บท 6: 'Feast & Reactions'
| Author's Note:
It seems there's been a small rise in negative comments lately, so I'd like to address a few things. This fanfic is a very slight AU,— which means that for the sake of the story I want to tell, certain characters' actions, like Jaehaerys', needed to be adjusted.
Secondly, I'd ask you to consider my perspective. I'm a 21-year-old guy fighting life, just to sometimes be able to write this in my free time, outside of work, purely for fun.
I'm not here to create a perfect story,— and I'll be the first one to admit I'm incapable of that. This is, in many ways, my first real fanfic, and to make things more challenging, English isn't even my native language. Yet, I'm writing everything in English, without using translations or any other shortcuts.
So please, be respectful. Don't hate me or my work for the flaws we have,— it's all part of the process.
That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Thank you for your support.
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"A broken heart is, perhaps, the hardest wound to heal. Even a lifetime of trying may not be enough to make it whole again."
— Rhaenys Targaryen.
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| Year 105AC - Hours later, early night, Inside the Red Keep - With Rhaenys Targaryen:
The air on the balcony was cool, heavy with the salty scent of the Narrow Sea. It bit at Rhaenys's cheeks, though she barely felt it.
Her fingers gripped the cold stone railing as if it were the only thing tethering her to the present. Before her, the dark waters churned under the faint silver of moonlight, their ceaseless motion mirroring the storm within her. She had come here to escape the stifling banquet hall, the eyes and whispers, the weight of her past loveless tragedy. But the reprieve had proven elusive, her thoughts unyielding.
And then came the voice from behind her, soft yet unmistakable. "Rhaenys…" And her breath caught, now stiffened, her knuckles whitening against the stone. That voice,— low and familiar, like the distant echo of a dream long buried,— stirred memories she had fought to forget. Slowly, but deliberately, she exhaled, though her heart still pounded in her chest.
Sixteen years.
Sixteen years since she had last heard that voice. Her shoulders tensed as she willed herself to steady her breathing, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her, and she did not turn.
"Sixteen years…" she said, her voice quiet but taut with emotion, trembling like a bowstring drawn too tight. "Sixteen years I grieved for the boy I once loved, ever since they told me the storm had taken you,— swallowed you whole." The words spilled out, each one laced with bitterness and pain.
Finally, she turned to face him, her violet eyes meeting his,— eyes that once held nothing but joy and hope but now burned with helplessness, anger and anguish.
"I raged at the gods." she continued, her voice rising slightly. "Cursed our grandfather, and begged my father for answers. When none came, I cried myself until despair robbed me of strength and left me hollow!"
Aenys stood before her now, taller than she remembered, broader in the shoulders, his silver hair gleaming faintly in the moonlight, just as hers did, albeit less than his. Yet his expression,— the sorrow in his lilac eyes,— was achingly familiar.
He bowed his head, as though her words were daggers cutting into him. "I can't imagine the pain you endured, Rhae," he began, his voice thick with regret. "I—..."
"Don't." The single word snapped like a whip, stopping him mid-sentence. "Don't call me that." Her voice cracked then, betraying the crack in her composure, and for a brief moment, she turned away, looking back at the sea as if the waves might wash away the lump rising in her throat. Then, when she faced him again,— her tone was harder,— colder.
"'Rhae' died the day they said you were banished, as much as she died again when they told me you were lost to the sea." Her words struck true, and she saw him flinch, his eyes closing as though to shield himself from her grief.
"I'm sorry, Rhaenys." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You, of all people, should know,— had I the power to return to you, to change anything,— I would have. Surely you must know that." His plea hung in the air, but it did not soften her. She shook her head, her eyes narrowing as old wounds reopened.
"What I know..." she said, each word deliberate, "... is that sixteen years have passed, Aenys,— sixteen years of silence. I grieved for you, yes, but I lived too. I married a man I did not choose and got to fall in love with him, just as much as I had children who went on to become my joy. I lost kin I could never replace and saw the crown I fought for stolen from me, and through it all, I found peace,— or at least, I convinced myself I had." She paused, her gaze faltering for the first time as her trembling hands betrayed her.
"And now you return,— alive, after all these years,— claiming a place I once bled for. What am I to do with that, Cousin? Tell me, what should I feel? What should I do?" He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came, his eyes darting away, as if searching for something to anchor himself.
"I… I don't know what to say." he admitted at last, his voice faltering, and she laughed then,— a bitter, joyless sound that echoed against the stone walls. "The boy who once promised to know everything, to fix everything, who filled my head with dreams of Valyrian glory and futures we would share together,— cannot even answer that." Her mockery was sharp, a blade aimed directly at his heart.
He flinched, and his face twisted with frustration and pain. "That's not fair, Rhaenys!" he burst out, his voice rising. "I never asked for this either,— any of it. Not for the banishment, not for the storm, and certainly not for the years stolen from us. Do you think you alone made sacrifices? Do you think you alone suffered?"
Her eyes blazed as she stepped closer, her voice dripping with venom. "Who was it that whispered dreams into my ears, dreams that turned to ash the moment life came crashing down? Who was it that left me to pick up the pieces of a life shattered for the sake of 'family duty'? Do not speak to me of suffering. You were the fire that burned my dreams, and even now you seem to come back, intent on haunting me with what could have been."
His shoulders slumped as her words hit their mark. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. "Rhaenys,—..."
"No, Aenys." Her voice was softer now but no less resolute. "Whatever we were, whatever we might have been, is gone. I am a wife now, and I am also a mother. My life is no longer about what could have been."
She then turned sharply, her skirts brushing against his legs as she moved to leave. But his hand shot out, catching her arm in a last desperate plea. "Love, please,—..."
She froze for a moment, her back to him, before wrenching her arm free. When she turned, her face was a mask of anger and grief. "Let me go." she hissed. "My duty is to my husband, my children, and the life I built without you. You are now even an heir to a throne that was meant to be mine, so I hope you enjoy your newly gained triumph, your survival, and your own return to glory. But please, leave me to live the life I have chosen, as you seem so eager to reclaim yours." Without another word, she swept past him, her footsteps echoing in the corridor as she disappeared into the shadows.
The sea roared below, its unrelenting fury a reflection of the turmoil in her heart, yet she kept walking, her back straight and her head high, though tears blurred her vision. Each step felt heavier than the last, her chest tight as she forced herself to breathe.
Behind her, she knew he still stood on the balcony, watching her go with those purple eyes of his that she had once longed so much to see one more time.
And perhaps that was the cruellest part of all.
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| Year 105AC - Early night, a few minutes later, inside the Red Keep - With Aenys Targaryen:
The hall was alive with the soft hum of conversation, the clinking of goblets, and the rustle of fine silks as lords and ladies moved about in clusters, their whispers punctuated by laughter. Candles burned brightly along the walls, casting flickering shadows that danced upon the intricate tapestries depicting Targaryen conquests.
The Red Keep was dressed for celebration, but the mood in the room was subdued,— an undercurrent of anticipation and unease mingling with the merriment.
Viserys, seated at the head of the table, had watched the door for what felt like an eternity, his hand resting on his richly built goblet as though the feel of it grounded him.
And when at last Aenys entered, his form lit briefly by the torches lining the entryway, the king's face broke into a smile that was rare in the days since Aemma's passing. "Ah, the man of the hour!" Viserys declared, his voice cutting through the din like a blade. He rose to his feet, his cup raised high. "My elder brother, returned from the grave itself!"
The gathered lords and ladies turned their heads as one, their murmurs silenced by the king's proclamation. Aenys paused in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the light behind him.
He stood there for a moment, his sharp violet eyes sweeping over the room with an inscrutable expression before he stepped forward, his movements deliberate and composed. His silver hair caught the golden glow of the chandeliers above, and the faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips as he inclined his head toward Viserys.
"Brother." Aenys replied, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable warmth that softened his typically guarded demeanor. His gaze moved past Viserys, landing on the young woman seated beside him. Rhaenyra,— with her silver-gold hair, the lilac eyes that gleamed like polished amethysts, looked every bit the princess Aenys supposed she was. "And this… would be my niece, Princess Rhaenyra?" Aenys inquired, his tone light but measured, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly in appraisal.
She rose gracefully to her feet, her head tilted slightly as she regarded him with open curiosity. In turn, Viserys beamed, the pride he took in his daughter evident in his every word and gesture. "She is, indeed!" he said, motioning toward her with a flourish. "My pride, and my joy. She is my Rhaenyra."
Rhaenyra dipped into a perfectly executed curtsy then, her smile demure yet tinged with mischief as she straightened. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Uncle." she said, her voice as lilting and melodic as birdsong. "I have heard much of you, ever since I was but a child."
Aenys arched an eyebrow at her words, his amusement flickering across his face as he took the seat beside Viserys. His movements were fluid and unhurried, every action exuding the quiet confidence of a man who had faced the abyss and returned. As he settled into his chair, he found himself neatly situated between the king and the princess, an arrangement that felt intentional.
"Ah, is that so?" Aenys replied, his voice carrying a hint of dry humor as he turned his attention back to Rhaenyra. "Well then, only good things, I hope?"
Viserys chuckled, the sound rich and genuine as he leaned forward to clasp Aenys on the shoulder. "Of course, brother! Of course! You were always the golden son in our youth, were you not?" With a wave of his hand, Viserys signaled the servants to attend to Aenys. Goblets were refilled with the finest Arbor gold, and platters of roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and fragrant bread were laid before him. The aromas were intoxicating, and Aenys's gaze lingered briefly on the feast before him. For a fleeting moment, his composure slipped, and a flicker of genuine hunger flashed in his eyes.
"You've been too long away from the Red Keep's comforts." Viserys continued, his tone brimming with joviality. "Surely, you've missed its food?" Aenys allowed himself a small, rueful smile.
"You can be certain of that, brother." he said, his voice quieter now. "The gods only, know how many times I had to hunt or fish just to keep my belly from protesting too loudly these past years." Viserys roared with laughter, the sound booming across the hall and drawing the attention of those nearest. "I assumed as much! No fine feasts in exile, eh? Well, we'll fix that tonight."
Before Aenys could reply, Rhaenyra's voice cut through, soft and lilting yet impossible to ignore. "That reminds me, Uncle..." she began, leaning forward slightly, her smile sly.
"I've always wondered,— how did you survive that dreadful storm? Father said only that something or someone saved you… but who was it?" Aenys's chuckle rumbled low in his chest as he met her inquisitive gaze, clearly amused by her interest. "A fine question, dear niece. But, you see, the right question isn't 'who',— it's 'what'. The day was monstrous, the waves tall as castles, and the winds roaring like dragons themselves,—..."
"Bah!" Viserys interrupted, waving a hand in mock impatience. "Brother, less flair for drama, if you please. You'll bore my daughter to death before you get to the heart of it."
Rhaenyra however raised an elegant eyebrow at her father, her voice playful yet tinged with mischief. "Quite the contrary, Father. I was finding it rather engaging. Perhaps I inherited my taste for good stories from Uncle?"
Aenys leaned back in his chair, feigning exaggerated smugness. "See, Viserys? Even your daughter acknowledges my talents as a storyteller. Perhaps she has the better ear for such things?"
Viserys pretended to look mortally wounded, though his grin betrayed him. "As if! Perish the thought, brother. No one liked your stories that much, even as children."
Rhaenyra's lips parted in mock horror, and her hand darted forward to rest atop Aenys's as though in solidarity. Her expression was a study in exaggerated outrage as she turned to her father. "How dare you, Father? To insult my dear uncle in front of the entire court! What would the lords here present think?"
And Aenys laughed, the sound rich and genuine as he gave her hand a light squeeze. "A defender already, I see. My niece proves herself a good judge of character." Viserys groaned theatrically, throwing his hands up in mock despair. "Oh, gods help me, now there are two of them conspiring against me. The realm is doomed."
Aenys shifted his attention fully to Rhaenyra then, his tone softening as he resumed his tale. "Now, as I was saying before your father's cruel interjections…" He leaned forward slightly, his expression growing more serious as he spoke. "The winds howled, the ship's timbers groaned like they might crack apart, and the sea raged as though eager to drag us to its depths. The crew despaired, clinging to the mast as if their prayers might hold it steady. And then,—..."
"And then?" Rhaenyra prompted, her eyes wide, her fingers tightening slightly on her goblet. Aenys's expression grew solemn, the jest giving way to something deeper.
"Through the storm, a shadow appeared. It was no man nor god but a dragon that many of the people of the realm have at least once heard of... the Cannibal." Viserys leaned forward despite himself, and Aenys had his gaze distant as though reliving the moment.
"He saved me, pulling me from the sea with his claws and carried me to shore,— I owe my life to him." Rhaenyra's voice was barely above a whisper, awe coloring her tone when she answered. "A wild-dragon that you had never met, saved you…?" Faced with her question, Aenys's gaze softened as he looked at her fully. "Dragons do not forget their own, niece. Not even those who never knew the ways of the Valyrian's bonds. So who knows what went inside his primal mind when he choose to save me..."
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The hall kept buzzing with life, the grand chandeliers casting their golden glow over a sea of lords and ladies.
Their conversations melded into a symphony of murmurs, laughter, and clinking goblets, while servants moved deftly among the throng, refilling glasses and replacing empty plates. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, honeyed wine, and the faint tang of perfumed oils wafting from finely dressed nobility.
Aenys was still sat beside Viserys at the head of the hall, their table elevated on a dais overlooking the revelry below. Though his body was poised and his expression carefully neutral, his mind wandered as he watched the lords and ladies move about the floor. He recognized some faces, aged now since his youth, and others were strangers entirely,— new players in the ever-turning game of thrones.
Viserys leaned toward him, breaking the stream of his thoughts with a soft but deliberate tone. "I just remembered, brother. There's something I would like your counsel on."
And Aenys turned, his brow arching slightly, skepticism flickering across his features, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. "Mhm? What is it now? If this is about a marriage,—..."
"Gods, no!" Viserys interrupted quickly, his voice tinged with exasperation as he waved a hand to dismiss the notion. "I've no intention of broaching that subject with you unless absolutely necessary." His lips curled into a wry smile. "No, this is about something far more fitting for the prince you are,— and the heir you've become."
Aenys tilted his head, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. There was a flicker of mild amusement on his lips, but his eyes carried a guarded glint. "Go on. You have my attention." Viserys shifted in his seat, his tone growing more measured, though warmth still laced his words. "You've been gone for sixteen years, brother,—..."
"As I am so constantly reminded." Aenys muttered dryly, a grunt escaping his lips as his expression tightened. Viserys paused briefly, nodding solemnly, a flicker of regret passing through his violet eyes. "Right… as I was saying. You've been gone for a long time, and now, as my heir, you need to reacquaint yourself with King's Landing, its people, and its workings. And what better way to do so than by commanding its very lifeblood?"
Viserys leaned closer then, his gaze sharpening. "I want you to serve as Lord Commander of the City Watch, overseeing the Goldcloaks. What say you?" Aenys stilled, his fingers drumming lightly against the polished wood of the table.
His expression was thoughtful, calculating, though a flicker of satisfaction glinted in his eyes, betraying the measured tone of his response. "Hmm… If I'm honest, it's not a bad proposition. There are certainly benefits to such a post." He allowed the corner of his mouth to curve into a faint smile. "But, Viserys,— are you sure entrusting me with something so crucial is the wisest choice?"
His tone carried the faintest edge of mock humility, a subtle jest between brothers, and Viserys chuckled, his voice rising with a mixture of impatience and affection. "Ah! As if there's anyone alive more suited to the task!" His voice softened slightly, his gaze steady. "Don't forget, I was there when you were growing up. You were always the favored prince among our family,— the prodigy with a blade, the one everyone whispered about. You know this city, Aenys, even if it's been years, and I've no doubt you'll excel."
"You honor me too much, Vis." Aenys replied, though his faint smile betrayed a hint of genuine pleasure. Yet, before Viserys could respond, Rhaenyra's lilting voice cut through the conversation, her lilac eyes gleaming with curiosity as she leaned forward slightly. "Vis?" she asked, her tone carrying a playful edge. "You called my father,— the king,— Vis, when you were younger?" Viserys groaned, his expression tightening in mock horror as he raised a hand to fend off his daughter's teasing.
"Rhaenyra,—..." Aenys's smile grew devilish as he leaned slightly toward his niece, his voice carrying the conspiratorial warmth of a shared secret. "What's this now? He never told you? How disappointing, niece! I thought your father prided himself on honesty." Viserys then threw his hands up in mock despair, his exasperation palpable.
"Not again…" Viserys said, and Aenys's smile softened into something gentler as he then gestured toward the dancefloor, where the music swelled, lively and inviting. His gaze already shifted to Rhaenyra, his tone teasing but not unkind. "We're merely jesting with you, brother. Now, I hear whispers that you're quite the dancer, Princess. Would you care to prove those rumors true?"
Rhaenyra hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly as a small smile tugged at her lips.
She fidgeted with the edge of her goblet, her earlier wariness resurfacing for a brief moment. "Ah… I wouldn't call myself a good dancer…"
Viserys intervened smoothly, his tone protective yet playful. "My brother is merely jesting, daughter. But if you wish to dance, there's no harm in indulging him."
Realization dawned on Rhaenyra's face, her smile becoming more certain as she rose gracefully to her feet. "Ah, I see now."
Aenys placed a hand theatrically over his heart, his tone mockingly forlorn. "Must you spoil my fun at every turn, brother?"
Viserys grinned, raising his goblet in mock toast. "Until I die, brother."
"So be it." Aenys replied with a resigned smile.
He extended his hand toward Rhaenyra with a flourish, his gaze lighter now, though a flicker of intensity lingered. "Princess, would you do me the honor of accompanying me away from this grumpy king?" Rhaenyra's earlier apprehension melted away as she allowed herself a rare moment of indulgence.
Her fingers brushed lightly against his as she accepted, her voice tinged with amusement.
"With pleasure, dear uncle." Viserys watched them move toward the dancefloor, shaking his head with a mixture of fondness and bemusement. "Children…"
The music swelled, and the hall seemed to grow brighter as Aenys led Rhaenyra into the center of the room. Eyes turned toward them, the lords and ladies watching with a mixture of curiosity and whispered speculation.
The two moved gracefully, their steps in perfect harmony with the lively melody, as they danced for a great while.
Though, as time went on and as Aenys's movements were effortless, his gaze betrayed a wandering mind. His eyes swept across the room, searching, until they found the familiar figures of Corlys, Rhaenys, and their children in the corner.
The sight sent a sharp pang through his chest. Rhaenys's face was turned toward her husband, a faint smile playing on her lips as Laena and Laenor chattered excitedly. They looked like a family,— a family that could have been his.
It was then that Rhaenyra's voice broke through his reverie, soft and tinged with concern. "Uncle? Are you well?"
He managed to force a smile out, though it still felt like a fragile mask. "I… need some air, niece, forgive me." With a brief bow of his head, Aenys slipped away, leaving Rhaenyra standing amidst the sea of curious gazes.
The cool night air struck him as he stepped onto the balcony. Gripping the stone railing tightly, Aenys stared out over the city lights, his chest tightening.
The ache of loss.
The ache of what could have been.
He took a slow, steadying breath, the chill of the night seeping into his skin.
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| Year 105AC - At the same time, during the last stages of the banquet - With Rhaenyra Targaryen:
The lively hum of the banquet hall seemed distant as Rhaenyra returned to the high table, her steps light but her mind abuzz with curiosity. Her father's gaze followed her, his expression a mixture of warmth and concern.
"Where's he going?" Viserys asked, his voice carrying just enough weight to signal more than idle curiosity.
"I know not, Father." Rhaenyra replied, her lilac eyes briefly darting toward the doors through which Aenys had disappeared moments ago.
Viserys frowned, his brow furrowing as he leaned closer. "Rhaenyra, can you check on him for me? I daresay he's seen something that stirred his mood, and he's besides himself now." She hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding. "Of course, Father, I will try to bring him back if I'm able."
Viserys's face softened into a weary smile, a rare reprieve from the burden of his crown.
"Thank you, my dear."
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The air outside the hall was cooler, a welcome change from the crowded warmth of the feast. Rhaenyra approached Ser Steffon Darklyn, the knight standing tall and vigilant by the doors. "Ser Steffon." she began, her voice calm yet commanding, "Did you see where my uncle, Prince Aenys, went?"
Ser Steffon inclined his head slightly. "I did, Princess. The prince departed with Ser Harrold, heading toward the stables."
"The stables?" Rhaenyra tilted her head, curiosity lacing her tone. "What for?"
"I could not say, Princess." Steffon replied evenly, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. "Mhm." Rhaenyra mused.
Her eyes narrowed briefly in thought before she straightened, her voice firm. "Then fetch Ser Arryk or Ser Erryk to guard the hall doors in your stead, for you shall accompany me to find my uncle."
"Of course, Princess." Steffon replied, a hint of hesitance in his otherwise professional demeanor.
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The stables smelled of hay, leather, and the faint scent of horses. The faint glow of lanterns illuminated the shadowy figures near it.
Rhaenyra's steps quickened as she spotted her uncle and Ser Harrold Westerling near the stable's edge. "Uncle, Ser Harrold?" she called out, her voice carrying clearly through the cool night air, and Aenys turned first, his silver-gold hair catching the faint torchlight.
His expression was a mixture of mild surprise and intrigue. "Rhaenyra?" Harrold Westerling dipped his head respectfully as well. "Princess." Steffon then stepped into place beside her, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. "Lord Commander." he greeted Westerling with a small nod.
Aenys's sharp purple gaze returned to Rhaenyra's own, his tone curious yet tinged with amusement. "What are you doing here?" Rhaenyra hsrself straightened, folding her hands before her in a gesture that was both regal and deliberate. "I came to check on you, Uncle, at my father's behest."
Aenys raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. "Is that so? You can tell him I need no nursemaid, if that's his concern."
Rhaenyra's lips curved into a faint smile, unyielding, as she used to oportunity to tease all men present. "I would hardly be capable of nursing you at all, Uncle. That is Ser Steffon and Ser Harrold's duty. I am here merely to ensure you are well in mind and spirit, nothing more." Aenys chuckled softly, regarding her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "And yet I also need no mothering. You can return to the banquet if you wish."
"And yet I wish it not." Rhaenyra replied, her tone steady and final, as her gaze locked into Aenys' own, who tilted his head slightly, a flicker of intrigue in his violet eyes. "Why?"
"Because I wish to spend time with my newly discovered uncle." she said simply, her gaze unwavering and curious. "Is that so strange?"
"Dubious at least." Aenys muttered a joke, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He straightened his back then, gesturing lightly toward the stables. "Very well, if that's your wish, why not."
Rhaenyra stepped closer, her curiosity unabated. "So, what are we doing here?"
His expression shifted slightly, voice softening as he turned his gaze toward the distant shadow of the Dragonpit. "I was going to visit the Dragonpit and perhaps take to the skies for a while, I guess."
"Interesting..." Rhaenyra said, her tone light yet tinged with growing excitement. "Then what are we waiting for, Uncle?"
And Aenys blinked, caught off guard by her enthusiasm. "We?" Steffon also stepped forward, his voice steady but laced with caution. "Princess, I must confess that I do not think it prudent to go flying alone at such late hours. Your father, the king,—..."
"You know what?" Aenys interrupted, ignoring the alone comment, his voice sharp yet playful. He then turned to Steffon and Harrold, a wry smile playing on his lips. "So be it." Harrold blinked in surprise. "My prince?"
Aenys's gaze hardened slightly, though his tone remained calm. "Ser Harrold, Ser Steffon, your task is to protect us,— the royal family,— not to dictate our choices. My niece seems inclined to take to the skies with me, and I cannot deny her such a wish." He stepped forward, his voice firm and commanding. "While we fly, you will inform my brother that I am taking his daughter from the castle for a few hours. Rest assured, Cannibal will never allow harm to come to his rider or any of my kin." His gaze softened slightly as he added, "We won't stray far,— much."
Steffon hesitated, seemingly of mind to protest, but nodded reluctantly. "As you command, my prince."
Harrold also inclined his head, though his jaw tightened with a mixture of reluctance and duty. "It will be done, my Prince."
Aenys then turned back to Rhaenyra, extending his hand toward her. His expression carried a flicker of warmth beneath his usual stoicism. "Shall we, Princess?"
Rhaenyra's smile widened, her earlier apprehensions forgotten. She placed her hand lightly in his, her voice carrying a quiet excitement. "Lead the way, Uncle."
With that, the two Targaryens strode toward the waiting shadows of the Dragonpit, the flickering torchlight catching on their silver hair as they disappeared into the night.
Behind them, Steffon and Harrold exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them before they turned to fulfill their orders.
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| Fire & Blood |
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