บท 19: War Of Faith 2/2
Alicent sat alone in her chambers, confined on the hushed orders of Viserys with two of his Kingsguard now standing sentinel by it out in the hall. The hearth warmed her as she slowly brushed her long brown hair that glistened in the light. She slowly, instinctually moved her hand to her stomach, a faint smile crossing her face, contrasting the faint welling of her eyes, happiness at the possibilities that new life brought. Only the flickering of flames broke the silence, a melancholic reminder of the decisions they had made, but she knew it wouldn't last, that one day, they could all be together after this age of conflicted strife would see it's end.
A thick, quiet tension filled the Red Keep that night, pressing down on Aegon and Rhaenyra even in the sanctuary of their chambers. Aegon still felt the weight of his parents' stunned faces from his confession, etched in his mind like carvings in stone. But as he sat with Rhaenyra on his lap, her warm presence felt like the first light after a night of literal, bitter cold. The glow of the hearth casted flickering patterns on her face as they held each other in silent understanding.
"You told your truth, our truth," Rhaenyra said gently, her voice soft yet steady. She turned to him, her hands framing his face as her gaze captured his, her own violet eyes earnest and unwavering. "It was never going to be easy, but we're all here. Father may be angry, but he loves you, Aegon. You, me, Mother, Alicent, we're stronger together, and he knows that."
Aegon's expression softened, feeling the depth of her words sink into him, steadying his resolve. "I know," he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. "And I know he will see the precedent being set, even if not yet. But I won't let myself be blind to the weight of what we've done. We've set ourselves on a path with few allies and many enemies. Whether the people support us or not, I won't hide from what's coming."
Rhaenyra nodded, her fingers tracing gently over his jawline as she held his gaze. The moment lingered between them, the silent understanding needing no words. Even if the world felt distant, full of strife and judgment, here they were grounded for now. Aegon felt as though the minutes stretched on, each one deepening his endless capacity of devotion to her, each heartbeat steadying him against the uncertainty that lay ahead.
But her expression faltered, and her hands dropped slightly, her gaze flickering toward the door. "I hate that she's alone right now," she whispered, her voice thick with sadness. She reached for a cloth, dabbing at her eyes before any tears could fall.
Aegon wrapped his arms tighter around her, resting his forehead against hers as he murmured, "It won't be for long. When she falls, we'll be there to catch her." He looked over to the small crib beside the hearth where Baelon, Visenya, Sapphira and Starfyre all slept peacefully, their soft breaths all in perfect rhythm, untouched by the turmoil of their choices. "Even if it means burning it all down..."
Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on their children before she returned her eyes to him, and with a small, sly smile, she leaned closer. "All these emotions…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, her hand trailing down his chest as her eyes took on a familiar gleam while her lips neared his neck. "They make me hungry."
Aegon laughed softly, a glint of amusement sparking in his eyes as he lifted an eyebrow. "I am doubtless that I forever strike the image of a feast to you my love, regardless of the hour."
Before she could respond, he shot to his feet, sweeping her up effortlessly in his arms as she let out a playful, muffled squeal, burying her face into his shoulder. He crossed the room with confident strides, his steps quiet as he laid her gently onto their bed, both smiling in a way that only seemed to deepen in their moments alone.
Slipping from their clothes with practiced swiftness, they delve beneath the blankets, giggling as they escaped the bite of winter in each others grasp. In his Aegon's attempt to 'hide' from her gaze, he quickly instead found himself beneath the blankets and between her legs, one of her proclaimed 'favorite positions' that he had introduced.
She quickly found herself instinctually wrapping both hands around his head as slowly glided across his up and across her skin that endlessly surpassed the finest silks. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, biting her bottom lip as her body responded to the waves of ecstasy on it's own accord, wrapping her legs around his head, fully committing until he eventually pushed her over the edge, only then securing his freedom as he immerged from his retreat, his hair in disarray, but a smile from ear to ear.
"Better then any wine" He said with satisfaction, distributing each others heavy breathes with laughter loud enough to threaten waking the twins, quickly stifling each other with a deep, passionate kiss.
"It's a wonder they don't have siblings on the way already" Rhaenyra said after gently breaking their kiss.
"I'm more then willing, it's you who keeps it to yourself" Aegon smiled, causing each other to again go red in silent hysteria.
"Says the with my love across his face" She pointed out.
"Well, while it's bad to leave left overs...I will keep to this one exception as always" He said before shifting her atop himself.
"Oh stop it, your going to wake the children you fiend!" She whispered playfully with a playful pat on his shoulder.
"My guess would be Visenya would have something to say, as always" Aegon said before partially looking past her shoulder and over to their children's crib.
"Perhaps she would critique your effort. Too gentle perhaps?" She hinted teasingly.
The world, for now, could wait, and neither of them had any intention of letting these moments slip by. Their love was both comfort and strength, a fire that burned steadily even as winter tightened its hold outside. And as they looked into each other's eyes, they both knew, whatever lay beyond their chamber doors, they would face it side by side, bound by the vows they'd taken and the secrets they shared.
A few hours later.
As dawn broke, Viserys lay awake, feeling the weight of all he had learned. Beside him, Aemma stirred, her face softened in sleep, a rare serenity that felt at odds with the tension hanging in the air. He hesitated, not wanting to burden her further, but she sensed his thoughts the way she always did. Her eyes opened slowly, meeting his with quiet understanding.
"Viserys," she murmured, reaching for his hand. "You didn't sleep."
He sighed, turning to look at her fully, finding solace in the familiar strength of her gaze. "How could I? My son, our son… He has defied everything we've warned him of, everything we taught him. And for love, of all things." He paused, voice catching slightly. "I don't know if I should be proud or furious."
Aemma sat up beside him, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Perhaps both," she replied. "Pride, for the strength of his convictions; fury, for his disregard of what it would mean for us, for the realm." She gave a quiet sigh, resting her head on his shoulder. "But, is it not also a blessing that he has chosen love in a world that so rarely allows it?"
Viserys closed his eyes, the conflict clear in his posture. "Aemma… I am terrified. Do you know the hours I spent convincing myself I was a good father, that I would raise children who respected the crown, who understood the weight of duty?" He gripped her hand tightly. "And now, they defy us. How could they have hidden this from us? I thought…" He trailed off, his voice raw. "I thought they trusted us."
Aemma's expression softened, her voice gentle yet firm. "Viserys, you are a good father, and a good King. It is because you have raised him, raised them, to care so deeply that they have done this. Aegon's love, his stubbornness, these are not faults, though they make him reckless, yes. But you see, this is the heart of the boy you raised, you entrusted to your brother, knowing well his flaws could take root." She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "He wanted to honor his heart as you taught him, even if it meant angering you. He believes in his choices. How many could say the same?"
Viserys looked away, his expression one of frustration mixed with regret. "And yet, he has placed all of us, himself included, in such danger. Otto will be furious, and the Faith…" He shook his head. "I can see the storm coming, such a thing dwarfing this very winter, Aemma, and I don't know if we're ready for it."
She sighed, looking out of the window as sunlight crept over the rooftops of King's Landing, illuminating the winter's chill. "Yes, this is no small decision. But what choice is left to us now? We cannot deny the marriage without tearing apart our family. And for what? For reputation? Resistance against such bonds will only serve to push them further away" She turned back to him, her voice softening. "Viserys, love isn't just a weakness. It's a strength. If we stand by them, as their family, then perhaps that love will be what shields them, and all of us."
He took a deep breath, leaning into her presence as he found himself feeling both comforted and torn. "You make it sound so simple," he murmured. "The Faith won't see it this wait, and the people... They will see it as a possible betrayal. Otto will not simply abide by such slanders. Rarely does a meeting conclude without them coming to verbal blows, but this..."
Aemma nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, Otto's ambitions have long since been clear, but he is wise enough to see an opportunity when it arises. The marriage might gall him, but he will also recognize that it ties him to our family irrevocably. It could even strengthen our hand." She gave him a serious look. "Perhaps the question isn't what Otto will do but how you will answer him when he does try to use this against Aegon, who has certainly never made his work cut out for him."
Viserys turned to her, brow furrowing. "And what would you suggest?"
She tilted her head, considering. "I suggest you confront him as King, as a man who will defend his son. But as a husband, as a father, extend to Otto the truth that Alicent's happiness means something to Aegon, to all of us." She looked at him, her expression earnest. "Make it known to Otto that his daughter has found love, respect, and protection and...power."
He let out a weary chuckle, shaking his head. "You always see the wisdom in things before I do."
Aemma's lips curved in a gentle smile. "I see it because I know our son, and you, Viserys. He has your heart. And whether you realize it or not, he's following your example in going against the grain."
A long silence passed between them before Viserys spoke again. "If only I could see the future, know what lies ahead. I never wanted this, I never wanted him to willingly walk into the fire...no matter how little it seems to harm him."
Aemma looked at him, her eyes filled with understanding. "No, but you wanted them to grow strong. And sometimes, the heart has a way of shaping us into something greater than we thought possible. Trust him, Viserys. Guide him, yes, but trust that he carries a part of you, and that part is good."
Viserys let out a long breath, nodding as he allowed himself to lean into her words. "Yes," he whispered, gripping her hand tighter, as if drawing strength from her. "Perhaps… perhaps you're right."
She rested her head on his shoulder, the warmth of their shared understanding a balm to his frayed spirit. They stayed like that for a while, finding solace in the quiet strength of their love, knowing that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.
In the dim morning light of the council chamber, Viserys sat at the head of the table, the expression on his face taut and dark. He turned his gaze toward each member of his Small Council, reading the barely concealed surprise, anxiety and uncertainty in their eyes. Beside him sat Aegon, calm, composed, and seemingly absent, his deep violet eyes fixed distantly upon the polished wood of the table.
When Viserys broke the silence, his voice held a steel edge. "I have called you here this morning to inform you of a matter that weighs heavily upon us all. My son and heir, Prince Aegon, has, without the Council's approval and in defiance of tradition, wed Lady Alicent Hightower as a second wife. It is a union made in secrecy, but not without devotion." Viserys let the words hang, his gaze settling on Otto, whose face had already flushed with the first glint of outrage.
Otto was the first to break. Rising slightly from his seat, his voice was sharp and bitter. "This is a great defilement, of my house, my name, and the honor of Lady Alicent. The Hightowers have guarded the Faith of the Seven for generations, and our loyalty to the throne has been unshaken since Aegon the Conqueror, until now! How could such a grievous transgression be allowed without even the semblance of discussion, or respect, for the authority of this council?"
Viserys's expression hardened, his fingers tightening slightly on the arms of his chair. "Enough, Ser Otto. You speak as though we had time to broker this decision, as though we could've gone through countless meetings and arguments to appease everyone's concerns." His voice dropped to a simmer, cold yet contained. "You will not lecture me on honor, not when your devotion to duty has proven convenient at best and ambitious at worst."
Otto straightened, swallowing his retort. Viserys's words had their mark, yet the Hand's eyes flashed with indignation. "This marriage risks emboldening the Faith against the throne, my King. If the High Septon..."
"The High Septon shall be dealt with as necessary," Viserys interrupted, his tone brokering no room for argument. "The Targaryen dynasty does not answer to the Faith. My son has secured the loyalty of the smallfolk in ways this council could only imagine. Winter has descended upon us with a fierceness not seen in a generation, and yet it is his name that is spoken in prayer, his actions that have kept the poorest among us warm and fed. Would you cast aside such devotion for the sake of appearances?"
A silence fell over the chamber, heavy and tense. Otto's eyes fell to the table, simmering with restrained fury as his hand opened and closed, his fingers gripping the edge of his chair.
Viserys continued, his tone softening only slightly as he addressed the room. "This was not a choice made lightly, and I am keenly aware of what it may bring. Yet, for those of you here who know my son, who have advised him, have watched him grow into the prince he is…" He cast a look to Corlys, who remained motionless, his face impassive as he regarded Aegon with an expression that veiled his thoughts. "You know he has always acted with purpose."
Viserys allowed the silence to linger, casting a glance toward Aegon, whose face was thoughtful, his gaze distant as if lost in a realm far from the voices around him. At length, he leaned back in his chair, still silent. His presence was unshaken but reflective, carrying an unyielding calm amid the storm.
Otto's gaze swept toward Aegon, resentment simmering in his eyes. "Prince Aegon has thrust both the Hightowers and the crown into a fragile position, my King. Whatever smallfolk whisper in gratitude now, the Faith will look upon this as a union born of heresy, a heresy I cannot condone."
Aegon finally looked up, his voice low and quiet, yet it filled the room with an air of finality. "Everything that needs be said, has been already."
Otto's mouth tightened, his eyes flickering with a mixture of restrained anger and a dawning realization. It was as if, in that single statement, Aegon had drawn a boundary. Corlys's gaze moved from Aegon to Viserys, his voice carefully neutral. "Then the question, Your Grace, is how you intend for the council to support your son—and his new queen."
With a measured breath, Viserys leaned forward. "That is precisely why we are here, Lord Corlys. There will be no declaration, no grand spectacle. Prince Aegon will remain devoted to his duties, as shall Lady Alicent, in a role of quiet support. We shall address this union as a matter of the family, not the state."
The Sea Snake nodded subtly, his expression stoic yet considerate. "Then we must ensure the smallfolk understand what they already see. Prince Aegon is their guardian this winter; let them continue to know him as such. Their trust in him shall be our greatest ally."
Otto, while still clearly seething, seemed to take in the wisdom of Corlys's words. His silence was reluctant, but the calculating gleam in his eye betrayed a shifting perspective. This union, scandalous as it was, held potential—Aegon's claim could grow in strength if the people saw him as their protector, a king in spirit if not yet in title. Otto, ever the political strategist, couldn't ignore this advantage.
With the tension somewhat easing, Viserys continued, his voice clear and authoritative. "I have no intention of inviting conflict with the Faith, but neither shall we shy away from it if necessary. The Gold Cloaks will be vigilant, as will the men-at-arms. And as always, we must be prepared to defend the crown's authority if need be."
At this, Daemon, who had been uncharacteristically silent, nodded in tacit agreement. "Your Grace," he said with a sharp edge to his voice, "if this council finds itself worrying about the Faith's retaliation, you have my assurance the Gold Cloaks will serve as a bulwark."
With an approving nod from Viserys, the council's tension seemed to settle into an uneasy equilibrium, a delicate balance of ambitions, frustrations, and a shared acknowledgment of necessity.
The conversation closed with an understanding, one not spoken outright but felt among each of the council members. In a single act, Aegon had redefined his position within the realm, defying both tradition and expectation. And as each member filed out of the room, their minds occupied with their private thoughts and silent calculations, only Corlys turned back for a moment, meeting Aegon's gaze with an inscrutable look before finally departing.
In the lingering silence, Viserys and Aegon exchanged a quiet glance, each understanding the weight of the path that lay ahead.
Two weeks later.
The city had not known chaos like this in a century.
Under the cover of night, fervent voices echoed off the ancient cobblestones. A preacher, wild-eyed and unyielding, stood before the gates of the Red Keep, his impassioned cries calling the city's devout to arms. He spoke of sins, of ancestral debts yet unpaid, cursing the Targaryens as a plague upon the land. And as dawn broke, his words had turned to action.
In a wave, the Faith Militant surged through the streets, torches and makeshift weapons clutched in their hands as if their faith alone could fuel them to victory. They were not small folk; they were warriors, cloaked in zealotry not of the city, for none carried the love Aegon had given. Ser Harwin Strong, long prepared for such an uprising by Daemon's orders, had the Gold Cloaks mobilized with ruthless efficiency. Their truncheons and blades cracked and sliced against bone, pushing the tide of the mob back from the castle gates. But there were too many, a sea of fanatics flooding through alleys, and even the Gold Cloaks and garrison troops struggled to contain them. Many hundreds of 'missionaries' had arrived in the passing weeks, and now they knew why.
In the depths of night, Viserys, bearing no announcement, strode forth from the Keep, accompanied by six Kingsguard. Ser Harrold Westerling was left to stand sentinel outside Rhaenyra and Aegon's chambers, the King's last line of defense for his children and grandchildren. The King cut through back alleys as battles raged around him, Gold Cloaks and smallfolk defended their city, fighting with desperation against an overwhelming, fanatical force. The sound of metal on metal echoed, punctuated by cries of the wounded and dying. Viserys moved forward, his eyes set on the Great Sept, his dagger still dripping with the blood of a militant.
A trap awaited them. From the rooftop, a pot of wildfire was hurled down, exploding upon Ser Lorent Marbrand. Green flames engulfed him, consuming him instantly in a blaze so intense that nothing recognizable remained. Viserys felt the searing heat at his back but pressed on, his fury and determination unwavering. Together, the King and his dwindling protectors hacked their way to the doors of the Great Sept, finally bursting through them, where the High Septon waited, a smile curling his old lips as he rose from his knees.
"Ah, my King, a true pleasure," the old man wheezed, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.
Viserys's face was a mask of tempered rage. "Is it you who has wrought this destruction? Brought your followers down upon the people who look to you as the voice of the gods?"
The Septon's face twisted, any semblance of respect vanishing. "Do not speak to me of gods, offspring of incest!" His voice was filled with venom, sending the remaining Kingsguard a step forward, hands on hilts. "This is the result of decades of devilry, of demons raining fire upon the faithful."
Viserys's hand tightened on his dagger. "And this is what it comes to? Hatred born of an act of love?"
The High Septon let out a deranged laugh. "Love? Son defiled love with this heretical union! Your beasts have scorched our faith, burned our people, you, King Viserys, are flesh and blood, nothing more. And without your dragons, you are nothing, doomed to burn in the flames of righteousness!"
Viserys's heart twisted with realization. "The Dragonpit…"
"Aye, your precious Dragonpit will be in ashes before the day is out. Chained, weakened beasts you were too blind to see were being poisoned all this time by your beloved Maesters. All it will take is one match, and your so-called legacy will crumble!"
With fury in his eyes, Viserys stepped toward the High Septon, but the old man had anticipated him. Dozens of militants appeared from the shadows, swords drawn, setting upon the Kingsguard. Each one fought valiantly, taking down multiple foes before they were overwhelmed, but the numbers proved too great. The Kingsguard fell, each with blood on his blade, defending their King until the bitter end. Viserys, breath heavy, hands bloodied from the fight, was held fast by the militant mob, forced to his knees before the cackling Septon.
"You will burn," the High Septon sneered. "And no flames of the heretic prince shall stop this righteous act." Bound to a stake, the pitch-soaked wood at his feet ignited. The Septon stood at a safe distance, watching with detached admiration as the fire climbed up Viserys's legs. Yet Viserys did not scream. Instead, he locked eyes with the old man, his voice calm, unbroken by pain.
"I do not fear for my life. You are a fool if you think this ends here. He is the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song...of ice...and fire!"
In the Red Keep, Daemon stormed down the corridor toward Aegon and Rhaenyra's chambers. Ser Harrold Westerling, stationed as sentinel, opened his mouth to report, but Daemon head-butted him unconscious, shoving through the door. Aegon and Rhaenyra looked up from where they sat, Baelon and Visenya cradled between them, laughter in their eyes until they saw Daemon's face, taut with dread.
"Viserys has gone into the city alone, to stop the uprising!" Daemon said without preamble.
"Uprising?" Aegon's face went pale. He quickly set Baelon down beside Visenya, then stood, his demeanor shifting to cold, focused resolve.
"The Faith has mobilized the faithful against us, the Gold Cloaks hold the line, for now." He tossed Aegon Blackfyre, which had been confiscated, but now buckled to the heirs side. "They'll move on the Dragonpit, just as they did in Maegor's time. Come!."
Aegon turned to Rhaenyra, his face strained with urgency. "Stay here. I'll barricade the door. If they reach the Holdfast, take the children, use the passages, get on Syrax, and fly to Dragonstone. Promise me!"
Rhaenyra looked at him, fear flashing in her eyes, then nodded, pulling him in for a kiss. "I promise. I love you."
"And I you." He stepped outside, raising his foot as a solid block of earth shot up before him, sealing the room completely. With a final glance, he turned to Daemon, who nodded in grim approval.
Moving with stealth, the two men slipped undetected next to the gates, Aegon igniting fire from his feet, vaulted them over the defenders while bringing an immolating a wave flame upon fanatics below as they landed. The two cut a brutal path through the chaos, making their way through the streets toward the Sept, where the sounds of battle grew fiercer. They did not slow, slicing through ranks of men with ruthless efficiency until they breached the door, finding themselves in a scene of carnage.
Kingsguard bodies littered the ground alongside the zealots. A great pyre smoldered in the center of the room, Viserys, burnt beyond recognition, lay upon the burning wood, only a few silver strands left to mark his identity.
The High Septon, blood-streaked and sweating, turned to Aegon and Daemon with a deranged smile. "Ah, the beloved prince, come to save us from your wickedness!" His words were a twisted mockery, his voice mocking Aegon's reputation. "Even now, your people die for your self-serving ambitions as you remain in ignorance towards the wider plot, one of Maesters and faith, poisoning and tainting your legacy, demons and children both! Your claim as their 'Prince of Prophecy'! What a heresy it is, that they think of you as some god!"
Aegon's shoulders trembled as he looked upon the ruins of his father. Magma began to bubble from the ground around him, melting the stone in waves as grief and rage tore through him. He fell to his knees, tears pouring down his face, steaming in the heat radiating from his body.
The High Septon continued his tirade, voice venomous. "Because of you, because of your father, all of this destruction, this cursed city, born of incest and ruin, shall be purged! You bring only death, for you are he, the sevent..."
Daemon, his patience exhausted, took a step forward, drawing Dark Sister in a single fluid motion. The Septon's voice ended mid-sentence, his head cleaved clean in two.
The room was silent but for the crackling of the pyre. Aegon, visibly drained yet possessed by raw sorrow, rose, making his way to the remains of his father. Each step melted the stone beneath his feet, the Sept turning into a furnace of magma and burning stone. At the heart of the flames lay Viserys's dagger, darkened by the fire yet glinting with a dull-orange glow. Aegon reached for it, feeling its warmth and heft, the flames washing over his skin as if they were nothing but water.
Holding the dagger, a flash of his father's dream surfaced in his mind, unspoken words and visions finally clear: "From my blood, comes the Prince that was promised, and his shall be the song of Ice and Fire."
The next morning
The sun crept over the horizon, casting a ghostly light upon the smoldering ruins of King's Landing. Thick smoke hung in the air as if the city itself mourned, the smell of charred wood and burned bodies permeating every street and alley. The red-stained dawn was marred only by scattered cries as the remnants of the Faith's militants stumbled through the debris, many bearing wounds inflicted by Gold Cloaks, and some with skin scorched from dragonfire.
At the city's front gate, the zealots had gathered again, their bodies filling the ground with an eerie silence, a silence abruptly broken by two great shadows cutting across the sky, one crimson, another bronze. The Red Queen Meleys descended, her scarlet scales flashing like embers against the smoke-filled heavens. Rhaenys sat astride her, her armor glinting in the morning light, her face hard as steel.
"Angōs Meleys!" Rhaenys commanded in High Valyrian, her voice carrying a fierce resolve. Her command sent Meleys into action, unleashing a torrent of flame upon the remaining militants who dared approach the gate. The fire's wrath spread in waves, crashing over the barricades and reducing those who sought to breach the keep to ashes in an instant. The Princess, armed with a shield strapped to her side, deflected a volley of arrows that whistled toward her, unbothered by the desperate attempts of the Faith's followers to strike her down. The once riotous scene fell deathly quiet, and the Red Queen's flame and fury left a lasting mark upon the ground, a testament to the Targaryen creed, blood and fire.
Meanwhile, above the city, a thunderous roar shattered the silence, and Vermithor's bronze-scaled form plunged downward in a display of pure rage. The mighty Bronze Fury spiraled above the Dragonpit, his nostrils flaring as his vast wings buffeted the air, scattering debris and sending remnants of the Faith's fanatics stumbling. With a primal roar, he let loose a cloud of fire upon the clustered militants near the pit's entrance, igniting them and the ground beneath them in searing flames. The Dragonpit, scarred and cracked, was defended—not by the walls or its stone, but by the raw power of the dragon who guarded it. Vermithor moved with a fury that resonated through the city, as if he himself mourned the prince's loss and his absence.
As Daemon surveyed the city from the crumbling remnants of the Grand Sept, his face contorted with a mixture of grief and fury. His silver hair, dusted with ash, flowed like a spectral flame, and his eyes blazed with vengeance as he ordered the execution of any captured militants from the Faith. Each prisoner was forced to kneel in line, and Daemon's blade, Dark Sister, fell mercilessly upon them. Their heads, bloody and broken, were mounted along the city walls, a grim warning to any who would question Targaryen rule again.
"My Prince, with the dragons' arrival, most resistance has fled or perished in the flames," Ser Harwin Strong reported, his own armor scorched and streaked with blood. He glanced at Daemon, who, his focus distant and hollow, gave no reply. His gaze remained fixed on the Sept's ruined archway. There, amidst the smoldering rubble, a lone figure emerged.
Aegon stepped forward, his face pale beneath a crust of blood. A deep, ragged cut ran from his forehead, slicing across his eye and ending at his cheekbone. He was stripped of all but Blackfyre in one hand and his father's dagger in the other, both of which he gripped as if they were his last tether to sanity. His eyes were empty, hollow from grief, and the raw lines on his face etched the memory of a nightmarish loss that words could never capture. His uncle met him halfway, and without hesitation, Daemon opened his arms, pulling Aegon into an embrace. They held each other there in the dirt, their grief woven into the city's destruction.
"I buried him," Aegon choked out, his voice breaking, "He rests."
Daemon's hand pressed firmly against the back of Aegon's neck, his eyes squeezed shut, fighting back tears. His voice was thick with emotion as he replied, "Stay with me, Aegon. Rhaenyra will need you... I need you." They remained there, clinging to one another amidst the smoldering ruins, their bond tested but unbroken in the wake of such devastating loss. They drew strength from each other, blood and fire binding them to the oaths they'd sworn and the family they had lost.
From a distance, Vermithor could feel it, what he had been feeling since the hours of his stirring on Dragonstone and his subsequent flight. He had no rider, but he flew, he fought heavy with the emotional turmoil he currently shared with Aegon. He had known the fierce little rider since he was tiny, but now...the dragon felt as though he'd never be the same...
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง