House Of The Dragon: 'The Exiled Prince'

| Author's Note: The gods know how weary I am, having poured myself into this prologue without pause. And yet, here we are.

Welcome, all, to greatness. May this tale of House Targaryen bring you the thrill and intrigue you seek. Let us embark together, and may we find contentment in this new saga of House of the Dragon.

Enjoy!

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"If I could alter one choice from my youth, it would be to speak my love for Rhaenys to my grandfather when the words still held sway, before fate wove its own web. But we Targaryens are ever bound to the fires that forge us, and in that, perhaps, the course was already set."

— An older Prince Aenys Targaryen, 'the Exiled Dragon'.

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| 89 AC - Early Morning, Rhaenys Targaryen's Chamber - Aenys Targaryen 3rd Person Pov:

The soft, amber light of dawn crept through the narrow windows of the chamber, filling it with the gentle warmth of an early summer morning.

Curtains stirred faintly with the breeze, carrying the scent of sunlit gardens and salt from Blackwater Bay,— a reminder of the Red Keep's high walls and secrets.

Birds chirped outside, their songs blissfully unaware of the tangled concerns held by the two figures within. In the center of the chamber, a grand mattress draped in silken sheets bore the cousins,— Aenys and Rhaenys Targaryen,— wrapped around each other in an embrace that felt as inevitable as it was forbidden. Aenys lay still, silver hair disheveled, violet eyes soft with sleep yet sharpened by her presence.

Rhaenys rested against him, her head nestled on his shoulder, dark hair spilling over him like waves of night, framed by her proud Baratheon brow.

He brushed a stray lock from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, and she smirked, a spark of defiance in her gaze, the kind that had drawn him to her since childhood.

"Gods, you're beautiful." he murmured, voice thick with sleep and something softer, she tilted her head, a sly smile curving her lips as she took in his earnest expression. "I know." she whispered, her tone teasing but her eyes glinting with a warmth she seldom allowed others to see.

That earned her a roll of his eyes accompanied by a soft snort, pressing his lips to hers before muttering, "You're as humble as ever, Rhae."

She grinned and arched an eyebrow. "And would you have it otherwise?"

His warm hand drew her closer, letting their bodies meld as he whispered, "Not for all the riches of the Free Cities."

Their soft laughter mingled, muffled only by the thick stone walls around them, but as their breath grew warm and languid, there was an edge to their intimacy,— a mutual understanding that time was slipping away, and they could not linger here forever.

Rhaenys' playful smile faltered, and she drew a shaky breath, her fingers trailing down his chest.

"You know..." she murmured, her tone feigning casualness, "... we tread dangerous ground."

Aenys smirked, unbothered, and brought his mouth to her neck, a trail of kisses that left her breath hitching. "And when have we not?" he replied, voice half-lost in his hunger for her.

"Eager, aren't we?" she breathed, her voice a soft tease as his lips trailed lower. But as his hands began to wander, she stilled him, placing a firm hand against his chest, eyes sober now. "It's late, Aenys. We can't risk this."

His hands came up to cover hers, his voice softened by longing and resolve. "Do you think I care for risk?"

She laughed softly, her gaze both affectionate and admonishing. "You may not, but I do, you fool. I'm the elder, and if either of us is to have sense, it's me."

He pouted like a boy denied his favorite toy, and she could not help but smile. "Now, now. Don't look at me like that. We'll have time later."

Reluctantly, he relented, withdrawing to sit on the edge of the bed. She watched as he pulled on his breeches, his broad back to her, the silence between them growing heavier as he dressed.

Once clothed, Aenys walked a few steps away from her, leaning against the narrow window of her chambers, gazing out over the city. "You know." he began, voice low and uncertain, "I think I'll speak with my father today. About this,— us."

Rhaenys sat up then, wrapping a sheet around her naked self, her dark hair cascading over one of her shoulders. A flicker of wariness crossed her face, though she quickly masked it. "Do you think it wise? Even if your father would listen, he is but one voice in a hall filled with others who will not look kindly on us."

Turning, he met her gaze with stubborn resolve. "Perhaps. But it cannot go on this way, Rhaenys. I feel as though my heart beats only when I'm with you. I can't keep it hidden much longer."

Her brow softened, but a shadow lingered in her eyes. "Aenys, I love you. Yet you must know that no matter what words your father offers to mine, my own fate lies in hands colder than our fathers' love."

"Are you speaking of Grandfather?" he asked, his voice edged with challenge. "He would not part us if he truly knew,— "

She laughed, though there was no mirth in it.

"You think our Grandfather, the great Jaehaerys, in all his schemes and whispers, would permit such a match? He'll not waste the blood of House Targaryen on love. I am his heir's only daughter, and he would see me wed to some other lord with gold or ships to secure his own power."

Aenys fell silent, feeling the sting of her words. "He would barter you like coin..." he whispered, bitterness seeping into his tone.

She sighed, reaching out to touch his face, the simple tenderness of the gesture nearly unraveling him. "It is the way of things, Aenys. For us Targaryens, love must bow to duty." She held his gaze, her own softened by resignation but alive with defiance. "But still… if you would try, I shall not stop you. Only,— promise me that you will not let this tear you apart from the inside."

He took her hands, pressing his lips to her knuckles, his eyes full of something fierce and unyielding. "I swear it, Rhaenys. I'll not rest until I've fought for us with every breath in my body."

She smiled, something proud and sad all at once, and leaned in to press one last kiss to his lips. "Then go, my love. Win our future if you can."

With a final look, he rose, the intensity of his resolve mingling with the fear gnawing at the edges of his heart. She watched as he slipped into the hidden passage that wound through Maegor's dark corridors, a final smile breaking across her face as his silhouette faded.

"My brave fool." she murmured to the empty room, alone once more but heart alight with a hope she dared not let die,— at least not yet.

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| A Few Moments Later: Prince Baelon's Chamber – Aenys Targaryen 3rd Person POV:

With a quiet knock, Aenys signaled his presence at his father's door. "Father."

"Come in." Prince Baelon's voice came through the door, firm and steady. Aenys pushed open the heavy wooden door, slipping into the dimly lit chamber. A member of the Kingsguard stood watch beside the doorway, his silent gaze following Aenys as he passed, then returning to his rigid vigil.

Inside, the room was somber and spare, the barest hints of warmth lingering in the faint embers of the hearth. After his mother's passing, his father had cast aside luxuries, keeping only what was essential. The air smelled faintly of smoke and old wood, the scents clinging as if reluctant to leave.

Behind a sturdy, plain desk sat Baelon Targaryen, his sharp gaze meeting Aenys with a look of mild surprise. "Aenys? You look troubled." he noted, his silver brows knitting as he studied his son's face.

Aenys nodded, though uncertainty flickered in his violet eyes. "Yes… I think so." Taking a seat across from his father on a low cushioned chair, his hands resting tensely on his knees. Baelon sighed, rising from his chair with the careful movements of a man whose years had tempered his strength. He leaned against the front edge of the desk, arms crossed, the faint glow from the hearth casting shadows across his face.

"I know that look well." His father murmured, his voice softened by concern. "What weighs so heavily on you at this hour?"

Aenys's gaze drifted to the dim glow of the embers, as if seeking counsel from their flickering light before returning his father's steady gaze. "I think we should talk. About… my future."

He noticed his father's eyes narrowing slightly, though he could see his restraint, as his father's curiosity was tempered by understanding. "Go on, then." Baelon encouraged, his tone gentler than usual, and Aenys took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, though the words came haltingly. "I wish to marry. I know it's expected of me, and I know… I am meant to fulfill my duties to the family, to the realm." He hesitated, feeling the weight of his own confession even as he said it out loud. "But… there is someone I already love. And I fear that, for us, marriage may not be allowed."

His father's brow furrowed as he absorbed the words, something almost wistful flickering in his expression before he mastered it. "Who is it that has captured my son's heart?" he asked, masking his intrigue with a fatherly smile.

Aenys's shoulders stiffened slightly. "It is Rhaenys." he said at last, voice barely more than a whisper, as if saying it aloud made the weight of his love and its danger all the more real.

Baelon's breath left him in a soft gasp, and for a moment, his expression broke,— a flash of shock, followed by an ache he hid behind a pensive frown. He drew a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture of troubled thought.

"Your cousin?" he repeated, his voice carrying a note of caution and disbelief.

"Aenys… do you understand what you're saying?" Aenys met his father's eyes with a defiant determination. "I do, Father. She is all I have ever wanted." His voice grew steadier, a note of pleading entering his tone. "I cannot imagine my life without her."

His father looked away, the embers reflecting in his weary eyes. "You must know that what you are asking for is… complicated. There will be voices against it. Your grandfather especially." His gaze sharpened, cutting through the soft light. "You must realize what kind of trouble this could bring."

Aenys nodded, bracing himself. "I know, Father. But I cannot pretend my heart does not ache for her. I cannot keep this hidden, gnawing at my soul. I had to come to you… to seek your help."

Baelon shook his head with a mixture of exasperation and sympathy. "A damned fool, you are." he muttered. Yet there was no anger in his tone, only the resignation of a man who knew the bind of love and duty all too well. A flicker of memory crossed his face,— brief, vulnerable. "And for how long, pray tell, has this love grown?"

"A year, perhaps a little more." Aenys lowered his gaze, feeling the gravity of his father's scrutiny.

Baelon's eyes narrowed as he studied his son's face. "And… have you two… crossed any lines?" The question came out cautiously, though his tone implied he was bracing for the worst.

Aenys's eyes widened, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "No! We are not children, Father. We've been… careful."

Baelon's shoulders relaxed a fraction, a sigh escaping him, though the relief was brief.

"And yet you seek to wed her." he murmured, his eyes searching Aenys's face as if seeking some deeper truth. "What of all that you know is expected of her? Rhaenys may be bound for a different path… the king's plans are probably already set, you must realize that."

Aenys's heart sank as his father's words brought the full weight of reality crashing back down upon him. "You mean Lord Corlys Velaryon..." he muttered bitterly.

Baelon nodded, his expression grim. "Yes. The king would see her joined to a powerful lord. With the Sea Snake, she would secure loyalty, strengthen alliances… and she is her father's only daughter." He studied his son, a hint of pity in his gaze. "Your grandfather thinks only of the realm. His heart has hardened to love, to any thought of softness."

Aenys clenched his fists, the coldness of his grandsire's reasoning filling him with frustration. "And I am to do nothing but watch as she is sent off to some stranger? Is that all you would have me do?"

Baelon's gaze softened, the old sorrow in his eyes deepening. "I know what it is to love fiercely, Aenys. I know what it costs to be denied. And I… understand what it is to lose it." He fell silent, his thoughts heavy as if haunted by memories he had long kept hidden. "But the truth is that our family bears its own curse. We cannot always have what we wish, even if the heart demands it."

The words hung in the air, yet they offered Aenys no comfort. "But you would still try, wouldn't you? You would speak with uncle, perhaps… speak with grandfather himself?"

Baelon's face remained inscrutable, his mouth set in a thoughtful line. "I will speak with my brother." he promised at length, though his tone held little hope. "But know this, son,— whatever you dream, the world seldom bends for our desires."

Aenys looked away, struggling to hide the ache in his chest. "I… thank you, Father." he murmured, feeling the weight of his father's words pressing down on him. Baelon gave a tired nod, his gaze turning distant, as though already calculating the costs and dangers that lay ahead.

With a reluctant nod, Aenys rose, moving toward the door. But as his hand reached for the latch, his father's voice halted him one last time.

"Aenys." Baelon called softly, his voice almost a whisper. Aenys turned, meeting his father's softened gaze, which held the hint of a rare smile.

"Thank you." Baelon said, a note of pride glimmering in his eyes. "For trusting me."

Aenys nodded, the words catching in his throat as he left. As the door shut behind him, he felt a wave of relief and sorrow intertwine, the knowledge that whatever might come, he had done all he could. Little did he know, however, that even as he took his first steps down the corridor, a shadow in the form of a whisper had already slipped from ear to ear, carrying news of his forbidden love through the walls of the Red Keep, toward the Small Council chambers.

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| A Few Hours Later: Small Council Chambers – Jaehaerys Targaryen 3rd Person POV:

The Small Council chambers lay heavy in silence, its stone walls encasing the flickering shadows cast by a few sparse torches. Gathered around the carved oaken table sat some of the most powerful men of the realm, discussing matters of law, trade, and whispered rumors, all under the watchful eye of King Jaehaerys I.

His face, as weathered as the Iron Throne he served, betrayed little, but his mind lingered uneasily on the rumor he had heard not once, but a dozen times since morning. And now, his Hand, Septon Murmison, leaned close, confirming what the king could scarcely believe.

Jaehaerys leaned back, eyes fixed on the septon, his voice quiet but with a steel edge.

"Are you certain of this?" he asked, his tone as sharp as the obsidian blade he sometimes kept close.

Septon Murmison nodded, his expression sober. "Without question, Your Grace. I would not dare to speak of it until I was certain." Jaehaerys's mouth pressed into a hard line.

"Then I shall hear no more of it… for now." He raised a hand, sweeping his gaze across the assembled lords. "This council is dismissed. Go about your duties."

There was a moment's hesitation among the lords present, they exchanged wary glances, yet none dared question the king's command. Rising, they bowed their heads, murmuring, "As you wish, Your Grace." before filing out, leaving only their whispers trailing in their wake.

Once the doors had closed, Jaehaerys turned to the Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Ryam Redwyne, standing silent as a shadow by his side. "Ser Ryam." Jaehaerys commanded, his tone cold and clipped.

"Your Grace?" Ser Ryam inclined his head, his white cloak falling in a cascade of ivory over his steel armor.

"Summon my grandson, Aenys. Bring him here at once."

Ryam did not question the order. "At once, Your Grace." He departed swiftly, his clincking footsteps fading down the hall.

Now alone in the dim chamber, Jaehaerys pressed a hand to his brow, muttering under his breath, "Foolish, reckless boy…" His voice held a note of disappointment and a weary anger that was all too familiar. He had reigned long enough to see the same passions and rebellions flare in youth after youth, but it stung deeper when it came from within his own blood.

He sighed, glancing into the back of the chamber, where the sight of King's Landing remained, behind opened windows.

Was this how his various own sons and daughters would have disappointed him if they had all lived? Or was it fate's unkindness to save its betrayals for this new generation?

After a tense wait, the heavy doors creaked open, and Aenys entered, flanked by Ser Ryam, his young face bearing the faint lines of a boy struggling to wear a man's seriousness.

Aenys's silver hair, falling to his shoulders in waves, gleamed faintly in the low light. He looked every bit his father's son,— Baelon's pride and fire etched upon a younger, smoother face.

"Grandfather." Aenys began with a tentative smile, though a furrow creased his brow, betraying his unease. "You summoned me?"

"Address me properly, Aenys." Jaehaerys replied, his tone as unyielding as cold iron.

"And tell me… is it true?" Aenys blinked then, momentarily at a loss. "I-… I'm afraid I don't understand, Your Grace."

The king's eyes, dark and penetrating, fixed on his grandson, fingers tapping rhythmically on the stone table. "I speak of Rhaenys. Have you, in your youth and… carelessness, allowed yourselves to tread beyond the bounds of your expected kinship?"

Aenys's face tightened, and Jaehaerys noted the hesitation, the instinctive defensiveness. He was not so skilled at hiding his emotions yet, not in the way a king's grandson ought to be. But at last, Aenys shook his head, struggling to keep his composure. "If the rumors claim impropriety, then they are lies, Your Grace. I would never dishonor my cousin like that, nor our family. But yes, we do care for each other… perhaps more deeply than what we should."

Jaehaerys's mouth twitched, and he let out a low sigh, though his gaze remained hard.

"Why? Why allow yourself to feel such… folly? Rhaenys's duty is as clear as the day, and her fate is not for you to dictate."

Aenys clenched his jaw, yet his voice did not waver. "Because, Your Grace, I love her. I know my feelings may seem reckless to you, but they are real. I cannot deny what's grown between us, nor can I pretend otherwise."

"Love..." Jaehaerys scoffed, his lip curling.

"Do you believe yourself the first Targaryen to be so ensnared? Love is a fleeting poison, Aenys,— a venom that clouds the mind and blinds the heart." His voice lowered, his tone biting. "You forget yourself. Rhaenys is your uncle's only daughter,— my heir's only child yet. Her marriage is not a reward for your fancies. It is a duty, a bond to strengthen this realm, and though no-one else knows of this, she has already been promised to Lord Corlys Velaryon."

Aenys's face flushed with anger right there, though he held his voice steady. "To Lord Corlys? You would send her away,— to Driftmark, to a lord twice her age? For what? An armada of ships? Riches?"

Jaehaerys's eyes darkened at the remark, and his fist came down on the table with a force that echoed through the chamber.

"Hold your tongue, boy!" he snapped, his voice seething. "Corlys Velaryon commands fleets that could safeguard this realm and our family in times of war. He bears the blood of Old Valyria, and his loyalty would bind Driftmark to the crown. What strength do you bring to this house, Aenys? A lad of four-and-ten, dragonless and dreaming? Do not presume to know better than your own very king."

The young prince took a step back, but his defiance remained. "We are Targaryens, Grandfather. We do not bend, nor do we barter away our kin for ships and soldiers. If you would allow my father's line to join with our uncle's, it would unify us in blood and strength. Why deny what could preserve our house in its truest form?"

Jaehaerys's patience thinned, his lips drawing into a harsh line. "Aenys, you have been blinded by your own desires. This is not a game, nor a tale to please the bards. The realm must come before the fancies of a wayward boy. Rhaenys's path is set, and she will wed Lord Velaryon within the coming years. Her duty, as well as yours, is to the stability of Westeros, not the fleeting whims of youth."

Aenys shook his head vehemently, his pacing growing agitated as he struggled to control the surge of his emotions. "I beg you, Grandfather,— grant me this only one request. Rhaenys and I, together, could,—"

"Enough!" Jaehaerys's voice cut through the room, cold and final. His eyes held the steely glint of a man who would not be swayed.

"Your pleas have been heard, Aenys, and they are denied. Do not test me further. Were it not for your absolute restraint in tainting your cousin, I would cast you out now for your foolishness." Aenys felt his heart pound, but the urgency in his chest pushed him forward, his voice rising.

"Grandfather, I beg of you, listen. Do not make me endure the agony of watching the woman I love taken from me, wed to a man she does not desire…"

Jaehaerys's face darkened further, his disappointment unmistakable. "You speak of love, yet have not the wit to understand duty. If you cannot learn to heed my commands, you will find yourself cast beyond this realm, as far from her as the seas allow."

The room grew silent, heavy with finality. Aenys faltered, but his words broke free, the desperation in them raw and reckless. "Then banish me, if you must. It would be a kinder fate than what you command,— to watch as the woman I love is wed to another man."

Jaehaerys's jaw clenched, and his face hardened. The boy's defiance had breached his final tolerance. "So be it." he declared, his tone laced with ice. "Ser Ryam!"

Ser Ryam, who had watched silently, stepped forward, his face shadowed with the sorrow of a man bound by duty, not feelings.

Aenys's defiance faltered, fear finally dawning as he reached out. "Grandfather, I… I did not mean-..."

But Jaehaerys had turned from him, his voice like thunder. "Escort Prince Aenys from this chamber. He is to be banished from Westeros for the duration of five years. He will depart to Essos immediately. Distance may teach him what the comforts of the Red Keep have not,— that this world does not bend to the will of impetuous children."

Aenys's face drained of color as Ser Ryam took hold of his arm, his grip firm yet regretful. Panic flared in Aenys's eyes, his voice trembling with the weight of sudden realization. "No, Grandfather,— please. I spoke in haste. You cannot mean this…"

But Jaehaerys did not look back, his face set like stone, the shadow of his anger still etched upon his features. He had seen too many Targaryens fall to their passions, burn in their own fires. "A king's mercy can only stretch so far, Aenys. You would do well to remember that, if you ever wish to return to my realm."

Aenys pulled against Ser Ryam's hold, desperation spilling over in a torrent.

"Grandfather, please listen to me,— she is all I have! You can't force this upon us, not when we both feel the same-..."

But the king's back remained turned, his silence colder than any words. Without another glance, Jaehaerys lifted a hand, dismissing them both. "Take him, Ser Ryam. And let no one speak of this matter again."

With a resigned nod, Ser Ryam tightened his grip, steering Aenys toward the door. The young prince's struggles grew weaker, his voice dissolving into a whisper as the weight of his fate settled over him. "Please… don't let our lives end like this…"

But his words vanished into the empty air of the council chamber, a final, hollow echo that faded as Ser Ryam led him away, the doors closing with a resounding thud behind them.

Alone, Jaehaerys stood motionless, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his decision. For a moment, his steely resolve flickered, a shadow of regret crossing his face. His heart had hardened over years of rule, his vision sharpened to see the realm above all else. But in the silence, he could not wholly silence the faint ache of a grandfather's sorrow.

He returned to the cold seat of the council table, the vast room empty but for the dying embers casting a muted glow across the stone walls. He leaned forward, weary eyes tracing the ancient maps and parchments spread before him, each line and mark another duty, another sacrifice.

"Damn these Targaryen hearts." he muttered, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"What folly we make of our own blood." And with that, he buried his regrets beneath the mantle of kingship, bracing himself for the storm he had unwittingly set in motion.

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| The Blackwater Bay, Later That Day - Viserys and Daemon Targaryen POV:

The waters of Blackwater Bay lay dark and restless beneath the overcast sky, churned by the biting wind that tugged at the cloaks of the two young princes standing on the shore.

A young Viserys and an even younger Daemon watched in silence as the ship drifted further from the docks, its tall, pale sails stark against the iron-colored sea.

A dragon, emblazoned in red and black, snapped in the breeze on the ship's mainmast, the last symbol of home that their eldest brother Aenys would see before his exile carried him to foreign shores.

Viserys's hand clenched the edge of his cloak, his knuckles pale as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. Beside him, Daemon's hands were balled into fists, his face a mask of barely concealed fury. They stood side by side, but the silence between them was thick with unspoken words.

"He didn't even look back..." Viserys whispered at last, his voice thick with grief.

He had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that his brother might turn one last time, meet his gaze across the water, share a final look that would tell him they'd see each other again.

But Aenys's figure remained resolute at the stern, staring forward, his shoulders hunched beneath the weight of Jaehaerys's will.

"He shouldn't have to leave at all." Daemon snapped, his voice low but seething. His eyes, sharp and wild as a storm-tossed sea, never left the ship shrinking on the horizon.

"This is all Grandfather's doing,— old, stubborn fool. Just because he's forgotten what it is to love, he thinks he can deny it to others."

Viserys flinched, but the accusation resonated with his own quiet resentment. He cast a sidelong glance at his younger brother, whose fury seemed only to deepen as the minutes passed. "Grandfather is our king." Viserys murmured, though the words felt hollow, a frail defense against Daemon's righteous anger. "He must think of the realm first…"

Daemon scoffed, his mouth curling in derision. "Realm first, always. As if our family haven't given enough already. As if it's only his to rule and decide." He spat the words out, his voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "He sits there in his cold 'tower', and we,— we pay the price."

Viserys's gaze drifted back to the ship. "Do you think…" He hesitated, afraid of voicing the question aloud. "Do you think he'll be safe? Out there, in Essos?"

Daemon's face darkened. "Safe? In some distant estate with nothing but his sorrow for company? How long before he's a ghost himself, wandering Essos without even a dragon to guard him? Grandfather has taken everything from him." His fists clenched tighter. "And for what? So that Rhaenys can be sold off to Driftmark, like some broodmare?"

The name fell between them like a stone.

Rhaenys, their proud cousin,— the Dragonseed girl who had always laughed too loudly, spoken too freely, and whose loyalty had always been fierce and unwavering. It was Rhaenys who had just recently stood before Jaehaerys herself, pleading to have Jaehaerys rethink his choice to banish Aenys, only to leave the throne room with her shoulders slumped, her dark hair falling messily over her face, eyes rimmed red from tears she hadn't let herself shed in the king's sight. Viserys hadn't seen her like that since his mother's funeral, and the memory sent a fresh stab of grief through him.

"She looked broken, Daemon." he murmured, his voice thick. "After Jaehaerys cast her out of his sight… it was as if all the fire had gone from her. She didn't even look at me when I tried to speak with her." He swallowed, pain clawing at his throat. "She just walked away."

Daemon's jaw clenched, his gaze darkening further. "Aye, and now Aenys is gone, and we now know that she's been left to marry Corlys Velaryon,— a man she barely knows, a man twice her age." His lips curled bitterly.

"Grandfather would trade her away like a stack of gold, to secure a fleet, to bind the Velaryons to his side. He thinks only of himself, of his precious realm."

"Daemon…" Viserys began, though he barely knew what to say. His own feelings were a muddle of confusion and anger, but he had always tried to see the reason in things, to find some glimmer of justice behind the king's commands. Yet today, even he felt as though he were grasping at air.

Daemon's gaze sharpened, his eyes like chips of glass as he looked at his elder brother. "Can you really defend him, brother? Do you think any of this is fair?"

Viserys met Daemon's stare, his heart heavy with a truth he could no longer deny. "No." he whispered, voice strained. "But I also don't know what else we can do. If we defy him… if we try to sway him… we could end up exiled ourselves." The words sounded weak, even to his own ears, but he couldn't bring himself to risk losing more.

Daemon's lip curled. "Exile would be a kinder fate than the one he's left us with. At least then we'd have some freedom, some chance at forging our own path. But here? We are bound, like thralls, held captive by our own blood." His voice grew hard, a glint of defiance in his eyes. "But one day, Viserys,— one day, it will be different. I'll not live my life chained by another man's will, just wait till I am a damned grown man..."

The words of his younger brother unsettled Viserys, and he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Daemon, we are Targaryens. We must be careful. This kind of rebellious 'fire' in you… it may prove to be dangerous one day, brother."

Daemon pulled away, shaking off his brother's hand, his face hardening. "What then? Aenys cast to exile, Rhaenys to a marriage she dreads, and all for a king too blinded by duty to see his family torn apart." His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "I would rather burn in this 'fire' you speak of, — being free,— than to live like them..."

Viserys was silent, his gaze fixed on the distant sails, growing smaller with every passing moment. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, his own rage smoldered quietly, mingling with the grief that knotted his chest.

He wanted to rail against his grandfather, to scream at the injustice of it all, but he knew it would change nothing. His older brother was gone, his cousin Rhaenys brokenhearted, and they were left with only the ashes of what might have been.

"We should go back, father needs us also,— gods know the pain he is in, after his fight with grandfather." Viserys murmured finally, his voice subdued. "And standing here won't bring our loved brother back."

But Daemon's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his eyes dark with a fire that would not be easily quenched. "One day, Viserys." he said, voice fierce and certain, "We will be the ones making the choices. And when that day comes, I swear it,— no one will stand in our way."

Viserys looked at his younger brother, his heart heavy with a fear he could not shake.

For in Daemon's eyes, he saw the seeds of a defiance that would not be easily silenced, a determination as sharp and unforgiving as dragonfire. And though he loved his younger brother fiercily, he knew that one day, this fire might end up consuming them both.

With a final glance at the darkened sea, Viserys turned and walked back toward the Red Keep, each step weighed down by the knowledge that their family was fracturing, piece by piece. And at its heart lay their grandfather Jaehaerys Targaryen, the Old King himself,— unbending, unyielding, blind to the ruin he had sown among his kin.

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| A Few Days Later, Somewhere on the Narrow Sea – Aenys Targaryen 3rd POV:

The storm struck suddenly, roaring over the Narrow Sea in waves of thunder and black clouds that churned across the horizon, swallowing the sky. Rain lashed the ship, turning the deck into a slick and treacherous trap as the crew shouted and scrambled to secure lines that snapped under the fury of the wind. The ship groaned, its timbers straining under the onslaught, the masts bending as if they might snap like twigs.

Aenys clung to the railing, every instinct urging him to hold on, to fight against the sheer force that threatened to tear him from the world. Yet, as he looked out at the raging waters, he felt a calm creep over him,— a strange, hollow stillness. In the storm's chaos, he realized he felt no fear, no urgent need to survive. His heart, battered and bruised by his exile, felt strangely weightless, empty of everything he had once held close.

A wave taller than a tower slammed into the ship, hurling him from his grip. He heard the shouts of the crew fade, saw the shattered planks and torn sails swept away in the torrent, and then, only silence as the sea swallowed him whole.

Down, down he sank, the cold ocean wrapping around him in an embrace as endless as the night. His lungs burned, his body flailing against the icy grip, yet the darkness around him was… calm.

It was silent here beneath the waves, save for a faint, distant sound,— a low, haunting song, like the mournful calls of ancient creatures, somewhere far below in the deep.

The cold pricked at his skin, but Aenys felt his movements slow, his strength waning, his heart heavy with the finality of it all.

Perhaps it was easier this way, to let the waters claim him, to drift into the depths where no one would demand anything of him. Here, there was no throne, no duty, no unbending grandfather to condemn him.

Only peace.

A faint light filtered down from above, casting the water in a serene shade of blue. Aenys floated in that endless blueness, his body still as he watched the surface above him, dim and blurred. The cold crept deeper, numbing his fingers, softening his thoughts. He could feel his heartbeat slow, could feel the ocean's dark vastness seeping into his bones.

And then, from the depths, a shadow moved.

It was immense, a gliding darkness that dwarfed anything he'd ever seen. A great creature, ancient and unknowable, passing through the water with the grace of something that belonged to the world far more deeply than any man. Aenys watched, half-conscious, as the shadow drifted closer. For a moment, he imagined it was a dragon,— one of the many legends whispered to him as a child, a dragon swimming through the depths, carrying lost souls to lands beyond the edges of maps.

But no, it was only the vastness of the sea itself, the eternal, unfathomable dark.

He drifted, weightless, his eyes half-closed, lulled by the cold and the soft, haunting song of the ocean's depths.

Just as he felt the last of his breath slipping away, a shadow fell over him, blocking out the dim light from above. He looked up, and through his blurred vision, saw something vast and terrible descending. A massive claw,— scaled and dark as onyx, its talons sharp enough to cleave stone. It pierced through the water with unnatural speed, a sight both alien and awe-inspiring, as if the gods themselves had sent a creature from legend to drag him from the jaws of death.

Before he could react, the claw closed around him, iron-strong and unyielding, hauling him upward through the cold depths. Aenys felt himself lifted, the rush of water blurring his senses as he was drawn toward the surface. His lungs burned anew, and his mind reeled in disbelief. He barely registered the blinding light as he broke free of the ocean's grip, the storm still raging around him.

He gasped, drawing in air as he dangled high above the churning sea, held aloft by the claw of a creature from his wildest nightmares. A dragon, vast and terrible, with scales the color of burnt metal and wings that blotted out the storm-lit sky. Its eyes, green as molten jade, glinted as it regarded him with a predatory intelligence that sent a shiver through his spine.

This dragon however was almost a creature of myth,— the Cannibal, an ancient beast as black as pitch, feared by sailors and whispered about in the dark corners of inns.

It had roamed Dragonstone since before the Conquest, eluding every Targaryen who'd sought to tame it, devouring its own kind, a beast that answered to no master.

Yet, here it was, holding him in its grip, its eyes narrowed as if it were weighing his very soul.

Aenys hung there, breathless, staring into those unblinking eyes. He felt an intense, primal fear,— and yet, beneath that, something stirred within him. An echo of recognition, of kinship. As he gazed into the creature's gaze, the despair and heartbreak that had nearly drowned him faded, replaced by a fierce, raw energy, a sense of purpose he hadn't felt since the day he was banished.

The dragon tilted its head, its grip shifting as it began to fly, its wings beating slow and powerful, propelling them forward over the open sea. The wind tore at his hair, the salt stinging his face as he realized, with a strange mixture of awe and terror, that the dragon was taking him away from Westeros,— away from everything he had ever known.

Old Valyria.

Something whispered in the wind, as if the thought had always been in the air, waiting to be spoken.

And in response, the dragon let out a deep, rumbling growl, the sound reverberating through his bones. The beast's gaze did not waver, its eyes still fixed on him, fierce and knowing. It was as though the creature understood, as if it had chosen him not merely to save, but to guide. Aenys felt the weight of that gaze, the silent promise and the challenge it held.

He clutched the claw that held him aloft, his mind whirling with a thousand unanswered questions, yet in his heart, he felt something awaken,— a fire that had smoldered beneath his sorrow, now rekindled and fierce. A bond, ancient and unbreakable, forged not by lineage or duty, but by the primal, unyielding will to survive.

As they soared into the horizon, Aenys looked back one last time at the generql direction of Westeros, his home receding into a distant shadow. His heart was no longer heavy, it was a crucible, tempered by loss and bound to a creature as wild and untamable as the old blood that flowed through his veins.

Whatever lay ahead,— dragon-haunted ruins, dark mysteries, or his own rebirth in the fires of what appeared to be his new destination,— he would meet it head-on, unbroken and unbound.

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| Fire & Blood |

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