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hisfavegirl · 2 days ago

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Fated Misconnections.

Pairing : Aegon Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen x Jacaerys Velaryon.

Chapter Summary : A week after the birth of your little brother Joffery, the whispers and abuse your mother received increased. Until she decided for you to move to Dragonstone, a decision that you reluctantly had to agree to.

The news of Rhaenyra’s decision to leave King’s Landing and return to Dragonstone reached every corner of the Red Keep. The whispers grew louder with each passing moment, and soon, everyone knew.

The air in the castle felt tense, as if something monumental was shifting.

You were in your chambers, carefully folding your clothes and placing your small belongings into a wooden chest. The soft rustle of fabric filled the quiet room. Your fingers moved slowly, as if delaying the inevitable. Every item you packed seemed to weigh heavier than the last.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang against the door. Urgent, frantic knocking.

You froze. Before you could respond, the door flew open with a loud creak.

Aegon and Aemond burst into the room. Their breaths were shallow, and their silver hair was a mess from running. Aegon’s eyes were wild, darting around the room before they landed on you and your chest of half-packed belongings. Aemond was calmer, but his eye locked onto you with an intensity that rooted you to the spot.

“No. No. You’re not leaving,” Aegon said breathlessly, storming toward you. His voice was loud, raw with emotion. He stopped right in front of you, his hands hovering near your shoulders as if he wanted to grab you but didn’t know if he should. “You can’t leave. You can’t leave us.”

“Aegon…” you sighed, glancing down at the chest. “I have to. My mother needs me. She needs all of us together.”

“She doesn’t need you,” Aegon shot back quickly, his tone sharp with desperation. His eyes searched yours, his voice cracking slightly. “Not as much as we do. Not as much as I do.”

You felt your heart tighten in your chest.

You glanced at Aemond, hoping for logic, hoping for understanding. But he wasn’t looking at the chest, nor at Aegon. He was looking directly at you. His single violet eye burned with something sharp and unspoken. He stepped forward slowly, his face unreadable but his posture tense.

“You belong here,” Aemond said firmly. His tone wasn’t as wild as Aegon’s, but it was far more resolute. “This is your home. Not Dragonstone. Here. With us.”

“My Mother says otherwise,” you replied softly. “Her place is my place. I am her daughter. I have to follow her.”

Aegon let out a bitter, humorless laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “She’s taking you away from us! She’s taking everything from us!” His words were sharper than before, louder, laced with anger and sorrow. His eyes darted around the room again, like he was searching for something, a solution, a way to make you stay.

“We don’t care about her,” Aemond said, his voice quieter but far more dangerous. He moved closer, his steps slow but deliberate. His gaze didn’t waver from your face. “We care about you.”

“Aemond… Aegon…” you said softly, reaching for them both. You placed one hand on Aegon’s arm and the other lightly against Aemond’s chest. “You’ll always have me. No matter where I go, I’ll always be with you.”

��No, you won’t,” Aegon muttered bitterly, his head lowering so you could no longer see his eyes. His fists clenched at his sides, and his body shook slightly as if trying to hold himself together. “You’ll leave and forget about us. Just like everyone else does.”

“I would never forget you,” you said firmly, giving his arm a squeeze. “You’re my uncles. My blood. No one could ever replace you.”

Aemond’s gaze narrowed. He tilted his head, studying you, his jaw set in a hard line. He didn’t believe you. Not fully. Not with the way his fingers twitched at his side, like he was gripping the air to stop himself from grabbing hold of you.

“Don’t lie to us,” Aemond said coldly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. “You’re going to Dragonstone. You’ll live among them. You’ll fight for them. And one day, you’ll forget about us. You’ll forget who stood by you when you were alone.”

“That’s not true,” you said, frowning deeply. You stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his cheek. He stiffened at first, but he didn’t pull away. “You know that’s not true, Aemond.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at you, his gaze unwavering

You stood at the edge of the ship’s deck, the cool sea breeze tangling your hair and brushing against your skin. King’s Landing grew smaller and smaller in the distance, its towering red stone walls slowly vanishing into the horizon. The proud towers of the Red Keep—a place you had called home for so long—looked smaller than ever before.

Your heart ached. No matter how much you had prepared for this moment, leaving was harder than you had expected.

You glanced over your shoulder. Your mother, Rhaenyra, sat on a cushioned bench, cradling your youngest brother, Joffrey, in her arms. Her face was calm but firm, her eyes distant as she gazed at the waves ahead. Her fingers gently stroked Joffrey’s back in soothing circles, and he yawned sleepily, his tiny hands curled into fists.

Laenor sat beside her, his gaze far away as well, though it was clear his thoughts were not on the sea. His fingers tapped against his leg in a slow, restless rhythm. He had always been like that — still on the surface but always moving within.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you leaned against the ship’s railing, gripping the wood tightly. The familiar scents of King’s Landing — warm stone, horse sweat, and the faint tang of the harbor — were slowly replaced by the smell of salt and the endless sea.

You could still hear their voices in your head.

Aegon’s sharp, desperate words. “You’ll leave and forget about us.”

Aemond’s cold, cutting promise. “Don’t lie to us.”

Their faces lingered in your mind. The hurt in their eyes. The way Aegon’s voice cracked when he realized you were really going. The way Aemond had stared at you without blinking, like he was trying to memorize every part of you before you disappeared.

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about them.

“Are you alright, my sweet girl?”

Your mother’s voice pulled you back to the present. You turned to see her gazing at you, her head tilted in that soft, motherly way. Concern filled her eyes.

You forced a small smile. “I’m fine, Mother.”

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if she didn’t quite believe you. But she didn’t press you. Instead, she adjusted Joffrey in her arms and glanced at the sea.

“Dragonstone will be different, but it will be home,” Rhaenyra said, her voice quiet but certain. Her eyes flicked to you, firm with the strength of a princess, but there was warmth in them too. “It will be ours. No one will question us there.”

You nodded, but your eyes flickered back toward the shrinking shape of King’s Landing, still faint on the horizon. It didn’t feel like victory. It felt like running away.

“Do you think they’ll miss us?” you asked suddenly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Your mother’s eyes softened. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. Her thumb stroked your skin in slow, soothing motions, just as she had done for Joffrey.

“Of course they will,” she said. “But it’s better this way. Away from the whispers. Away from the wolves.”

Her words were meant to comfort you, but they didn’t. Aegon and Aemond were not wolves. They were your uncles. They were your family.

But as the ship sailed further into the vast, open sea, you knew that family was no longer something you could count on. It was something you had to leave behind.

The journey to Dragonstone had been long and exhausting. The sway of the ship still lingered in your legs as you stood at the base of the steep stone stairs leading up to the castle. The cool sea air, sharp with the scent of salt and smoke, whipped against your face, tugging at your hair and your cloak.

Dragonstone loomed above you like a shadowed giant, its sharp, jagged towers piercing the gray sky. The castle was nothing like the Red Keep. It was rough, ancient, and carved from volcanic rock, with dragon motifs curling along its battlements. It looked more like a beast lying in wait than a home.

Your legs felt heavy, each step requiring more effort than the last. The weight of the journey pressed down on you, and the chill of the sea clung to your bones. Every muscle in your body ached, but you kept moving forward, step by step. Your breath came out in soft, visible puffs, each exhale a sign of your exhaustion.

Ahead of you, your mother, Rhaenyra, ascended the stairs with quiet strength, her posture tall and regal despite her weariness. Her silver-gold hair caught the faint sunlight, glowing like a beacon of Targaryen pride. She did not falter. She never did. Beside her, Laenor carried little Joffrey in his arms, the boy’s head resting against his shoulder as he slept, oblivious to the world.

Your brothers, Jace and Luke, climbed ahead of you, racing each other up the stairs, laughing as though they had not spent days on a swaying ship. Their giggles echoed against the stone, breaking the quiet of the wind.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Luke called back to you, grinning mischievously. “We’ll reach the top before you!”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. His energy was endless, even after everything. He always found joy, even in places where there was none.

“Careful, Lucerys,” your mother warned, her voice firm but gentle. “The stairs are steep, and a fall from here would be your last.”

Luke slowed for a moment, his grin faltering, but he continued climbing at a more careful pace.

You took another step, feeling the ache in your legs, your hands gripping the sides of your cloak to keep it from getting tangled in your feet. The air grew colder the higher you climbed, and the wind howled louder. For a moment, you stopped to catch your breath, your eyes gazing up at the towers of Dragonstone.

It wasn’t the warmth of home. Not like King’s Landing had been. It felt… distant. Quiet. Lonely.

A soft hand touched your back. You turned to see your mother beside you, her eyes filled with quiet understanding.

“Just a little more, sweet girl,” she said softly, her voice gentle as she brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then we will rest. I promise.”

Her warmth gave you strength. You nodded, determination hardening your gaze, and you pushed forward, climbing the remaining stairs step by step. One step. Then another. Then another.

By the time you reached the top, your chest was heaving, and your legs felt as if they were made of stone. You stopped, placing your hands on your knees, gasping for breath.

But you had made it.

The great doors of Dragonstone stood before you — tall, dark, and unyielding. Two guards in black cloaks stood at attention, their spears firmly planted at their sides. As your mother approached, they moved aside, their eyes cast downward in respect.

Your mother glanced back at you, waiting patiently as you caught your breath. Her eyes were soft, filled with pride.

“You did well,” she said, her lips curling into a small smile. “Come, let me show you your new home.”

With slow, deliberate steps, you followed her inside. The stone halls were dimly lit, the air cooler than you expected. The flickering light of torches danced along the walls, casting long shadows that twisted into the shapes of dragons. The air smelled of fire, ash, and sea salt.

As you walked, your fingers trailed along the cold, rough stone of the walls. It wasn’t smooth like the polished marble of the Red Keep. It was raw, unrefined — but there was something powerful about it. It felt alive, ancient, as though the very stones remembered every king and queen who had lived here before you.

Your footsteps echoed through the grand halls. Luke and Jace’s laughter faded into the distance as they ran ahead, their excitement filling the space like birdsong in a forest.

“Not too far,” your mother called after them. Her voice carried authority, and the echoes of it bounced off the high stone ceilings.

You gazed up at the vaulted arches overhead, wondering how many dragons had flown above them. How many dragons had been called here. You thought of Aegon and Aemond back in King’s Landing, their faces flashing in your mind like ghosts. Would they think of you too? Would they miss you as much as you already missed them?

You shook the thoughts away. This was your new home now. Dragonstone would be your fortress, your shelter, your sanctuary.

Your mother’s hand found yours again, fingers wrapping gently around yours as she guided you down the hall. Her warmth chased away the cold stone air.

“Come,” she said. “You will have a room of your own with a view of the sea. You’ll hear the dragons at night, calling to each other.”

Her voice was soft but certain, like a lullaby.

You stepped into your new chamber, the faint creak of the heavy wooden door echoing behind you. The first thing that caught your attention was the wide, arched window on the far wall. Golden sunlight streamed through it, illuminating the cold, gray stone of the room with a soft, warm glow. You approached it slowly, drawn to the view beyond.

Stretching out before you was an endless expanse of blue — the sea, vast and unyielding, glittering like a field of sapphires beneath the midday sun. The waves rolled in a steady rhythm, their distant crashes against the shore like a song that only the sea could sing. The salty breeze brushed softly against your face, carrying with it the faint call of gulls and the distant, guttural roars of dragons from beyond the cliffs.

Your gaze lingered there for a moment longer. It was beautiful, but it was not the view you were used to. The sprawl of King’s Landing, with its bustling streets and crowded markets, had always been full of life, movement, and noise. Dragonstone was different. Quieter. Wilder. Lonely.

Behind you, you heard the soft rustling of fabric as one of your maids entered, carrying a small trunk of your belongings. She set it down near the large wooden bed before bowing her head. “Shall I help you unpack, my lady?” she asked softly, her voice respectful but distant.

You glanced back at her and gave a small nod. “Yes, please.”

For the next hour, you worked together, pulling out dresses, cloaks, and trinkets from your old life. The maid carefully folded each gown and placed them in the carved oak wardrobe by the wall. You arranged your personal items on the wooden shelf near the bed — a small figurine that Jace had given you on your nameday, a silver hair comb from your mother, and a bundle of pressed flowers from King’s Landing, gifted by Aegon before your departure. You ran your fingers over the dried petals, their colors faded but still soft to the touch.

“Do you miss them, my lady?” the maid asked as she smoothed the wrinkles from a cloak. Her voice was quiet but curious.

You blinked, glancing over at her. You didn’t need to ask who she meant. “Yes,” you admitted softly, fingers still resting on the dried flowers. “I miss them very much.”

Her eyes flickered with understanding. “You’ll get used to it,” she said gently, folding the cloak and placing it neatly on the shelf. “Dragonstone has a way of growing on you. The quiet isn’t so bad once you learn to listen to it.”

You glanced back toward the window. The sound of waves crashing below was constant, like a heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Eternal.

The days at Dragonstone passed slowly. Each morning, you woke to the sound of distant dragon calls echoing across the cliffs. The chill of the stone floor nipped at your feet as you rose from your bed. It had been almost a week since your arrival, but the silence still felt strange. Back in King’s Landing, every day had been filled with noise — the clamor of horses, the calls of merchants, and the ever-present hum of people gossiping in the halls.

Here, there was only the sea, the wind, and the dragons.

You spent much of your time walking through the castle gardens, such as they were. The “gardens” of Dragonstone were not like the lush, colorful gardens of King’s Landing. There were no roses or delicate lilies, no chirping birds or marble fountains. Instead, there were hardy plants and wildflowers that grew in the cracks of stone and the shallow soil near the cliffs. Lavender, thistles, and wild grasses swayed in the wind, strong and resilient, just like the people who lived here.

You often found yourself drawn to one particular path that led to the edge of the cliffs. From there, you could see the sea stretching endlessly in every direction. The spray of saltwater brushed against your skin when the waves crashed against the rocks below. Sometimes, you would spot the dragons flying overhead — shadows moving across the clouds with the beating of mighty wings.

“It feels as though the world is holding its breath,” you thought to yourself as you gazed out at the sea one afternoon. The wind tugged at your hair, carrying with it the distant roar of a dragon. It wasn’t like King’s Landing, where there was always something happening. Here, everything was slower. Quieter. Too quiet.

At times, you wondered if your uncles missed you. Aegon and Aemond had been the hardest to leave behind. Aegon, with his carefree charm and playful smirks, had always found ways to make you laugh, bringing you little gifts or flowers as if you were a princess in one of his songs. Aemond, quieter but no less thoughtful, had a way of watching over you without saying a word. His gifts were more deliberate — a book, a polished stone, a carved figure of a dragon. He never said much, but he was always there.

You wondered if they felt your absence as much as you felt theirs.

One afternoon, as you sat near the cliffs, pulling wildflowers from the cracks in the stone, Jace and Luke ran up to you, breathless from play. Their cheeks were flushed, and their hair stuck out in wild tufts from the sea breeze.

“Come see!” Luke shouted, grabbing your hand and tugging at you. “There’s a cave! Jace found it, and it looks like dragon eggs might be inside!”

You arched an eyebrow, doubt flickering across your face. “Dragon eggs?”

Jace crossed his arms, his face filled with pride. “It could be! Maester says dragons sometimes leave them hidden in caves. Come on, you have to see it!”

They pulled you along, their excitement too strong to resist. Their laughter echoed down the stone corridors as they guided you toward the cliffs. For the first time in days, you felt something stir in your heart — a flicker of joy, of adventure, of belonging.

When you reached the cave, it was little more than a hollow carved into the side of the cliff, narrow and dark. Luke was already crawling inside, calling back to you, “Come on, it’s not that small!”

You crouched down, looking into the cave’s narrow entrance. It was damp, the air thick with the smell of wet stone and seaweed. Jace crouched beside you, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, his grin teasing.

“Of course not,” you said, raising your chin. “But if a dragon is hiding in there, I hope it eats you first.”

Jace laughed, and the sound was so familiar — so normal. You followed them inside, your heart thudding in your chest. For the first time since arriving at Dragonstone, it didn’t feel so lonely.

That night, as you sat around the dining table with your family, the dim glow of the hearthfire flickered softly against the stone walls of Dragonstone’s dining hall. The quiet hum of dinner conversation was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

One of the guards entered, his armor clinking softly with every step. He bowed his head respectfully before approaching your mother, Rhaenyra, and placed a sealed letter in her hand. The wax seal bore the mark of House Velaryon — the sigil of the seahorse pressed into deep blue wax.

“From Driftmark, my princess,” the guard announced before stepping back into position by the door.

Rhaenyra’s eyes lingered on the seal for a moment longer than usual, her thumb brushing over it slowly. Something about it made her pause. Her brows furrowed slightly as she broke the seal and unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the words with growing intensity.

The room grew quiet.

You glanced at your mother, watching her face shift from calm focus to something more troubled — her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes hardening. Her fingers tensed on the parchment.

“What is it?” Laenor asked from across the table, his gaze narrowing in concern. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes locked on her.

Your mother didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze flickered to you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Her eyes softened, but there was something in them you didn’t quite understand — something distant. She glanced at Laenor and then back at the letter in her hand, as if weighing her words.

Finally, she took a steady breath and folded the letter in her lap. Her gaze remained downcast for a moment longer before she lifted her eyes to meet Laenor’s.

“Leana is dead,” she said softly, her voice steady but burdened with grief.

The silence that followed was absolute. You felt a chill crawl up your spine as the weight of her words settled into the room. Your hands, which had been resting on the table, slowly curled into fists on your lap.

“No,” Laenor muttered, his face contorting in disbelief. He blinked several times, as if trying to convince himself he had misheard her. His lips parted, his breathing growing unsteady. “No, that can’t be right.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes met his with quiet sorrow. “She died in childbirth.” Her voice was gentle, but her words cut sharper than any blade. “The babe did not survive either.”

Laenor’s face crumpled. His hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. He hung his head, his shoulders trembling. His breath came in shallow, uneven huffs as he tried to contain himself, but his grief was too heavy. He closed his eyes, as if doing so might block out the pain.

Your heart ached as you watched him. Leana was his sister. And though you had not known her as well as he had, you knew what family meant.

Jace and Luke looked at each other, both confused and worried. Luke tugged at Jace’s sleeve, whispering, “What does it mean? What happened to Auntie Leana?”

Jace didn’t answer. His face was blank, his eyes distant, but you could see the subtle shift in his expression — the quiet understanding that someone was gone, someone important.

Your mother reached for Laenor’s hand, her fingers curling over his knuckles. She squeezed gently. “Corlys and Rhaenys have called for us to attend the funeral tomorrow at Driftmark.”

Driftmark.

The name of the Velaryon seat rang in your mind like a distant bell. It was a place you’d only visited a few times, but you remembered its rocky shores and stormy skies. It wasn’t a place of warmth. It was a place of power, of salt and stone.

Laenor said nothing for a long time. His head remained bowed, his breath shallow but steady. His other hand ran down his face, wiping at his eyes. You’d never seen him like this before — broken.

“I’ll be ready,” he muttered at last, his voice strained. He didn’t look up.

Your mother gave his hand another squeeze before letting go. Her eyes flickered back to you and your brothers. Her gaze was soft but firm. “You will all accompany us.”

You nodded, your throat tight. You felt something heavy in your chest — an ache you didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t your grief, not really. But it was the grief of your family, and you felt its weight all the same.

Luke sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Jace’s jaw was tight, his hands folded in front of him. You glanced at Joffrey in his cradle, still too young to understand the weight of the world he had been born into.

That night, the warmth of the hearth didn’t feel as strong. The food tasted duller. The quietness of the hall felt heavier.

You went to bed early, curling into your blankets, but sleep did not come easily. Images of the sea filled your mind — crashing waves and distant cliffs, the stormy shores of Driftmark. You wondered if Leana had been afraid, if she had known her end was near. You wondered if she had called for her daughters, or for Daemon.

Daemon.

You thought of him too. You had only met him a few times, but he was impossible to forget. Daemon Targaryen was fire wrapped in flesh — dangerous, unpredictable, and wild. He had a look in his eyes like he belonged to no one but himself.

Would he be at Driftmark tomorrow?

The thought of it stirred something uneasy in your heart.

Tomorrow, you would stand on those cold, stormy shores. You would watch the sea claim another soul. And you knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same after that.

Driftmark greeted you with an atmosphere as heavy as the waves crashing against its jagged shores. The sea, usually an endless expanse of strength and power, seemed furious today — its waves clawing at the rocks as if mourning alongside the living. The sky was a dull gray, mirroring the somber mood that hung over the island.

You sat in the carriage beside your mother and father, the rhythmic clatter of the horses’ hooves blending with the distant roar of the sea. The inside of the carriage was silent, save for the faint creak of its wooden frame as it swayed gently with every turn.

Your eyes drifted to your father, who sat across from you, his head leaning back against the cushioned seat. His face was pale, his usually vibrant expression replaced by one of emptiness.

Laenor Velaryon — a man known for his charm and laughter — looked hollow. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his cheeks bore the faint traces of dried tears. You had never seen him like this before. It was unsettling to see someone so full of life now sitting so still, so consumed by grief.

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to comfort him, to reach out and take his hand, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you settled for watching him, hoping your silent presence would be enough.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. She didn’t speak either, but her eyes were filled with quiet concern as they flickered between him and the window. You could tell she wanted to ease his pain, but she, too, seemed unsure of how to reach him.

The carriage jolted slightly as it hit a bump in the road, pulling Laenor from his thoughts. His gaze shifted to the window, where the jagged cliffs of Driftmark loomed closer. The great castle of High Tide was visible in the distance, its dark silhouette standing firm against the restless sea.

“She loved this place,” Laenor muttered suddenly, his voice hoarse.

Your mother turned to him, her brows furrowing. “What?”

“Laena,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke her name. “She loved Driftmark. Even when we were children. She would always run to the cliffs, no matter how many times she was told it was dangerous.” He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “She wasn’t afraid of anything.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened, and she reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “She was brave,” she agreed quietly. “A true Velaryon.”

Laenor nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on the window. You could see the grief etched into every line of his face, the weight of loss bearing down on him like a storm.

You glanced back out the window, watching as the sea grew closer. The salty air stung your nostrils, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocks filled your ears. It felt as if the island itself was mourning.

As the carriage slowed to a halt in the courtyard of High Tide, you took a deep breath and looked at your father one last time before stepping out. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes distant, but he managed to rise and follow your mother without a word.

The courtyard was bustling with activity, mourners dressed in black moving solemnly toward the castle. You spotted Corlys Velaryon, your grandfather, standing at the entrance, his face grim and unreadable. Beside him was Rhaenys, your grandmother, her expression a mask of calm composure, though her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her sorrow.

The world felt heavier here, as if Driftmark itself was bowing under the weight of grief. You felt small amidst it all — a child in a world of sorrow and loss.

Your mother reached for your hand, guiding you toward the entrance. The sound of the sea grew louder in your ears, and you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder at the cliffs in the distance. Somewhere out there, the waves would soon claim your aunt’s body, taking her back to the sea she had loved so much.

Before the ceremony began, you found yourself wandering through the courtyard of High Tide, the somber atmosphere weighing heavily on your small frame. The salty breeze carried whispers of grief, mingling with the faint murmur of guests gathering for the funeral.

Your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on two familiar figures—your uncles, Aegon and Aemond. They stood near one of the stone archways, their silver hair catching the dim light. But something felt off.

Neither of them looked at you, nor did they greet you. Aegon stared off into the distance, his expression unreadable, while Aemond’s face was stoic, his arms crossed over his chest. They didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge your presence—as if you were invisible to them.

Your heart sank a little, confusion and hurt bubbling inside you. Had you done something wrong?

Before you could muster the courage to approach them, a soft voice called your name. Turning, you saw Alicent, your grandmother, walking toward you. She looked elegant even in her mourning attire, her emerald-green dress a stark contrast to the black-clad mourners around her.

When she reached you, she bent slightly to meet your gaze, her face softening into a warm smile. “My sweet girl,” she said, her tone gentle. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You managed a small smile in return, her familiar presence soothing some of your unease. “I’ve missed you too, your grace,” you replied.

Alicent reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve grown even more beautiful,” she said, her voice tinged with pride. Then, with a glance toward your uncles, her expression turned more serious.

“They’ll come around,” she said softly, as if sensing your thoughts. “Aegon and Aemond… they’re still upset about you leaving for Dragonstone. They don’t understand why you had to go.”

Her words made your chest tighten. “I didn’t want to leave,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

“I know,” Alicent said, cupping your cheek. “But you did what was right—what your mother needed. They’ll see that in time.”

You nodded, though the ache in your heart didn’t fade completely. Alicent gave you a reassuring smile before pulling you into a gentle hug. Her warmth was a small comfort amidst the cold grief that surrounded you.

When she released you, she smoothed down her dress and said, “Come now, let us go inside. The ceremony will begin soon.”

As she guided you toward the hall, you stole one last glance at Aegon and Aemond. Aegon was still distant, his gaze unfocused, while Aemond’s jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. They didn’t look your way as you passed, but you held onto Alicent’s words, hoping that one day, things would be as they once were.

The funeral ceremony had concluded, leaving the air heavy with sorrow and the salty tang of the sea. You found yourself seated on a stone bench near the gardens of High Tide, the faint crash of waves providing a somber backdrop.

Beside you sat Baela and Rhaena, their faces still streaked with tears as they clung to one another. You placed a comforting hand on Baela’s, your voice gentle as you spoke.

“Everything will be alright,” you said, though a part of you wasn’t entirely sure. The weight of grief hung thick in the air, and you could feel the tension between the gathered family members. Still, you wanted to provide some comfort for the two girls who had just lost their mother.

Baela gave you a small, grateful smile, though her eyes betrayed her heartbreak. Rhaena leaned against her twin, her silence speaking volumes.

As you turned your gaze away from them to let them grieve in peace, a strange sensation washed over you—a feeling of being watched.

You shifted uneasily, your hands fidgeting in your lap, and slowly turned your head to search for the source of the sensation. Your eyes scanned the gathered mourners, the stone walls, and the shadows of the hall… until they landed on Daemon Targaryen.

He stood apart from the others, his arms crossed over his chest, his silver hair catching the dim light of the torches. His piercing gaze was fixed on you, his expression unreadable.

There was nothing harsh or threatening in his eyes, but the intensity of his stare made your heartbeat quicken. He wasn’t looking at anyone else—just you.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny. Why was he watching you? What did he see?

Baela noticed your shift in demeanor and placed a hand on your arm. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with concern.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

Baela nodded, accepting your answer, but as the night wore on, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Daemon’s eyes following you. Even as the mourners began to disperse and the hall grew quieter, his presence lingered in your thoughts.

You returned to the chamber your grandfather had arranged for you, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders. When you opened the door, a wave of relief washed over you as you spotted Helaena sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked up at you with her usual soft, dreamlike smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Helaena!” you exclaimed, running over to her. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“I missed you,” she said quietly, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“I missed you too,” you replied, pulling back slightly to look at her. “It feels like it’s been so long.”

Helaena nodded, her violet eyes shimmering with a mixture of joy and melancholy. “The Red Keep feels different without you. It’s quieter.”

You both sat down on the bed, the day’s exhaustion momentarily forgotten as you caught up with her. Helaena talked about her days in the Keep, how she spent her time wandering the gardens, chasing butterflies, and reading in her favorite hidden corners. You told her about the journey to Dragonstone and how much you missed having her by your side.

The hours seemed to melt away as the two of you laughed and shared secrets, just as you always did. There was a sense of comfort in being with Helaena—a feeling that, no matter what happened in the world outside, you would always have each other.

When the moon hung high in the sky and the candles burned low, Helaena glanced at you hesitantly. “Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” she asked softly. “I don’t really want to be alone.”

You smiled warmly and nodded. “I’d like that. I don’t want to be alone either.”

Helaena’s face lit up at your response, and she quickly moved to lie down beside you. You both snuggled under the thick blankets, the chill of Driftmark’s sea air forgotten in the warmth of your shared companionship.

As you lay there, you felt her hand brush against yours, and you turned to see her staring up at the ceiling. “Do you think things will ever go back to how they were before?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. “Maybe not,” you admitted softly. “But as long as we have each other, it’ll be alright.”

Helaena turned her head to look at you, her lips curving into a small smile. “You’re right,” she said, her voice filled with quiet determination.

With that, the two of you closed your eyes, the bond between you stronger than ever. The world outside might have been chaotic and uncertain, but here, in this small room, you found peace.

The sharp knock on your door stirred you from your sleep. The darkness outside the window told you it was still deep in the night. Confused and slightly disoriented, you got up and opened the door to find Ser Criston Cole standing there, his expression grim and urgent.

“Princesses you must come to the grand hall at once,” he said, his voice low but commanding.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, a knot forming in your stomach.

“Prince Aemond has been injured. Gravely,” he replied, refusing to elaborate further.

Your breath hitched as you quickly woke Helaena, explaining as best as you could before the two of you hurried down the dimly lit corridors of Driftmark. The tension in the air seemed to grow heavier with every step, and your heart pounded with dread.

When you entered the grand hall, the sight before you made you stop in your tracks. The room was a whirlwind of chaos and emotions. Your mother, Rhaenyra, stood protectively in front of Luke, who looked shaken but defiant. Blood smeared his face, his small hands trembling at his sides. Across the room, Alicent knelt beside Aemond, whose face was partially obscured by a bloodied cloth. Even from the distance, you could see the raw wound where his left eye had been.

Your heart sank. The sight of Aemond—proud, cold Aemond—reduced to this state sent a pang of guilt and sadness through you. But then Alicent’s voice broke through, sharp and accusatory.

“Your son,” she hissed, pointing at Luke, “has maimed mine. He has taken his eye!”

Your mother’s voice was equally sharp as she retorted, “Your son provoked him! He called my sons bastards! He stole Vhagar from Baela and Rhaena without a thought!”

The words hit you like a blow, and your gaze instinctively turned to Aemond. His remaining eye burned with fury, but beneath it, you could see something else—pain and anger, yes, but also a sense of defiance.

“Is it a lie?” Aemond’s voice, though pained, was clear and strong. “They are bastards.”

The words made your chest tighten painfully, and you looked toward Aegon, who stood beside his brother. His face was stony, but he didn’t deny the accusation.

The air grew thick with tension as you stood there, caught between your loyalty to your family and the ache in your heart for your uncles. Your hands trembled slightly as you tried to keep your emotions in check.

“Why would you say that?” you finally managed, your voice quiet but filled with hurt as you looked at Aemond and then at Aegon. “Why would you say something so cruel?”

Neither of them answered, but Aemond’s eye met yours, and for a brief moment, you saw something flicker there—regret, perhaps? Or maybe it was just the pain from his injury.

“Enough!” came the voice of King Viserys, who had entered the hall, his face pale and his expression furious. “This family has bled enough tonight! I will have no more accusations, no more fighting!”

But even as the King demanded peace, the damage was done. The rift between the two sides of your family deepened that night, and though you tried to hide it, the pain lingered in your chest. The words they had spoken echoed in your mind long after the hall had fallen silent.

The salty sea breeze brushed against your face as you stood on the edge of the Driftmark dock, watching the sails of the departing ships grow smaller in the distance. Above them, the silhouettes of three dragons glided across the skies, the mighty beasts casting long shadows on the waves below. Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena were leaving, and with them, any fragile semblance of unity that once existed in your family.

You stood beside your mother, her face stoic but her eyes betraying the turmoil within. Blood had been spilled, bonds had been broken, and the rift between your family and the Greens seemed irreparable now.

For a moment, you turned your gaze to Daemon, who stood not far from you and your mother. He leaned casually against a pillar, his expression unreadable, but his presence was a reminder of the man who had always been on the edges of your life, observing but rarely intervening.

Looking back at the horizon, you let out a quiet sigh. “May I go check on Luke?” you asked, turning to your mother.

Rhaenyra tore her gaze away from the sea to look at you. Her lips curved into a small, strained smile as she nodded. “Of course, my sweet girl. Make sure he knows he’s safe.”

You curtsied lightly before stepping away, your steps echoing softly against the stone dock as you made your way back toward the castle. Your heart ached for Luke, who must be feeling the weight of everything that had transpired. Aemond’s eye was gone, and Luke’s actions—though unintentional—had caused it.

As you entered the castle, the cool, dim corridors wrapped around you like a protective shield. You found Luke sitting in a small alcove near one of the windows, his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His face was buried, but his quiet sniffles reached your ears.

“Luke,” you called softly, your voice gentle as you approached him.

He lifted his head slightly, his tear-streaked face turning toward you. “It’s all my fault,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

You knelt beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know you didn’t,” you said, your voice soothing. “But it wasn’t just your fault. Aemond made his choices too. What happened was a tragedy, but it doesn’t make you a bad person, Luke.”

He looked at you, his wide, innocent eyes searching for reassurance. “Do you think he’ll hate me forever?”

You hesitated, knowing the truth was more complicated than a simple yes or no. “I don’t know what Aemond will feel in the future,” you admitted honestly. “But what matters now is that we’re a family, and we stand by each other. You’re not alone, Luke. None of us are.”

He leaned into you, seeking comfort, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. In the aftermath of chaos, all you could do was offer him your strength and hope that, in time, the wounds within your family might begin to heal.

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