Father and Son

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Daemon Targaryen 

' With tear-stained cheeks and a heartfelt plea, Lyanna beseeched Daemon, her voice trembling with emotion, her body sprawled on the bed like a fragile flower in distress. "Promise me, Daemon," she implored, her voice echoing through the room. "I want to be buried there. I'm still of House Stark. I want to be buried where all my ancestors had been buried," As her words hung in the air, a tangible tension filled the room, engulfing Daemon, who sat on the edge of the bed, his head swaying in a solemn refusal.

"I won't have you buried underground, surrounded by darkness. You deserve to be buried where Queen Rhaenys was buried, where Visenya, Valaena, where all the Targaryen Queens had been buried," Daemon protested, not wanting to hear it. As her health deteriorated with each passing day, Lyanna initiated a heartfelt discussion, expressing her heartfelt desire to find solace in the hallowed grounds of Winterfell. It was a place where her mother had found eternal repose, a sacred sanctuary that housed the cherished remains of her ancestors and grandparents, a place resonating with the echoes of her ancestral lineage.

"All the Starks were always buried in Winterfell." As Lyanna attempted to reason with him, her delicate hand firmly grasping his arm, Daemon abruptly shrugged it off, his eyes filled with determination. Daemon's head shook with an intensity that mirrored his unwavering dissent, his every fiber rejecting the notion.

"No," Daemon growled fiercely, his voice resonating with a wave of sudden anger that reverberated through the room and sent chills down Lyanna's spine. However, as his piercing gaze locked onto her, his eyes shifted from fiery rage to a profound sense of remorse that swam within their depths. With a tender touch, his hand delicately traced the contours of Lyanna's cheek, a gesture that spoke volumes about the love that still lingered beneath his tempestuous exterior. 

And then, Daemon's lips pressed against Lyanna's soft skin, leaving a tender kiss upon her cheek. The warmth of his touch lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the passion that once consumed them.

He hated that she was discussing something he never wished to discuss, but he knew they needed to, and the thought of her burying far away in the North didn't sit well with him. Daemon didn't want that. He wanted her to be buried in Dragonstone, where he could visit her as many times as he wanted.

As their fingers intertwined, Lyanna gently cupped Daemon's chin, guiding his gaze towards her own earnest eyes. The touch of her delicate hand and the tenderness in her voice revealed the depth of her plea. A solitary tear cascaded down Lyanna's cheek, glistening like a diamond in the moonlight, as she beseeched him, her voice filled with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "Daemon, Promise me," she whispered, her words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. There was a momentary pause, a pregnant silence that held their breaths captive, as Daemon's mouth began to form a response. Yet, before the words could escape his lips, he hesitated, sealing his mouth shut. '

As Daemon kneeled in front of Lyanna's bed, tightly clutching the soft, comforting sheets, an unmistakable scent of death permeated the air. Lyanna lay motionless on the bed, her body shrouded in a pristine white mattress, almost as if she had become one with the ethereal fabric. Daemon yearned to catch a glimpse of her face once more, to etch into his memory the image of her radiant beauty, her vibrant and joyful countenance that had brought him so much happiness.

However, as he contemplated gazing upon her visage, he realized with a heavy heart that the reality would be far from the image he desired. Instead, he would be confronted with the coldness of death, her once vibrant features now devoid of life's rosy hues. Yet, in his heart, Daemon clung steadfastly to the image of Lyanna, forever preserving her in his mind as the embodiment of health, beauty, and unbridled happiness.

The thought of her face fading with the passage of time weighed heavily upon him, casting a shadow of profound sorrow upon his soul. The mere notion of her delicate features being consumed by voracious maggots, erasing all traces of her existence, plunged Daemon into an abyss of inconsolable grief.

Daemon, consumed by an impenetrable veil of sorrow, found himself unwittingly trapped in a timeless realm of heartache; he couldn't understand how long it had been. From the moment Lyanna succumbed to the embrace of death, he knelt unwaveringly at the foot of her bed, his unwavering vigil a testament to the depths of his love. Despite the well-intentioned interventions of numerous servants, impassive guards, and even his own father, who pleaded with him to depart and entrust Lyanna's final rites to the tender care of the Silent Sisters, Daemon refused to heed their pleas. With a fierce determination born out of an insatiable yearning to keep her spirit close, he resolutely clung to the sanctuary of her presence, yearning for an ephemeral extension of their shared existence, if only for a fleeting moment longer.

Aenar hadn't come to him yet, but his father told him that his son needed him, that he, too, was grieving and needed his father. Daemon knew that, but he didn't want to leave Lyanna. He wanted to stay with her for a bit longer.

Eventually, hours had passed since Lyanna's death. Daemon, consumed by an overwhelming grief that clung to his very soul, remained in a perpetual state of supplication before her final resting place. Clutching the sheets with a desperate fervor, his trembling hands sought solace in the tangible remnants of their shared existence.

His tear-stained countenance pressed against the pristine expanse of the white mattress. With each labored breath, a symphony of sorrow echoed through his being as his bloodshot eyes bore the indelible imprints of countless tears shed in anguish. Cheeks swollen and puffy, his visage bore witness to the depths of his sorrow. Yet, as the first rays of a nascent day pierced through the veil of darkness, caressing his weary face, Daemon inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the promise of a new dawn.

As the first rays of sunlight gently infiltrated the confines of the bedchamber, caressing Daemon's face with their warm embrace, he found himself on the precipice of speaking, yearning to rouse Lyanna from her slumber. However, the bittersweet reality swiftly flooded his mind, reminding him that such a gesture would be in vain, for Lyanna's awakening was forever out of reach. He had tried so many times, begging her to wake up, but she didn't wake up; she would never wake up again. Daemon felt his eyes welling up with tears once again.

As Daemon kneeled alone in the dimly lit room, his mind began to wander, drifting into thoughts of his beloved son, Aenar. A pang of concern gnawed at his heart as he pondered where Aenar might be at that very moment and how he was faring. A flicker of disappointment danced in his eyes, for Aenar had not yet arrived. The silence was broken by the unmistakable sound of footsteps, their purposeful rhythm echoing through the corridors, drawing nearer with each passing second. A surge of hope surged within Daemon's chest, momentarily convincing him that the approaching figure could be his dear son. Yet, as the footsteps drew closer still, their weight and resonance betrayed their true nature. They were heavy, far too robust, and powerful to belong to his little boy, Aenar.

Daemon didn't move as the footsteps approached; soon, someone walked inside the chamber. Daemon didn't face them when he suddenly heard his little brother's voice behind him.

"Daemon, I think it is time for you to stand up," Viserys murmured gently, his voice laced with a tinge of melancholy while his hand tenderly caressed Daemon's shoulder. Kneeling near the bed, his face pressed against the mattress, Daemon vehemently shook his head, refusing to accept the reality before him. A Part of him really wished it had been Aenar, the one that came instead of Viserys.

With a worried expression etched on his face, Viserys turned to his brother, Daemon, his voice filled with concern and a tinge of accusation, as he pleaded, "Daemon, everyone is concerned for you. Aenar needs you now more than ever. Will you leave him alone?"

"Where's my son? Why hasn't he come here?" he demanded, his words barely above a hushed whisper. Ignoring his brother's attempt to provide reassurance. Time stretched on, elongating each passing second, until the only sound that reached Daemon's ears was the distant symphony of waves crashing against the shore, a haunting reminder of the vastness of the world beyond these walls and the uncertainty it held.

"Daemon, your son was here. He stayed by your side for the whole first day!" Viserys answered with a hint of confusion. His eyebrows furrowed; Daemon looked almost hazy after hearing that, leaning his head upwards from the bed.

"First Day?" Daemon questioned with confusion, knowing for sure he didn't remember Aenar being beside him; Daemon was sure it had been only one day since Lyanna's death.

"Yes," whispered Viserys, his voice laden with a mixture of sadness and concern as he delicately broached the subject that had been weighing heavily on his mind. "He has been sleeping with Queen Alysanne since Lyanna's passing; he needs you." Viserys paused, his eyes filled with empathy as he locked his gaze with Daemon. "Everyone is there for him, but he needs you. His father. The only one he has left." Viserys' words flowed forth with a sense of urgency, his voice carrying a plea as he implored Daemon to step forward and go be with his son.

In her unwavering dedication to uplift Aenar's spirits, Rhaenyra exhausted every conceivable method that had previously elicited joyous laughter from her cousin. Her efforts fell upon deaf ears and a despondent heart, for Aenar's sorrowful tears continued to flow incessantly. It was a perplexing sight indeed, for even amidst the solace of a captivating book, his emotions would overpower him, leading to unabated weeping. Regardless of the collective persistence exerted by those around him, Aenar remained impervious to their endeavors, caught in the grip of indomitable despair.

Viserys felt his own heart hurt from seeing the little boy cry. He knew how much of a good friend he was to Rhaenyra, and seeing Aenar like that brought Viserys great sadness; Rhaenyra wanted to help, even telling Aenar to go and see the Dragon Pit, but Aenar simply had shut himself down and didn't want to listen to anyone.

On the first night, Viserys had told Aemma that Aenar could sleep with Rhaenyra in hopes that he wouldn't feel alone, but Queen Alysanne had taken charge and had invited Aenar to sleep in her bedchamber.

Everyone had expected Daemon to go to his son after the first day, but now, Daemon had yet to show signs of leaving the bedchamber; despite how hard everyone tried to convince him that Aenar needed his father, Daemon wouldn't leave the bedchamber, and simply grieve for Lyanna.

King Jaehaerys had even proposed to forcefully remove him from the chamber, saying Princess Lyanna needed to rest, but Baelon had quickly disapproved of the idea, saying Daemon was most likely to kill whoever tried to move him away, no, if Daemon would leave the chamber, he needed to leave on his own, not by force.

Viserys had come to his little brother once again, trying to change his mind, trying to remind him of his son who needed him more than ever, trying to remind him that he still had someone.

"Daemon," Viserys called him out with a loud voice, gaining his brother's attention. "Aenar needs you. Your son is alone. He needs his father." Viserys tried to convince him, but Daemon didn't want to leave.

With a gentle hush in his voice, Viserys uttered the name "Daemon," carefully lowering himself to the ground, an air of solemnity enveloping him. Kneeling beside his younger brother, he leaned in closer, his eyes filled with quiet sorrow. As the weight of their shared grief hung heavy in the air, Viserys posed a poignant question, his voice laden with emotion, "Do you remember what you told me when our brother and mother died?" Tenderly, he placed a comforting hand on Daemon's trembling back, seeking solace in this shared moment of vulnerability.

Overwhelmed by memories, Daemon fought back the tears, swallowing hard in an effort to contain his sorrow. In the recesses of their minds, all that remained of their cherished sibling were the hauntingly beautiful depths of his purple eyes, forever etched in their hearts. They longed to remember more, to hold onto fragments of their little brother, but all that remained were faint traces of their mother's cascading silver locks, a delicate reminder of the love that once filled their lives.

As Viserys reminded his brother, his own eyes welled up with tears, even though many years had passed. The weight of his brother's words echoed in his mind, each syllable creating a vivid memory. "You told me," he began, his voice trembling, "that you would always protect me." The words hung in the air, heavy with a mix of longing and regret. Viserys could still hear the echoes of his brother's voice, urging him to go outside and play, to embrace the joys of childhood.

But there was another side to his brother's guidance, a sternness that came from a place of love and concern. "Our Muna," his brother had warned, "You told me to go outside and play. You told me our mother would be ashamed of me if I spent the day crying, that I Would make Muna angry if I simply sat on a corner and cried the whole day." The image of his mother's disappointed gaze flashed before his eyes, a powerful motivator to push through the pain. And yet, despite the passage of time, Viserys couldn't help but feel his eyes well up with tears whenever he delved into the depths of his memories; his heart still ached for the love and comfort he had lost.

"Viserys, leave me alone," Daemon's voice demanded with a hint of frustration, his head shaking in resolute refusal. Yet, despite Daemon's adamant plea, Viserys, his countenance heavy with a deep sigh of sorrow, stepped forward, his arms extending to envelop his brother in a comforting side hug. Silently assuring Daemon that his plea had not fallen on deaf ears and that Viserys would remain by his side.

"Leave you alone," Viserys demanded, his voice firm and determined. He stared unyieldingly at Daemon, his eyes burning with intensity. "You're telling me I should just leave you be?" His voice rose with each word, filled with a mix of frustration and anger. The room seemed to crackle with tension as Viserys continued, his tone growing more forceful. "Then why didn't you leave me alone that day? Why didn't you leave me alone?" His words hung in the air, heavy with accusation. Daemon, feeling the weight of Viserys' gaze, closed his eyes, his mind overwhelmed with regret. Seeking solace, he leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against the softness of the bed mattress as if seeking comfort from within himself.

"Aenar is alone, Daemon. It's been three days. He needs you, just like I needed you that day. Do you really think Lyanna would be happy to know the man she loved abandoned their child?" Viserys continued.

Daemon involuntarily emitted a low gasp that escaped his lips like a fleeting breath of air. His eyebrows, normally poised with an air of certainty, ascended in a perplexed dance of confusion. "Three days!" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

A flicker of disbelief danced in his eyes, momentarily overshadowing the passage of time, as he grappled with the notion that three whole days had effortlessly slipped through his fingers. As the weight of this revelation settled upon his consciousness, Daemon couldn't help but verbalize the swirling whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that consumed him. "Has it really been three days?" he pondered aloud, his words punctuating the silence like a gentle ripple in a tranquil pond.

In that vulnerable moment, he felt the warm embrace of his brother's arms enveloping him, drawing him closer in a comforting gesture.

"Yes, Aenar needs you; he needs you just as I needed you," Viserys affirmed; As the weight of his emotions pressed upon him, Daemon, overwhelmed by a bittersweet mix of sorrow and longing, delicately shut his eyes, allowing a solitary tear to cascade down his cheek, only to find solace upon the pristine expanse of the bed's snow-white fabric. Upon reopening his eyes, a glimmer of determination sparkled within his gaze; he turned to look at his big brother.

"Where is my Son?"

Aenar Targaryen

As the golden rays of the morning sun caressed Aenar's face, a gentle warmth enveloped him, coaxing his eyes to flutter open. However, as his weary lids unveiled the world around him, the once familiar rush of pure elation that accompanied each awakening had vanished into thin air, leaving behind a gaping void of melancholy and anguish. The weight of sorrow and the piercing sting of loss now consumed every fiber of his being, casting a somber shadow over his once vibrant spirit.

Queen Alysanne had ordered an extra small bed to be placed in her chambers for Aenar to sleep; last night, Aenar had slept as his great-grandmother told him tales of her youth, trying to distract him from everything that happened.

As tears streamed down his little face, young Aenar pondered the profound question that echoed within the depths of his mind: "Why am I alive?" With each beat of his heart resounding against his chest, a surge of curiosity and existential wonder surged through his being. Aenar rose from his bed, his bare feet making contact with the icy coldness of the floor below. At that moment, a chilling shiver coursed through his young body.

Once again, an unsettling tremor surged through his body, causing his limbs to quiver uncontrollably. His breaths became shallow and rapid as if he were desperately gasping for air amidst a suffocating haze. Aenar's vision, once sharp and focused, now appeared distorted and blurred, as if he were peering through a foggy veil. Frustrated, he cast his gaze around the dimly lit chamber, hoping for some clarity, yet every object and surface seemed to melt together in an indistinguishable mass. With a desperate attempt to steady himself, Aenar inhaled deeply, but the breath felt strangely hollow, leaving him with an eerie sensation that he had not drawn a single breath at all.

With a voice filled with apprehension and vulnerability, Aenar softly whispered, "Muna, Kepa!" His words carried a subtle tremor, echoing the fear that danced within his heart. Clutching his legs tightly as if seeking solace in their embrace, he endeavored to shield himself from the unforgiving grasp of the Cruel World. In this moment of distress, Ghost approached him with unwavering devotion. With a tender touch of his velvety tongue against Aenar's tear-stained face, Ghost sought to impart a sense of comfort and reassurance, reminding Aenar that he was never alone in the face of adversity.

Aenar's heart weighed heavy with grief as he dared to close his eyes, squeezing them shut until it felt as if the pain would seep through his very being. In that fleeting moment, he desperately clung to the flicker of hope that his mother's passing was nothing more than a cruel figment of his imagination, a tormenting nightmare that would dissolve with the morning light. But as his lashes fluttered open, reality crashed upon him like a relentless wave, shattering any lingering remnants of denial. The truth pierced his soul with ruthless precision: his beloved mother was gone. Never again would her tender lips grace his forehead with a goodnight kiss, and never again would her soothing voice calm his restless thoughts.

Aenar's gaze was drawn inexorably to the delicate silver necklace that adorned his neck, a precious memento gifted to him by his mother, the sole tangible remnant of their enduring bond. As Aenar's nimble fingers cradled the necklace with the utmost tenderness, he couldn't help but marvel at its ethereal beauty, fearing that a mere touch could shatter its delicate form like a delicate blossom caught in a tempestuous wind. Yet, with a mixture of trepidation and reverence, he gingerly fastened the silver heirloom around his neck, feeling an instant surge of warmth radiating through his very core.

Aenar stood up, his little legs moving on their own towards the door; Aenar slowly opened the door. He wasn't surprised to see Ser Ryam guarding the door as he usually did. Since Lyanna's death, Ser Ryam had refused to leave Prince Aenar alone unless someone from the royal family ordered him to do so. Ser Ryam was ready to greet the young prince, but the prince beat him to it.

As the morning sun painted the skies with its golden hues, Aenar, clad in regal attire, approached Ser Ryam with a weary smile. "Good morrow, Ser Ryam," he greeted, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy, devoid of its usual vigor and vitality. The once radiant joy that danced in his eyes had now faded, leaving behind a hollow echo as if a specter whispered through his lips.

Ser Ryam bowed respectfully. His eyes, filled with empathy, met Aenar's gaze as he inquired, "Your grace, how might I help you?"

"Can you return my mother back, ser?" Aenar questioned, looking up at the old knight with a hollow look as if he was a corpse; Aenar knew it wasn't fair to say something like that, it wasn't Ser Ryam's fault, but for so many years, he believed that he finally found his family, something he had been missing since the beginning, only for it be snatched by his hands by the cruelty of life. Again.

Ser Ryam closed his mouth. He really wished he could help the young prince. If there was a way for him to lay down his own life for that of Lady Lyanna, he would have done so without hesitation.

With a heavy heart and a voice tinged with sorrow, Ser Ryam, his armor gleaming in the hall, addressed the prince in a hushed tone, "I can't, your grace. I prayed for my own mother to return to me, but she never did," As his words hung in the air, a somber silence enveloped the room, broken only by the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. Aenar observed Ser Ryam closely, his normally steadfast countenance now etched with a rare vulnerability. For in that fleeting moment, Aenar glimpsed a side of Ser Ryam that had remained hidden beneath his stoic facade for years.

Aenar's voice trembled as he cautiously addressed Ser Ryam, "Y-you lost your mother, ser?" The words slipped out before he could fully comprehend their impact, and an immediate pang of regret swept over him. Aenar raised his gaze to meet Ser Ryam's, prepared to offer a sincere apology for his thoughtlessness. However, to his surprise, Ser Ryam met his gaze with unwavering resolve and, without a moment's hesitation, proceeded to answer Aenar's question, unruffled by the sensitive nature of the topic.

"I did, your grace. I lost her the same day I lost my one and only sister," Ser Ryam answered with a stoic voice and face; despite reliving what he wanted to forget, Ser Ryam still answered the prince's question without hesitation, and showed no feelings of sadness, despite the topic, he kept himself calm and collected.

Aenar stood frozen in the corridor, his mind racing with a tumultuous mix of emotions. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Regret flooded his heart as he realized the impact his words had on the old knight. Caught in the grip of uncertainty, Aenar found solace in the familiar stone corridors of the Red Keep. The silence enveloped him, broken only by the rhythmic cadence of Ryam's armor. 

"I'm sorry, Ser Ryam," Aenar apologized sincerely.

"There's nothing to forgive, Prince Aenar," Ser Ryam quickly said, with a look of gratitude on his old face.

Soon, he reached where the Royal Family broke their fast. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered the room; Rhaenyra quickly stood up from her seat, running up to him and hugging Aenar. The latter hugged her back, but not with the same joy he always had.

"Aenar, Laena will arrive tomorrow," Rhaenyra said quickly as she pulled away from the hug with the brightest smile she could muster. She knew how happy Aenar always got when Laena would visit them, and she hoped this time would be the same. She hoped he would smile at her to show a small part of who Aenar was, but Aenar's face didn't change. He didn't smile. Instead, he simply looked away from Rhaenyra before walking to his seat, leaving Rhaenyra with tears in her eyes.

As the morning sun gently filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow upon the breakfast table, the tranquil atmosphere enveloped Aenar as he sat alongside his revered great-grandmother and great-grandfather. The air was filled with a hushed stillness, broken only by the symphony of subtle chewing and the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain. The family savored their meal in peaceful harmony until Viserys abruptly stood up from his seat, gaining everyone's attention.

"Father, it's been three days since our dear Lyanna passed away. I will go and talk with Daemon." Viserys suddenly claimed; Aenar quickly stood up from his seat once he heard that.

"Uncle Viserys, should I come with you?" Aenar questioned, thinking it would be better if he was with his uncle. With a solemn shake of his head, Viserys gently approached his nephew until he stood by Aenar's side. The touch of his hand on the boy's shoulder brought a comforting warmth.

"No, my dear boy," Viserys said, his voice filled with warmth and determination, "but I promise you, I will convince Daemon to come back to you; your father will be with you soon." With a tender gesture, he pressed a gentle kiss upon the crown of Aenar's head as Aenar summoned the strength to muster a faint smile of gratitude.

"Thank you, uncle."

.

.

After breaking his fast, he was walking aimlessly in the long corridor, followed by Ser Ryam and Ghost, when Aenar suddenly felt heat on his chest. It felt as if a fire was burning on his chest and spreading across his chest. It felt like warmth; Aenar quickly quickened his pace of walking. As he started walking downstairs, Ser Ryam quickly followed him behind.

As Ser Ryam urgently called out, his voice laced with deference and respect, "Your grace!" Aenar chose to turn a deaf ear to the knight's plea. Unfazed by the interruption, Aenar descended the grand staircase with measured steps, each footfall resonating with determination and purpose. His unwavering determination led him deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of the Red Keep until he found himself standing at the entrance of the dimly lit cellar.

The cellar was large, its darkened depths shrouded in an eerie ambiance. The flickering glow of torches affixed to the weathered stone walls. This subterranean chamber, once used for storage, had become a sanctum for the nefarious creatures of the night - a realm where rats scurried and skittered, yet amidst this den of vermin - the remains of Balerion, The Black Dread, the legendary dragon of old. Its colossal skull is larger than an entire carriage drawn by a team of mighty steeds.

Aenar walked slowly toward the enormous skull. Only one tooth was bigger than him, and despite there being no eyes, Aenar felt as if the skull of the dragon was watching him, despite there being no eyes, only a hollow hole where the eyes once were.

Perched upon a meticulously carved pedestal, elegantly elevated two feet above the ground, rested the Skull of Balerion. Bathed in a mesmerizing glow, courtesy of flickering candles strategically positioned in each cardinal direction, the ethereal illumination cast an enchanting light upon the weathered bones of the majestic dragon that once soared across the vast skies with indomitable might.

Aenar slowly lifted his gaze, fixating upon the hollow sockets that housed the eyes of the colossal skull before him. The cavernous chamber was shrouded in eerie darkness, punctuated only by the flickering glow emitted by the multitude of candles strategically placed around the immense skeletal remains of Balerion, the legendary dragon. Aenar suddenly remembered one time when he had visited Caraxes alone without his father's permission.

' "Caraxes is not bothered by me, Father. Look," Aenar spoke with his tiny voice, pointing his hand at the dragon, who hummed in agreement; Aenar knew if the dragon could talk, he would have said 'Yes.'

Daemon, seeing no way out of this one, let out a long sigh before grabbing Aenar, carrying him in his arms, and kissing his cheek. "I swear, you are just like your mother," Daemon spoke softly, with a kind tone reserved only for his son, no one else.

Aenar's smile wavered slightly, but he quickly thought of something else. "Skori kostagon eman iā zaldrīzes? Laena se Rhaenyra vestras emilza mēre aderī. (When can I have a Dragon? Laena and Rhaenyra say they will have one soon)." Aenar asked him with pleading eyes, knowing it was his father's biggest weakness.

Daemon laughed as they walked through the long corridor of Dragonstone.

"Aōha laesi won't mirre va nyke bisa jēda, Āemon. Se you're mērī izula brōzi tubissa. Umbagon ēva you're bȳre brōzi tubissa. (Your eyes won't work on me this time, Aenar. And you're only four name days. Wait until you're six name days)."

Aenar pouted before resting his head on his chest, soon falling asleep in his arms as his father carried him to his bedchamber.

Watching his son sleep, Daemon found himself smiling. 'You will soon have your dragon and one day. The Iron Throne will be yours,' Daemon promised, bringing his son to his bedchamber. Once he made sure his son was peacefully sleeping, Daemon kissed him on the forehead before leaving the bedchamber. '

Aenar felt his eyes burning at the memory, but he didn't allow himself to shed tears. I'm the blood of the Dragon and Blood of the Starks, he thought with a burning passion in his eyes.

Looking up at Balerion, it felt like the magnificent skull was looking back at him. As if speaking to him, the flickering flames of the candles encircling the dragon's skull were abruptly extinguished, plunging Aenar into an abyss of complete darkness. The profound silence was broken only by the faint rustling of small creatures scuttling about.

The cellar was once again illuminated by the flickering flames of the candles, casting dancing shadows across the worn stony floor. Aenar, who had been enveloped in darkness, felt an overwhelming sense of relief as his surroundings came back into focus.

Just as he started to regain his senses, a faint sound of footsteps echoed through the cellar, growing louder with each passing moment. Intrigued and slightly apprehensive, Aenar's curiosity compelled him to turn around, his heart pounding in his chest. And there, standing before him, was his father. His pallid complexion and bloodshot eyes bore witness to the tears that had streaked his cheeks. The sight was so astonishing that Aenar had to fight the urge to rub his eyes, half believing that his fatigued mind was playing tricks on him.

With a heavy heart, Aenar cast his gaze upon his father, whose eyes brimmed with a profound sadness that seemed to weigh him down. Daemon broke free from the invisible chains that bound him and rushed towards his son, arms outstretched.

"F-father!" Aenar's voice quivered, choked by a mixture of relief and overwhelming emotion, as he was enveloped in his father's embrace. The warmth of Daemon's arms wrapped around him, clinging to him as if afraid that the very act of letting go would cause his son to vanish into thin air.

In that tender embrace, they held onto one another, their hearts beating in synchrony, finding solace in the familiarity of their bond. As Aenar's face nestled against his father's shoulder, he could hear the steady rhythm of Daemon's heartbeat.

"I will never leave you alone, Aenar. I promise," Daemon whispered, his voice filled with sincerity.

Our son will be happy, Lyanna. I promise you

Note: Time Skip is Coming Soon

Let me know in the comments what you think about the Chapter. I hope you have a Wonderful Day.