𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓮𝓻𝓪  𝓣𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓻𝔂𝓮𝓷
Running as quietly as I could down the hallways to my chambers, my heart pounding, I clasped the rolls of parchment against my chest, the ink likely running from my sweaty palms.

The pale light of dawn crept through the curtains, casting a muted glow over the room. I could hear the distant, rhythmic sounds of the waves crashing against the cliffs of Driftmark, but it felt as if the world was holding its breath along with me.

Careful not to wake Jaehaera, I keep to my side, holding the letter to the candlelight.

What I held in my hands was the last piece of the puzzle I had only begun to piece together. The whispers at Driftmark, the subtle shifts in the air around us whenever Jaehaera and I entered a room, and now the truth was undeniable.

My weary eyes flickered over the letter I'd stolen from my Aunt Rhaena, the words stark and aching. My Uncle Luke's candid thoughts, written in the same careful handwriting that had once soothered me as a child, were seared into my mind.

My mother, my grandmother, and my Uncle Joffrey were all dead, and my brother and cousin were prisoners, trapped at Dragonstone by the man who orchestrated it all.

The fall of the dragon pits wasn't just a tragedy, it was a harbinger of something far darker that I couldn't ignore, not from within the safe walls of Driftmark, tucked away like some damsel.

My heart clenched as I read the final note from Uncle Luke, a quiet plea for hope amid chaos. However, that faint glimmer of hope was beginning to feel like a burning fuse.

Elaena, my mother, my protector was gone and taken from me due to my own Uncle's madness.

The anger built slowly, a dull ache at first but quickly ignited into a firestorm, roaring through my chest.

How dare they?

How dare they take my mother, the woman who had loved not only me but all so fiercely? She was who taught me what it meant to be strong, to fight even when the world was crumbling. 

I could almost feel her presence still, the warmth of her embrace, the soft murmur of her voice in the dark... but now that warmth was gone, extinguished in the violent collapse of life as we knew it.

My eyes burned with rage and a silent scream worked its way up my throat.

I wanted to tear the world apart, to avenge my mother's death and make those responsible feel every ounce of my grief.

Aegon.

The name was ash on my tongue.

He was no longer the monster beneath our beds but as real and certain as the moon rising in the sky each evening...

 But the sun was just as sure.

The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in as I clutched the letters to my chest. It was all his fault. My mother had died because of him, and the whispers claimed she wasn't the only one. Grandmother, Uncle Joffrey, too had fallen victim to his twisted cruelty in sacrificing our dragons.

The sight of my mother's smiling face, in her strength and grace, flashed before my eyes as tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, but it wasn't just grief that drove me, it was something far fiercer. Something that felt like fire in my veins.

Vengeance.

Throttling myself out of the bed I go to Jaehaera's side, placing a hand on her shoulder to shake her awake, "Jaehaera. Wake up,"

At first, my cousin barely stirred, her sleep deep and untroubled by the quiet storm that swirled in my chest. But the second shake was firmer and her eyelids fluttered open, her pale eyes wide with confusion.

"Visaera?" She mumbles, her voice hoarse with sleep. "What time is it?"

"I'm sorry to wake you," My voice breaks as I speak, though the words come with a force that feels unnatural, "But we need to leave. We need to go to Dragonstone,"

Jaehaera blinks at me, still caught in the haze of slumber and for a moment there is nothing but silence between us. Then as the words sink in, she slowly sits up, rubbing her eyes. 

"Dragonstone? Why? What's going on?"

My heart hammered in my chest, the urgency in my voice rising as the truth spills out. "Aegon's killed them, Jaehaera. My mother, my grandmother. Joffrey. The dragonpit... it was him." The bitterness and anger in my voice was making it hard to breathe.

She freezes, the color draining from Jaehaera's face as she absorbs my words. It was impossible to misunderstand the finality of what I was telling her. Jaehaera opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"Father is still out there! The final battle is coming, and we need to go to Dragonstone, Jaehaera. I'm not staying here, I can't just sit and wait for things to happen. I have to be there with our brothers and fight!"

Her gaze softens, but there is something hesitant, something reluctant in her eyes. "Visaera, you're not thinking clearly. We've just, just learned of their death. You need time to grieve, you can't just throw yourself into a war-"

"I'm not throwing myself into anything!" I shoot back, my voice sharp with frustration. "I'm doing what needs to be done. I don't need time. I need to go to Dragonstone, now."

My cousin stares into my gaze and I'm lost for words to convince her, not if she doesn't already understand my urgency.

Going for my bag I toss it atop my bed, already yanking out dresser drawers for traveling wear.

From the corner of my eye, Jaehaera stands slowly, her feet finding the cold stone floor as she crosses the room to me.

"You can't do this alone," She whispers, taking my hand in her own and I freeze at her comforting touch.

Intertwining our fingers I turn to face her, "I need you, Jaehaera. Please. You're the only one I trust."

She hesitates and I can see the quiet, uncertain war waging within her eyes. I knew what I must've been asking of Jaehaera, but there was no one else I trusted as deeply and wholeheartedly other than my Mother and she was lost to me, forever.

Nibbling at her lips she continues, "I want to help you, but I'm not sure you understand what we may see, what may happen..."

My jaw tightens, her words only fueling my resistance more.

"I just want to be there, I need to be there, Jaehaera." 

She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving my face and finally, she nods. My heart surges with relief and I can't help myself, taking her into my arms.

"Thank you," I whisper, taking solitude in her embrace as long as she'd let me.

I finally allowed myself a small breath of relief.

We would go together and I wouldn't be alone in her fight. We would fly toward Dragonstone, toward our destiny, together.

"We must go now before it's too late."

As Jaehaera moved to gather our things, I stood still for a moment longer, my gaze lingering on the sea outside the window. I could almost feel the pulse of the battle waiting for us. It was coming and we would be ready.

The wind howled as we prepared to take flight, but I was still. Still with the memory of my mother's loss and the burning hatred for those who had taken her.

We took to the skies as the sun dipped below the horizon, the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out beneath us.

My Mother was gone.

My family was gone.

But I wouldn't let them die in vain, with or without a dragon I had been trained my whole life for this. My father had equipped us all well. My heart burned with the promise of vengeance and I would have it.

***

𝓐𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓣𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓻𝔂𝓮𝓷
The air was thick with the tension of impending battle as Vhagar soared through the night sky. The moonlight cast an eerie silver glow over the sea and land below, the faint sound of the waves crashing against the shore barely audible as the massive creature sliced through the darkened clouds.

My thoughts were a whirlwind as I urged Vhagar forward, her wings beating steadily with a rhythm that matched the pounding of my own heart.

Elaena's favour was tucked in the pocket above my heart but I couldn't feel any farther from her. I knew in my heart of hearts that there wasn't time to waste but leaving her in the care of another man tore me apart from the inside out.

The sooner I brought our family together, the sooner I would be back by her side.

As Vhagar descended toward the camp my single eye scanned the ground below, catching sight of the army that was gathered there. Stark banners snapped in the wind, their deep blue and white contrasting against the night sky.

The camp was well manned, with the flickering of torches casting long shadows across the faces of men who had been preparing for battle. Yet, despite their readiness, I could sense the unease in the air. It seemed my arrival had caught them off guard.

The sound of Vhagar's wings was like thunder rolling over the camp, sending soldiers into a flurry of motion. 

The ground shook when we landed with a heavy thud, my dragon's tail sweeping across the earth like a hurricane.

Some soldiers scrambled for their weapons, others were frozen in fear, their gazes fixed on the terrifying sight above them.

Dismounting quickly, my boots hit the ground with a decisive, echoing step.

I keep my shoulders back and my chin high keeping my expression unreadable, though the pressure of the moment weighed heavy. 

I was a King now, and my subjects moved as such.

Yet the power felt empty without my Queen by my side.

A captain, a seasoned soldier by the looks of him has a face hardened by warfare. He approaches hesitantly and his gaze never quite meets mine as he tries to steady his breath.

"Your Grace," He begins, his voice wavering with equal parts respect and trepidation. "What brings you at this hour? We weren't expecting you-"

"I seek your Lord, Cregan Stark. Where is he?" My cold gaze sweeps over him, my presence alone sending a ripple of unease through the men standing nearby.

The captain swallows, overwhelmed by his King's imposing presence, his mind racing to find the proper words. "C-Cregan Stark, Your Grace? He... he is in his tent, making the final preparation for the battle to come." 

Without waiting for further explanation I stride past the captain, my boots clicking sharply on the ground.

The soldiers around me parted like the sea, giving me a wide path to walk as if the very air had thickened with the weight of my power, the captain however was rooted to his spot watching me, his legs stiff with fear.

Following the trail between the tents, I find what I assume to be Lord Starks tent, its flags high and waving with a purpose no other station held.

I pull back the heavy flap just enough to allow myself a glimpse of the shadowed figures inside. The camp was silent now save for the faint murmurs of the soldiers and the rustling of the wind.

As I stepped inside, I held my breath, but I maintained a fixed gaze that was a mix of caution and calculation. My greeting lacked warmth given that there was no warmth between us, especially now considering the circumstances of our meeting.

"Lord Stark," I say smoothly, my voice cutting through the silence like a Valyrian steel blade.

"My King," He replies curtly, our audience watching in petrified silence.

The air in the tent seemed to grow even heavier as Cregan Stark stood silently, his dark eyes locking with mine. There was a storm brewing in Cregan, one that mirrored the fury in my heart. 

Both of us had been driven to this point by betrayal, loss, and a desire for vengeance that mere words or strategies couldn't quench. It was more than a desire for victory; it was the need to destroy, to wipe away those who had taken our hearts from us.

"Leave us," He commands, his deep voice brooking no argument from his men.

His captains exchange weary glances but obey, stepping out into the cool air of the encampment and leaving Cregan and me alone in the dim light.

Without wasting another moment, Cregan begins, "We can take Dragonstone come morning, my men are thirsty for blood and I won't let my wife suffer another night under the pretender's roof," 

My eye narrows at the Lord of Winterfell, my sharp gaze assessing Cregan with a mixture of respect and wariness. 

"My brother has fortified Dragonstone well. Hightower men match our current number miles east of here. I'll have my brother's head when the time's right but I won't lose another one of us in the collapse,"

Years ago I would've charged into the castle myself, taking no prisoners with only Lucerys and Cregan at my side but I was no fool having sat years upon years in the small council chambers.

Perhaps those restless hours wouldn't be in vain.

Cregan's anger simmered beneath the surface, but the sharpness in my voice gave him pause. There was a fire in me, a hunger for victory and justice that Cregan could not deny. 

Slowly, he exhales, his hand falling from the clenched fist to rest at his side.

"If our sources are correct then Baela is held prisoner along with my sons. That means we can't afford a single misstep. We wait until the Velaryon fleet arrives along with Lucerys and his dragon in less than two days time,"

"Fine," Cregan said, his voice tight with understandable frustration. "But when your fleet arrives, we move to take the castle. We don't wait another moment longer."

"Agreed. But until then, we wait and prepare. Any rash action could cost us more than we can afford. Do you understand?"

Cregan meets my gaze for a long moment and then nods reluctantly. "I'll wait. But Aegon will pay for all he's done... our family and the realm alike."

My lips curled into a slight, grim smile. "He will. But we must play this game with patience."

The two of us, bound by blood and circumstance, stood in tense silence, our shared understanding settling between us.

In two days, the first signs of the Velaryon fleet will be seen, a silver lining on the horizon promising the tide will soon turn.

𝓐𝓮𝓵𝔂𝔁 𝓣𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓻𝔂𝓮𝓷
The air in the cell was heavy with hopelessness, but there was also a hint of something else sparking just beneath the surface of my skin. Something that felt an awful lot like hope, but what could that mean?

I didn't know how long I had been locked away in this prison with Aunt Baela, counting each second in the empty silence of stone walls, but the thought of my mother's death and my grandmother's murder haunted every moment that I was forced to lie awake. 

I could still hear my grandmother's voice, the last words she'd spoken before Aegon's dragonfire took her from us, her flesh burning and crackling before my very eyes, the smell something I would not soon forget.

I often wondered if Jaehaeryn stared at a similar ceiling, haunted by what we'd lost in such a short amount of time.

Or perhaps he was living a life of luxury a few floors up, resting peacefully in a bed much like our own at home.

Breaking me from my spell, a sound echoes through the stone corridor, distant but growing nearer, and my heart skips. 

The footsteps are deliberate and heavy, which could only belong to soldiers. But there was something else too, a quiet tension in the air that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise and my skin prickle with excitement.

Baela's steady breathing across from me grew erratic as she sat upright, her hands clenched into fists.

We had learned to fear moments such as these. Aegon's men had made it clear that their cruelty had no bounds, but these footsteps... something felt different this morning.

The familiar soldiers didn't say a word when they approached our cells. They didn't even look at us with the disgust and disregard we'd grown used to. 

One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, gripped the keys and unlocked the door. His eyes, however, flicked to the side for the briefest moment as if he were watching his back for an unseen foe.

Baela's eyes narrowed as she studied them. "What is this?" she demanded, her voice sharp and full of suspicion. "What do you want from us?"

The soldiers didn't answer immediately. The one who unlocks my door steps back, and the other, a darker figure, motions for the both of us to step out of our respective cells.

His voice is low, almost hushed as if speaking too loudly might attract unwanted attention.

 "We need to take you. There's not much time,"

Take us?

My pulse quickened. "Take us where?" I asked, keeping my voice steady despite my unease and panic.

The second soldier, the one who hasn't spoken, takes hold of my arms and roughly slides shackles around my wrists, his fingers brushing the edges of my skin like sharp ice. 

"This way."

I could feel Aunt Baela's confusion across from me, a mixture of uncertainty and defiance. "What do you want for us?" she repeats, more forcefully this time, but still not a word about what their true intentions were.

They lead us through the labyrinth of Dragonstone's secret tunnels, dimly lit by flickering torches along the aged walls. The damp air is thick with humidity and tension, and our footsteps echo eerily in the dirt passageways. I wonder if my mother and father had frequented these same halls as children.

Was this the moment Aegon had decided to kill us?

Would we be a spectacle? Our beheading a rallying cry for his troops to take our home once and for all?

"Why are you doing this?" Baela tried again, her voice breaking through the silence. "Have you come to bring our heads to your beloved King?"

One of the soldiers stops at that, his expression softening just slightly.

The first soldier glanced back at us, eyes flicking around before he spoke, his voice low and cautious. "We serve the true Queens of the broken realm," he confesses, his words clipped, not revealing too much but enough to stir something deep in my gut. "Not the pretender King."

Baela stiffens beside me, her eyes catching mine in the dim light and I have to confirm it for myself,  "You're loyal to Rhaenyra and my Mother? Do you speak the truth?"

Another glance passed between the soldiers, a silent acknowledgment. "They should both still be alive," the second soldier muttered, almost too quietly to hear. "But... we will serve their blood if the gods are willing,"

My heart pounded in my chest. 

They're not enemies, I realized. They're here to help us.

"We need to move, we've not much time until they come to know you've escaped." the second soldier insists, walking ahead of us to quicken his pace.

I didn't need any more urging. I grabbed Aunt Baela's hand and pulled her along, the rush of adrenaline flooding my veins.

We would avenge my mother, my grandmother, and my Uncle Joffrey. I would not rest until I or my father drove my sword through that traitor's throat.

My heart raced, my thoughts in disarray, but instinct was taking over now. I knew what we needed to do if we wished to help my father.

We sprinted through the tunnels, but I could feel the danger just a breath away. The corridors twisted and turned, leading us deeper into Dragonstone, until at last, we rounded a corner.

There, standing just outside a small alcove, was the maid—the same woman who had sneaked us food nearly a week ago now. 

She steps forward, blocking our path and offering us a warning with a soft, timid voice.

"The path ahead is not safe," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of approaching soldiers. "We must hurry."

I open my mouth to speak, but she raises a hand, silencing me.

"Aegon's men will soon find us. There is only this one chance. You must find Moondancer."

"Moondancer?" Baela asked, her eyes wide. "My dragon... but—"

But before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I heard the faintest sound of movement behind us—a creak of metal. Footsteps. And they weren't from any allies, I knew that to be certain.

"Did you hear that?" Aunt Baela whispers urgently, her voice laced with anxiety.

Without wasting another moment the soldiers bring keys to our shackles, dropping to the rusted steal to the ground.

Free of our restraints I turn, straining my ears. 

I can hear it too: the muffled shuffle of boots, the sound of weapons being drawn, and then... a low, threatening growl from a distant corner of the tunnel.

"Shit," the first soldier hisses. "We've been followed."

The two soldiers instantly drew their weapons, forming a protective barrier between us and the oncoming threat.

Figures swarmed into the narrow tunnel, Aegon's men. 

"We will hold them off to our best abilities but you must run, they outnumber us!"

The clash of metal rang through the air, sharp and deadly and I wished I had been armed, hungry for the blood of the enemy and to avenge my family.

The soldiers who had come to help us fought back with precision, but there were too many of them. Steel met steel in a blur, sparks flying as swords scraped against shields with Hightower sigils.

"There's no time. Go. Now," the maid urged, pushing us toward the next tunnel.

We didn't have time for questions. We had no choice but to follow. As we ran down the tunnel, the sounds of Aegon's soldiers closing in grew louder. I could hear the clanging of swords, the rush of pursuit... but there was something else too. The triumphant roar of a dragon.

Moondancer.

Baela's dragon, injured and alone but alive.

"Moondancer! She's near!" Baela beckons, rushing her steps to get ahead of us.

We would find her. 

We had to if we had any hopes of getting out of here alive and finding Jaehaeryn.

The lantern the maid carries flickers dimly as Baela's eyes assess the darkened passageways, her mind likely racing with questions like mine. 

"Who's sending you?" she asks again, her voice firm, but the maid doesn't respond. Instead, she picks up the pace, her shadowed face hidden behind the flutter of her veil.

Suddenly, the sound of boots stomping on the cold stone floor fills the air. The two soldiers, armed, had found us and there was nowhere to turn and run now.

Frantic, Baela tries again. "Who are you working for? Who is it that's brought us to our death?!"

The maid remains silent, her breath quickening as her hand grips the handle of a knife, trembling slightly as she raises our only weapon defensively. 

Then, with no warning, the first soldier lunges. Baela's instincts kick in.  My Aunt moves with lightning speed, yanking the knife from the maid's hand with a smooth, skilled motion. 

With a twist of her body, she disarms the first soldier, sending his sword clattering to the floor. The soldier stumbles back, wide-eyed, but before he can react, the knife's handle cracks against his wrist, forcing him to drop to the ground.

She barely has time to breathe when the second soldier strikes, his sword aimed directly at her throat I lunge to throw myself in front of her but in a flash, a shadow detaches from the darkness, a figure cloaked in black, their hood shadowing their face. 

The hooded figure moves like a whisper, a blur of deadly precision. In the span of a heartbeat, they are upon the soldier, sword flashing through the air with deadly grace.

The soldier tries to parry, but the figure is too fast, too skilled. A strike to the soldier's midsection and another to his throat leave him crumpling to the ground, lifeless. The eerie quiet that follows feels almost suffocating.

Aunt Baela stands frozen, her breath shallow, eyes wide. Her body tingles with the rush of adrenaline, and she glances at me, who is staring, utterly speechless. My eyes are wide, not just in shock, but in clear admiration of her instincts and skill.

"That was..." I start, my voice cracking with awe. "You saved us. Both of you..."

My Aunt nods, still trying to catch her breath, her gaze flickering between the now-dead soldiers and the hooded figure who's lowering their blade, the quiet confidence in their movements radiating through the darkness.

We both can't help but feel a strange mixture of gratitude and curiosity, but she hesitates to ask the question running through both of our minds.

"My prince, I was beginning to think we wouldn't in fact reach you," the maid breaks the silence with a relieved chuckle that didn't match the situation at all. But it was what came next that hit me like a blow to the chest.

My prince? The words rattled in my head. I'd heard them, and the possibilities ran wild through my mind, but none of them seemed to fit.  Was it my father the King who had come to save us?

The figure dropped his hood, and at that moment, my breath caught in my throat. The stranger's features were so familiar but I couldn't place his face.

The world seemed to slow, the sound of Aunt Baela's breath echoing in my ears as she stepped forward, her violet eyes wide with disbelief.

"Viserys?" she whispers, her voice barely a breath, and something in the way she says his name makes my chest tighten. Tears already shimmered in her eyes as she dropped the knife from her hand and stumbled toward him.

My heart pounded in my ears, my mind scrambling to catch up. Viserys? Impossible. 

My mother had told us the dreadful stories. He was dead. He had been dead for fifteen years, most of my life, lost in the chaos of the Battle of the Gullet. 

How could he be standing here now, in front of us? How could he possibly be alive after all this time?

Aunt Baela didn't hesitate. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her little brother with a desperation that made my own heartache. I wish I had such a reunion with my own mother, but she was gone eternally.

She held him like she might break apart if she let go, and maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what would happen with all the tragedy around us. The Viserys she had mourned, the brother they had all mourned—he was standing here. He was alive.

I stood frozen for a moment longer, unable to do anything but watch. My brain was screaming with questions, with disbelief, but all I could do was look at them. The reunion before me was something I hadn't dared to imagine.

Viserys finally spoke, his voice rough, as if he hadn't used it in years. "I'm sorry, sister," he murmured, his trembling hands gently pulling her closer. His eyes were soft but filled with pain, a pain I could only begin to understand. 

***

𝓙𝓪𝓮𝓱𝓪𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓷 𝓦𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼
The remnants of my dreams still cling to me when I wake, the sweat soaking through my tunic but I was freezing, trembling in the cold breeze.

The fragmented pieces of the nightmare were so vivid, so real, I can almost feel my mother's warmth, smell the scent of her hair before it all turned to ash. 

Tessa—my mother, who held me close in those moments before death tore her from me. 

Her voice, soft and full of love, had faded too quickly in the flames that consumed her, the sword through her heart echoing in my mind as if it had happened here in front of me mere moments ago.

I shift beneath the heavy blankets, the chill of the stone floor biting through the covers, the damp air of Dragonstone thick with salt and mist. My body aches with the memory of her absence that I'd filled with the very same people who took her from me.

I want to scream but the words are locked inside, buried beneath the weight of memories that seem to warp and twist like the shadows in these rooms.

The chamber is still dark in the early hours of the morning when I hear footsteps approach and I'm not sure how long I've been laying there staring at the ceiling.  

I turn my head, half-hoping it to be Aelyx, the only other person left who shares the weight of all we'd seen. But the figure standing in the doorway is not Aelyx. 

Aegon stands at the archway, casting a long shadow that stretches across the dreary stone floor, his light brown hair glowing faintly in the faint light of dawn now that he's washed out the dye. 

My so-called father's eyes are too calm for what he's orchestrated, as though he's never seen a storm in his life, even though it swirls inside me like an unfamiliar tempest.

"Get up, my prince," his voice is low, almost tender, and unfamiliar. "It's time."

Time for what? My head is still a muddled mess from the twisted dreams that won't leave me. From what he's told me—the lies, the truth, I can't decide which anymore.

For a moment, I hesitate. I don't want to face him, don't want to listen anymore. Not after what he told me last night. The truth he painted so vividly about Aemond and Tessa. Aemond killed her. Killed my mother, and shoved a sword through her heart while I was mere feet away, a helpless child.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shake the image of that blade—of his hand, steady and unyielding, as he struck. 

I don't know what to believe. And worse—how much of it was kept from me? For so long, I had trusted Elaena and Aemond. I had loved them and trusted them wholeheartedly. They were my family, they raised me. 

But now I wonder... Did they all know what Aemond did? Aelyx? Jaehaera? Visaera?

 Was I always the outsider, the one left in the dark?

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet brushing the cold stone beneath me. The room feels colder now as if the walls are closing in, pressing the weight of betrayal deeper into my chest. 

Aegon stands still, waiting, his presence heavy and suffocating.

"You told me that Aemond killed my mother," I mutter, my voice rough with the pain of those words. "But how do I know that's true? How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

Aegon doesn't flinch. His gaze remains steady, unwavering as if he's always expected this question. He takes a step closer, and his voice softens, the edges of it almost tender in a way that feels dangerous.

"I understand your doubts," he says, his tone surprisingly gentle. "But I am not your enemy, Jaehaeryn. Aemond and Elaena never cared for you. Never cared for anyone but themselves and their pursuit of power. You were nothing to them but a guilty deed."

I want to protest, to defend Aemond and Elaena, but the words die in my throat. 

The truth, or at least his version of it, has begun to root itself in my mind. And with it comes the creeping doubt, the suspicion that maybe everything I've known has been a lie. 

Perhaps they hadn't cared for me. 

Perhaps I was just a pawn in a game I couldn't even begin to understand.

Aegon turns, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the cavernous halls. "Come, we search for your dragon today," he calls over his shoulder. "It is time you claim what is yours."

A dragon?

The thought of it sends a ripple of excitement through me. I had always longed for that connection, the bond between rider and dragon. But it had always felt so out of reach.

I stand, my body moving on its own, too tired to fight the path Aegon is setting for me. 

We walk together in silence, his presence a constant at my side, as we make our way deeper into the caverns beneath Dragonstone. 

The walls are damp, and slick with the moisture of the sea, and the air smells faintly of sulfur and smoke. The deeper we go, the darker it gets, until it feels as though we're walking through the very heart of the world.

And still, Aegon speaks, telling me stories of his youth, of his time with Aemond. 

His words drip like poison, coating the air with venom as he paints his and Aemond's childhood as one of bitter jealousy, a hunger for power that never ceased, even as a child. 

I listen in silence, the cold dread growing heavier in my chest with each word.

"I was always second," Aegon says, his voice tinged with something between bitterness and nostalgia. "Aemond, the golden child who could do no wrong in my mother's eyes. But I saw the way he looked at Elaena. She was always the prize to him. Always. That was all he ever wanted so he could reign as King one day."

I feel a pang in my chest at the mention of Elaena. 

She had kept this secret along with Aemond.

I try to ignore the knot of suspicion twisting in my stomach.

"You never trusted him," I say quietly, almost to myself. "Not even as brothers."

Aegon glances over at me, a cold smile on his lips. "I don't trust anyone. And you shouldn't either, Jaehaeryn."

He turns back to the path ahead, his footsteps leading us ever deeper into the dragon's lair with a small attachment of knights following only a few steps behind us. 

My thoughts are tangled, lost in the swirling storm of memories and doubt. And as we walk through the darkness, I can't shake the feeling that I'm not just lost in these tunnels. I'm lost in this web of lies and betrayal.

And the more I hear, the more I wonder: If Aegon is telling me the truth, what else have they hidden from me?

***