Time waits for no man

The morning sun broke through the dark clouds over Driftmark, casting a gentle glow over the castle's stone walls. Daeron stood at the harbor, the salt air biting at his skin as he stared out at the sea. His belongings were packed, and he was ready to leave. His decision was made—he could not stay under the watchful eyes of Rhaenys and Corlys forever. The political web of Driftmark, of Westeros itself, was something he wasn't yet prepared to navigate, yet.

But he couldn't ignore the strange pull that had been drawing him away from it all. The need to carve his own path was too strong to ignore.

The decision to leave Driftmark was not an easy one, but it was one that felt necessary. The time had come to move on. He had no clear path ahead, but he couldn't afford to linger under the eyes of those who would try to control him. Rhaenys and Corlys, though they had offered him kindness, Rhaenys specially, they had also made it clear that there were strings attached. The game they played wasn't one he was ready to enter—not yet, at least. Not until he understood more about the tides of power that swept through this world.

He had been restless since that conversation with Rhaenys and Corlys few months ago. Something had shifted in the air between them, and despite his efforts to distance himself from the political games they played, he couldn't shake the sense that he was being watched, that his every word and movement was being measured. More than that, Rhaenys's words lingered in his mind like a thorn, the weight of her recognition pressing down on him. Aemon Targaryen. The name struck a chord deep within him. But who was Aemon to him? Could he truly be his father in this world? Who was the mother?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned to find Rhaenys approaching, her form outlined against the rising sun. She moved with the grace of someone accustomed to power, her eyes sharp as ever, but there was something softer in her gaze as she drew closer.

"You're leaving," Rhaenys said, her voice low but steady. She wasn't asking; she was just stating a fact.

Daeron nodded, taking a deep breath. He hadn't expected her to seek him out, but then again he had always known she wouldn't let him slip away unnoticed.

"I have to. I can't stay here forever," Daeron replied, his tone measured but firm. "I'm not one to be kept in a cage, no matter how gilded it may be."

Rhaenys didn't speak immediately. She stood there, studying him, her sharp eyes searching for something in him she had not quite figured out. Perhaps it was the same thing that had drawn her attention from the start—the way he carried himself, the weight of something hidden beneath the surface. She had seen that look before, in the eyes of those who had too much to lose and not enough to trust.

"You're not foolish, Daeron. I can see that," Rhaenys said, her voice softer now, tinged with a touch of something that almost sounded like regret. "But be careful. The world is not kind to those who try to walk alone, especially someone with your... blood."

Daeron's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his blood. He met her eyes, his voice steady but betraying the conflict inside him. "I know what I am, Princess. I don't need anyone to remind me."

Rhaenys gave him a look that seemed to pierce through his facade, reading him like an open book. There was a flicker of something in her expression—something Daeron couldn't quite place.

"You're not ready to be a pawn in anyone's game," she said, her voice calm but firm. "I understand that. But don't think for a moment that you're alone in this world. "

Daeron swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. He didn't want to seem like he was leaving out of spite or fear. But at the same time, he couldn't stay, not in the shadow of their plans. Not until he knew what his own were.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "If you ever need help... if you ever find yourself in trouble, you know where to find me. Driftmark is always open to you. But remember this—there is power in knowing when to accept help. You don't have to be on your own."

Daeron was silent for a long moment, the weight of her words settling over him like a fog. Part of him wanted to refuse, to push her offer away and insist on his independence. But another part of him—a part he wasn't yet ready to confront—felt the truth in her words. The game he had been thrust into wasn't one he could win by standing alone.

"I'll remember, Princess. You have been very kind to me." he said quietly. "And I'll visit, if only to repay your kindness."

Rhaenys's lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "See that you do. I'll be watching, Daeron. Don't make me regret it." She then added almost in a silent whisper" Little brother."

Then Rhaenys turned away, walking back toward the castle. " She would have been a good queen, a kind one." Daeron muttered softly. With one last glance at Driftmark, Daeron turned and made his way toward the waiting ship. He had no idea what the future held but was determined to face it on his own terms. The world might be full of danger, intrigue, and manipulation, but Daeron Stone would carve out his place in it.

As the ship set sail, carrying him away from Driftmark and into the uncertain horizon, Rhaenys stood on the cliffs above, watching him go. A strange ache filled her chest. She couldn't explain it, but she knew one thing: Daeron's journey had just began. And, in some way, her own might be intertwined with his.

She promised herself then, as the winds howled around her, that she would watch over this reckless little brother of her. The game of thrones was a treacherous one, and it would not be kind to a bastard with a blade of Valyrian steel.

But she hoped, for once, maybe a miracle would happen. The currents of power were shifting, and Daeron was now part of the tide. Rhaenys only hoped he could navigate it without being swept away.

Rhaenys sat at the long table, staring out the window, her thoughts far away. The events of the day, particularly the departure of Daeron, hung heavy in the air. Corlys Velaryon, her husband, leaned against the stone archway, watching her closely. He had been silent since Daeron had left. His mind was occupied, as it often was, but the boy had stirred something in him as well. Corlys had always been a man of action, but he understood the weight of silence, and he knew when a conversation was needed.

Finally, She spoke, her voice soft but laced with a trace of something more—something she hadn't quite figured out. "Do you think I was wrong to let him go?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if testing the waters of her own uncertainty.

Corlys stepped forward, his heavy boots silent on the stone floor. He placed his hands on the table and leaned in slightly, studying his wife's face. She was beautiful, composed, but there was something vulnerable in her eyes tonight.

"I don't know," Corlys said slowly, his deep voice calm, measured. "There's something about that boy, Rhaenys. He's not like other bastards. You saw it too, didn't you?"

She met his gaze, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "I did. He has... a certain charisma, a quiet defiance, but there's more to him than that. He's... he reminds me so much of Father." She hesitated, the name hanging in the air between them like a ghost. "It's foolish to say, but I can't help but feel it. He is definitely my father's son."

Corlys took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. He had his own thoughts, but he wasn't sure how to voice them. He had seen the way Daeron held himself, the way he fought, the way he survived when most boys would have crumbled. But it wasn't just that. There was something else—something deeper, and more dangerous.

Corlys's voice trailed off as he tried to make sense of it. "You really think he's your brother?"

Rhaenys didn't respond immediately. Instead, she rose from her seat and walked to the window, her gaze lost in the distance. She had been raised among the shadows of the Targaryen legacy, and she knew all too well the weight of their blood. The idea that Aemon had a child, a bastard, was a possibility she had never considered.

"I feel it, although there's no direct proof" she said finally, her voice soft, almost to herself. "there's something about him... it calls to me. It's not just his resemblance. It's the way he moves, the way he holds himself, like someone who's seen more of the world than a child his age should. His sword, FrostMourne, too... I've never heard of it. It's no ordinary weapon."

Corlys's eyes narrowed, his mind working furiously. He had seen many things in his long life, and he knew that the game of thrones wasn't played on the surface alone. Beneath every action, every choice, there was a deeper current at work—something hidden.

"And what do you intend to do about it?" Corlys asked, his tone neutral but tinged with the careful edge of a man who had spent his life balancing on the knife's edge of politics.

Rhaenys turned to face him, her gaze steady. She had never been one to be controlled, not even by her own emotions. But there was something about Daeron—something that made her feel like she had to keep an eye on him, even if she didn't fully understand why.

"I don't know yet," she said, her voice firm but thoughtful. "But I can't just ignore him. If he is his... if he's truly one of us, then I have a responsibility. A duty. To watch over him. I owe him that much, at least."

Corlys raised an eyebrow, an almost imperceptible smile touching the corner of his lips. He knew his wife's sense of duty all too well. It was both her strength and her curse.

"Watch over him?" Corlys repeated, his voice low. "Or will you be trying to shape him? Because I can see the way you look at him, Rhaenys. He's a loose end, one that could either be tied to our side—or used against us. I can't tell yet what he wants. But he's certainly not a simple bastard, and that makes him dangerous."

Rhaenys looked at him sharply. "I'm not trying to shape him, Corlys. I'm just... trying to understand and be there for him. He's not like the others, and I can't ignore that. You know as well as I do that there are too many unknowns in this world, too many players and too many factions. But this... this boy, he's not part of that."

Corlys sighed deeply, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He had seen Rhaenys struggle with her emotions before, but this felt different. This wasn't just about politics. This was something personal. He had known Rhaenys almost her entire life, and he knew she didn't easily form attachments. Yet something about Daeron had moved her in a way that even Corlys couldn't fully comprehend.

"You're right," he said slowly. "He's different. And that makes him dangerous. If you're going to keep an eye on him, Rhaenys, you need to be careful. There are forces in the world that would use him just as easily as they would use us. He's a pawn in a game he doesn't even know he's playing. The question is—do we bring him in, or do we let him drift away? Either choice will have its consequences."

Rhaenys's gaze softened, her expression almost wistful. "I don't know what his future holds, Corlys. But I won't let him fall prey to the world's cruelty. Not if there's a chance to guide him, to help him find his place."

Corlys studied her for a long moment, before finally speaking in his low, measured tone. "Then watch over him, Rhaenys. But don't let him become a tool for our enemies. He may have Targaryen blood, but we both know that's no guarantee of loyalty."

"I know," she replied, her voice steady. "But sometimes, loyalty can be forged. And sometimes... sometimes it's the right kind of bond that shapes a future."

Corlys didn't respond immediately. He turned and walked toward the door, but before he left, he glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes filled with a mixture of affection and caution.

"Just be careful," he said quietly. "The boy may be your responsibility, but in this game, even family can be a weapon."

Rhaenys didn't answer immediately. She simply nodded, her gaze turning back toward the window, where the lights of the distant ships glimmered in the night.

As Corlys left the room, Rhaenys felt a strange certainty settle in her chest. She had made a promise to herself, to Daeron, and to something larger than the world around her. She would watch over him. She would see to it that he didn't fall into the hands of those who would use him.

As Daeron sailed across the sea, the wind in his hair, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him, he knew one thing for sure: his journey had only just begun. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with both peril and promise. It could have been his easy way out, but he decided to follow his heart. This encounter changed his mindset further about this world. Specially the part about Aemon Targaryen being his father. He doesn't know if it's true or just a mere possibility. 

But one thing was clear—he had no intention of becoming anyone's pawn. The game of Thrones would be played on his terms.