of a snake. Caraxes' wings snapped open, catching the air in a sudden turn that sent him skimming just above the surface of the clouds.

Visenya pulled back on Vermithor’s reins, urging him to follow, but Caraxes’ maneuverability allowed him to slip just out of reach, and she could hear Daemon’s mocking laughter echoing through the wind. Her grip tightened, her frustration turning into determination.

“Aderī Vermitos! Tolī zirȳ!” she urged, and the old dragon let out a fierce growl, pumping his wings harder as he dove after the crimson blur ahead of them.

“Quickly Vermithor! After them!”

Caraxes twisted through the air, weaving between columns of clouds, and then rolled sharply to one side, sending a stream of fire back toward Vermithor. The flames illuminated the sky, a scorching ribbon of heat that cut through the swirling mist. Vermithor snarled, turning his body to avoid the worst of the blaze, but the edges of the fire licked against his bronze scales, a heat that made Visenya’s skin prickle even through her armour.

Visenya’s jaw clenched. She could feel the tension in Vermithor’s muscles beneath her, the old dragon’s pride as wounded as her own. “Dracarys!” she commanded, and Vermithor opened his jaws, releasing a torrent of fire that blazed through the sky, bright and searing. The air around them crackled as the flames twisted in Caraxes’ direction, forcing Daemon to bank away sharply, losing altitude as the heat bore down on them.

But Daemon recovered with a quick maneuver, pulling Caraxes into a steep climb, using the momentum to propel them upward at a dizzying speed. Caraxes’ wings cut through the air with a fierce rhythm, carrying him above Vermithor, casting a shadow over the larger dragon. From his vantage, Daemon taunted, “Come now Visenya, you are going to need more than that if you hope to face Aemond!”

Visenya’s eyes narrowed, and she urged Vermithor into a climb to meet Caraxes head-on. The two dragons circled each other in a dangerous dance, their riders locked in a silent battle of wills. Vermithor’s growl deepened as he met Caraxes' gaze, his chest expanding as he prepared to unleash another burst of fire.

But Daemon was faster. Caraxes lunged forward, his jaws snapping shut just shy of Vermithor’s neck, forcing the bronze dragon to twist sharply to avoid the bite. Vermithor countered with a powerful swing of his tail, and the impact resounded through the sky as it struck Caraxes' side, sending a tremor through the Blood Wyrm’s body.

Daemon clung tightly to his saddle, his grin never faltering even as he steadied his mount. The two dragons collided again and again, their roars echoing across the skies, wings beating in a ferocious rhythm as they tried to outmaneuver each other. Each clash sent waves of heat rippling through the air, the sky around them painted with the flickering light of dragonfire. It was a breathtaking sight, a display of power and defiance that left the watchers below in awe.

Visenya’s breaths came fast and hard as she fought to maintain her position, feeling the burn of exertion in her muscles. Yet beneath the struggle, she felt a surge of exhilaration, a reminder of the strength that had carried her through every battle, every loss.

She could see Daemon’s face, his grin wild and reckless as he pushed her to her limits, but she welcomed the challenge, her heart pounding with a newfound determination. Finally, as they reached a height where the air grew thin and the sea below was no more than a dark blur, Visenya leaned low over Vermithor’s neck, urging him to strike back with everything he had. Vermithor reared up, and with a mighty beat of his wings, he closed the distance between himself and Caraxes, his jaws snapping inches from the Blood Wyrm’s neck.

Daemon’s eyes widened, a rare flicker of surprise crossing his face, and he pulled Caraxes back sharply, but not before Vermithor’s roar echoed through the air, loud and victorious. For a moment, Caraxes hesitated, and in that opening, Vermithor surged forward, his bulk pressing Caraxes back, asserting his dominance.

Daemon laughed, the sound edged with something almost like pride.

He glanced down at Visenya, who met his gaze with a fierce smile of her own. She could see the respect in his eyes, grudging and genuine, and she felt a fire ignite in her chest—a fire that she had feared had gone out with her mother’s death.

Visenya straightened in her saddle, feeling the wind rushing past her, the raw power of Vermithor beneath her. She had faced the challenge, and she had proven herself to Daemon, to the dragonkeepers watching below, and most of all, to herself. With a final, triumphant roar, Vermithor and Caraxes broke away from each other, and Visenya guided her dragon into a slow descent back toward the Dragonpit.

As they landed, the dragonkeepers below rushed to greet them, their expressions filled with awe at what they had just witnessed. Daemon dismounted from Caraxes with a smirk, striding over to where Visenya still sat atop Vermithor’s back, her chest heaving with the aftermath of their clash.

“It is good to know that your grief has not diminished your fire,” he said, his tone both approving and challenging. “But do not let it burn you out.”

Visenya’s smile was sharp as a blade, her eyes gleaming with a renewed determination. “I do not intend to. Aemond’s time is coming.”

___

Visenya found Jace alone in a secluded part of Dragonstone, far from the bustling activity of the castle and its war preparations. The sea crashed against the rocks below, a fierce and restless sound that mirrored the turmoil in her brother’s heart. The sun was setting, casting a dim orange glow across the sky, but Jace seemed oblivious to the beauty of it. He sat on a jagged outcrop, staring out at the darkening waves, his shoulders hunched, lost in a world of grief.

Visenya approached quietly, her boots crunching against the gravelly path, but she made no attempt to mask her presence. Jace did not turn to look at her; he barely seemed to register that she was there. His face, once filled with youthful determination and a fire that mirrored their mother’s, was pale and hollow. The dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his usually steady hands trembled slightly in the cool breeze. For a moment, Visenya hesitated, unsure of what to say. She had always known Jace as the unyielding protector of their family, a prince who took his duties with a gravity beyond his years. But now, as she looked at him, she saw someone broken—someone who had faced an impossible choice and had been shattered by it.

“I wondered when you would find me,” Jace said, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. He still didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the endless stretch of water before him. “Or if you even would.” Visenya felt a pang in her chest at the bitterness in his tone, but she pushed it aside, walking closer until she stood beside him. “I thought you might need time,” she replied, her voice softer than it had been in weeks. “But time will not heal this, will it?”

“Time will not,” Jace said as he stared at the crashing waves, “Father had left us longer than mother and yet, it still hurts all the same. Sometimes I stare at the waves, hoping for any sign of them. I just want our family to be whole again and time will not give me that.”

Jace let out a mirthless laugh, the sound sharp and raw. “Time cannot change what I did, Visenya. I killed her. I killed our mother. She asked me to, but...” His voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his suppressed sobs. “I should have found another way. Anything but that.”

Visenya swallowed hard, her own grief resurfacing as she watched her brother crumble before her. She had held onto her rage, her need for vengeance, to keep from succumbing to the same despair, but seeing Jace like this made the wound feel fresh again, as if their mother’s death had only just happened.

“She did not give you a choice, Jace,” Visenya said, though the words felt hollow even to her. She thought of that terrible moment in the council chamber, the desperation in their mother’s eyes, the finality in her voice as she had begged for a dragonrider’s death. “It was the last thing she could ask of you, and you... you gave her the honour of it. It is what she wanted.”

Jace shook his head violently, his hands gripping his hair. “I keep seeing it, over and over. Her face, the fire—my own voice saying the word.”

‘Dracarys.’” His breath hitched, his eyes squeezed shut against the memory. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to protect her, to win this war, see her on the throne, not... not lose her like that.”Visenya’s chest tightened, and for a moment, she felt the same flicker of doubt she had when she had first worn their mother’s crown. But she pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the here and now—on her brother, breaking beneath the weight of his guilt. She knelt beside him, reaching out to take his hand, her grip firm, steady.

“You gave her peace, Jace,” she said, her voice resolute, though her own eyes stung with unshed tears. “You gave her a death worthy of a Targaryen, when Ser Alfred would have wished her to die like a prisoner. Do not let her memory be twisted by what that traitor did to her.”

Jace finally turned to look at her, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears, his expression filled with anguish. For a moment, he searched her face, as if hoping to find some reassurance, some absolution for what he had done. “How can you be so certain?” he asked, his voice cracking. “How can you stand there and still have the strength to lead us?”

Visenya’s jaw tightened, and she glanced out at the churning sea, the waves crashing violently against the rocks below. “Because I have to be,” she replied, her voice taking on a hard edge. “Because if I crumble, then everything she fought for, everything we have suffered for, will mean nothing. I cannot let her death—our loss—be in vain.”

She met his gaze again, the fire in her eyes mirroring the determination she had seen in their mother’s so many times. “But I am not unbreakable, Jace. I feel it too, every time I close my eyes. I see her, I hear her voice... and I want to scream. But I do not, because I know she is watching us—she is counting on us.” Jace’s expression crumpled, and for a moment, Visenya thought he might pull away, retreat back into his grief. But then he surprised her—he gripped her hand even tighter, as if she were a lifeline in the dark, and he let out a shuddering breath, nodding ever so slightly.

“I will try,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the roar of the sea. “I do not know if I will ever forgive myself, but... I will try, for her. For you.”

Visenya squeezed his hand, a faint, sad smile tugging at her lips. “That is all we can do, Jace. Try to be the people she believed we could be. Try to build something out of the ashes.”

For a long moment, they sat together in silence, the weight of their shared grief hanging between them. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the sky in hues of deep red and gold, like dragonfire burning across the heavens. And for the first time since Rhaenyra’s death, Visenya felt a small measure of hope stir within her—fragile, but real.

She stood, helping Jace to his feet, and together they walked back toward Dragonstone, where the future of their family—and the war that still loomed—awaited them.

__

The night was thick with tension, the air heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. Dragonstone’s halls, once bustling with activity, now seemed eerily quiet. Aegon and Visenya found themselves in a dimly lit chamber, a small fire crackling in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The world outside felt distant, like a dream they could not reach. Tomorrow, the path to Harrenhal loomed before them, a journey that promised bloodshed and reckoning. But tonight, it was just the two of them.

Visenya stood by the window, her silhouette outlined against the darkness. Her gaze was distant, eyes tracing the rugged cliffs that fell away into the sea. Aegon approached her quietly, his footsteps soft against the cold floor. He reached out, gently resting a hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath her skin. She turned to him, her expression softened by the firelight, and allowed herself a rare moment of vulnerability.

“You are leaving when the sun rises,” Aegon said, his voice barely a whisper, as though speaking the words aloud might break whatever fragile peace lingered between them. “To face Aemond. To face all of this.”

Visenya nodded, her eyes searching his face as if she could find answers in the lines of his worry. “I have to. You know I do.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly, the weight of the crown and their fractured family pressing down on him. “I know. But it does not make it any easier.” He cupped her face gently, tracing his thumb along the edge of her jaw. “I know you might be growing weary of me saying this but I want you to hear it. I cannot lose you. The thought of it... of you not coming back... it terrifies me. Every minute where my eyes cannot see you, it strikes a chill within me.”

Visenya’s resolve wavered for a moment, her eyes glistening as she leaned into his touch. She placed her hand over his, her fingers cold against his warmth. “Aegon... I am scared too,” she admitted, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession. “Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. My mother’s, my father’s. I know what awaits me out there, and I know how easily it could end with my death. But if I do not go, then everything she fought for... everything I promised her... it will be for nothing.”

Aegon drew her closer, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. She pressed her cheek against the fabric of his tunic, breathing in the familiar scent of him, letting it ground her in this moment. For a heartbeat, they were just themselves again—not a queen and a king, not Targaryens burdened by the weight of their family’s legacy, but Visenya and Aegon, clinging to each other in the darkness.

“If I had a choice,” Visenya whispered, her voice breaking against the raw edge of her emotions. “If I could turn back time... I would choose a different life, Aegon. A life where we were not surrounded by war and bloodshed, where I did not have to be queen. I would choose a life where I could just... sink into your embrace and forget about everything else. Where our children could grow up safe and unburdened. I would choose peace, if it were truly mine to take. I want a life where I married you out of love, not out of duty.I want a life where my love for you was born of innocence and not of shared grief. I want a life where we are no one, a life where I have no crown to inherit where you betrothed me with a ring made of hay.”

Aegon’s arms tightened around her, a tremor running through his body at her words. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, resting his cheek against her hair. “Then we would be fools together,” he murmured, his voice thick with unshed emotion. “I would give anything for that life too. But we do not live in that world, do we? We live in one where our choices have already been made for us... where all we have is this moment before it slips away. We are Targaryens, and I do not resent you for how your love for me came to be. You had every right to loathe me, I was a drunkard…drunk on wine and the pleasures of the flesh. I count myself lucky every day, that a woman as virtuous as you loved me.”

Visenya pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. There was a haunted look in her eyes, a reflection of the fears that mirrored his own. Yet, there was something else too—a determination that burned beneath her sadness. “But tonight, I can pretend... just for a while,” she said, her voice a quiet plea. “Stay with me, Aegon. Just for tonight, let me remember what it is like to feel like myself again.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, nodding as he leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. “I am not going anywhere, Visenya. Not tonight.” His breath mingled with hers, their lips almost touching, a moment suspended in the quiet between them.

Aegon’s breath hitched as he held Visenya close, their foreheads pressed together, their words mingling in the fragile space between them. For a moment, everything else—the war, the loss, the crown—fell away, leaving only the heat of their shared breath and the desperate ache in their hearts. He tilted her chin up with a gentle touch, meeting her eyes, searching them for any hint of hesitation. But all he saw there was the same yearning he felt, a hunger that had nothing to do with power or duty and everything to do with wanting to feel alive, if only for a few stolen moments.

Visenya’s lips parted, a breath escaping her that carried a thousand unspoken words. Aegon closed the distance, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that spoke of longing, of all the things they had lost and the things they wished they could hold onto. It was fierce, desperate, a collision of need that neither of them could fully articulate. She clung to him, her hands fisting in the fabric of his tunic as if anchoring herself to something solid amid the chaos.

The kiss deepened, and Aegon’s hands roamed up her back, pulling her even closer, until there was no space left between them. His touch was rough, almost bruising, as if he feared she might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Visenya’s breath hitched as she felt the warmth of his hands move up her sides, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt like they were trying to erase the distance that had grown between them since Rhaenyra’s death.

They broke apart, gasping for breath, but the momentary space only seemed to draw them closer again. Aegon’s hands cradled her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed. He kissed her again, softer this time but no less intense, his lips tracing a path along her jaw, down to her neck, where her pulse raced beneath her skin. She shivered at the sensation, her head tilting back as she let out a soft, broken sound that echoed in the quiet chamber.

Visenya’s hands found the edge of his tunic, tugging it free from the belt at his waist, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric to feel the warmth of his skin beneath. She drew him closer, needing the reassurance of his touch, the solid weight of him against her, as if he could fill the emptiness that had opened up inside her since the day she watched her mother burn. Aegon groaned softly at the touch of her hands, his lips finding her ear, whispering her name like a prayer, as if it might keep the darkness at bay.

They stumbled together, their movements unsteady and clumsy, until they reached the bed. Aegon lowered her onto the furs, his hands never leaving her, his touch growing more insistent as he leaned over her, capturing her mouth again in a kiss that left them both breathless. Visenya arched against him, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer still.

Clothes fell away, discarded and forgotten, as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment. Aegon’s hands explored the familiar lines of her body, tracing the curves and hollows with a reverence that made Visenya’s breath catch. “Gods you are so beautiful,” Aegon whispered against the small arch of her belly, marvelling at the body that carried their children and brought them to this world, a sign of her strength and resilience. He kissed her soft skin again as his hands trailed their way from her breasts to her thighs as he said, “Visenya, my love, the woman you are…gods, it drives me into madness that I am yours. No woman could ever hold a candle to you my love.”

She could feel the desperation in his touch, the way his fingers trembled against her skin, as if he was afraid that this might be their last night together. And perhaps it would be. But right now, all that mattered was the way he made her feel—alive, desired, seen. Aegon’s lips trailed back up to her neck, over her collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He touched her forehead against hers as Visenya said, “I love you, more than you know.”

Visenya’s hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer, her body arching into his touch. Aegon met her gaze, and she could see the unspoken plea in his eyes, the same fear she carried in her own heart. Without words, she cupped his face, pulling him back down into a kiss that stole the breath from both of their lungs. They moved together, the rhythm of their bodies a desperate plea for connection, for something real in a world that felt like it was crumbling beneath them. Aegon’s breath came in ragged gasps against her skin, his hands clutching at her as if he could imprint her into his memory, while Visenya clung to him just as fiercely, her nails digging into his back as she surrendered to the moment.

In those moments, there was no war, no grief, no titles or crowns—only the two of them, tangled together in a desperate attempt to find solace in each other’s arms. The firelight flickered, casting shadows that danced over their entwined bodies, their breaths mingling in the dim light.

When they finally came apart, it was with a gasp, their bodies trembling from the intensity of it all. Aegon wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as if he could keep her safe in that embrace. Visenya buried her face against his chest, her breath coming in shallow, unsteady bursts. For a long while, they lay there, wrapped up in each other, neither of them willing to let go.

Aegon brushed her curls away with his fingers and kissed her forehead, whispering sweet words and encouraging Visenya to let sleep take her. As she closed her eyes in his embrace, Aegon rested his chin on top of her head and looked at the moonlight that shone through the window…wondering if this was truly the last time he would hold his wife again.

__

The dawn crept slowly over Dragonstone, painting the shattered walls and jagged cliffs with a pale, fragile light. In the courtyard, the preparations for departure were underway. The chill of the morning air was cut by the scent of salt and smoke, remnants of a war still clawing at their shores, now giving way to another battle on the horizon.

Vermithor and Caraxes waited, their massive forms casting shadows over the courtyard. Steam rose from their flaring nostrils, impatient and eager for flight. Dragonkeepers moved around them, making last-minute adjustments to their saddles, their hands trembling slightly under the watchful gaze of their riders. Visenya stood beside Vermithor, her dark armour etched with the red sigil of her house. Her mother’s crown gleamed on her head, heavy with the weight of legacy. She brushed her hand against Vermithor’s bronze scales, feeling the warmth seep into her palm. The dragon rumbled, low and deep, sensing the tension in her, the tight coil of grief and fury.

Daemon moved with practiced ease, securing Caraxes, his own expression grim. He glanced at Visenya, reading the fire that burned in her eyes—mirroring his own. They were bound by loss and a shared hunger for vengeance.

Aegon approached, holding Baelon in his arms, while Alyssa clung to his hand. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty, while Baelon reached out, small fingers grasping at the air in the direction of the dragons. In a sling against Aegon’s chest, the infant Aegea stirred, her tiny face hidden under swaddling.

Visenya knelt down, her armor creaking as she embraced Alyssa, who clung to her mother with fierce, tiny arms. Visenya held on tightly, feeling the soft warmth of her daughter’s cheek against her neck, trying to memorize the feeling. “Look after your siblings, Alyssa,” she whispered, her voice thick with the weight of unshed tears. “Be brave for me.” Alyssa nodded, though her lip trembled. Baelon was next, and Visenya pressed a kiss to his forehead, the boy’s small hands tangling in her silver hair as he buried his face in her shoulder. She kissed the top of Aegea’s head, the baby’s soft breath a comfort against her cheek.

Aegon stood nearby, watching, his own expression a mix of pride and worry. He shifted Aegea in his arms as Visenya rose, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, he reached out, brushing his thumb across her cheek but Visenya wanted more. She kissed Aegon fervently and placed her forehead against his.

“Remember what you promised,” he said, his voice rough, thick with unspoken fears. “I will be waiting for you.” Visenya nodded, her throat tightening. “I will come back to you,” she whispered.

Nearby, Daemon was saying his goodbyes to Baela and Rhaena. The twins, who had inherited their father's steel, held their heads high, though their eyes betrayed their worry. Baela gripped her father’s arm fiercely. “Stay alive, father,” she urged, her voice betraying her usual composure. “The realm needs you. I need you.”

Daemon squeezed her hand, his smile tinged with a rare softness. “I will be back, my fierce dragon. And I will make sure Visenya returns with me.” He turned to Rhaena, his other daughter, who pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back, biting her lip to keep her tears at bay. Then he turned to the two young boys from Rhaenyra, Aegon and Viserys, who stood beside Rhaena, their small faces reflecting the uncertainty of the moment.

Daemon knelt down to their height, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. “Your mother loved you more than life itself,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Never forget that.” The boys nodded, and Daemon pressed his forehead to theirs in turn before rising to his full height once more.

Jace approached Visenya, his face lined with grief and shadows while Joffrey clung to his side. He had not spoken much since their mother’s death, and the weight of their shared loss hung heavily between them. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gripped her arm. “Bring him to justice,” he said, his voice hoarse. “For mother, for our family. But promise me... promise me you will come back. Mother sacrificed so much to keep us whole, do not break that.”

Visenya met his gaze, seeing the pain mirrored in her own. She covered his hand with hers, squeezing tightly. “I will return, Jace,” she promised, the words aching in her throat. “I swear it.” She knelt down to give Joffrey and embrace and kissed him on the cheek and said, “Be good to Jace and talk to him often alright?”

He nodded, blinking back the emotion in his eyes, and stepped back to join the others.

As they turned to their dragons, the final goodbyes lingered like ghosts in the air. Visenya and Daemon mounted Vermithor and Caraxes with the ease born of long practice. The great beasts roared, their voices blending into a sound that shook the stones beneath them, sending ripples through the sea below.

With a final look down at the family gathered below—Aegon’s protective hold over Alyssa, Baelon, and Aegea, Baela’s determined stance, Rhaena’s quiet strength, Jace’s haunted resolve—Visenya turned her gaze forward, toward the sky and the battles yet to come. She forced herself to focus on the horizon, on the promise of vengeance that had carried her this far.

Daemon flew beside her, Caraxes keeping pace with Vermithor as they soared together into the morning light. She felt his presence beside her, a constant, unyielding force, as the distance between Dragonstone and Harrenhal grew with each beat of their wings. Together, they would face the shadows of their past and the challenges that awaited them. For the ghosts of those they had lost, and the promise of vengeance that now burned like fire in their veins.

___

As the sun slipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky with hues of deep orange and violet, Daemon and Visenya stood on a cliff overlooking the shadowy ruins of Harrenhal. The grim shape of the castle loomed like a distant specter, while Vhagar's immense figure circled above, blotting out stars as she flew. They had paused on this windswept ledge to regain their strength before the battle that awaited them.

Hours passed in a heavy, unbroken silence. The sea's roar below filled the emptiness between them, while their dragons' distant cries mingled with the sound of the wind. As they prepared to mount again, Daemon reached out suddenly, gripping Visenya’s arm with a force that made her armour clank against itself.

She turned, brows arching in surprise at his touch. "What is it, Daemon?" she asked, her voice edged with impatience and curiosity. His face, lined with age and battle, was etched with something unfamiliar—vulnerability. "Visenya, before we face Aemond, there is something I need to say," he began, his voice strained. “I cannot leave this unsaid.”

She studied him, a flicker of unease twisting in her chest. “Daemon?”

He sighed deeply, his eyes drifting out over the dark, churning waters before returning to her. “The odds ahead are uncertain. We may not survive this. And before we meet whatever fate awaits, there is something you need to know.”

She frowned, her unease growing. “What is it?”

Daemon’s lips twisted into a sad smile, one that held none of the sharpness she had come to expect from him. “I could never replace Laenor. He was your father, and a good man at that. He may not have loved your mother in the way I did, but he loved you, Visenya. That was never in doubt.” Visenya’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to pull back, but Daemon tightened his grip, as if afraid that the words might slip away if he let go. “But when your mother entrusted me with your training, when I saw the fire in you, the strength, and that fierce spirit and stubbornness that strangely reflected mine… you became my daughter, too. Without me knowing it or realising it, you became mine.”

Visenya’s lips trembled, but she fought to keep her expression steady. She swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure. “You have grown sentimental with age, old man,” she managed, her voice cracking with a wry attempt at humor. Daemon huffed a laugh, the sound brittle and raw. “Tease me all you want, but age is no enemy of mine. Nor is death. Not when it offers me a chance to see Rhaenyra again.”

She froze, the words hitting her like a cold wave. “Daemon... do not speak like that.” He held her gaze, his eyes shadowed with pain. “Rhaenyra’s cause is one worth dying for. She believed in something greater than the Iron Throne, greater than any of us. And I believe in it too, as I believe in you. If my death means I can look into her eyes one last time, then I will welcome it with open arms.”

Visenya’s chest tightened, her pulse quickening. She shook her head fiercely. “No, no, you cannot speak such things into existence! We will face Aemond together, and you will not die. I will not let it happen.”

Daemon's face softened, his features bathed in the last glow of twilight. “Rhaenyra never had the chance to tell you... about the prophecy, the reason she fought so hard. She believed our blood was tied to the fate of this realm. That we were meant to protect it from a great darkness—a winter that would consume everything, unless it was stopped. And that somewhere among our kin was a prince that was promised, one who could lead against the coming shadow.”

Visenya’s brows furrowed, trying to make sense of his words. “A prophecy? What are you saying?”

He cupped her face gently, his calloused hand warm against her cold skin. “She thought she had more time, to prepare you, to tell you herself. But time was taken from her. Now it falls to you to carry the weight she could not. I do not know if you are that promised one, or if it’s a role yet to be found... but I do know that this war, this fight—it is bigger than just vengeance.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her frustration spilling over. “I do not want to hear of prophecies, Daemon! All I want is to see Aemond’s blood spill for what he did to her. I do not care about fate or destiny!”

He released a long, weary sigh, looking at her with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. “You must care, Visenya. Your mother died believing in it, and every Targaryen ruler before her had died believing the same, and you must see it through. Do not let her death be in vain. If the time comes and you have to choose—between vengeance and what is right—promise me you will do what must be done.”

She stared up at him, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. His face, worn by age and loss, held a depth of sadness that broke through her own anger. She felt her resolve crack, just for a moment, as she pulled him into a fierce embrace, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

“I promise, Daemon,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I will do what needs to be done.”

They held each other in the darkening twilight, the sea roaring below like a heartbeat. And as they stood there, the weight of their shared grief and hope settled over them. For Rhaenyra, for Laenor, for the future they had been left to protect—even if it meant facing the darkness alone.

Chapter Text

As Aemond stood amidst the desolation of Harrenhal, frustration simmering in his chest. The castle loomed before him, its broken towers casting shadows over the crumbling stones, but no one had come to greet him. He felt the weight of silence pressing down, stirring a mix of irritation and annoyance. Storming forward, he entered the castle, the echoes of his footsteps reverberating off the damp walls.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, surveying the empty halls. “Where are your soldiers? Where is your lord?” His voice rang out, demanding answers that were not forthcoming. Just as he was about to bellow for someone, a soft rustling interrupted the oppressive quiet. From the shadows, a figure emerged, cloaked in dark garments that flowed around her like a wisp of smoke. She had long, raven-black hair that framed her pale face, accentuating the sharpness of her features.

Aemond turned, momentarily taken aback by her sudden appearance. “Who are you?” he demanded, his tone carrying the weight of authority.

“I am a healer,” she replied, stepping forward with an air of confidence. “I serve Simon Strong, the lord of Harrenhal.”

“A healer?” Aemond echoed, his disdain evident. “Where are the men? The knights? You stand here alone? What kind of welcome is this?” The woman stepped closer, her dark eyes steady and unwavering. “A proper welcome must be earned, Prince Aemond,” she said, a hint of mischief in her tone. “You must have been sent by Prince Daemon, he left not too long ago for Dragonstone.”

Aemond’s irritation flared anew, but there was something intriguing about her boldness. “You presume too much, healer. I am here to claim my rightful place, not to be welcomed like some common errand boy.”

She inclined her head slightly, an acknowledgment of his frustration. “And yet, here you stand, alone in a castle that has seen better days. Perhaps your arrival is less about your power and more about your loneliness.”

Aemond narrowed his eye, his irritation mixing with a curious intrigue. “You think you know me?”

“I know what you are, Aemond,” she replied, her voice firm. “But I wonder how much you truly know about yourself. You have come here seeking power, yet you seem to crave respect and connection. Tell me, do you think Daemon sent me to torment you, or to remind you of your bloodline?”

His brow furrowed at her audacity. “You dare to challenge me?”

“I dare because I’m not afraid of the challenge,” she countered, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in a slight smirk. “Though, I must admit, it’s amusing to think Daemon would send a mere healer to confront his own brother.” Aemond studied her for a moment, intrigued despite himself. “I do not require your pity or your unsolicited wisdom.”

“Then perhaps you should reconsider your choices. Power without loyalty is a lonely throne, my prince,” she said, stepping back slightly as if gauging his reaction. “But I suppose that is why you’re here—seeking allies, seeking a way to make your mark.” Aemond felt a flicker of something—admiration, perhaps?—for her defiance. “You think you know the intricacies of my motives?”

“Perhaps more than you think,” she replied, her voice steady. “You may be the prince, but I see a man lost in a world where everyone wants something from you. And here you are, all alone in Harrenhal.” With a reluctant nod, Aemond decided to follow her lead. “Very well, healer. Show me what Harrenhal has to offer, but know this—I will not be toyed with.”

“Toying is not my intent, Aemond,” she said, glancing back at him with an amused glint in her eyes. “But if you truly seek your place in this world, you may find it’s a much darker road than you anticipated.” He regarded her with a newfound curiosity, intrigued by the mysterious healer who had dared to stand against him.

Aemond walked alongside the mysterious healer, her dark presence lingering in the air like a storm cloud. As she spoke, her cryptic words struck a chord deep within him, tugging at the shadows of his memory. He could almost hear Helaena’s soft voice amidst the echoes of Harrenhal, the way she had always seemed to see the truth behind his bravado.

“What you say is rather… insightful,” he said, his tone sharp. “Though I wonder how a healer in this forsaken place has gleaned so much about me.” The woman glanced at him, a sly smile playing on her lips. “I suppose some of us simply have an understanding of people, especially those who hide behind their pride and armour.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed, irritation bubbling up again. “Do you always speak in riddles? Or is this your way of toying with me?”

“Only when the truth is too painful to face directly,” she replied, her gaze steady. “Perhaps that is why you have chosen to come here, to confront the ghosts of your past.” The mention of ghosts sent a shiver through him. Helaena’s memory rose unbidden, flooding him with the pain of loss. “You speak as if you know me,” he said, attempting to regain his footing. “And what of you? A healer who serves Simon Strong but knows nothing of loyalty.”

The woman paused, her expression shifting as she studied him. “And what of your loyalty to the crown, Aemond? You have discarded it, just as you discarded Helaena.” Aemond’s heart raced. “What do you know of Helaena?” he demanded, his voice low and fierce. “She is gone—lost to madness, and you dare to speak her name as if you have the right?”

The woman chuckled softly, but there was a bite to it. “And how did you treat her in life? You ignored her, left her to wander in darkness. She needed you, yet you were too busy seeking power and respect to notice. Perhaps you remind yourself of that every time you look in the mirror.”

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks, anger mixing with something else—regret? Guilt? “You do not know what you’re talking about,” he shot back, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“I do not?” she replied, her tone heavy with knowing. “You wear your grief like a shroud, yet you were never truly there for her. Tell me, Aemond, do you miss her?” He opened his mouth to retort but found himself speechless. Her words struck too close to home. Helaena had been his wife, a part of him, and yet he had failed her in so many ways.

“How do you know this?” he demanded, desperation edging into his voice. “You speak as if you have known us.”

“Perhaps I have,” she said, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Or perhaps I am simply adept at reading the remnants of broken souls. You may have worn a mask of indifference, but deep down, your heart still aches for her.” Aemond clenched his fists, fury and anguish swirling inside him. “Do not presume to know my feelings!”

“And yet you cling to the vision of the life seeping out of her eyes as a lifeline,” she countered, stepping closer. “Do you really believe that pursuing power will fill the void she left behind? You act as though you want vengeance for her death, but I wonder if you truly want to honour her memory.”

Aemond shook his head, caught off guard by the intensity of her words. “What do you want from me? To expose my weakness? To bring me to my knees?”

“Perhaps I want you to face your own heart, Aemond,” she said gently, her demeanor shifting. “You still have the chance to do better. To choose honour over vengeance, to remember Helaena as she deserved.”

He felt the truth of her words piercing through his defenses. Aemond's resolve wavered, and for a fleeting moment, he felt exposed. “You speak as if you know her,” he said, his voice quieter. “But how could you? She was my wife—”

“She was a woman deserving of love, not a pawn in your game of thrones,” she interrupted, her voice fierce. “And your failure to protect her has left scars.” The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Aemond’s thoughts whirled, caught between the haunting memories of Helaena and the piercing insight of this stranger. “And what would you have me do?” he asked at last, a quiet desperation creeping into his voice.

“Make amends, Aemond. Find a way to honour her memory, not through conquest, but through compassion. Only then will you be free from the chains of your own making,” she urged, her dark eyes searching his.

Aemond's heart raced as the healer's words echoed in his mind, each syllable striking deeper than he anticipated. Her gaze pierced through the layers of his carefully constructed armor, exposing the raw grief and regret that lay beneath.

“What do you know of honour?” he spat, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You hide behind the guise of a healer, yet your words cut deeper than any blade.”

“Perhaps it is my role to heal, even when the wounds are not visible,” she replied, unperturbed by his anger. “But your true battle lies not with me, Aemond, but within yourself. You are fighting against a past you cannot change, rather than the future you can still shape.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she continued, her voice steady. “You stand at a crossroads. You can either succumb to the darkness that surrounds you or strive to be better—for your children’s sake, if not your own.”

Aemond swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her words. Helaena had always been his light, even in her darkest moments. The memory of her gentle laughter echoed in his mind, and he clenched his fists, struggling against the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

“Every moment I spent with her was tinged with my own failures,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I took her for granted, thinking she would always be there, waiting for me to wake up.”

“Yet she warned you,” the healer interjected, her tone unwavering. “Time and time again, Helaena foresaw the very prophecy that binds you to your own demise. Each warning you brushed aside, thinking you could outrun it. But those visions were her way of caring for you, of trying to guide you through the dark.”

His heart sank at her words. “What do you know of her visions?” he challenged, anger creeping into his voice. “You speak as if you understood her.”

“I know that every time you ignored her warnings, you built the very path that led you here,” she replied, her gaze unwavering. “You chose to ignore the truth she revealed, blinded by pride and the hope of defying fate. And now, you stand before me, a man lost, haunted by the shadows of your choices.” He felt the heat of shame rise in his cheeks. “I—I did not mean to.”

“And yet, here we are,” she said softly, her voice tinged with understanding. “Helaena was intertwined with those visions, but she always cared for you. She wanted you to break free from the chains of your own making, to see the love that can exist for you.” Aemond's breath hitched in his throat, his mind racing. He had always thought of Helaena's prophecies as burdens, shackles binding him to a fate he wished to escape. But now, he saw them in a different light. They were her desperate attempts to save him from himself.

“Do you really think she wanted to see you suffer?” the healer pressed, her gaze intense. “Her love for you was genuine, and despite the darkness that surrounded her visions, she sought to protect you from it. But in your arrogance, you dismissed her.” He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “I thought I was doing what was best for her, for us.”

“But you failed to see that she was warning you of the danger you were heading towards. She cared enough to try, and yet you let that slip through your fingers,” she continued, her voice echoing with compassion. “Now, you must confront not just Aemond, but the truth of your own heart. Will you continue to build your demise, or will you honour her memory by finally listening?”

Aemond’s anger boiled over, and before he could think, he grabbed the woman by the throat, his grip tightening as fury coursed through him. “You dare speak to me like that?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “I could kill you where you stand, and no one would mourn your loss.” The woman’s eyes widened for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, a chilling calmness enveloping her. “And what would that change, Aemond?” she replied, her voice steady despite the pressure of his grip. “It would not change anything.”

His heart raced, a mix of rage and confusion clouding his thoughts. Those words felt familiar, haunting him like a specter. Helaena had said something similar during their darkest times, words that had echoed in his mind, reminding him of his failures. “What do you know about it?” he spat, shaking her slightly, but she held his gaze unwaveringly.

“In the end, killing me will not alter your fate,” she continued, her voice now almost a whisper, yet heavy with weight. “You will die here, in this cursed place, a forgotten man. The throne you seek will remain out of your grasp. No songs will be sung in your honour; no one will remember your name. You will be just another casualty of this war.” Aemond's grip loosened slightly, the reality of her words crashing over him like a wave. “You think you can predict my future? You know nothing!” he shouted, but doubt crept into his voice, wrapping around him like a vice.

“Perhaps you are right, but I do not need to be a seer to see the truth. You are a pawn in this game, just like the rest of us,” she said, her expression a blend of pity and determination. “You are driven by anger, by a thirst for revenge, but revenge alone will not fill the void left by Helaena’s absence.”

The mention of Helaena's name ignited a fresh wave of fury within him. “Do not speak her name! You have no right!” he bellowed, releasing her throat as if he’d been burned.

She stepped back, rubbing her neck but maintaining her composure. “You think that anger will lead you to victory? It will only lead you to your own destruction. Helaena warned you, time and time again. You ignored her, thinking you were invincible, but look where that has led you—alone, filled with rage and despair.” Aemond felt the walls closing in around him, her words cutting deeper than any blade. “I will not be forgotten!” he shouted, a mix of defiance and fear in his voice. “I will prove them all wrong. I will claim the throne, and they will remember my name!”

But even as he spoke, he felt a flicker of doubt. The woman’s eyes bore into him, unyielding and fierce, reminding him of the many times he had pushed Helaena away, convinced he was destined for greatness while she stood by, warning him of the storm to come.

“You can fight against it all you want, but the truth will remain,” she said, her tone chillingly calm. “You have built a throne of bones with your actions, and in the end, you will sit on a throne of ash. You will be forgotten, and no one will celebrate your rule.” Aemond clenched his fists, trembling with rage, but deep down, he felt the seed of doubt take root. “You are wrong,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “I will find a way. I will break this curse.”

The healer only shook her head, her eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored his own. “You are already cursed, Aemond. You cannot outrun what you have become. But it is not too late to change. If you truly loved Helaena, if you wish to honor her memory, you must confront the truth.” Her words struck a chord within him, but he refused to let them take hold. With a snarl, he turned away, storming deeper into the castle, the shadows swallowing him whole. As he left, the healer called after him, her voice echoing against the cold stone walls, “Remember this moment, Aemond. Remember that anger will only lead you to your own end. You have the power to change your fate, but only if you choose to embrace it.”

Aemond stormed deeper into the bowels of Harrenhal, each step resonating with a mixture of anger and confusion. Shadows danced along the stone walls, and the flickering torchlight seemed to mock him. No matter how fast he walked, he could feel her presence trailing behind him like a specter. Her footsteps were light, almost ethereal, yet they echoed loudly in the silence of the crumbling castle.

“Why do you follow me?” Aemond snapped, glancing over his shoulder, half expecting her to vanish like a wisp of smoke. Instead, she appeared unfazed, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Because you need guidance, Aemond,” she replied, her voice smooth and unwavering. “You cannot run from your own shadow.”

“I do not need guidance from you or anyone,” he retorted, his voice sharp enough to cut. “You know nothing of my path.”

“Yet here I am, the only one willing to speak the truth to you,” she continued, undeterred. “The truth you have buried beneath your rage.”

Aemond clenched his fists at his sides, his patience fraying. “You think your cryptic nonsense is the truth?”

“Cryptic? Perhaps. But all truths are often wrapped in riddles,” she said, her tone light as if they were discussing the weather instead of the weight of fate hanging over him. “You want to claim the throne, but your heart remains entangled in a web of grief and anger.”

“Enough!” Aemond shouted, spinning around to face her fully. “You think you understand me? You do not know the first thing about what I have lost.” Her expression softened, and for a fleeting moment, Aemond saw a flicker of empathy in her eyes. “I know of loss, Aemond. I know what it means to watch someone you care for slip through your fingers,” she said, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “But it is how you respond to that loss that defines you. Will you be a king who rules with vengeance, or one who rises to honour the memory of those who loved you?”

Aemond inhaled sharply, the weight of her words settling on his chest like a heavy stone. He turned away, unable to face her piercing gaze. “What do you know of honour? You are just a—”

“A healer, yes,” she interjected smoothly. “But I am also Alys Rivers, and I am here to help you navigate the darkness that surrounds you.”

“Alys Rivers,” he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. “And why would a healer care about a prince like me?”

“Because, Aemond, sometimes the most lost souls need the guidance of those who can see beyond the veil of anger,” she replied. “And sometimes, it takes a stranger to hold up a mirror to the truth you refuse to face.”

He felt a strange pull toward her words, despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. “And what truth is that?” he asked, challenging her.

“The truth that you are trapped in a cycle of vengeance, yet your heart yearns for connection. You seek power, but in your pursuit, you have forgotten what it means to love and be loved,” Alys said, stepping closer, her presence almost magnetic. “Helaena warned you, and now she is gone. But her spirit remains, waiting for you to acknowledge the burden you carry.” Aemond inhaled sharply at the mention of Helaena’s name, a raw wound that throbbed with pain. “I did what I had to do,” he said defensively, but even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “This throne is mine by right.”

“And yet, you stand on the precipice of losing everything, including your own life,” Alys said, her gaze piercing through his defenses. “Can you truly defeat Daemon and Visenya?”

Aemond laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound that echoed off the stone walls. “Visenya is dragonless. I have bested her on dragonback twice, killed her beloved dragon too,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “And Daemon’s deformed dragon is no match for Vhagar.”

“Your pride will be your death, Aemond,” she warned, her voice steady and unyielding. “You underestimate them at your peril.” He waved a dismissive hand, unwilling to entertain her words. “You do not know what you are talking about. I have trained for this moment my entire life. I won’t fall because of overconfidence.”

“Confidence is one thing, but hubris is another,” Alys countered, her expression unwavering. “When you face them, remember that anger can cloud your judgment. You must not let it consume you.” With a scoff, he turned away, but Alys followed, undeterred. “You believe you can face Daemon without understanding your own heart? You are stronger than your rage. Acknowledge it, and you may find the strength to turn this tide.”

“Strength? Is that what you call it?” he shot back, frustration boiling in his veins. “Strength is taking what is yours. Strength is seizing power, not sitting around contemplating my feelings.” Alys sighed, a hint of disappointment flashing across her face. “Power without purpose is hollow. It will leave you empty, just as it has left you now. And I would hate to see a man of your potential squander it in the name of vengeance.”

Aemond remained silent, the weight of her words settling heavily upon him. He was not ready to confront the truth she spoke, but deep inside, he felt the stirrings of a different kind of power—one that came not from vengeance, but from understanding and acceptance.

For a moment, he contemplated the possibility of a different fate, one where he could rise above the chaos. But the anger still simmered within him, and he pushed it aside, unwilling to let it take root just yet.

“Enough of this,” he said at last, turning away from her piercing gaze. “I have a throne to claim.” As he walked away, Alys called after him, her voice steady and unwavering. “Remember, Aemond: the road you choose will determine the legacy you leave behind. Choose wisely.”

__

Aemond wandered the shadowy halls of Harrenhal, his mind racing with Alys’s unsettling words. He sought the solitude of a dusty, abandoned room, trying to silence the thoughts that clawed at him. It was a chamber long forgotten, with heavy drapes covering the windows, shrouding the space in darkness. A dilapidated bed stood in the corner, its frame groaning as he collapsed onto it, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. He closed his eye, hoping for sleep to wash over him, but instead, his mind plunged into a restless void.

The air around him shifted, growing colder, sharper. He found himself standing in a darkened space, where the shadows seemed to thicken like smoke. A faint light glimmered through the darkness, revealing a figure standing in its midst. Aemond's breath caught, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he recognized the familiar silhouette. Helaena stood before him, but not as he remembered her in life. Her nightgown was soaked in crimson, blood staining the delicate white fabric, trailing down her legs and pooling at her bare feet. Her hands cradled her swollen, lifeless belly, her fingers stained red as they rested over the place where her unborn child lay cold within her.

Her hair, once a soft cascade of silver, was matted with blood, clinging to her face. Her eyes, once wide with a gentle light, were now hollow, filled with a sorrow that seemed to pierce through him. Aemond felt a chill creep through his veins, freezing him in place, his body trembling as he took in the sight of her. She looked like a wraith, caught between life and death, a memory twisted into something cruel.

“Helaena,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. He tried to step closer, but his feet felt like lead, rooted to the ground as if the darkness itself held him back. Helaena’s lips moved, a broken, ghostly sound escaping her, like wind through a cracked window. “You never listened...” she murmured, her voice carrying a haunting echo that reverberated through the air. She looked down at her bloodied hands, the sight of them making Aemond's stomach churn. “You never saw the truth... the fate you have made for yourself.”

Aemond’s face twisted with anguish as he reached out, desperation in every movement. “I tried, Helaena,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “I tried to protect you. I didn’t want—” Her head snapped up, her empty gaze locking onto his. “Protect me?” she repeated, her tone turning sharp, almost mocking, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “You could not even see me, Aemond. You were too consumed with your own anger... your own pride. You thought it made you strong.”

Aemond took a step back, the words cutting through him like a blade. He had seen her like this before, the night she died, bleeding out alone with no one by her side. She had been so small and fragile, yet now she seemed to loom over him, a specter of all the things he had refused to face.

“Helaena, please,” he whispered, the ache in his chest deepening. “I... I cared for you.” Her smile twisted, a sad and knowing expression crossing her pale face. “Did you?” she asked softly, cradling her belly with a gentleness that contrasted the horror of her form. “Did you care enough to see the warnings I spoke? I told you of shadows, of the darkness that would consume you... but you did not heed them. You forged your path, Aemond. A path lined with blood and fire.”

She took a step toward him, her bare, blood-soaked feet leaving crimson prints on the ground. Aemond tried to reach for her, his hand trembling as he stretched it out, but his fingers found only cold air. Helaena’s empty eyes searched his face, a sorrow that seemed endless behind them.

“I warned you of the doom that would come,” she continued, her voice like a whisper carried on the wind. “But you built the steps to your own fall, piece by piece. Every choice, every life you took, brought you closer to this.”

Aemond shook his head, a desperate denial burning in his throat. “No... I fought for our family, for the throne that is ours by right,” he insisted, though his voice wavered. Helaena’s hands tightened over her belly, her fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown. Her expression softened for a moment, a trace of the gentle sister he had known seeping through the shadows of her face. “I saw more than you ever knew, Aemond,” she said, her voice breaking, a flicker of pain flashing across her face. “I saw a future where we might have found peace... but you could not let go of your rage.”

Her figure wavered like smoke in a breeze, her image twisting as if caught between two worlds. Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He felt the weight of her words pressing down on him, the truth he had buried so deep finally clawing its way to the surface.

“I would have tried to save you,” he said, a desperate edge to his voice. “I... I could have done more—” She shook her head, the movement slow and sorrowful. “It would not change anything,” she whispered, her voice cold as ice. “You were always meant to walk this path, to find your end in the shadows you refused to see.”

Aemond’s knees buckled, his hands pressing into the blood-stained floor as the vision of his sister began to dissolve. Her words lingered, echoing in the emptiness that surrounded him, filling the silence with their haunting weight.

“You will die here,” she said one last time, her voice fading into the darkness. “And when you do, there will be no songs, no glory. Only the ashes of what you destroyed.” Her form melted away into the shadows, leaving Aemond kneeling on the cold, hard ground. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving as he tried to claw back the composure that had been ripped from him. But the ache in his heart only grew, the memory of Helaena’s sorrow and the blood that had marked her fate searing itself into his mind.

Aemond staggered back from the darkness that had swallowed Helaena’s form, his breaths coming in desperate, jagged heaves. His mind spun, his senses numbed by the raw anguish her ghostly presence had stirred. The cold pressed into him, suffocating, until it suddenly shifted—melting away into something warm, a gentle breeze caressing his skin. When he blinked, the ruined chambers of Harrenhal vanished, replaced by a vision that felt too vivid to be anything but a dream. The air was filled with the scent of salt and wildflowers, the warmth of the sun washing over him as he found himself standing amidst rolling green hills.

Aemond’s chest tightened as he took in the sight before him—a small house perched on a cliff that overlooked a sparkling sea. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks reached his ears, a rhythm as steady and soothing as a heartbeat. It was a place he had never seen, yet it felt achingly familiar. Aemond turned slowly, his eye catching sight of something that nearly brought him to his knees—Visenya.

She stood in the doorway of the house, bathed in the golden light of the sun, her long silver hair cascading down her back. Her face was softer than he had ever seen it, free of the burdens of war and vengeance. She wore a simple dress, her hand resting gently against the doorframe as she looked out over the sea, a small, serene smile playing on her lips. Aemond’s breath caught in his throat. He stepped forward, his legs trembling beneath him as he moved closer. His heart ached with the weight of the impossible, with the sight of Visenya in a way he had never allowed himself to imagine. Her head turned slightly, catching his movement, and her smile widened at the sight of him.

“There you are,” she said, her voice warm and teasing. “I thought you would be busy with your books forever.” Aemond froze, her words sinking in like a knife. They were so ordinary, so far removed from the sharp-edged conversations they had in the real world. But here, in this vision, she spoke to him like they had known each other in a different way—without the bitterness, without the distance. But this vision of familiarity cut deeper, reminding him of the life he might have had if things had been different. He struggled to find words, his voice cracking as he took another step toward her. “Visenya... what is this?”

She tilted her head, a playful light in her eyes. “What do you mean, Aemond? You are home.” Aemond’s chest tightened painfully as he glanced around, taking in the house, the warmth of the sun, the ease in her expression. His mind reeled, trying to reconcile this vision with the reality he knew—the reality where he had chosen violence, where blood and death followed every step he took. Where Visenya had chosen Aegon, his brother, and not him.

But here... here, there was a life he had never imagined, a life where he was not haunted by shadows or driven by rage. He could almost believe that he could belong here, that he could find a place beside her in this peaceful corner of the world. Visenya’s gaze softened as she stepped down from the doorway, closing the distance between them. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his face, the touch sending a shiver through him. Her hand lingered on his cheek, her thumb tracing the scar that marred his skin, and he felt a strange ache bloom in his chest—something raw, something he hadn’t felt in years.

“I always believed there could be more than this,” she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of a quiet hope. “That we could find peace, if only we let go of all the things that kept us apart.” Aemond swallowed hard, his throat tight as he searched her face, trying to understand the strange, bittersweet hope that flickered in her eyes. He shook his head slowly, his voice barely a whisper. “But I... I made my choices. I destroyed everything that could have led us here.”

Visenya’s smile turned sad, her eyes glimmering with a sorrow that mirrored his own. “Yes, you did. But it didn’t have to be this way.”

As she spoke, the world around them shifted again, and Aemond found himself in another vision—a small room filled with warmth and laughter. He saw himself and Visenya, sitting at a table, their hands intertwined. He saw a child, silver-haired and bright-eyed, running through the room with a carefree laugh. The sight made his heart clench painfully, his mind struggling to accept the gentle scene before him. The child’s laughter filled the air, and Aemond’s breath hitched when he saw her—Alyssa, with the same silver hair and bright, inquisitive eyes that mirrored Visenya’s. She ran toward them, her small hands clutching a wooden toy, her face alight with innocent joy. She looked at Aemond with such open affection, as if he were someone she trusted, someone she adored.

Aemond’s hands trembled as he reached out toward the vision, toward Alyssa, his heart aching with a longing that threatened to consume him. “This... this could never have been,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I... I am not made for peace.” Visenya’s form seemed to shimmer, her smile remaining soft, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes. “You could have been, Aemond. But you chose another path. You let your pride consume you, let your need for vengeance take everything from you... even this.”

Her words struck him like a blow, and he staggered back, the vision slipping through his fingers like sand. The warmth of the room, the sound of Alyssa’s laughter, the touch of Visenya’s hand—they all faded, leaving him alone on the cliffside once more. He turned to face Visenya, but she was already stepping back, slipping into the shadows that gathered at the edges of the vision. Desperation clawed at him, and he reached out, his voice cracking with a raw, pleading edge. “Visenya... please...”

She paused, her silhouette framed by the dying light of the sun, and for a moment, Aemond thought he saw a tear glinting in her eye. But her expression hardened, her voice turning colder, more accusing. “You took them from me, Aemond. My family, my mother, my peace—you took it all. And for what? Because you could not bear to see Aegon with me? Because your jealousy ate away at you until there was nothing left but hate?”

Aemond felt the accusation like a knife to the heart, but he could only shake his head, his voice desperate. “It was not... it was not jealousy. I wanted what was rightfully—”

“Rightfully yours?” Visenya’s voice rose, cutting through his words like a blade. “You have built a kingdom on ashes, Aemond, and you cannot see the ruin you’ve made. You could have been more than this, but you let your pride and your rage twist everything. Even now, you still cannot see it.”

Her voice softened, filled with a sorrow that made his chest ache. “Helaena warned you, time and time again, of the path you were on. She tried to guide you, even when it hurt her, even when you ignored her. And now... she is gone, just like the future you could have had.” Aemond’s hands clenched, his entire body trembling with a fury he could barely contain. He wanted to scream at her, to deny her words, to insist that he had done what was necessary, that he had acted out of duty. But the vision of Alyssa’s laughter, of Visenya’s warmth, lingered like a ghost at the edge of his mind, haunting him with the life he could never have.

“I never wanted to hurt her,” he choked out, his voice raw with a pain he could no longer keep hidden. “I never wanted... any of this.”

Visenya’s gaze softened, but the sadness in her eyes remained. “It is too late for that, Aemond. You have set this path, and now it is leading you to your own destruction.” As her words echoed around him, the vision began to dissolve, the warmth slipping away and leaving him in the cold, broken halls of Harrenhal. The shadows pressed in around him, and the weight of his choices settled on his shoulders like a crushing burden. He fell to his knees, the memory of Visenya’s accusations and Alyssa’s innocent laughter echoing in the darkness.

For the first time, the iron grip of his pride loosened, and in its place, there was only regret—raw, unbearable, and inescapable. Aemond gripped the edges of the worn, wooden bed frame, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to steady his breathing. The cold air of Harrenhal wrapped around him, chilling him to the bone, as he fought against the images that had haunted him. He could still hear Helaena’s words echoing through his mind, feel the warmth of the impossible life he had glimpsed with Visenya and their child. But it had slipped through his grasp like mist, leaving behind a bitterness that clung to his heart.

He closed his eye, hoping to shut out the remnants of the visions, but darkness only brought him deeper into another. He fell forward, the world around him twisting and warping until he no longer felt the solid ground beneath him. Instead, he was falling, deeper into the dark, until a sharp wind hit his face, the cold biting into his skin like a thousand tiny knives.

When he landed, it was not with the warmth of the dream but the chill of reality. He stood amidst a desolate battlefield, the sky above him a swirling mass of black clouds that rumbled with distant thunder.

The scent of blood and smoke filled his lungs, and the earth beneath his feet was slick with mud and ash. It was a place of death and ruin—one he recognized well, for it was the kind of destruction he had brought with Vhagar’s fire time and time again.

And then he saw her.

Visenya stood before him, her back straight and her shoulders squared, her armor glinting with the reflection of distant flames. Her silver hair was unbound, whipping around her like a storm as she held her sword at her side. This was not the Visenya from the soft, idyllic vision he had seen before. This was the Visenya he knew now—a woman forged by grief and rage, her eyes sharp and cold as winter. She was a warrior, every part of her braced for battle. Her gaze locked onto him, and a dark smile curved her lips as she began to advance, each step deliberate, her boots sinking into the blood-soaked earth. Aemond felt his breath catch in his throat, his muscles tensing with an instinctual fear he did not want to acknowledge.

“Visenya,” he said, his voice a rasp in the thick, choking air. “What is this?”

She ignored his question, her steps unyielding as she drew closer. The sword in her hand gleamed with a terrible light, the metal humming with an energy that made the air crackle around them. Aemond took a step back, his pulse quickening as he realized that this Visenya did not come with warmth or forgiveness—only a promise of death.

“You thought you could hide from me here?” she said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You thought you could escape the consequences of what you have done?” Aemond’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, a spark of defiance flaring in his chest. “This is just another vision, a trick of the mind. You are nothing but a shadow.”

Visenya’s laugh was low and sharp, full of a bitterness that made his stomach churn. “A shadow, am I? Then tell me, Aemond, why does your heart race so?” She paused, her eyes boring into his, and he could see the flames reflected in the icy blue of her gaze. “You fear me. Because you know, deep down, that your time is running out.” Aemond’s jaw tightened as he forced himself to stand straighter, to meet her gaze without flinching. “I do not fear you, Visenya. I have bested you before, I could do so again.”

The smirk that touched her lips was cruel, devoid of any warmth. “Bested me? Twice, you say? You delude yourself. You may have knocked me down, but you have never defeated me. You never broke my spirit, nor did you break my resolve.” She took another step forward, and Aemond fought the urge to retreat, to turn away from the rage in her eyes. But he could not move—something in her gaze held him in place, rooting him to the spot. His pride warred with the cold dread creeping up his spine.

“I have come to collect what you owe, Aemond,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “For my mother’s death. For my brothers and sisters. For the ashes you’ve made of our family. I will have your life, and I will take it with my own hands.” Aemond felt a flare of anger burn through his chest, the heat of it dulling the edge of his fear. He drew his own sword, pointing it toward her with a hand that only trembled slightly. “Do you think you are the only one who is lost, Visenya? The only one who has suffered?” His voice grew louder, harsher. “I am no stranger to grief! You think your pain gives you the right to vengeance? To make me pay for all of it?”

But Visenya’s expression did not soften, did not waver. She stared at him as if he were a child throwing a tantrum, her gaze unrelenting. “You speak of grief as if it makes you righteous, all you truly lost was an eye,” she retorted, her tone icy. “But all you have ever done is use it as an excuse to burn and destroy. You were never strong enough to carry it. You let it consume you, let it turn you into a monster.” Her words struck him like a physical blow, and Aemond felt his resolve falter. He could see the truth in her eyes, the accusation that he had tried so hard to deny. He opened his mouth to lash back, but the words caught in his throat, strangled by the weight of everything he had done.

“You will die here, Aemond,” Visenya continued, stepping closer until they were almost face to face. Her voice softened, but it was filled with a terrible certainty. “You will not ascend the throne. You will not be celebrated. No songs will be sung of your name. You will be forgotten, your legacy buried beneath the ashes of this war.”

Aemond’s grip on his sword tightened, and he could feel the tremor in his arm, the desperation clawing at his insides. “No... I will not allow it,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I will be remembered. I will carve my place into history, with fire and blood if I must.” Visenya’s eyes glinted with a sorrowful disdain. “You think you can rewrite fate with your pride and your anger? Helaena saw what you would become, what you would bring upon yourself. She warned you time and time again, but you refused to listen. She tried to save you, even when it broke her, but you let her suffer alone.”

Aemond felt a wave of pain ripple through him at the mention of Helaena, the guilt that he had buried so deep surging to the surface. He could still see her face, bloodied and broken, her eyes filled with sorrow even in death. He staggered, the weight of it crushing his chest, leaving him breathless.

“Visenya... please,” he choked out, desperation seeping into his voice. “I never meant for any of this... I never meant...” But Visenya’s expression remained cold, unmoved. She leaned in closer, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried the weight of all the pain he had inflicted. “You chose this, Aemond. You chose your pride over everything—over family, over love, over your own humanity. Now you will pay the price.”

She raised her sword, the edge gleaming with the promise of death, and Aemond felt his heart lurch as he stared into her unyielding gaze. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but his strength had abandoned him, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. In that moment, he realized that he could not escape the reckoning that had come for him.

The world around him began to dissolve again, the vision slipping through his grasp like smoke. But the final image that burned into his mind was Visenya’s face—unforgiving, merciless, and filled with a determination that he could never hope to match. 

Chapter Text

The sky above Harrenhal churned with dark clouds, thick and heavy with the promise of rain. Vermithor and Caraxes circled over the broken towers like harbingers of doom, their roars shaking the ancient stones beneath them. The great ruins loomed below, casting deep shadows across the landscape, their blackened walls whispering of old horrors. Visenya remained astride Vermithor, her hands gripping the reins, feeling the tense readiness of the dragon beneath her. Beside her, Daemon sat astride Caraxes, his face grim with purpose, the scarred and serpentine dragon shifting restlessly in the air. They hovered above the ruin of Harrenhal, letting the gusts of wind from their wings buffet the shattered battlements below.

She scanned the grounds, the castle’s empty eyes staring back at her. She knew Aemond was somewhere within those walls, lurking like a ghost amid the crumbled towers. But she would not give him the satisfaction of hiding. Leaning forward, she let her voice ring out into the sky, a challenge that echoed across the desolate landscape, amplified by the deep rumble of Vermithor’s growl.

“Aemond! Come out and face me!” she shouted, the words carrying over the desolate grounds like a blade through the air. The silence that followed was as heavy as the storm clouds above, a stillness that pressed against her chest. Then, the deep rumble of stone shifting reached her ears, a distant sound that grew closer until she could see a lone figure stepping from the shadowed ruins, framed by the crumbling archway of the castle’s entrance.

Aemond emerged from the darkness like a shadow given form. He remained mounted on Vhagar, his armour glinting dully under the overcast sky, and the sapphire that replaced his missing eye glowed with a cold, eerie light. Vhagar, old and immense, unfurled her wings behind him, blotting out a stretch of sky as her massive form rose above the shattered battlements. A bitter smile curled Visenya’s lips as she met Aemond’s gaze from across the distance. He looked like a wraith atop his dragon, but she saw the stiffness in his posture, the tension that coiled beneath his skin. His pride and rage swirled around him like a shroud, but she knew him too well—he would come because he could not resist the challenge, because his pride demanded it.

Beside her, Daemon watched Aemond with a calculating eye, his grip tightening on Caraxes’ reins as the red dragon growled low in its throat. Daemon leaned slightly forward, his voice carrying to Visenya through the howl of the wind. “He always had more pride than sense. But watch yourself, Visenya.”

Visenya’s expression did not soften. “I know,” she replied, her voice cold as steel. “But I have waited long enough for this moment.” Aemond’s sneer was visible even from their height. His voice, sharp and dripping with disdain, rose up to meet theirs. “So, the pretender queen and the old man have come to die before these ruins. Tell me, Visenya—do you truly believe you will leave here alive?”

She felt the heat of Vermithor beneath her, the ancient dragon’s growl vibrating through her bones, and she squared her shoulders, unflinching. “It is not my life that’s at risk today, Aemond. It’s yours.” Aemond’s laugh echoed, the sound hollow and mocking. Vhagar shifted beneath him, her enormous claws digging into the charred earth, her wings fanning the air with a low rumble. “You still cling to your defiance. But what power do you have, Visenya?.You are a shadow of the warrior you used to be, I killed your beloved Vaehaemion and this dragon of yours now will remain a shadow of your first.”

Visenya’s eyes narrowed, fury igniting in her chest. “You will find that Vermithor is no shadow, and neither am I. Your strength is built on the bones of better men—and I will be the one to break it.” Aemond’s lips twisted in a snarl, his patience fraying. “You think you can take my head you insolent woman? You think this ends with you triumphant? I am the rider of Vhagar, the mightiest of all dragons, and you are nothing but a pretender’s daughter.” Before Visenya could respond, Daemon’s laughter rang out, sharp and full of contempt. “Brave words for a man who hides behind his dragon. Come then, boy! Show us if you’re more than just a mouth!”

The tension in the air thickened, a promise of bloodshed hanging over the shattered remains of the once-great castle. Visenya and Daemon locked eyes, sharing a moment of silent understanding. They knew what was at stake, the weight of their losses pressing down on them, and the ghost of Rhaenyra’s hope urging them onward. Aemond’s grip tightened on Vhagar’s reins, his face twisting with rage at Daemon’s taunts. “You speak of death as if you do not fear it, old man. But death is the only fate that awaits you both. You can join your charred lover in death, I am sure she died thinking that you could not save her Daemon. You could not save Rhaenyra.”

Daemon’s smile sharpened into something feral, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light, trying to control his temper with how he mocked his beloved. “I do not fear death, Aemond. And I do not fear you.”

Visenya’s focus remained unyielding on Aemond, her heart pounding with the heat of her rage, the memory of her mother’s dreams, and the weight of the lives Aemond had taken. She raised her sword, leveling it at Aemond from atop Vermithor’s back, her voice clear and unwavering.

“Come then, Aemond Targaryen,” she said, the words like a challenge that split the air. “Let us end this, once and for all.” The storm-dark sky above Harrenhal split with the thunderous roars of dragons as three ancient beasts clashed in a deadly dance. Lightning crackled through the storm clouds, casting brief flashes of light over the twisted ruins below. The wind whipped around them, carrying the tension of generations-old blood feuds, of families at war. The very earth beneath seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the confrontation that could reshape the future of the realm.

Visenya, riding Vermithor, and Daemon, astride Caraxes, were a sight to behold, their eyes burning with fierce determination. They flew side by side, their dragons’ scales gleaming in the flashes of lightning as they closed in on the shadow of Harrenhal. Below them, the broken towers loomed like jagged teeth, and beyond, the hulking figure of Vhagar circled the ancient castle, her vast wings churning the storm clouds. Aemond urged Vhagar forward, his face set in a grim expression as he guided the mighty beast into the fray. He met their challenge with a shout, his voice lost in the storm’s fury, but the defiance in his eyes was clear, “Tolī zirȳ Vhagar!”

“After them Vhagar!”

He would not run, not from Daemon, nor from Visenya. He had come to face them, and he intended to end this. The two sides hurtled toward each other, faster than arrows loosed from a bowstring. Their dragons' roars shook the sky, echoing through the blackened stones of the ruined castle. When they met, it was with the force of colliding worlds—Vermithor’s claws raking across Vhagar’s scaled hide, Caraxes snapping toward her exposed neck. Sparks flew as the ancient beasts clawed and bit, their dragonfire clashing in bursts of blinding light that lit up the storm-darkened sky.

Visenya leaned into Vermithor’s dive, urging him with a fierce command, “Dokimarvose Vermitos! Embrot!”

“Pay attention Vermithor! Go down!”

She could feel the strain in his muscles as he grappled with Vhagar’s size, but there was a fire in his roar, a fury that matched her own. Below her, Daemon drove Caraxes into the fray, the Blood Wyrm’s sinuous body twisting through the air as he aimed for Vhagar’s vulnerable side. The three dragons tangled together, wings thrashing and jaws snapping. Vhagar’s jaws closed around Caraxes’s shoulder, her teeth sinking into the crimson scales with a sickening crunch. Caraxes let out a pained shriek, twisting in her grip, his claws lashing out in a desperate bid to break free. Blood splattered through the air, dark against the storm clouds, and Daemon gritted his teeth, forcing Caraxes to snap back at Vhagar’s throat.

“Rāpirī, Caraxes! rāpirī!”, Daemon snarled through the wind, his hands tight on the reins. “We have faced worse than this, old friend.”

“Calm down, Caraxes! Calm down!”

But Aemond, high on Vhagar’s back, saw the struggle and pressed his advantage. He urged Vhagar to tighten her grip, a vicious smile playing on his lips as he shouted through the storm. “Is this all you have, uncle? A crippled dragon and a girl with delusions of grandeur?” Visenya met his taunt with a cold fire in her gaze. “You will eat those words, Aemond,” she spat, guiding Vermithor into a sharp dive that brought him down on Vhagar’s exposed back.

Vermithor’s claws raked along her spine, drawing a bellow of pain from the great dragon. Aemond whipped around, rage twisting his features, but he was forced to react quickly, pulling Vhagar out of the dive and lashing out with a gout of dragonfire. The fire washed over Caraxes and Vermithor, scorching their scales and filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. Visenya felt the heat sear her side, her armor growing uncomfortably hot against her skin, but she refused to flinch. Beside her, Daemon drove Caraxes forward, the Blood Wyrm lunging up from below and clamping his jaws around Vhagar’s leg. Vhagar let out a roar of fury, twisting violently, but Caraxes held fast, pulling her down with the strength of a serpent constricting its prey.

For a moment, the three dragons tumbled through the air, a knot of snapping jaws, tearing claws, and thrashing wings. The ground below rushed up to meet them, the storm clouds swirling around their descent. Aemond’s face was a mask of frustration as he fought to regain control, his grip on Vhagar’s reins tightening until his knuckles turned white.

“You think I fear you, Visenya?” Aemond shouted, his voice raw with anger. “You think your misshapen beast is a match for me?” Visenya ignored his words, her focus unyielding as she drove Vermithor upward, using their momentum to slam into Vhagar’s flank. Her dragon’s powerful wings beat against the air, and with a mighty heave, Vermithor pulled free of the tangle, his claws raking across Vhagar’s scales as he broke away.

“You always think yourself invincible, Aemond,” she shouted back, her voice carrying through the storm. “But pride will be your death.”

Caraxes twisted beneath them, breaking free of Vhagar’s grip with a final wrenching snap. He surged upward, his sinuous body cutting through the storm as he lashed out with his tail, catching Vhagar across the jaw with a force that sent a shockwave rippling through the air. Aemond swayed in his saddle, nearly losing his balance as Vhagar reeled from the blow.

The skies trembled with the fury of the battle, dragonfire lighting up the storm with bursts of orange and gold. The sound of their roars echoed across the crumbling ruins of Harrenhal, mingling with the howling wind and the crash of waves far below. Each strike, each clash of claws and teeth, seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the ancient fortress.

Visenya and Daemon pressed their advantage, driving Vhagar toward the broken towers of Harrenhal. Vermithor’s jaws snapped at her flanks, Caraxes’ tail lashed out with relentless force. They fought with a coordination born of years of training, of shared purpose, each movement aimed to keep Aemond on the defensive. But Aemond was far from defeated. He steadied himself in the saddle, the fury in his eyes hardening into a dangerous focus. Vhagar twisted in the air, wrenching free of their assault with a roar that shook the sky. She turned on Vermithor, jaws wide, and unleashed another torrent of flame that engulfed the Bronze Fury’s side. Vermithor bellowed in pain, but Visenya urged him on, refusing to let the fire break their resolve.

“You think you can defeat me?” Aemond’s voice cut through the flames, filled with venom. “You think you can take the throne with your pathetic alliance? I will kill you both, and then I will burn everything you hold dear!”

Daemon’s eyes flashed with a cold, knowing fire as he guided Caraxes alongside Visenya’s dragon. He glanced at her, a dark smile curling his lips. “Then let him try, Visenya Let him test the strength of our wrath.”

As the three dragons twisted and grappled through the storm-wracked skies, Visenya's eyes narrowed, catching a flicker of something in Aemond’s expression. Even as he fought with the ferocity of a cornered beast, there was a distance in his gaze—something haunted and fractured, as if a shadow clung to him amidst the rain and lightning. He urged Vhagar forward with his usual aggression, but his commands to her seemed uneven, a beat too slow. She sensed it in his reactions—he wasn’t fighting with the single-minded focus she had expected. Visenya steadied herself on Vermithor’s back, watching Aemond with the keen eyes of a hawk circling its prey. She drove her dragon into a sudden dive, bringing them down beneath Vhagar’s belly before pulling up sharply, using the momentum to slice through the air and rake her claws across Vhagar's vulnerable side. The Bronze Fury’s roar reverberated as his talons scraped against Vhagar’s thick scales, drawing blood. Yet, even then, Aemond seemed distracted, his focus wavering.

Beside her, Daemon caught the shift as well. Caraxes twisted his sinuous body through the rain, striking with a precision that only seemed to confirm the weakness they had glimpsed. “Do you see it?” he shouted to Visenya, his voice carrying over the crashing storm. “The boy's mind is elsewhere!”

Visenya nodded, her heart racing as she considered what this could mean. Aemond was relentless, always, and yet now there was a crack in his armor, something weighing him down that she couldn’t place. She saw the tightness in his grip on Vhagar’s reins, the set of his jaw as if he was straining against some unseen force.

“Is that all you have, Aemond?” Visenya taunted, her voice sharp and cutting through the air. “You speak of victory, of death, yet here you are, losing yourself to ghosts!” Aemond's head snapped toward her, and for an instant, she caught a glimpse of a strange light in his eye—a flash of something between rage and anguish. His lips twisted into a snarl, but there was no sharp retort, no searing comeback like she expected. He urged Vhagar into a fierce dive, but even then, his movements were frantic, as if trying to escape the specter haunting him.

Visenya's eyes widened, a realization dawning on her that sent a shiver down her spine. He is haunted by something, she thought, her pulse quickening. Perhaps a vision, a memory... She could not know what, but it was gnawing at him, dragging him back into his mind even as they fought.

She pressed her advantage, urging Vermithor forward. “What do you see, Aemond?” she shouted, her voice a cruel edge. “What ghosts haunt you now? Is it Helaena’s face, twisted in death? Or is it the weight of your own failures?”

Aemond’s eyes flared with fury, but the flicker of fear beneath it remained, barely concealed. Vhagar twisted beneath him, snapping her jaws at Vermithor, but her strikes were wilder, less precise. Caraxes dove in from above, his jaws latching onto the edge of Vhagar’s wing, pulling the larger dragon off balance. Aemond struggled to regain control, his teeth gritted against the pressure that seemed to bear down on him from within as much as from the battle around him.

“You know nothing of what I face!” Aemond roared back, his voice breaking through the rain like a bolt of thunder. But Visenya could hear the crack in it, the desperation that seeped through his bravado. His face, usually a mask of cold determination, was strained, a battle of its own playing out behind his eye. She pressed further, pushing the advantage of his distraction. “You cannot fight me, Aemond, when you cannot even fight yourself!” she shouted, her words carried by the wind. “You have let your pride and your guilt bury you, just as surely as you buried our blood with your own hands.”

Vermithor’s roar tore through the sky, punctuating her words, and she could see the conflict deepening in Aemond’s eye. His hands tightened on Vhagar’s reins, his jaw clenching so hard she could see the tension rippling through his face. But the cracks were there, and they were widening. Aemond's focus wavered again, his head turning slightly, as if listening for a voice only he could hear. For a moment, his gaze seemed to drift past Visenya, lost to the shadows of his own mind. His eye held a strange, hollow look, one she’d seen only once before—when her grandfather gazed at something that no one else could see, a whisper carried by the winds of fate.

Daemon, seeing this, shouted from his place on Caraxes. “The spirits of the dead hold him fast. Break him now, while he falters!” His voice was a dark command, carried on the wings of the storm. Caraxes surged forward, his jaws snapping at Vhagar’s flank with a savage hunger.

Visenya drove Vermithor into a dive alongside her uncle, their dragons descending with claws bared and teeth flashing. But even as they moved in for the kill, she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that clung to the air, like a chill that seeped into her very bones. She caught one last look at Aemond’s face—haunted, torn between worlds.

“Your pride will be your undoing, Aemond,” she whispered to herself, her voice lost in the fury of the storm, as the battle raged on with the ferocity of old grudges coming to a head.

Despite the haunted look in Aemond’s eye and the distraction that plagued him, a warrior's resolve sparked deep within him. Vhagar, sensing her rider's rising fury, unleashed a bellowing roar that shook the very air, charging forward with a renewed ferocity. Aemond’s grip on the reins tightened as he drove Vhagar into the fray with a precision that belied his earlier distraction, his commands sharper and more urgent. Vhagar's massive wings sliced through the storm as she bore down upon Vermithor, claws outstretched. The older dragon’s teeth flashed in response, but Aemond manoeuvred Vhagar with a sudden twist, causing her to dive beneath Vermithor's strike and rake her claws across his underbelly. The Bronze Fury roared in pain, recoiling mid-air, and Aemond seized the moment. He aimed directly for Visenya, his eye blazing with a deadly resolve.

Visenya, who had felt a glimmer of hope earlier, now found herself struggling under Aemond’s relentless assault. Her breath came in sharp, panicked gasps as she tried to maintain control of Vermithor, fighting to match Aemond’s aggression. She could see it in his face—the raw, unbridled rage, and she knew with chilling certainty that he was intent on her death. Her taunts from before seemed to fuel his rage, and he fought with a viciousness that seemed to grow with every strike, each swipe of Vhagar’s claws coming closer, more ferocious.

Aemond’s voice rang out through the storm, cruel and mocking, even as he advanced. “You thought you could best me, Visenya? I have seen your fear. I’ve seen your weakness.” Vhagar’s teeth snapped close to Vermithor’s neck, and Visenya had to twist her dragon to avoid a killing blow. She struggled to hold her ground, but it was clear Aemond had the upper hand, pushing her back toward the rocky cliffs below.

“You will die here,” Aemond snarled, guiding Vhagar into a brutal dive that aimed directly for her, his focus now unyielding. “And you will not carry out your mother’s will.”

Visenya’s heart pounded in her chest, each of Aemond’s words cutting through the storm like a blade. She fought to keep her fear in check, but she could feel the noose tightening around her as Vhagar bore down on her. She pulled hard on the reins, but Vermithor struggled to recover from the onslaught, his roars mingling with the thunder overhead. Just as it seemed Aemond’s attack would succeed, a red blur slashed through the storm-torn skies—Caraxes. Daemon's dragon crashed into Vhagar’s side with a savage force, his serpentine body coiling around her like a constrictor. Vhagar roared, twisting violently as she tried to break free of Caraxes’ grip, but Daemon and his dragon held fast.

Daemon’s voice cut through the storm, fierce and unyielding. “You will not touch her, Aemond!” His face was a mask of determination, eyes blazing with an almost feral protectiveness as he defended Visenya from Aemond’s onslaught. Caraxes’ jaws latched onto Vhagar’s wing, tearing into the flesh and forcing Aemond to redirect his attention. Vhagar thrashed, clawing at Caraxes, and the two dragons tumbled through the air, locked in a brutal struggle.

Aemond twisted in his saddle, trying to free Vhagar from Caraxes’ relentless grip, but Daemon pressed him harder, refusing to yield even an inch. “You think you can claim victory while blinded by your own madness?” Daemon shouted, his voice raw with defiance. “You are no king, Aemond—you are nothing but a shadow of what you could have been.” Vermithor, now freed from Vhagar’s assault, rose back into the fight, and Visenya urged him forward with a desperate determination, “Sagon gīda Vermitos.”

“Be steady Vermithor.”

She could see her Daemon’s struggle, could see the strain in his face as he grappled with Aemond’s strength, but there was no fear in Daemon’s expression—only the grim resolve of a man who had sworn to protect her with his life. Visenya took a deep breath, steadying her grip on the reins, and urged Vermithor into a flanking dive. She aimed for Vhagar’s exposed side, striking with all the power she could muster. Vermithor’s claws ripped through scales and flesh, and the older dragon’s howl of pain filled the skies, shaking the air itself.

Aemond’s gaze snapped to her, and for a moment, Visenya saw pure rage blazing in his eye. But there was something else beneath it—a flicker of something unsteady, a shadow of the haunted look she had glimpsed before. And even amidst the fury of their battle, she wondered if some part of him knew he was losing, that he was being driven back, not only by them but by the weight of his own past. But there would be no mercy, not now. Caraxes’ grip on Vhagar tightened, and his roar echoed across the storm-lashed sky as he fought to hold Vhagar in place, buying Visenya precious seconds. “Finish this, Visenya!” Daemon bellowed through gritted teeth. “End him, before he has the chance to strike again!”

Aemond struggled beneath the dual assault, his rage giving way to desperation as he realized he was being cornered. But he fought back with all the ferocity he could muster, driving Vhagar into a savage spin that tore Caraxes’ grip from her wing, leaving both dragons bleeding and snarling in the air. Yet as Vhagar clawed her way free, Aemond’s focus shifted back to Visenya, a deadly glint in his eye that promised a fight to the very end. Daemon saw a fleeting opening amidst the chaos, a brief moment when Aemond’s focus wavered. Vhagar twisted to avoid Vermithor's latest strike, her massive wings spread wide as she fought to gain altitude. Seizing the opportunity, Daemon urged Caraxes forward with a burst of speed, aiming to drive into Aemond’s flank and force him into submission.

Caraxes, with his serpentine agility, maneuvered through the turbulent air, his claws aimed for Vhagar’s vulnerable side. The two dragons closed the gap swiftly, Daemon pushing Caraxes with every ounce of strength he had left. A sharp gleam flashed in Daemon’s eyes—if he could just throw Aemond off balance, they might turn the tide in their favor. But Aemond, ever the vigilant warrior, caught sight of Daemon’s gambit. His single eye narrowed, the corner of his mouth curling into a cruel smile as he yanked Vhagar into a sharp turn. The larger dragon swung around with a surprising grace for her size, turning the tables on Caraxes in a heartbeat. Vhagar’s massive tail lashed out, striking Caraxes squarely across the chest with a bone-rattling force.

Caraxes recoiled, the impact driving the air from his lungs, his long body coiling and twisting as he fought to regain control. Daemon gritted his teeth, feeling the jolt reverberate through his bones as Caraxes struggled against the force of the blow. But before he could adjust, Aemond pressed the advantage, sending Vhagar into a powerful dive that smashed into Caraxes’ side. Daemon’s vision blurred for a moment from the sheer force of the impact, and he held on to his saddle with all his strength as Caraxes spiraled downward, bleeding heavily from the fresh wounds that tore through his side. Vhagar’s claws ripped into Caraxes’ flesh, and a spray of crimson filled the air, painting the storm-tossed skies with blood.

Caraxes roared in pain, his screech piercing through the wind and thunder, and Daemon’s heart sank as he felt his dragon’s anguish through their bond. His loyal companion writhed beneath Vhagar’s unrelenting assault, trying to twist free from the grip of the older, stronger dragon, but Aemond kept pushing, driving his advantage with a ruthless precision.

“You thought you could best me, old man?” Aemond’s voice rang out through the tempest, mocking and full of venom. “Did you think I would not see through your pathetic attempts?”

Vhagar’s jaws snapped dangerously close to Caraxes’ neck, forcing Daemon to pull back with a desperate maneuver, trying to keep his dragon from suffering a fatal blow. But he knew, deep down, that they were outmatched. Caraxes’ wounds gaped open, and the dragon’s movements had slowed, weakened from the blood loss and the relentless beating.

The storm raged around them, but all Daemon could hear was the laboured breaths of his dragon, the strain in Caraxes’ muscles as he fought against the pain. He saw the triumph in Aemond’s expression, the satisfaction in his twisted smile, and it fueled a fire of defiance in Daemon’s chest, even as his heart clenched with fear.

Aemond’s grip on the reins tightened as he prepared for another vicious strike, and Daemon could feel the weight of the moment bearing down on him. His thoughts raced, searching for any way to turn the fight around, but the reality was harsh and unforgiving—Vhagar was unyielding, and Aemond’s fury had made him unstoppable. Visenya, struggling against Vermithor’s injuries, watched in horror as Daemon and Caraxes faltered, blood streaming through the sky like crimson rain. Her heart pounded in her chest, a deep sense of dread settling in her stomach as she realized that Daemon was in grave danger, and Aemond’s hatred was about to unleash its full wrath upon them.

Visenya’s breath hitched as she watched Caraxes falter, blood pouring from the deep gashes along the dragon's side. Daemon fought fiercely, but it was clear he was struggling to keep Aemond’s relentless attacks at bay. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic rhythm of fear and desperation.

I cannot lose him too, she thought, her eyes flicking between Daemon and Aemond. I have already lost my father, my brother, my grandmother and my mother. If I lose Daemon…

The weight of that thought was suffocating. Her fingers gripped tightly at the reins, the cold bite of metal against her skin grounding her for a moment. But there was no time to dwell on the fear, no time to fall apart. If she hesitated, Aemond would win, and everything would be lost.

Visenya clenched her jaw, narrowing her eyes on the looming figure of Vhagar in the sky. She could feel Vermithor beneath her, his massive, muscled body coiling with tension, waiting for her command. His golden eyes gleamed with the same fierce determination that burned inside her. Aemond might be relentless, but this time, Visenya had the advantage.

Vermithor was a formidable force—a dragon born of fire and rage, one who could match the might of Vhagar. She took a deep breath, forcing the fear back down, and gathered every ounce of courage left inside her. She had faced death before, but never like this. Now, it was not just her life at stake. It was Daemon’s. It was her family’s legacy.

“I will not lose him,” she whispered fiercely, her grip tightening on the reins. She raised her voice, commanding Vermithor with all the authority she could muster. “Dracarys!”

The ancient beast roared in response, the sound vibrating through her entire body. In an instant, Vermithor surged forward, his massive wings cutting through the sky like blades. Fire erupted from his maw, a torrent of flame blazing toward Vhagar, who reeled back from the sudden onslaught. Visenya pressed her body close to Vermithor’s back, feeling the surge of power in every muscle of the great dragon beneath her. He was fast—surprisingly fast for a dragon of his size—and as he closed the distance between them and Vhagar, she could see the surprise flicker in Aemond’s eyes.

He had not expected this. He had not expected her to push back so hard.

Vermithor was relentless, his flames scorching the sky as he lunged at Vhagar, teeth bared, claws outstretched. Vhagar tried to counter, but the sheer force of Vermithor’s attack sent her off balance. Aemond fought to regain control, but the older dragon’s strength was undeniable. A battle between dragons was not just about size or age—it was about will. And Vermithor’s will was as fiery as the flames he breathed.

Aemond gritted his teeth, pushing Vhagar harder, trying to regain the upper hand, but Vermithor met every strike with equal ferocity. The two massive beasts clashed in the air, their roars echoing across the battlefield, shaking the very earth beneath them. Visenya’s heart pounded in her chest, but for the first time in the battle, she felt something other than fear—hope.

“Daemon!” she shouted, her voice carrying over the wind. She could see him below, his sword raised, and though he was injured, he still fought with the same fierce determination she had always known in him. “I am with you!” Daemon looked up, and for a moment, their eyes met. She saw the glint of pride in his gaze, the fire that never left him even in the face of death. He nodded once, and she knew they still had a chance.

But Aemond was not giving up.

As Vermithor clamped his jaws onto Vhagar’s neck, trying to drive the older dragon down, Aemond retaliated with a savage twist. He drove Vhagar’s massive claws into Vermithor’s side, drawing a guttural roar of pain from the great bronze beast. Visenya’s heart skipped, but she held on, refusing to let panic take her. She couldn’t afford to lose control. “Indigon zirȳla arlī Vermitos!” she shouted, her voice hoarse from the strain of the battle.

“Push him back Vermithor!”

The pain only seemed to fuel Vermithor’s fury. With a mighty heave, he broke free of Vhagar’s hold, and in one swift movement, he dove beneath the older dragon, snapping his tail like a whip and slamming it into Vhagar’s side. The force sent Vhagar reeling back, and for the first time in the fight, Visenya saw Aemond falter. He looked at her, fury blazing in his eye, but beneath that rage, she saw something else—doubt. He had underestimated her.

Vermithor roared again, and this time, Visenya spurred him forward, closing the distance between them and Aemond once more.

“You could have chosen differently!” she yelled, her voice filled with every ounce of resentment, pain, and fury she had harbored for years. “But now you will die for your sins, Aemond! This ends today!”

Aemond’s face twisted with rage, but it was clear—he was on the defensive now. Vermithor was too strong, too relentless, and with Daemon rallying below, their combined strength was finally tipping the scales in their favor. This was not just a fight for survival anymore. It was a fight for vengeance for everyone Aemond had torn from her.

And Visenya would not stop until he paid for it with his life.

With a cry that was carved out from the depths of her soul, Visenya called out for Aemond, “Aemond! Face me! I am the one who humiliated you, you have tried to end me twice, and——you have failed. If you are this…promised king that you think you are, then defeat me once and for all! Turn my bones into ash, take the crown on my head, and be done with all this bother!”

Aemond’s eyes glinted at the clear taunting, but truly, he had no desire to finish Daemon. Well, perhaps he did, but his desire to see Visenya’s demise was much greater.  Aemond’s eye narrowed, his lips curling into a bitter smile as he took in Visenya’s challenge. The winds howled between them, filling the tense silence with an eerie chill. Every word she threw at him was laced with defiance, and despite the sting to his pride, he couldn’t deny the thrill that stirred within him. She was calling him out—challenging his very claim to destiny, to prophecy. And he could feel it, every ounce of his being drawn to put her down and prove himself.

His grip on Vhagar’s reins tightened, and he let out a short, humorless laugh that echoed across the skies.

“Very well,” he called out, his voice a dark, almost mocking purr. “If you are so eager to burn, then I will grant you your wish.” He cast one last glance at Daemon, bruised and bloodied, slumped over on Caraxes, who was barely holding himself upright, each breath a struggle. It would have been so easy to end him now, but the desire for Visenya’s defeat was blinding.

She had humiliated him, defied him, and mocked what he believed his birthright. And if he could not have her, then no one can.

“Aegon’s queen,” he sneered, his gaze flickering to the crown she wore. “You do not deserve it.”

Visenya scoffed at that, “I am no one’s queen, I am the queen.”

Aemond laughed at that and with a command, he spurred Vhagar forward, her massive wings beating against the air with a deafening roar as she charged toward Vermithor. Visenya held her ground, her face a mask of steely resolve, and with a firm grip on the reins, she urged Vermithor into a powerful ascent to meet him head-on. Her dragon’s scales glinted like molten bronze in the sunlight, the massive beast a moving fortress of fury and fire.

Vermithor’s roar shattered the air as he met Vhagar, claws clashing and jaws snapping in a brutal dance of death. Aemond’s desire to end her was palpable, but Visenya, unyielding and fierce, didn’t flinch as she manoeuvred Vermithor with precision and skill, her every move anticipating Aemond’s attempts to overpower her. She was not just defending herself—she was fighting with a wrath that had been forged in loss and betrayal. She was more than the tight dresses she wore, she was more than just the mother of her children, she fought for the future that only the Targaryen lineage can save.

“Come then!” she shouted, her voice ringing out with a defiant fury. “Show me the strength you think you have!”

Aemond lunged, his sword flashing as he swung, intent on striking her down. But Visenya twisted Vermithor to the side with a deft manoeuvre, narrowly avoiding the blade, and responded with a barrage of flames that illuminated the sky. Vhagar reared back, letting out an enraged roar, but Aemond held firm, unwilling to retreat.

“You think this will end in victory for you?” Aemond spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “I am the blood of the dragon—no mere girl can best me.”

Visenya laughed, a fierce, scornful sound that only served to infuriate him more. “You have made the mistake of underestimating me too many times, Aemond. I am no mere girl, and today, you will learn that the hard way.”

With a renewed sense of purpose, she drove Vermithor at Vhagar with unrelenting force. Their dragons collided once more, and she pushed harder, forcing Aemond to stay on the defensive. He tried to strike, to break through her resolve, but her determination was as fierce as dragonfire, fueled by the memory of all she had lost and the promise of vengeance. For a moment, Aemond saw the most damning vision. Before his very eyes, Visenya almost looked identical to Vermithor, like she herself would breathe the fires of his end.

Aemond snarled, his eye blazing with frustration as he met her relentless assault. But despite his anger, despite his strength, he found himself struggling to keep up with her. She fought with a fury and skill that matched his own, her every move calculated and controlled, her resolve unshakable.

“Perhaps the false king is not as powerful as he believes,” she taunted, her voice laced with venom. “Perhaps he is nothing more than a pretender, destined to be forgotten.” With a final, powerful thrust, she drove Vermithor forward, forcing Vhagar back. Aemond was left momentarily off balance, a glint of desperation flickering in his eye as he realized she was no longer the same dragon rider he could overpower but he quickly regained control and urged Vhagar to attack Vermithor’s wings. The Bronze Fury roared in anguish, as his wings strained with the pain and began to fall to the  ground.

As Visenya spiraled downward, desperately struggling to regain control of Vermithor, a sudden flash of red cut through the chaos. Daemon, astride Caraxes, dove between her and Vhagar in a fearless charge. His scream echoed through the heavens, a primal, defiant roar as Caraxes launched himself at Vhagar with unparalleled rage, his long, sinuous neck coiling like a serpent.

"Go, Visenya!" Daemon shouted, his voice booming over the deafening clash of dragons. Visenya's heart surged with a renewed sense of urgency, and she yanked on Vermithor's reins, willing him to steady himself as Daemon held Aemond at bay. Caraxes clawed at Vhagar, his teeth tearing into her scales, a desperate gambit to protect Visenya. Aemond cursed, pulling Vhagar upward, only for Daemon to press his assault, relentless and unyielding.

But Vhagar was an ancient terror, a creature of raw, overwhelming power, and her fury was unrestrained. She twisted her massive head, snapping her jaws at Caraxes with lethal precision, her teeth glinting with deadly purpose. Aemond, sensing an opening, drove her on mercilessly.

Visenya managed to level Vermithor, turning back to witness the furious exchange above her. She watched, helpless, as Daemon battled with a recklessness that chilled her to the core. He fought with every ounce of his strength, yet even Caraxes, his loyal Blood Wyrm, was no match for the sheer might of Vhagar.

Time seemed to stretch as Visenya watched the two dragons struggle in the sky, their massive bodies twisting and turning, Caraxes a flash of red against Vhagar’s looming gray. Every beat of their wings, every clawed strike, seemed agonizingly slow, each one bringing Daemon closer to his fate. She wanted to scream, to will him away, but her voice was caught in her throat, a sob strangled by horror.

With a terrible finality, Vhagar's jaws clamped down on Caraxes’s neck, a sickening crunch resounding through the air. Caraxes let out a guttural cry, his long neck writhing as Vhagar's massive teeth sank deeper, silencing him. Blood streamed from Caraxes, staining the sky as he faltered, his wings thrashing in desperate spasms.

"No!" Visenya's scream tore from her throat, her hand outstretched in a futile gesture as she watched Daemon fight to steady himself. But Caraxes was failing him, his life force slipping away with each moment.

In a final act of defiance, Caraxes snapped his jaws at Vhagar, drawing blood along her snout before his wings gave out. With a heart-wrenching lurch, the mighty red dragon plummeted, his body spiraling toward the broken castle of Harrenhal.

"Daemon!" Visenya cried, horror tightening her chest. She felt the shudder through the air as Caraxes and Daemon slammed into the crumbling stone with a thunderous crash that echoed across the land. The walls of Harrenhal buckled, stone and debris flying in all directions as the castle bore the brunt of their terrible descent.

For a moment, there was silence, the battlefield frozen in stunned stillness. Visenya felt a gaping void open inside her, a desperate disbelief as she clung to Vermithor’s reins, her heart pounding like a drum in her ears. She could not breathe, could not move, her mind racing as the realization struck her like a physical blow: Daemon, her father in all but blood, the man who had protected her, taught her, loved her as his own, lay somewhere in that wreckage, his fate unknown.

Vermithor’s uneasy rumble beneath her pulled her back to the present, and she fought to steady herself, clutching her dragon’s reins as if they were her only anchor in the world. Her chest felt hollow, her throat tight as she stared at the broken ruins of Harrenhal, her eyes burning with the hot sting of tears she refused to shed. Above her, Vhagar circled victoriously, her shadow casting a dark stain over the land below. Aemond’s laughter echoed, a cruel, hollow sound that reverberated through the desolate air.

Visenya’s hand clenched around the hilt of her sword, her grief igniting into a fury she had never known. She could feel her entire body trembling, but her voice was clear, steady, as she looked up at Aemond, hatred burning in her gaze.

“You will pay for this, Aemond,” she whispered, her words a promise wrapped in rage, each syllable heavy with the weight of her pain.

As fury surged within her, Visenya drove Vermithor forward, his massive frame gliding through the air with a power that nearly matched Vhagar’s. Vermithor wasn’t nimble like Caraxes had been; he was a beast of raw strength, with a wingspan almost as daunting as Vhagar’s. In this moment, his power radiated as if he were every bit as vast as the monstrous dragon that faced him. Aemond took note, his lone eye narrowing as he witnessed the bond that flickered like fire between Visenya and Vermithor. Every motion of her arm, every subtle shift in her stance, was mirrored by Vermithor, as if he were an extension of her very soul.

Aemond sneered, yet he could not mask his unease. Vhagar might have been ancient and deadly, but the loyalty and shared purpose between Visenya and Vermithor was something he had not anticipated. Vhagar, though lethal, was an old, unyielding force—a creature of raw fury that answered commands but did not mirror them with the unity he was witnessing now. Vermithor, with his dark bronze scales gleaming under the sun, moved like a shadow of Visenya herself, his powerful frame responding to her every desire.

With a roar that shook the sky, Vermithor surged upward, wings thundering as he climbed to a height just above Vhagar. Visenya tightened her grip on the reins, her heart pounding as they circled the larger dragon below, positioning themselves for the strike. Aemond’s frustration was palpable; he yanked at Vhagar’s reins, trying to draw her into another charge. But the ancient dragon’s wings moved more sluggishly now, her massive form unable to keep pace with Vermithor’s calculated movements. Aemond’s jaw clenched as he shouted in frustration, trying to force Vhagar’s sluggish bulk to follow.

Visenya saw her chance and drove Vermithor into a fierce dive, his talons extended. They struck Vhagar’s back with a thunderous blow, claws sinking deep into her scales. Vhagar shrieked, her rage-filled roar echoing across the battlefield, and she twisted violently, throwing her weight to dislodge Vermithor. But Visenya’s grip held fast, her face a mask of unyielding determination. She guided Vermithor in a manoeuvre, using his weight to force Vhagar down, exploiting the larger dragon’s unwieldiness to their advantage.

She glared across the battlefield at Aemond, calling out to him with venom. “What, Aemond? Can the supposed ‘One-Eye King’ not handle the woman he sought to kill? How much grief did you think I had in me?! Did you think….that you could take away so much and I would not feel an urge—and urge to kill you with my own hands.”

His face twisted with rage, and he forced Vhagar to lunge toward them in a desperate attempt to bite. But Vermithor, at her command, ascended just out of reach, their powerful wings slicing through the air above Vhagar’s snapping jaws. Visenya pushed the advantage, maneuvering around her opponent in wide, sweeping arcs, keeping the larger dragon in constant motion, wearing her down bit by bit.

“Is this it?” she taunted, her voice cold and mocking. “Is this the mighty Vhagar, or has she grown too old to defend the legacy you think you deserve?”

Aemond’s eye blazed with fury, but it was clear he was faltering, his every move laced with anger instead of precision. Visenya pressed on, circling him with Vermithor’s relentless, unwavering strength, raining down a torrent of flames that licked at Vhagar’s wings and scorched her scales. With every clash, she felt the weight of her bond with Vermithor—a bond that Aemond had tried to sever time and time again. The dragon beneath her roared, his every heartbeat pulsing with the same fiery vengeance she harboured for her enemy. And then, with a fury that matched her own, Vermithor lunged forward, his jaws snapping close to Vhagar’s neck. Aemond struggled to redirect his dragon, desperation clear in his features. But Vermithor wouldn’t yield. The bronze dragon pushed against Vhagar, each strike of his wings a brutal reminder of his strength, of Visenya’s cunning, and of their shared will.

With a final, furious roar, Visenya drove Vermithor forward, meeting Vhagar’s wild eyes as they grappled in mid-air. Aemond’s anger finally flared into something raw and fearful as he realized the bond before him—a loyalty and respect that he had never commanded from his own mount.

Locked in a deadly embrace, Vhagar and Vermithor roared as they clawed and snapped at one another, their talons scraping against scales, their jaws sinking into wings, and sending feathers of flame spiraling through the air. Both dragons were colossal forces, refusing to surrender, each driven by the commands of their riders and the loyalty forged over years. The weight of their fury battered the skies above Harrenhal, turning the heavens into a smoky, fiery battleground where only one could emerge victorious.

But Visenya knew she had to shift the tide. Her gaze hardened as she looked down at her hands gripping the reins, her knuckles pale and bloodied from the ferocity of the fight. She looked to Aemond, who sneered back with that haunting look of triumph, certain he was on the edge of victory.

Something within her broke free, some final spark igniting in her heart. It was no longer about survival; it was about justice—about vengeance for everyone Aemond had taken from her, her mother, her children, and Daemon. She had to end this, even if it meant risking everything. With one last, resolute breath, she released her hold on Vermithor’s reins and pushed herself up. The air stung her face as she leapt off the saddle, her blade glinting in the fractured light as she aimed straight for Vhagar’s eye. Her voice, raw with fury, tore through the air as she plunged downward, sword raised in a final act of defiance.

Time seemed to slow as she hurtled through the chaos, each heartbeat a thunderclap in her ears.

The blade found its mark.

With a sickening crunch, her sword sank deep into Vhagar’s eye, and the great beast let out a scream of agony that shook the skies. The force of it vibrated through her arms, nearly wrenching the sword from her grip. Vhagar thrashed violently, her claws swiping out as she twisted her head, desperately trying to dislodge the pain that had shattered her sight. But even as Vhagar’s eye oozed blood and fury, she managed to push Vermithor back, her agony lending her the strength of desperation.

Visenya’s heart hammered as she clung to the hilt of her sword, barely holding on as Vhagar twisted and writhed, each convulsion sending shockwaves up her arms.

Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as she fought to maintain her grip, her strength waning with each passing second. She could see Aemond’s face contorted in rage and disbelief as he realized what she had done, his voice mingling with the roar of his dragon as he yelled for her to release her hold.

But then she felt it—the unmistakable slip of her fingers as her strength failed her. Her hands trembled, her knuckles bleeding and raw, and despite her desperation, she knew she could not hold on any longer. With a final, shuddering breath, she let go of the sword, her fingers releasing their grip as she felt herself fall away from Vhagar. The wind rushed past her as she plummeted, and she closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation, feeling the freedom of the fall.

In those endless seconds, she felt every emotion crash through her—rage, sorrow, regret, and, somehow, a deep, unwavering peace. She was finally free of the burden of war, of vengeance, of the pain that had consumed her life. She had fought until the very end, given everything she had, and now she was ready to accept whatever fate awaited her. The world faded around her, the sounds of battle dimming as she let herself fall, her heart finally finding calm.

But then, in the depths of that peace, a powerful rush of air engulfed her, and a warmth she recognized instantly surrounded her. She opened her eyes to find herself no longer in free fall but nestled securely in the embrace of massive, familiar talons. Vermithor. Her heart leapt as she felt the bronze dragon’s immense strength holding her, his grip gentle but unyielding, as though he had been watching over her all along.

Through blurry eyes, she looked up at Vermithor’s scarred but noble face, his eyes reflecting a fierce loyalty, a bond that no battle or blade could ever sever. Tears blurred her vision as she clung to him, feeling the depth of his loyalty, the unbreakable bond that had grown between them. He had saved her, just as her old companion Vaehaemion once had, choosing her life above his own safety, above the pain and terror of the battle raging around them.

With a heart too full for words, Visenya pressed a trembling hand against Vermithor’s hide, feeling the warmth of his scales beneath her fingers, the steady thrum of his heartbeat anchoring her to the moment. She was alive. She had survived, once again, because of a dragon’s unwavering loyalty and love.

She found the strength to say, “Kirimvose Vermitos, ao issi nykeā pazavor raqiros.”

“Thank you Vermithor, you are a loyal friend.”

The bronze dragon reared its large head, its face now filled with new scars, but he bowed his head low and kept his molten gold eyes on Visenya. It was almost like he was making a promise with just one look. A promise to protect her and remain by her side till the end of her days, just as he did for the late Jaehaerys.

But the sounds of a pained dragon, pulled Visenya away from her emotions.

Visenya watched as Vhagar’s massive form tumbled from the skies, a sight that was both horrifying and strangely mesmerizing. The ancient dragon, once the largest and most formidable creature in the realm, spiraled downward with her rider, a collision with fate that could not be stopped. With a sickening thud that reverberated through the earth, Vhagar hit the ground, the weight of her fall leaving cracks in the hardened ground around her.

The earth shuddered, and all was still.

Visenya sat astride Vermithor, her hand resting on his mighty scales as they hovered for a moment in the sky, the silence heavy as she took in the aftermath. Aemond was somewhere amidst that wreckage, but whether he still breathed or lay among the dust was yet to be seen.

“Embrot Vermitos,” she commanded, her voice unsteady. She felt her dragon rumble beneath her, sensing her resolve as they descended, the massive wings folding as they touched down not far from where Vhagar had fallen. The air was thick with the scent of blood and scorched earth as Visenya dismounted and made her way to Aemond. Vhagar lay silent, her great head resting in a final, twisted stillness, and the sight of her once fearsome form broken on the ground filled Visenya with a somber respect.

She turned her gaze to the broken figure of Aemond beside the massive dragon. He was alive, barely. His body lay sprawled in the dirt, his armor dented and splattered with blood. A thin line of blood trickled from his mouth, pooling on the ground beneath him. His eye, bloodshot and dim, still held that unwavering look of defiance and disdain, though it was softened now by the weight of his injuries. He looked up at her, his breaths shallow and rattling as though every inhale tore at his insides.

“Well,” she said quietly, her voice laced with an edge of bitterness and sorrow, “here we are, Aemond. You who once claimed you were destined for greatness.” Aemond’s lips curled, though he lacked the strength to speak, a hoarse rasp escaping him that may have once been a laugh. Blood bubbled in his mouth as he fought to keep his eye on her, that steely glint of contempt still present even as life waned. For a moment, there was something raw and vulnerable in his gaze—a glimpse of the boy he’d once been, twisted by envy and ambition into this man before her.

“Even now,” she murmured, stepping closer, “even in death, you look at me as if I am beneath you.” She could feel the weight of her fury simmering, the grief and loss fueling it, but her gaze softened as she knelt beside him, meeting his gaze steadily.

Aemond’s eye flickered, a sliver of pain and resentment gleaming through. He opened his mouth to speak, but only blood came, trickling down the corner of his mouth, staining his jaw. She knew the words he wanted to say, knew that they would be full of scorn. His pride and rage were all he had left, even as he lay broken before her.

“You tried,” she whispered, her voice cold yet carrying the sorrow of the lives he had taken, “but in the end, Aemond, it was your pride that defeated you.”

His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach for her, to lash out, but his body was too weakened, bound to the earth. And for the first time, Visenya saw that beneath all that hatred, all that ambition, there was nothing left of the fierce warrior who had once rivaled her. He was just a dying man, one whose ambitions had burned him from within.

“I hope it was worth it,” she said, her voice barely a breath, “all of it. I hope your hatred, your jealousy, gave you some peace…because it has brought me none.”

With a moment of finality, Aemond tried to reach out for her and said with a shaky breath, “I…I could have l-loved you.”

“You do not know how to love Aemond, you…you only know how to destroy,” Visenya replied but Aemond quickly said, “A-are you g-going to burn me now…Visenya?”

“No,” she hastily answered, as if the question was ridiculous, “I will not give you the honour of a dragon rider’s death, you can die like any lowly criminal. I will relish in the thought of your twisted followers finding your broken body on the ground like a squashed bug.”

With a final flicker, his eye began to lose its glint, his breaths fading into a strained whisper as he clung to the last threads of life. But before his final breath, a strange look crossed his face—a mixture of resignation, and, perhaps, regret. His lips parted slightly, as if he wished to say something, but no words came. Only a deep, shuddering exhale as his body went still, his eye gazing lifelessly into the sky.

Visenya stood, her heart pounding in the silence, watching as the last ember of life left Aemond’s gaze. The rage that had carried her here, the fury that had driven her to this final confrontation, now felt hollow, dissipating into the cold air like smoke. She was left with only the weight of her grief, the loss of those who had fallen, and the memory of the warrior she had once known.

Without a word, she turned back to Vermithor, her dragon watching her with solemn, knowing eyes. She touched his scales, grounding herself as she fought to steady her breath. In the corner of her eye, she saw movement in the castle of Harrenhal.

Visenya’s heart hammered as she caught the flicker of movement from within Harrenhal’s crumbling walls. For a moment, she stood frozen, half-convinced it was a trick of the light. But the hope that Daemon might still be alive surged through her, flooding her limbs with renewed energy.

“Umbās Vermitos” she commanded, her voice breaking as she turned and sprinted toward the castle ruins. She could feel the sharp edges of broken stones beneath her boots, the acrid scent of smoke and blood in the air.

“Wait, Vermithor.”

Each step forward filled her with both dread and desperate hope.

“Daemon!” she called, her voice raw as it echoed through the hollow, broken halls. Her heart ached, memories of his laughter, his fierce loyalty, and their last shared moments flashing before her eyes. She pushed through the rubble, barely noticing the rough cuts and bruises that bloomed across her skin.

Ahead, beneath a fractured archway, she saw him—half-hidden in the shadows, propped up against a jagged stone wall. Blood matted his hair, his face pale against the darkened stones, but his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

“Daemon,” she whispered, her voice thick with relief and sorrow as she knelt beside him. Her hands hovered over his wounds, unsure of where to begin, how to ease the pain that had etched lines of agony across his face. His eyes cracked open, faintly, and when he saw her, a flicker of his old smirk touched his lips. “Took you long enough,” he murmured, his voice rough and strained, yet carrying that familiar teasing edge.

Visenya let out a shaky laugh, a tear slipping down her cheek as she placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Do not… scare me like that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I lost you.”

“I would not let that bastard take me,” he muttered, wincing as he shifted, a fresh wave of pain contorting his expression. His gaze softened as he looked at her, the strength that usually defined him giving way to a rare vulnerability. “But I am not sure how much fight is left in me, Visenya.”

“No,” she said firmly, pressing a hand to his cheek. “You have fought too hard, survived too much to leave now. We still have a life to build… our family needs you.”

Daemon closed his eyes, seeming to draw strength from her words, and after a moment, he let out a slow, painful breath. “Aye… but you fought well today. Made me… proud.”

“Stop talking like this is the end,” she whispered, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “You are not going anywhere.” She glanced around desperately, looking for anything that might help, but Harrenhal was as desolate as ever. The faintest glimmer of a resolve sparked in her; she would get him back to Dragonstone, she had some things the Maester Gerardys gave, hopefully enough to help him last the journey.

“Lean on me,” she said softly, shifting to support him as she lifted him to his feet. He grunted, his jaw clenched, but he allowed her to help, the bond between them a silent promise that neither would leave the other behind.

As they moved slowly, painfully, toward the exit, Daemon’s grip tightened on her arm. “Visenya,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “if I do not make it…”

“You will,” she insisted, her eyes fierce and unyielding. “You have to.”

But his gaze softened as he took one last look at Caraxes, his loyal companion, feeling tears well in his eyes. His pride and defiance gave way to something gentler. “You have always had the strength to lead, Visenya… with or without me.”

A tear slipped down her cheek as she held his gaze. “Then do not make me do it alone.”

“Daemon, I know you know it but my father, Laenor…I will always hold dear, but you…you have become my father too. I have already lost one, do not make me lose another,” Visenya begged as the warrior within her slipped away to reveal that she was like any daughter who wished for her father’s safety.

“Visenya..” Daemon weakly said as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Visenya shook her head and said, “Father please.”

Something struck within Daemon, it must have been the plucking of his heart strings, as he regained some of his strength to say, “Alright, but only if you can make sure I do not fall off your dragon.”

Visenya smiled at that.

They reached Vermithor, who lowered his head to nudge Daemon gently, the dragon’s mournful rumble a testament to the bond between them. Visenya helped Daemon onto the saddle, then climbed up beside him, her hands steadying him as they prepared to fly back to their forces.

As Vermithor took to the skies, Daemon leaned against her, his breathing slowing as the adrenaline faded. She held him close, her heart pounding as she whispered promises of survival, of rebuilding, as they soared away from the broken stones of Harrenhal and towards home.

Chapter Text

Visenya urged Vermithor faster, the dragon's powerful wings slicing through the sky with every beat. She held Daemon close, feeling his weak but steady breaths against her shoulder, and she dared not let him slip, not when they were so close to Dragonstone. The castle’s dark cliffs loomed through the mist as they neared the familiar stones that made it.

“Do not  dare slip away,” she murmured, her voice both fierce and tender. "We did not come this far for you to let go now."

Daemon’s lips curved in a faint, pained smirk. “I have no intention of dying today, I am not prepared to meet your mother in the afterlife, she would scold me for being so reckless,” he rasped, though his voice was barely a whisper.

She clenched his hand, a tear slipping down her cheek despite herself. “Good. Because I have not finished learning from you yet. Always branded as a rogue prince when you are just as wise as any king that has sat on the iron throne.” As his breathing steadied and the pain began to ease with sheer determination, Daemon’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her with a softness she had not seen in a long time.

“Thank you, Visenya,” he whispered, his voice raw but steady. “For bringing me home, though…I am not sure if I am ready to sleep in my bed chambers and see the empty space your mother has left.” Her chest tightened, and she nodded, brushing a hand across his brow to smooth away the tension there. Vermithor seemed to sense the urgency and began to fly faster.

“You are my family,” she said quietly. “You are the only one who has ever… truly seen me.” She paused, her voice faltering before she whispered, “Father.”

The single word was soft, almost hesitant, as if she feared it might shatter something between them even when she had already said it. But instead, she saw Daemon’s expression shift, his eyes glistening as he swallowed hard. He reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, his own gaze filled with something unspoken, a rare vulnerability.

“That…” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “That is all I ever wanted to hear. I knew there was a warrior in you, and your mother knew that too. She knew that you leave a far greater legacy than any of us could.”

___

Aegon was already halfway to the dragonpit by the time he heard the familiar roar echoing through the castle. His heart thundered in his chest, and he quickened his pace, unable to keep his mind from imagining the worst. The thought of Visenya’s return had been his constant companion in her absence, but the uncertainty gnawed at him until it was almost too much to bear.

He reached the dragonpit just as Vermithor landed with a powerful thud, the force of his landing sending gusts of wind sweeping across the courtyard. Jacaerys, Baela, and Rhaena were already there, standing tense and wide-eyed as Vermithor folded his wings. Aegon’s gaze swept over the scene, and he felt a pang of relief and then a stab of dread as he saw Visenya helping a battered Daemon dismount from the massive bronze dragon. But there was no sign of Caraxes, and the realization hit him like a blow.

As soon as Visenya’s feet touched the ground, Aegon was at her side. She turned to him, her face lined with exhaustion and her armor battered, yet her eyes met his with a fierce glint of relief and triumph.

“Visenya…” His voice was low and rough, words escaping him in the presence of the woman he had feared he might never see again. He reached for her, his hand settling gently on her arm, grounding himself in her presence.

She gave him a tired smile, but before she could speak, his gaze shifted to Daemon. Daemon leaned heavily against her, his face pale and lined with pain, but he managed to straighten as Aegon’s eyes met his. Despite the weariness in his expression, Daemon offered Aegon a brief, acknowledging nod.

Aegon’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “Caraxes?”

Daemon’s face tightened as he looked away, a shadow passing over his features. “Gone,” he rasped, his voice filled with a grief that he tried to bury under a mask of stoicism. The absence of his dragon, his most faithful companion, weighed heavily on him, and the silence that followed was thick with loss.

Jacaerys stepped forward, his jaw clenched, sorrow darkening his gaze. “We feared…” he trailed off, his gaze shifting from Daemon to Visenya. “We feared neither of you would return.” Baela and Rhaena looked at their father, grief flickering across their faces as they took in his bruised form. Baela reached out, her voice cracking slightly as she said, “Father…”

Daemon looked at his daughter, a faint, reassuring smile breaking through his pain as he took her hand, squeezing it gently. “I am here, Baela,” he whispered, as though the words were a promise he intended to keep. Visenya turned back to Aegon, her gaze softening as she stepped closer. Without another word, he pulled her into his arms, feeling the familiar, steady strength of her heartbeat. For a long moment, he simply held her, his hand tangled in her hair as he let the relief wash over him.

“Come inside,” he murmured, guiding her toward the entrance, his arm securely around her. “You are both home now.”

As Jacaerys and the others went ahead, guiding Daemon to the maesters, Visenya and Aegon lingered in the quiet shadows just beyond the dragonpit’s entrance. The world around them felt suspended, holding its breath, and in that rare stillness, they finally found a sliver of peace.

Aegon reached for her again, his fingers tracing the edge of her cheek where battle dust and exhaustion were visible. He searched her face, his eyes filled with emotions he couldn’t fully name — relief, love, pride, and something deeper, something fierce and desperate, knowing how close he’d come to losing her. “You are here, the gods must favour me,” he murmured, as though needing to hear it aloud to believe it.

She leaned into his touch, her hand covering his, grounding herself in his warmth. For a moment, all the battles, all the fear and uncertainty, faded away. She closed her eyes and let out a breath that trembled from exhaustion and relief. Then, with a suddenness born of desperation and longing, Aegon leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was filled with a longing that went deeper than words, a silent promise spoken between breaths. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as though afraid he might slip away if she didn’t hold tight enough. The intensity of the moment overwhelmed them both, the urgency of their embrace mirroring all they had endured and survived.

Finally, they pulled apart, their foreheads resting together as they steadied their breaths. Visenya’s hand found its way to his cheek, her thumb brushing the line of his jaw. “I would have fought,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but resolute. “Even if I had been on the brink of defeat, with nothing left to give — I would have fought, with every last ounce of strength in me, just to come back home to you. To you and our children.”

Aegon’s gaze softened, his own eyes bright with unshed tears as he took in her words. He pressed his hand to hers, kissing her knuckles, his breath warm against her skin. “And I would have waited a lifetime if I had to,” he replied, his voice choked but steady. “For you, I would have waited an eternity.”

Aegon held her close, his voice soft as he whispered, “Our children are waiting for you.”

The thought of their faces, the sound of their laughter, filled her with renewed strength despite the weariness clinging to her. Her heart raced, and without a second thought, she took his hand, her grip tight and urgent as they hurried through the castle’s stone corridors toward their chambers.

As they reached the door, she paused, drawing in a breath as Aegon opened it, revealing the little faces she had longed for with every heartbeat. Alyssa and Baelon stood there, their eyes lighting up in recognition and pure joy. With shouts of "Mama!" they both rushed forward, barreling into her, their little arms wrapping around her waist and neck. The impact made her knees buckle, and she sank to the floor, gathering them close, her fingers threading through Alyssa’s soft curls and Baelon’s fine hair.

“Oh, my loves,” she whispered, her voice breaking as the relief crashed over her, raw and overwhelming. Her arms tightened around them, feeling the warmth of their small bodies pressed to her, grounding her in this moment that was everything she had fought for. Tears blurred her vision, and she blinked rapidly, the weight of every battle, every scar, fading in the light of their innocent joy. A soft coo drew her attention, and she looked up to see Aegon holding baby Aegea in his arms. His eyes met hers, and in them, she saw the same mix of gratitude and emotion she felt in her own heart. He stepped closer, gently lowering Aegea into her arms, the baby's small hand immediately reaching to touch her face, her eyes wide and curious.

Visenya stroked Aegea’s cheek, tears falling freely as her baby wrapped tiny fingers around hers, holding on tightly, as if sensing how much this moment meant. “I missed you all,” she murmured, her voice thick with the tears she could no longer hold back. She pressed a kiss to Alyssa’s brow, then Baelon’s, and finally, to Aegea, her heart full to bursting with the love that had kept her alive, driving her forward through every danger.

Alyssa lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder, reaching up to brush a tear from Visenya’s cheek. “Do not cry, Mama,” she said, her voice gentle, echoing the wisdom and love in her small, innocent eyes. “You are home.”

Visenya nodded, a trembling smile breaking through her tears as she looked down at her children. “I am, my loves. And I will never take this for granted again.”

Aegon wrapped his arms around them, his warmth and strength a steadying force as he kissed her hair, the four of them entwined in a single, perfect embrace. For this moment, everything was still and safe; the battles faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of her family, the weight of her children’s love, and the promise of everything she had fought to protect. Here, at last, she was home.

As Visenya held her children close, savoring their warmth and feeling as though she’d finally found her way home, Alyssa pulled back, her little face scrunched up in deep frustration.

“Mama,” she began with an adorable frown. “I am tired of always playing with Baelon. He does not like my dolls.”

Visenya held back a laugh, her brows lifting in amused surprise. “Oh, really? And who will play with Baelon if you do not, hmm? Aegea is far too young to be playing with your brother.”

Alyssa’s response was immediate, crossing her arms as though she had thoroughly thought this out. “Aegea can play dragons and knights with him all she wants when she is older,” she huffed, glancing at Baelon, who had extracted himself from Visenya and was now distractedly clutching his favorite wooden sword. “But I want another brother. Someone who will not be boring.”

Visenya blinked, taken aback by her daughter’s insistence, before casting a glance at Aegon. He was barely containing his laughter, his shoulders shaking as he hid a grin behind his hand.

“Alyssa, another brother may take some time,” Visenya began diplomatically, trying to suppress a smile. “These things do not happen so quickly.”

“That is alright,” Alyssa replied without missing a beat, hands on her hips like a queen passing orders. “I can wait.”

“Oh, can you now?” Aegon chuckled, stepping in, clearly enjoying the chance to tease his wife. “Well, perhaps if your mother had not just returned from the fiercest battle of her life, we might think about it,” he said, smirking at Visenya, whose cheeks turned pink. “But it has been a long journey, Alyssa, so we will have to see if she is ready for such important duties.”

Visenya shot him a glare, though she could not hide her laughter. “Is that so, Aegon? Perhaps it is you who should focus on resting and preparing for Alyssa’s… demands.”

“Oh, I am more than prepared, my love,” he replied with a roguish grin. “It is you I am concerned about. After all, you have had quite the adventure, and perhaps…” he paused for effect, smirking, “perhaps you would rather play knights and dragons yourself for a little while.”

Visenya huffed in mock offense. “Are you questioning my stamina, Aegon?” Aegon leaned in, his voice low but mischievous. “Merely admiring your bravery, my queen. But a knight needs her rest to take on such noble requests, especially one so highly specific as another little brother for Alyssa here.”

“Mama,” Alyssa interrupted impatiently, “you will rest for a while, and then you can make me another brother, yes?”

Visenya looked helplessly at Aegon, and he only gave her a challenging raise of his brow, unable to stop grinning. “You hear that, my love?” he said with a playful glint in his eyes. “We are under strict orders.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, though her heart warmed at the laughter in his gaze. “Well then,” she replied, looking back at Alyssa with a wink, “we will see what we can do, though I make no promises.”

Alyssa nodded, clearly satisfied. “Good. I will be watching.”

Aegon outright laughed, lifting Baelon in his arms with ease. “Well, at least we know she gets her stubbornness from you, my dear.”

Visenya swatted at him playfully, shaking her head. “And her patience from you, it seems.”

With a wide smile, Aegon leaned over, pressing a warm kiss to her forehead, his voice soft as he whispered, “Welcome home, Visenya.” She sighed into the touch, leaning against him, her heart swelling as she watched her children play.

Just as Visenya was about to respond to Aegon, their serene moment was interrupted by the hurried footsteps of Jacaerys, who burst into the chamber with an expression of urgency.

“Visenya!” he called, his voice echoing against the stone walls. “There’s been a council meeting called by Lord Corlys!”

Visenya felt her heart sink a little, the warmth of the moment slipping away as reality asserted itself. “A council meeting?” she repeated, glancing at Aegon, whose playful demeanor shifted to one of seriousness.

“Yes,” Jacaerys continued, his brow furrowing. “With Aemond dead, there’s much discussion to be had. The Hightowers still occupy King’s Landing, and we need to figure out our next steps.”

Aegon nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “We had a moment of joy but we now must face the truth,” he said, turning to Visenya with a look that was equal parts concern

and determination. “We should go.”

Visenya felt a pang of reluctance as she stepped back from the children, wishing desperately to remain in their warm embrace, away from the looming challenges ahead. Reluctantly, she haded Aegea to her wet nurse and  she knelt down to Alyssa and Baelon, her voice softening. “You two be good while I am gone, alright? I will be back soon.”

Alyssa nodded eagerly, though her expression was still a mix of disappointment and curiosity. “Can we come?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Jacaerys shook his head gently. “Not this time. You will hear about it later, though!” He flashed a reassuring smile, trying to ease their disappointment.

“Fine,” Alyssa huffed, crossing her arms, though her attention was already drifting to Baelon, who was busy battling imaginary foes with his wooden sword. As Visenya rose, she took a moment to catch Aegon’s eye. “You know what this could mean, we may never walk these halls ever again” she said, her tone firm and resolute.

Aegon nodded, a hint of pride in his gaze. “Then I will gladly meet my demise for your cause my queen.” They exchanged a quick kiss, the kind that promised support and love, even in the most difficult times. Then, with one last glance at their children, they turned to leave the room.

As they made their way through the castle halls, the weight of recent battles and the responsibilities of their roles as rulers settled heavily on Visenya’s shoulders. The sounds of laughter and play faded behind them, replaced by the hushed whispers of the castle’s inhabitants, all too aware of the tensions that lingered after the chaos of war.

Upon reaching the council chamber, they found several familiar faces already gathered, including Lord Corlys, who stood at the head of the table, his expression grave. “Thank you for coming,” he said as they entered, gesturing for them to take their seats. “There is much to discuss regarding Harrenhal and the implications of our next steps.”

Visenya took a deep breath, steeling herself for the discussions ahead. She exchanged a glance with Aegon, both of them understanding that the peace they’d just tasted with their children was fleeting, and the battles of the realm were far from over. Jacaerys took a seat beside his grandfather, glancing at Visenya before speaking. “With Aemond dead, there are factions stirring, and we cannot ignore the Hightowers’ presence in King’s Landing. They’re still trying to secure their hold on the throne.”

Visenya nodded, her mind racing as she considered the implications. “We must act quickly then,” she said, her voice steady and firm. “If we allow them to solidify their power, it will only lead to further conflict. We need to gather our allies and fortify our position.”

Lord Corlys leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “Agreed. But we must also be careful. The realm is volatile, and any misstep could ignite a fire we’re not prepared to handle.”

Visenya shook her head then said, “I agree but I know that if we are too careful, it will give the Hightowers time to spread their poison, I do not care if Aemond Targaryen’s body has not yet been reduced to ash, I am taking King’s Landing now.”

Visenya’s words filled the room with a tense silence. Lord Corlys exchanged a glance with Jacaerys, both of them clearly taken aback by the fierce determination in her eyes. She was not merely suggesting action—she was demanding it, her voice unwavering and her intent clear.

Aegon placed a steadying hand on her arm, but even he knew this was not a moment to temper her resolve. “Visenya has a point,” he said, his voice calm but resolute. “Every day we delay is another day the Hightowers entrench themselves in the capital. We cannot let them grow stronger.”

Lord Corlys frowned, leaning back thoughtfully. “If you march on King’s Landing now, with Aemond’s death still fresh, the people may see it as a tyrannical and cruel act.”

“I do not care what they see,” Visenya replied sharply, her gaze fierce. “They will see that the true rulers have returned. Aemond wanted me dead, and he did not hesitate. I will show the same ruthlessness he showed, but I will bring peace once I am there. I have fought too hard and lost too much to allow a false claim to flourish on my mother’s throne any longer.”

Jacaerys met her gaze, nodding slowly. “If we strike now, we can take the city by storm, rally our forces before the Hightowers even realise what is happening.” Aegon added, “And if we enter King’s Landing with discipline and purpose, the people will see us as bringers of order. We must show strength without cruelty.”

Corlys’s eyes narrowed with contemplation, and after a pause, he gave a solemn nod. “Very well. But we must be tactical. The Red Keep is fortified, and any resistance there will cost us dearly if we aren’t careful.”

Visenya’s resolve only strengthened. “Then we strike fast, before they even know we are coming. I will lead the charge. Let them see me atop Vermithor as we descend upon the capital.” Lord Corlys seemed to see her conviction as an unstoppable force. “Then we move quickly. We will summon our banners, gather our forces, and prepare for the final push. If we are to succeed, we need everyone ready for the battles ahead.”

Aegon nodded, standing by her side, his gaze fierce. “Then let it be done. The throne will be ours again, and this time, there will be no question of our right to rule.” Visenya looked around the room, meeting each set of eyes one by one. Her family, her allies—they were all counting on her. With a final, determined breath, she declared, “Prepare the troops. We take back King’s Landing.”

___

As the amber afternoon light faded over Dragonstone, Visenya prepared for the battle ahead, taking a steadying breath as she adjusted her armor. The weight of the coming conquest pressed upon her shoulders, yet she bore it with the grace and strength of a queen. Each motion was deliberate, calm—a resolve forged by years of hardship, by loyalty to her family and her people. Her heart pounded with the knowledge that they were about to take back the realm, one step at a time.

Turning, she saw Jacaerys standing by Vermax, his jaw set and his gaze distant, haunted by memories that only he could fully understand. She approached him, touching his arm gently to pull him from his reverie.

“Jace,” she said softly, “are you alright with this? Flying on Vermax again, after… after what you had to do with our mother?” She hesitated, her own pain surfacing as she remembered the grief, the impossible choice he had been forced to make.

Jacaerys met her gaze, his eyes darkening. “The grief tore at me,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that belied his young age. “It left me hollow, Visenya. But where that emptiness was, something else has taken root—a hunger for revenge. No Hightower left in King’s Landing will survive it.”

Visenya nodded, the fire in his words echoing her own resolve. “Then we will do this together. For her, for all of us.” Aegon approached them then, his hand resting on her shoulder as if to remind her of his own unwavering presence. She looked up at him, a moment of warmth passing between them, grounding her before the storm they would soon unleash. “Are you sure?” she asked him, her voice quiet but firm. “Sure that betraying your family is what you want?”

Aegon’s gaze softened. “The only family I have ever known is you and our children. I will stand by you, Visenya, through this fire and any other.”

She smiled faintly, grateful beyond words, feeling strength flood her veins as she looked back at her brother and sister. Baela mounted Moondancer nearby, her expression fierce as she tightened her grip on the reins, ready for whatever awaited them. A look of understanding passed between the sisters—a silent promise that they would leave no stone unturned, no enemy unchallenged, until their family’s throne was reclaimed.

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed behind them, and Daemon appeared, leaning heavily on Rhaena’s arm. He limped over with stubborn pride, his eyes fierce with fatherly pride and lingering worry. “Visenya,” he called, his voice low but steady, “remember who you are. You are my daughter, and do not let the fire that your mother stoked fizzle into nothing.” He reached out, clasping her hand. “Be safe.”

She swallowed, her emotions swirling beneath her calm exterior. “I will, Father,” she promised, giving him a small nod. “I will see to it that every wrong done to us is repaid in full.” With a final glance, Visenya mounted Vermithor, feeling the dragon’s familiar, steady presence connect with her mind. She looked out at the others—Aegon, Jacaerys, Baela—and her heart swelled with fierce pride and love. Together, they would reclaim what was rightfully theirs, and they would do it with fire and blood.

They would reclaim what was rightfully hers.

__

In the dim light of the nursery, Alicent Hightower clutched her grandchildren, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, to her chest, her fingers trembling as she held them close, almost as if she could shield them from the world itself. Her breaths came shallow and broken, whispered like secrets shared only with the silent walls, a symphony of desperate murmurs that echoed through the stillness of the room.

Her once warm chestnut eyes now dulled by sorrow and fatigue, stared blankly past the children, as though she were seeing something—or someone—lost in the shadows. “It was never meant to be like this,” she whispered, her voice barely a thread of sound, frayed and fragile. “I never wanted it to come to this… all I ever wanted was peace, and I thought… I thought I could protect you all.” Her hand caressed Jaehaerys’s tiny head, her touch both tender and haunted, as if trying to erase the world’s cruelty with her mere presence. In the warmth of the nursery, the dark stains of regret and guilt began to surface, twisting her words into fragile confessions meant for deaf ears.

“I failed her,” Alicent murmured, her voice cracking, her fingers tracing gentle circles over Jaehaera’s back as though her touch alone could banish the memories haunting her. “I failed Rhaenyra… she was my friend once. My dearest friend. And now…” Her voice faltered as if the weight of the admission was too much to bear. “I only wanted what was right, what was safe… I thought I was doing what was best.”

Jaehaera’s eyes fluttered as she stirred in her sleep, pressing closer to her grandmother, her small hand clutching Alicent’s gown, unaware of the storm of sorrow and remorse that ravaged the older woman’s heart. Alicent clutched her tighter, as though anchoring herself to this moment, clinging to the warmth of these innocent lives with a desperation that bordered on madness.

She began to whisper fervent prayers, fragments of words tumbling out in a rush, almost feverish, as though she believed she could bargain with the gods to erase the past. “Please, gods… spare them. Spare these little ones, do not punish them for the sins of their mothers and fathers. Spare them… spare my poor children, spare my broken family.”

And then, her gaze turned glassy as she looked into the distance, as if speaking to a phantom only she could see. “Rhaenyra…” she whispered, her lips trembling, her voice filled with a raw, childlike regret. “Forgive me. I thought I was protecting you… I thought I was doing what was right. But I failed you, just as I failed my own children.” In her delirium, she pressed her cheek against Jaehaerys’s small head, her tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She held them close, seeking comfort in their innocence, as if their unknowing presence might somehow quiet the ghosts that haunted her. The nursery filled with her broken prayers, her whispered apologies, each one fading into the silence, falling on ears that could never understand.

And so she rocked them, back and forth, her whispered words softening into incoherent murmurs, a mother’s broken lullaby. “I am sorry… I am so, so sorry,” she repeated over and over, her words spilling into the emptiness as the weight of her grief finally closed in, leaving her alone in the darkened room, holding her grandchildren as though they were her last tie to a world that was slipping further and further from her grasp.

As the door to the nursery burst open, Otto entered with a storm in his step, his eyes ablaze with impatience as he took in Alicent, huddled with her grandchildren. She clutched little Jaehaerys and Jaehaera close, her lips moving in whispered prayers, apologies spilling out for all the failings that haunted her.

Otto’s sharp voice sliced through her murmurs. “Alicent, get a hold of yourself. This is no time for weakness.” Her gaze lifted, hollow and red-rimmed. She looked like a woman weighed down by loss beyond bearing, but Otto had no patience left for sympathy.

“A raven has arrived from Harrenhal,” he said, his voice cutting like steel. “Aemond is dead. Defeated. Visenya Targaryen is coming.”

A tremor ran through her at the name, and for a moment, she could barely breathe. “Aemond…” she whispered, her grip on her grandchildren tightening, as if her hold on them could somehow shield them all from the wrath descending upon them. “And Visenya… she will be here soon.”

“Yes, she will,” Otto hissed, his tone pressing urgency into her. “But you still have a son, Daeron. He is circling the keep with his dragon and we have scorpion bolts at the ready.”

At this, Alicent shook her head, her grip on Jaehaera and Jaehaerys growing more protective. “I will not abandon Helaena’s children, Father,” she said firmly, her eyes hardening. “They are all I have left of her. Of the family I wanted so desperately to protect.” Otto’s frustration boiled over, his fingers curling into fists. “Alicent, these children are not only Helaena’s—they are our line, our legacy, and you will not be able to protect them if you fall apart like this! Think of your house. Think of your duty!”

Her gaze stayed fixed on the children, her voice lowering as she fought to keep her composure. “They are all that is left of her,” she murmured, her voice fragile but resolute. “And I will not abandon them to Visenya’s vengeance. Daeron will survive, but Helaena’s children… they are alone here, and they need me now.”

Otto took a sharp breath, struggling to rein in his anger, his frustration palpable as he leaned closer. “If you do not act, if you don’t stand strong now, Alicent, then Visenya Targaryen will not only kill you—she will destroy everything you tried to protect. Is that what you want?” The words struck something in her, and she lifted her head, a glimmer of resolve sparking in her eyes. Her hand lingered in Jaehaera’s curls, her other arm wrapped around Jaehaerys as she held them tightly, her gaze shifting to Otto with a renewed determination.

“I will not let Visenya tear my family apart, Father,” she said, her voice gathering strength. “I will face her. I will protect what is left of my children’s legacy—even if it is just these little ones.” Otto’s expression softened just slightly, and he nodded curtly, sensing that a piece of the old Alicent was returning. “Good. Then we must act. I have already stationed the guards, I will need you to ready the maesters for any injured.”

As he led her from the nursery, Alicent paused, pressing one last kiss to Jaehaera’s head, then to Jaehaerys’s, her heart aching with the knowledge of the danger surrounding them. The shadows of her past decisions and losses crowded her mind, but she knew she couldn’t surrender to them now. She straightened, letting her fear harden into a protective determination. She would be their shield, their protector, even if it meant facing the storm that Visenya was bringing upon them.

Because if Visenya was coming for them, Alicent would stand ready, and she would not break—not this time.

Perhaps she had drowned in her own hypocrisy and herself had forgotten what it was like to be a woman…a mother…a friend. But she had no taste to fight for what she truly believed in any longer, she would have to protect what she had left…even if it was not what she truly wanted.

___

As the outline of King’s Landing appeared on the horizon, its towers and spires silhouetted against the fading afternoon light, Visenya felt a fire ignite deep within her—a fierce, unyielding fury that had simmered for too long. The sight of the city, the last bastion held by her enemies, unleashed all that had been held back by waiting and the weight of loss. Without a second's hesitation, she turned to Aegon, Jacaerys, and Baela, her eyes fierce and filled with purpose.

"Forward!" she commanded, her voice like thunder over the wind. She dug her heels into Vermithor’s side, urging her dragon into a powerful dive toward the heart of the city. Her patience had burned away; she was done waiting, done enduring. Now was the hour of reckoning. Aegon followed without hesitation, his own gaze hardened with resolve as he signaled Sunfyre to keep close. He could feel Visenya’s fury radiating like an aura, her every movement resolute and sharp. Beside him, Jacaerys kept Vermax steady, his gaze steely as he cast a look at Baela on Moondancer. The air around them felt charged, heavy with a tension that seemed to tremble between them all.

As they descended toward the city, the city walls loomed closer, the shouts of alarm beginning to echo from below as people caught sight of the advancing dragons. Visenya tightened her grip, her knuckles white, her eyes fixed on the Red Keep that rose like a fortress of treachery before her. She knew Alicent and Otto would be there, waiting, clutching to the last shreds of power they had left, blind to the end that was now upon them.

Her voice broke over the wind, fierce and unyielding. “They thought they could take everything from us,” she spat, her words directed as much to herself as to her family. “They thought they could rob us of our future, twist us into war, and walk away unscathed. But no longer. Today, they pay.”

Baela’s eyes blazed as she looked to Visenya. “We will make sure of it,” she called, her voice carrying the same furious determination.

Closer and closer they came, the city now within their grasp, and the bells began to toll. Visenya’s gaze never left the Red Keep, her heart hammering in her chest. All the pain and fury, all the grief, now melded into a single purpose. She would make this final stand, she would unleash all the rage the Hightowers had stoked within her.

The city below them seemed to brace itself as the dragons bore down, casting their shadows across the streets and alleys. Sunfyre’s golden wings glinted in the dimming sunlight, while Vermithor’s massive frame loomed, formidable and dark. Vermax and Moondancer flanked them, an unstoppable force descending upon King’s Landing.

As the four dragons approached, Aegon looked to Visenya, his face set with determination. “Are you ready for this?” he called, his voice filled with resolve and pride in her strength. Her answer was immediate, her eyes blazing as she met his gaze. “I have waited too long.”

With a single, shared glance, they pushed forward, each of them driven by the same unbreakable force. The flames of vengeance, justice, and fierce loyalty blazed within them as they descended, ready to reclaim their legacy, no matter the cost.

As they loomed closer to the keep, Visenya and Aegon caught sight of a flash of blue ascending from behind its walls. Daeron, astride Tessarion, emerged to intercept them—his defiant silhouette a last line of defense. His armour gleamed in the fading light, as unyielding as his loyalty to the Hightower cause. Visenya’s breath hitched. She knew this confrontation had been inevitable, but her patience was exhausted. She wanted to storm the keep, to break through the final doors and bring the Hightowers’ reign to its knees. But Jacaerys rode up beside her, his jaw clenched, eyes sharp with steely resolve.

"Go," he insisted, his voice firm. “Baela and I will handle him. You and Aegon need to reach the keep. This is what we have prepared for."

Visenya locked eyes with her younger brother, catching the fierce determination in his gaze. She understood his resolve, the hunger for justice that simmered beneath his calm. With a reluctant nod, she said, “Be swift, Jace. Our victory depends on it.”

Jacaerys gave her a brief, resolute smile, then nodded to Baela, who was already beside him on Moondancer. A quick, shared look passed between them, a silent understanding forged through years of loyalty and loss. Then, with a single motion, they both turned toward Daeron, charging Tessarion with unwavering focus.

Visenya and Aegon did not wait to see the outcome. They drove Vermithor and Sunfyre forward, using the clash as their opening to slip past and aim for the Red Keep. Behind them, the sounds of roars and wings colliding filled the air as Jacaerys and Baela engaged Daeron in a battle to the death. As they soared closer to the city walls, Visenya glanced back briefly, catching a glimpse of Jacaerys and Baela locked in a brutal struggle with the Hightower prince. Tessarion’s blue flame seared across the sky, a stark contrast to Vermax’s fire and Moondancer’s lightning-quick evasions. The dragons tangled, snapping and clawing at each other, each driven by their rider’s fervor and wrath. Jacaerys had positioned Vermax above Tessarion, raining down fire, while Baela, agile and relentless, cut in from below, driving Moondancer into precise, lethal attacks that left no room for Daeron’s escape.

Daeron fought with desperation, but it was clear he was overwhelmed. Every time he tried to turn his dragon to gain an advantage, either Vermax or Moondancer blocked his path. As the fight raged on, Baela maneuvered Moondancer in a sweeping arc, slicing her talons into Tessarion’s flank, forcing Daeron off balance. Jacaerys seized the opening, driving Vermax’s fire into Tessarion’s side with a roar that echoed through the skies.

Pinned between them, Daeron struggled to hold on, his movements growing sluggish. Blood and flame filled the air as the young prince’s fate became inescapable. In a final, desperate attempt, he urged Tessarion upward, but Vermax dove in from above, jaws snapping down with a final, merciless strike. Tessarion’s roar cut short, and Daeron let out one last cry before plummeting toward the ground in a torrent of blood and smoke.

Visenya saw none of it; she was focused on her path forward, the Red Keep now fully in view. She and Aegon urged their dragons onward, their singular mission clear. Their hearts hammered with anticipation, knowing that, at last, they would bring the Hightowers to account. As they landed on the walls of the keep, they gave the soldiers no time and burned their defends into nothing but dust, Visenya revelling in the cries and pleas of men who swore their loyalty to those who wanted her mother usurped from the throne. Even when her face remained as cold as steel, her heart burned with satisfaction as she heard the cries of men who wished to torch the realm rather than see a woman ascend the throne.

When they saw no more of their defences left to harm their dragons, Visenya exchanged a look with Aegon, both of them steeling themselves for the last battle awaiting them inside. Their dragons lowered them gently and they immediately pressed their backs against each other as a surge of guards came to meet them.  This was the moment they had fought for, sacrificed for, and nothing—not the weight of their enemies nor the ghosts of the past—would stand in their way now.

The knights and Kingsguard, once symbols of unbreakable loyalty, now stood as obstacles they would shatter without hesitation. Sword in hand, Visenya moved with calculated fury, each step echoing through the corridors as they advanced deeper into the heart of the keep. Aegon was at her side, his strikes precise and merciless, as if they were twin flames consuming everything in their path. Visenya had always been a better fighter but Aegon protected her blind spots, ensuring that his wife would see this through even if he may not.

A group of guards lunged forward, but Visenya’s blade met them with deadly grace. She cut through the first with a swift, clean slash and parried another’s sword, knocking him off balance before driving her blade through his armour. The clanging of metal and the grunts of the fallen faded into silence as they pressed onward, the bodies of the fallen lying in their wake.

Aegon fought with equal fervor, his face set in grim determination as he defended Visenya’s back. His movements mirrored hers, fluid and fierce. They were perfectly in sync, moving as if they were of one mind, a fierce storm unraveling the defenders. He dispatched a knight who attempted to flank Visenya, thrusting his blade with such force that the man staggered, dropping his weapon before Aegon’s sword found its mark. He may not have possessed the skill like his wife did but his determination to protect her was enough. Aegon glanced at Visenya, his eyes blazing with the same fire that drove her, and they shared a brief, understanding nod.

The next wave of soldiers poured in, a wall of armour and swords blocking the hall. Visenya gritted her teeth, her muscles burning with fatigue, but her resolve was unbreakable. She lunged forward, slicing through the first, sidestepping the next, while Aegon took down another who attempted to come at her from behind. Their movements were a deadly dance, each perfectly anticipating the other’s strikes and blocks.

“Do they truly think they can stop us, after all we have been through?” Aegon muttered, his voice low but edged with disbelief, his eyes flickering over the fallen men scattered along their path. Visenya’s lips curved into a bitter smile as she dispatched yet another knight. “They will soon learn their lesson.”

They reached the throne room doors, and as they pushed them open, a final handful of Kingsguard blocked their path. Their white cloaks, normally pristine, were dirtied and worn, yet their faces held the stubborn, resolute expressions of men who knew they were facing death.

“Stand down,” Visenya commanded, her voice cold and unyielding, yet laced with a strange kind of respect.

But the Kingsguard did not waver. Instead, they raised their swords, forming a protective line in front of the throne. One of them, Ser Erryk, spoke with a grim tone. “We are bound to protect the throne, my lady.”

Aegon met his gaze, fire in his eyes. “That throne does not belong to your masters anymore. Leave, or share in their fate.”

The Kingsguard exchanged a final look, but no one moved. In an instant, Visenya and Aegon surged forward, the final clash erupting in the echoing hall. Visenya ducked and wove between their swords, her movements relentless. She swept her blade across one guard’s leg, then, as he staggered, she finished him with a precise strike to the chest. Aegon parried blow after blow, finally breaking through a guard’s defenses and dispatching him with a powerful thrust. With each fallen Kingsguard, they drew closer to the throne.

At the far end, standing defensively near the Iron Throne, were Alicent and Otto Hightower. Alicent clutched her hands to her chest, her face pale and strained, while Otto stood beside her, tense and grim, his gaze flickering with equal parts dread and defiance. As Visenya approached, a small contingent of the remaining Kingsguard formed a barrier between her and the throne. Without hesitation, she raised her sword, her expression a deadly calm. Aegon was at her side, and together, they moved with relentless precision, blades flashing as they engaged the final line of resistance.

One by one, the Kingsguard fell. Visenya’s movements were swift and unyielding, each strike carrying the weight of her fury. Her sword cut through the air with purpose, slicing through armor and ending the defiance of each knight who dared to block her path. She moved like a force of nature, her face a mask of unbroken resolve. Aegon fought alongside her, dispatching another knight with a brutal swing, his eyes locked on Otto with a searing intensity. The old man’s expression faltered as he watched the destruction unfold, a flicker of fear breaking through his stony demeanor.

With only one knight left, Visenya locked eyes with him, giving him a single chance to surrender. He hesitated, glancing back at Otto and Alicent, then slowly lowered his sword and stepped back, the look in his eyes a mixture of resignation and relief. Visenya acknowledged him with a slight nod before turning back to her true targets.

The room was silent, save for the echoes of the brutal skirmish that had just ended. Alicent’s hands trembled as she looked at Visenya, her face a blend of fear and disbelief. "How could you—" she began, her voice cracking.

"How could I?" Visenya interrupted, her voice icy.

“How could I? Hah!”

“How could I?”

“You speak of mercy and blood, yet you sought to take everything from us. You set Aemond upon our family, your ambition burning as fiercely as mine. But now you hide behind these knights, hoping they will shield you from the wrath you have earned.”

Alicent’s face twisted, but she said nothing, her gaze dropping as if in shame. Otto, however, sneered, his eyes blazing with defiance. "You think this is a victory? You think taking the Red Keep means you have won the realm? Kings Landing may have fallen, but you are far from the queen you believe yourself to be. The people will remember the slaughter you have brought upon us—"

Aegon interrupted, his voice low and filled with quiet fury. "The only memory that will remain is that of House Targaryen taking back what is ours. Your ambition has blinded you, Lord Hightower. This throne, this keep—they belong to Visenya’s blood, not yours."

Otto took a step back, his expression faltering at Aegon’s words, while Alicent’s face paled further, her hands clutching tighter as if trying to steady herself. Visenya approached them slowly, her gaze never wavering. “This is the end, Otto. Your family has taken more than their share—blood and sacrifice, fear and betrayal. You were given chance after chance to stop. But you chose war. And now, there is only fire.”

Alicent’s lips trembled, her eyes filling with tears. “He was my son,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I wanted only to protect him, to protect them all.”

“And now you must answer for that choice,” Visenya replied, her tone unyielding. She looked at Aegon, who nodded in silent understanding.

With one last cold glance, Visenya turned from them both, her blade lowered but ready, her stance one of a queen who had finally reclaimed her throne.

Aegon stepped forward, his gaze as cold and unyielding as iron as he regarded Otto and Alicent, their shocked faces painted with disbelief and horror. “I was your son too or have you forgotten? You have always played your favourites mother,” Aegon scoffed. Alicent’s hand shook as she reached out to him, her voice strained with desperation.

“Aegon,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “we are your family, your blood. I am your mother, and Otto... he is your grandfather. You cannot turn your back on us like this. We raised you. We protected you.”

Aegon’s jaw clenched as he listened, his eyes devoid of sympathy. "Family?” he repeated, his voice low and scornful. “Family is loyalty. Family does not sacrifice one for another’s ambition. The only true family I have ever known is Visenya and our children. You may share my blood, but you are not my family."

Otto scoffed, his face twisted in anger as he spoke. “You are ungrateful, Aegon. Everything we did was to preserve our house. We ensured you lived a life of privilege, raised you to rule—”

“Rule?” Aegon interrupted sharply, taking a step forward, his voice seething with bitterness. “You raised me to serve your ambitions, to be a pawn in your schemes. I am done serving you, and I am done listening to your justifications.” He motioned to Visenya, his determination unwavering. “We are here to end your game, once and for all.”

Visenya stepped beside him, her gaze unwavering as she drew her sword and pointed it at Otto’s throat, the steel gleaming inches from his skin. "You can either walk to the cells, or you can meet your end here.” Her voice was hard as iron, carrying a finality that brooked no argument. She turned her gaze to Alicent, and though her voice softened, her resolve did not. “You, too. This is over. Come with us, or die where you stand.”

Alicent’s eyes glistened with tears as she looked at Aegon, her lips parting as if to plead one last time. But she found no warmth or kindness in his expression, only the cold determination of a king who had reclaimed his throne. Her shoulders slumped as her gaze dropped, understanding that nothing she could say would change their course. Otto, however, sneered, his pride refusing to let him bow. But as Visenya’s blade pressed closer, forcing him to step back, he clenched his jaw, finally conceding to follow.

With swords trained on them, Aegon and Visenya guided Alicent and Otto out of the throne room, past the fallen Kingsguard who had once pledged to protect them, and down the winding halls to the prison cells, where they would await their fate.

As Alicent and Otto stumbled into the dank, cold prison cell, the heavy iron bars clanged shut behind them, echoing through the stone chamber. Alicent’s eyes, wide with both fear and rage, searched for any sign of compassion in her captors, but all she found was a cruel, steely indifference. She turned, clutching the remnants of her dress, and demanded, “If you mean to kill us, then end it here. Or are you too afraid to face the truth without an audience?”

At this, Visenya chuckled, a sound cold and unyielding. “Afraid? You mistake justice for fear,” she replied, her voice a harsh whisper that cut through the stagnant air. “I will not grant you the mercy of a quiet death, where you can slip away, unseen and forgotten. No, I will make sure the realm sees the price of betrayal and ambition.”

Her eyes hardened, a storm brewing within them. "You will face the judgment of those you have wronged, and I will not deny them their satisfaction.”

Otto’s usual composure faltered as he glared at her. “You risk the realm for your vendetta. You think they’ll flock to you simply because you defeated us?”

Aegon, standing beside Visenya with his own gaze sharp and merciless, shook his head slowly. “They will follow her because she is true to her word. Because she fights for her people—not to prop herself up on a stolen throne. She fights for justice and you have pushed her hand.”

He stepped forward, his voice cold as he looked down at his grandfather. “The only family I have is here beside me. You taught me that family is only as good as the loyalty it bears. And you betrayed us long ago.” Alicent’s face twisted, her eyes brimming with desperation as she looked at her son. “Aegon, please… we did this for you, to give you the throne that was your birthright.”

But Aegon shook his head, unmoved by her plea. “The throne means nothing if it comes at the cost of all honour, of everyone I love. You tried to strip us of what made us whole.” His voice dropped, the softness returning as he looked at Visenya, his hand brushing hers. “And you failed.”

Visenya's smirk grew more prominent as she watched the defeated expressions of Alicent and Otto sink into silence. “Take solace in your final days,” she said, her tone mocking. “For soon, the entire realm will watch as you face justice. Not behind closed doors but in the full light of day, where none can claim innocence or ignorance.”

With that, she turned, her voice trailing as she ordered the guards to secure the cell and leave no room for hope. “I will make certain,” she said, “that no one forgets the day the Hightowers’ legacy crumbled under the weight of their own sins.”

Alicent's face crumpled with desperation as she clutched the cold, unforgiving bars of her cell. "Please," she whispered, a mother’s plea breaking through her weary voice. "Please, if you have any mercy in you, spare Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. They are innocent—they are children, Visenya. Please, let them live a life without fear."

Visenya's gaze was steady and unwavering, yet a flicker of compassion softened her eyes, if only for a moment. She took a breath, steel and resolve coating her words. "They will be taken care of, Alicent," she replied, her voice calm yet weighted with years of pain and anger. "I will not punish them for your sins. They will know love and a life untouched by bloodshed, something you failed to give their mother."

Alicent trembled, sensing the fury restrained in Visenya’s words. “You—you think I failed them? I did what I thought was right! I did what I could to keep my children safe—”

Visenya’s eyes hardened, her patience thinning. "Safe?" Her voice rose, steady but laden with accusation. "You knew Aemond murdered Luke, an innocent boy. You knew, and yet you let him roam free to continue his rampage. You did not lift a finger to stop him—you did not care, so long as it served your family’s ambitions. You knew Helaena never wished to marry and yet you forced her to and she died in agony as she strained to bear a third child. And when Otto and his council plotted my mother’s death, you stood by and watched, justifying it with empty excuses of duty and sacrifice. You cannot speak of love, Alicent, not when you have allowed it to become poison."

Alicent staggered back, clutching her chest as though Visenya’s words had struck her physically. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but Visenya was relentless, her fury tempered only by the years she had waited for this moment.

"You do not deserve the title of mother," Visenya continued, her voice sharper than steel. "And you do not deserve to be loved. Every person who has ever cared for you has been tainted or destroyed by your willingness to look away from the blood spilled in your name. Even when your hands were not stained, your silence made you complicit. The realm will witness your end, just as it witnessed the lives you allowed to be broken.”

Alicent sank to the floor of her cell, her shoulders shaking as she realized there was nothing left for her to say, no more pleas to offer that could wash away her sins. Visenya turned, her expression unyielding as she left the cell, sealing Alicent’s fate and her legacy.

___

As Visenya and Aegon finally reached the nursery, both worn from the relentless battle that had raged through the Red Keep, they paused to catch their breath outside the door. Visenya’s hand trembled on the handle, her mind racing with everything they had fought for, every life taken and spared along the way. She glanced at Aegon, his gaze as resolute as her own, and together they entered the room.

Inside, the twins, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, sat quietly on the floor, surrounded by scattered toys. Their eyes widened as they looked up, seeing the unfamiliar figures standing in the doorway. Visenya’s heart softened at the sight of the young, innocent faces peering at her with unguarded curiosity, unafraid and unaware of the chaos surrounding them. Slowly, she and Aegon stepped closer, each movement gentle, so as not to startle them.

Jaehaera, with wide, inquisitive eyes, a spitting image of Helaena, was the first to approach, her small footsteps pattering softly on the stone floor. She reached out a hand, her gaze steady, studying Visenya’s face. The unguarded purity in her look took Visenya aback. She had been ready for tears, for fear, even for screams. But instead, she felt the quiet acceptance and trust emanating from these children who had endured so much.

Visenya knelt, meeting Jaehaera’s eye level. She forced a smile, her heart breaking for the child who had lost her mother, her world thrown into turmoil by forces beyond her understanding. "Hello, little one," Visenya murmured softly, her voice gentle but filled with an unspoken promise of protection.

Aegon stood beside her, his presence steady, reassuring, as he watched his wife forge a bond with the children. Jaehaerys followed his sister’s lead, stepping forward to stand beside her, his gaze darting between Visenya and Aegon with childlike wonder. Visenya reached out, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, but instead was surprised as the pair pulled her into a tight embrace.

Visenya looked to Aegon with tears welling in her eyes, remembering how Helaena had freed her from her imprisonment to have a chance to return home. And now, her children had embraced her as if she were familiar, comforting even.

"Do you know who I am?" Visenya asked softly, almost wondering if they’d be afraid.

Jaehaera looked at her with calm curiosity, nodding. "Mother told us about you," she whispered. "She said you were brave... like the Visenya of old. A fierce warrior queen." Her small, knowing voice was a reminder of Helaena’s quiet spirit, weaving truths and stories to comfort her children.

Visenya felt a pang at this. She’d never imagined Helaena, would have spoken of her kindly, especially to her children. Her voice softened as she replied, "Your mother was a good woman. She loved you very much."

The children moved without hesitation, Jaehaerys lifted his arms up to Aegon, a quiet plea to be held. Aegon softened, reaching down to scoop up his nephew with a gentleness that seemed at odds with the hardened warrior he’d become. Visenya met Jaehaera’s gaze, and, to her surprise, the little girl held her arms up as well.

Gently, Visenya lifted her, feeling the surprising weight of trust in the child’s small arms around her neck. Holding Jaehaera close, Visenya whispered, “I am here now, and no harm will come to you.” The girl nestled her head against Visenya’s shoulder, as if she had been waiting to hear those very words.

Aegon met Visenya’s eyes, their shared resolve tempered with the tenderness of this unexpected moment. Holding the twins in their arms, they turned and made their way back down the cold stone corridors, a sense of peace settling over them as they embraced their role not just as conquerors, but as protectors of the family they had chosen to keep safe. Whatever battles awaited them, they were no longer driven by rage alone; they were bound by something greater—a promise to protect and build a future, not just for their own, but for those who had been left behind.

Chapter Text

The Great Sept of Baelor shimmered in the morning light, its stained-glass windows painting the marble floors in hues of crimson, gold, and emerald. The bells of King’s Landing rang a sonorous anthem that rolled through the city like dragon wings cutting the sky. The streets outside were packed with throngs of onlookers, the black-and-red banners of House Targaryen fluttering from every spire and parapet. The people roared their approval, a deafening cacophony that echoed up the hill to the sept itself.

Inside, the sept was a temple of awe. Nobles and lords of the realm stood shoulder to shoulder, garbed in silks and brocades, their faces tense with expectation. At the center of the aisle, under the watchful gaze of the Seven, a vision emerged that silenced the murmuring throng.

Visenya Targaryen, clad in a gown that seemed to be spun from dragonfire and starlight, stepped forward. The dress was crafted of black Valyrian silk, the bodice shimmering with silver and ruby embroidery in the shape of intertwining dragons. A deep crimson cape, lined with golden thread and clasped at her shoulders with twin dragon brooches, flowed behind her like a river of blood. Her pale silver hair was swept into an intricate braided crown, interwoven with tiny rubies and black pearls that glinted in the sunlight streaming through the sept’s windows.

At her side, her children trailed behind her. Alyssa walked with her small hand clutched tightly in her mother’s. Her silver hair was woven with tiny braids, and she wore a black velvet gown lined with rubies and embroidered with golden dragon sigils, one she had requested for her fondness for Sunfyre. Baelon toddled beside her, his small, chubby hands reaching for the hem of Visenya’s cape as he stared wide-eyed at the grandeur around him. In the arms of Rhaena at the front of the gathering, baby Aegea cooed softly, her silver hair catching the light like molten steel.

Seated near the altar, the royal family watched with bated breath. Helaena’s twin children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, observed with quiet awe, their young faces solemn beneath golden circlets. Nearby, Daemon Targaryen leaned back in his seat, still recuperating from his injuries, with a faint smile of pride curving his lips. Baela flanked him, bouncing ]her young  brother Aegon on her knee while Viserys sat with wide, curious eyes beside Daemonr.

Further back, Visenya’s brothers, Jacaerys and Joffrey, stood tall, their expressions a mixture of pride and protectiveness. Jace’s hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, while Joffrey whispered softly to his elder brother, his bright eyes scanning the crowd for threats. Jacaerys felt a distinct sadness as he felt the absence of Lucerys and their father Laenor.

As Visenya approached the altar, Aegon Targaryen stepped forward, his expression a mask of reverence and devotion. He wore a tunic of black and gold, the sigil of House Targaryen emblazoned across his chest. His violet eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, the tension in the sept seemed to dissolve. The High Septon lifted the crown of Aegon the Conqueror, its sharp points gleaming like the talons of a dragon. But instead of placing it on her head, he held it out to Aegon, who took it with both hands. Aegon turned to his wife, his voice steady and clear as he spoke.

“You are the light of my life, the strength of my house, and the fire that binds us all. Today, the realm witnesses what I have always known—you are its queen, now and forever.”

With careful hands, Aegon placed the crown upon Visenya’s head. She knelt briefly, bowing her head as the weight of the crown settled upon her brow, then rose to her full height, the embodiment of majesty. Aegon knelt before her, his head bowed in deference, the action reverberating through the gathered crowd like a lightning strike.

“All hail Visenya Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm!” The High Septon’s voice carried through the sept, and the crowd erupted in a roar of approval. Aegon stood, taking his place at her side, his hand lightly resting on hers as they turned to face the gathered lords and ladies.

From his seat, Daemon smirked with open pride, his arms crossed over his chest. Baela and Rhaena exchanged knowing glances, while little Aegon clapped his hands excitedly, drawing a soft laugh from his sister. Jacaerys and Joffrey exchanged proud smiles, their loyalty to their sister unwavering.

As the cheers of the crowd surged and the dragons outside roared their fiery salute, Visenya’s gaze swept over the sept. She saw her family—her children, her husband, her siblings, and her kin—and knew that this was not just her moment but theirs. She was their queen, the fire that would bind them all, and the realm would bow before the power of the dragon.

Aegon turned to Visenya as the roaring cheers of the sept faded into a distant hum, his violet eyes alight with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He leaned close, his voice soft but resonant enough for her alone to hear.

“Vermithor awaits you, my queen,” he said. “At the very place where your grandsire, King Viserys, once held his great tourney to celebrate peace. Today, the people will gather there once more—not for sport, but for justice and triumph.”

Visenya’s breath caught, her gaze locking with his. She understood the weight of his words. This was more than a coronation; it was the culmination of her family’s sacrifices, their triumph over betrayal and fire. She nodded, her resolve steady as she placed her hand in his.

Together, they exited the sept, their children following close behind, flanked by Daemon, Baela, Rhaena, and the rest of their family. The procession moved through the streets of King’s Landing, a river of black and red cutting through a sea of cheering citizens. Above, dragons wheeled and roared, their shadows dancing on the cobblestones below.

As they approached the tourney grounds, the grandstands loomed into view, overflowing with people. The wooden seats, once built to house lords and knights competing for glory, were now filled with the common folk of King’s Landing. Their cries of jubilation rolled like thunder as they caught sight of Visenya, crowned and resplendent, riding in an open palanquin with Aegon beside her.

The very air seemed to hum with anticipation as they entered the grounds. At its center, where lances had once splintered and swords had clashed, a stark and solemn scene awaited. Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, and their loyalists knelt in a long, unbroken line. Their wrists were bound in chains of black iron, the links gleaming in the sunlight like dark water. Their once-proud heads were bowed, their faces a study in bitterness and resignation.

Alicent knelt at the forefront, her green gown dirtied and torn, her eyes defiant despite the iron shackles on her wrists. Beside her, Otto’s face was ashen, his usual composure cracked under the weight of his defeat. Behind them knelt the remaining lords and knights who had raised their banners against Visenya’s claim. The crowd hushed as Visenya descended from the palanquin, Aegon helping her with an outstretched hand. She moved with measured grace, her crimson cape sweeping the ground as she walked toward the prisoners. The golden sunlight glinted off her crown, casting shards of light across the faces of the kneeling traitors.

At the far end of the field, the massive bronze shape of Vermithor loomed, his molten eyes fixed on the scene with predatory interest. His wings spread slightly, a warning to all who would dare oppose the queen standing before him. The crowd gasped as the great dragon let out a low rumble, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

Aegon stepped forward, his voice clear and commanding as it carried across the grounds.

“These traitors sought to usurp the crown, to tear this realm apart with their lies and treachery. But they have failed. Today, justice shall be done, and the realm will witness the power of the queen it has chosen to serve.”

He turned to Visenya, extending his hand to her. “The choice is yours, my queen. Show them your strength.”

Visenya stepped forward, her eyes sweeping over the kneeling traitors. For a long moment, she stood silent, letting the weight of her presence settle over them. Then she raised her voice, clear and sharp as Valyrian steel.

“You sought to burn this realm in your pursuit of power,” she said. “You knelt before ambition and cast honor to the wind. Now you kneel before me, and the realm shall know the cost of treachery.”

She raised her hand, signaling the dragonkeepers stationed near Vermithor. With a deafening roar, the great dragon advanced, each step shaking the earth. The crowd erupted into cheers and cries of astonishment, their voices a chorus of awe and fear. Aegon took her hand, his gaze fixed on hers, steady and unwavering. Together, they ascended the platform that had been hastily erected at the edge of the field, overlooking both the traitors and the adoring crowd. The sun blazed overhead, and in that moment, Visenya was not just queen—she was the embodiment of the dragon’s fire, her rule forged in flame and unyielding strength.

The roar of the crowd faded into a low murmur as Vermithor’s immense form shifted, the bronze beast lowering himself closer to the ground in a show of deference. His molten eyes locked onto Visenya, as if acknowledging the weight of the crown she now bore. His wings folded partially, creating a ramp-like slope for her ascent. Aegon stood at her side, his hand firm but gentle as he guided her toward the dragon. Her gown, an intricate masterpiece of Valyrian silk and embroidery, trailed behind her like a river of blood and fire. The elaborate cape caught on the wind, and for a moment, it seemed as though she already rode the skies, one with her dragon.

"Here," Aegon murmured, stepping closer to adjust the folds of her cape and gown. His hands, calloused from years of swordsmanship, were unexpectedly tender as he freed the fabric from where it had caught on the stones beneath their feet. “You’ll have no trouble once you’re in the sky, but until then, let me help you.”

Visenya looked at him, her violet eyes meeting his, and a faint smile touched her lips. "You’ve always been my anchor, my love,” she said softly.

Behind them, the gathered family watched in reverent silence. Daemon Targaryen leaned heavily on his cane, his injuries still healing, yet his gaze burned with something deeper than pride—something raw and unspoken. He saw not just Visenya, the woman she had become, but Rhaenyra, the woman he had loved and lost. The way Visenya carried herself—the fire in her gaze, the unyielding strength in her stance—was a mirror of her mother in her most commanding moments.

“She’s her mother’s daughter,” Daemon murmured to Baela, who stood at his side, her hand lightly resting on his arm. “Rhaenyra would be proud.”

Baela glanced up at her father, her eyes shining. “We all are, father.”

Nearby, Jacaerys Velaryon stood tall, his expression unreadable. But within him, a storm of emotions raged. As he watched his sister take those final steps toward Vermithor, he saw echoes of Laenor Velaryon in her—the bravery, the quiet determination, the sense of duty that had defined their father. His chest tightened, and he whispered to Joffrey, who stood beside him, “She’s everything he would have wanted her to be.”

Joffrey nodded, his bright eyes fixed on Visenya. “And more.”

In the front row of the gathering, Corlys Velaryon watched with a steely gaze. The Sea Snake, who had weathered countless storms and battles, felt his throat tighten as he beheld Visenya. In her, he saw Rhaenys—the Queen Who Never Was—her poise, her strength, her unyielding spirit. A part of him ached with the memory of his wife, but another part swelled with pride. Rhaenys’s legacy had not been extinguished; it burned brightly in their granddaughter.

As Visenya reached Vermithor, she turned to Aegon one last time. He stepped closer, his hands finding hers. His violet eyes, filled with love and resolve, searched her face.

“You always do what must be done,” he said, his voice steady yet thick with emotion. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Do not falter now. The realm needs you. I need you.”

Her throat tightened, but she held his gaze. “I will not falter,” she promised. “Not now. Not ever.”

With Aegon’s help, she gathered the intricate folds of her gown and began her ascent. Vermithor shifted beneath her, his scales catching the sunlight and casting a bronze glow across the field. Aegon steadied her as she climbed, his hands never leaving hers until she was fully mounted. From her perch atop Vermithor, Visenya turned to look down at Aegon, her hand still extended toward him in a silent farewell. He stepped back, his expression one of unwavering faith. The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices a tidal wave of devotion and awe.

The sight of their queen astride the mighty Vermithor was a vision of Targaryen power reborn. The dragons roared in unison, their cries splitting the skies, as Visenya urged Vermithor skyward. As the dragon’s massive wings unfurled and he took to the air, Aegon’s words echoed in her heart: Do not falter now. She would not. She was Visenya Targaryen, queen of a realm forged in fire, and she would lead it to glory.

As Vermithor circled the tourney grounds, his massive shadow casting a long, ominous silhouette over the kneeling traitors, Visenya’s voice rang out, sharp as Valyrian steel. “People of King’s Landing!” she called, her words carrying over the roar of the crowd below. Vermithor’s wings beat the air, a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if the great dragon himself awaited judgment. “Before you kneel those who sought to destroy not only my family but the very peace of this realm. They conspired to claim a throne that was not theirs by right, spilling the blood of innocents and setting the realm aflame.” The crowd’s murmur swelled, a mixture of anger, grief, and righteous fury. “They killed my mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen!” Visenya continued, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “They killed my grandmother, Rhaenys Velaryon, in the skies above Rook’s Rest! They killed my brother, Lucerys Velaryon, before he had even truly lived! And countless others—your fathers, sons, and brothers—fell because of their ambition and lies!”

A man in the crowd shouted, “Justice for Queen Rhaenyra! Justice for the Queen Who Never Was!” Another cried out, “For Prince Lucerys!” The people began to roar, their cries of outrage rising like a wave. “Justice! Justice! Burn them!” From her vantage atop Vermithor, Visenya raised a hand, silencing the crowd with a commanding gesture. She leaned forward, her silver hair glinting in the sun like molten fire. “The fate of these traitors is not mine to decide alone. It belongs to you, the people of this realm. They stole from you as much as they stole from me. So, tell me, my people—what justice should be served this day?”

The crowd erupted, their voices a storm of fury and retribution. “Burn them!” a woman screamed, clutching her child tightly to her chest. “Feed them to the dragon!” bellowed a blacksmith, his soot-streaked face twisted in anger. “They deserve no mercy!” Even as the cries of the crowd surged, the traitors knelt in grim silence. Alicent Hightower’s jaw clenched, her green gown dirtied and torn, but her eyes still blazed with defiance. Otto Hightower stared at the ground, his composure fractured, though his hands gripped his chains tightly as if they were his last connection to power.

As Vermithor descended from the skies, his massive wings stirred a tempest of dust and ash across the tourney grounds. The cries of the crowd roared louder as the bronze beast landed with an earth-shaking thud, his claws digging into the soft earth. His golden eyes glowed like molten fire, and smoke curled ominously from his nostrils. Seated upon his colossal back, Visenya Targaryen was a vision of unyielding power. She did not dismount; she remained astride Vermithor, a queen of dragons commanding judgment.

The air was heavy with tension, the crowd holding its breath as Visenya leaned forward, her silver hair catching the sunlight like a halo. Her eyes, a deep shade of violet, locked onto the kneeling traitors, and her voice carried over the stillness like the tolling of a bell.

“Traitors,” she began, her tone sharp and deliberate, “look upon the faces of those you wronged. Look into the eyes of a realm you sought to shatter for your own greed. Do you feel the weight of their fury? Do you feel the wrath of the people you have betrayed?”

Vermithor growled low, his tail sweeping across the ground, scattering dirt and stone like discarded dreams. The kneeling prisoners shuddered, chains rattling as the very presence of the dragon bore down upon them.

Alicent Hightower dared to raise her head, her green eyes burning with a mix of defiance and resignation. She held her spine straight, even in her tattered gown, but her lips quivered as she met Visenya’s unrelenting gaze.

Visenya’s voice turned icy, cutting through the murmur of the crowd like a blade. “You speak of doing right by your children, Alicent. Was it right to allow a son to murder my brother? Was it right to make a throne of lies and blood? What did your so-called righteousness bring to this realm but ruin and sorrow?”

Alicent’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

“And you,” Visenya turned her piercing gaze to Otto, her expression colder than the Void beyond the Wall. “The mind of this madness. You wove your schemes with poison and deceit, thinking yourself untouchable. Yet here you kneel, broken and powerless. What say you now, ‘Kingmaker’?”

Otto Hightower’s silence was as damning as the crowd’s cries of fury. His head remained bowed, his face pale, but his lips were pressed into a hard, defiant line.

The people surged forward, their rage a living force. A man shouted from the crowd, “Burn them all! Let the dragon cleanse the filth!”

A woman’s voice rang out, trembling with grief, “For the Queen Who Never Was! For Lucerys! For all the lives they stole!”

The cries merged into a cacophony, the crowd demanding justice with one voice. “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

Visenya raised her hand, commanding silence, and the crowd obeyed. She straightened atop Vermithor, her presence as commanding as the dragon beneath her. “The realm has spoken,” she declared, her voice trembling with both power and sorrow. “But let all here know, I do this not for vengeance but for the peace of the realm. Their ambition brought war to us all. Their fire must now be extinguished.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, she leaned forward and shouted the word that would seal their fate.

“Dracarys!”