Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast…

Aemma assisted her aunt, Princess Rhaenyra, in caring for the youngest members of House Targaryen. Alongside her daughter, Princess Saena, who had just turned one, Aemma also dedicated herself to assisting her aunt in raising her cousins, the young princes Aemon and Baelon, who are now ages five and three. She took on the role of a maternal caretaker to the children, ensuring that the children were well-fed, clothed, and educated in these tumultuous times. She spent countless hours playing with them, teaching them the history and traditions of their family, instilling in them the values of honor and familial loyalty to each other, and comforting them when they were scared or upset. After mourning the loss of her brother Viserys and allowing herself time to heal, Aemma understood that although the emotional scars inflicted during the Dance remained, dwelling in self-pity would not turn back time or heal wounds. She had to stay strong for her mother, Aegon, Jaehaerys, and even her father―her entire family.

"Now, now, Aemon. Don't put it in your mouth – that's not for eating. It's okay, Baelon. Iāpanna kesīr. (Your cousin's here.)"

Aemon, with a lean face and body, gazed up at Aemma. His dark purple eyes seemed almost black, and his silver hair was so pale it was nearly white. He continued to play with his wooden blocks. Baelon, on the other hand, was a more curious and lively boy despite being frail. He accepted a toy dragon from his mother, Rhaenyra, and joined his brother in play.

Stormcloud, Aemon's dragon, was a young hatchling who liked to stay close to the Targaryen princeling. As the smallest of the Targaryen dragons, Stormcloud was about the size of a small dog with dark grey scales and deep violet wing membranes. Despite his small size, Stormcloud was fiercely loyal and protective of Aemon. He would puff out his chest and let out a low growl whenever anyone approached too closely to the prince and would curl up next to him while he slept, keeping watch over him throughout the night. He made chirping and squawking sounds while tilting his head curiously to one side.

However, any semblance of familial unity was what it appeared.

Despite her efforts to uphold the grace and dignity expected of a Targaryen princess, Rhaenyra couldn't conceal the sorrow etched on her face following the tragic passing of her second son, Lucerys. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from endless weeping; her cheeks were streaked with dirt, and her once lustrous Valyrian silver hair was now unkempt. Silently, she observed her fourth and fifth sons, lost in her own world of grief. But deep down, Rhaenyra couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that consumed her.

"Rhaenyra ñāmar. (Aunt Rhaenyra.)"

Rhaenyra lifted her head to notice her niece's eyes fixated on her. "Daor. (No.)" she finally spoke, shifting in her seat. "We both knew it was the Caltrops who caused all this. None of this would have happened had it not been for their scheming and ambitions. Your father can punish them for their crimes; may they all burn. Especially that one-eyed monster Aemond." She practically spat out that name. "Those Stormlanders we captured deserve not much better; they should suffer for rising against their liege lord."

Aemma was shocked as she tried to make sense of Rhaenyra's sudden change in demeanor. She had always looked up to her aunt as a little girl, but now she couldn't help but question her current state of mind. Was this thirst for vengeance a sign of weakness or a necessary evil in times of war? She couldn't help but worry if the same madness that afflicted her father was now affecting her aunt. As she pondered the implications of her aunt's actions, Aemma couldn't shake the unease that settled in her stomach. Aegon, Jaehaerys, Baela, Rhaena, Joffrey, Aemon, and Baelon – would they, too, lose themselves to the darkness that now seemed to cloud their family's legacy? What was the point of winning the war if they were losing the battle within themselves? How could they hope to rule the Seven Kingdoms if they could not even control their own dark impulses and inhuman desires?

"I know it hurts, auntie. Losing Luke. I miss Viserys too, but… Don't let yourself fall victim to the same madness as father did, lest you risk becoming another Maegor."

"At least Maegor knew how to deal with traitors. He broke the Faith Militant, and we will break all who challenge us."

Aemma shook her head slowly as she sank into her chair, the weight of emotional exhaustion and depletion heavy upon her. She couldn't help but think that it was a blessing her grandfather, King Viserys, was not alive to see what had become of their family, as it would have indeed broken his heart. She could see the deep mourning in Rhaenyra's eyes, a grief only a mother could understand. Despite the hurtful words spoken by her aunt, Aemma held onto the belief that they were not truly meant. With time, she hoped that Rhaenyra would find solace and begin to heal. The news of Daeron and Viserys' deaths hit her hard, but she knew her wounds would eventually mend with patience and time. Healing was a slow process but an essential one that was needed to move forward.

Within that moment, Aemma's and Rhaenyra's ladies-in-waiting, Dyana and Elinda Massey, made their way to the children: Saena, Aemon, and Baelon. Though Elinda had difficulty managing her mistress's sons due to Stormcloud's protective instincts, Dyana quietly approached Aemma and whispered into her ear. "Princess, some of the White Worm's servants said the prisoners know something," she said silently.

"And no one else suspects a thing?"

"No, uh, at least I-I don't think so… Shall I―"

"No. No, I'll take care of it, Dyana." Aemma rose from her chair. "Can you watch my daughter for me? It won't take long."

"If… As you wish, princess," Dyana said nervously, averting her eyes from the princess. She knew something was about to happen when Aemma's eyes shifted from soothing and understanding to stern and severe. If a chill hadn't crawled up and down Dyana's spine, the heat from her mistress would've made her sweat.

Aemma was confident that Saena would be well taken care of. She had complete faith in Dyana to ensure her daughter's well-being. Whether the rumors about a particular prisoner were true or false, Aemma was determined to investigate the matter personally. If the White Worm attempted to contact her via a third party, they must also be trying to reach out to her brothers as well. Aemma's once gentle and compassionate expression had now transformed into a severe, stern look in her piercing purple eyes. Beneath her stunning beauty lay the fire of a dragon, ready to emerge if her loved ones were ever threatened.

She was the blood of Old Valyria.

…she was her father's daughter.

Red Keep ― Black Cells…

Larys Strong was confined in shackles, isolated from the rest of the high-ranking leaders of the Caltrops. Despite being captured by the Young Dragon, the Clubfoot couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at being one of the few individuals in the Seven Kingdoms to have evaded him for such an extended period. With his unapologetic, cunning, and ruthless nature, through his own spy network and informants, Larys orchestrated covert operations and orchestrated schemes to undermine his enemies and further his own agenda. He played both sides of the game, pitting rival factions against each other and exploiting their weaknesses for his own gain. It made him a dangerous adversary. He had always been a master manipulator, using his charm and intelligence to gain the trust of those around him. Even in his current predicament, Larys was already plotting his next move. With his mind constantly at work, Larys plotted and schemed, using every ounce of his cunning to turn the tables in his favor.

"Lord Larys Strong."

Larys glanced upwards and spotted Princess Aemma Targaryen peering at him from behind the cell bars, her gaze icy and unwavering. Despite the situation, he flashed her a warm smile, concealing his deceitful intentions. With a firm grip on his cane, Larys fought to rise to his feet, but his severe right clubfoot made it an uphill task, causing him to drag it along the ground as he stood. "Ah. Greetings, princess. I don't get many visitors these days," he said calmly, his voice dripping with false sincerity. His eyes trace her up and down. "Still beautiful as ever. Just like your mother."

"Don't flatter me," Aemma coolly dismisses. "You know something, don't you?"

"Oh? I'm afraid you'll need to… clarify the charges I'm being accused of."

"You're already facing a long list of crimes you've committed, Lord Larys. Mutilation, arson, patricide, fratricide, conspiracy, aiding and abetting, treason… I could go on forever. You've spent several years befriending those with power, getting close enough to win their trust and integrate yourself within their inner circle. Once you've accumulated enough power and influence, you take advantage of those around you like moving pieces on a cyvasse board. All for the sake of ambition alone. We all know where your true loyalties are. It was only a matter of time before your luck inevitably ran out. So you might as well drop the friendly facade."

"Hmm, hmm. You are your father's daughter, princess," Larys chuckled. "The people are slowly starting to turn on King Aeonar. A man called 'the Shepherd' is preaching against him."

"'Who exactly is this 'Shepherd?'" Aemma asks, interrogating him.

"No one knows—some begging brother, mostlike. The Shepherd's a madman, but crowds of hundreds came to hear him speak. He appeared in Cobbler's Square one day and started preaching that your father is in thrall to demons. It's only a matter of time before the city treads closer to being on the verge of an uprising, princess."

"Madness. Madness and stupidity. How have you come to know this from inside your cell? We've ensured that every nook and cranny was dealt with when you, Beatrice, and the other Caltrops leaders were captured."

"As I've said, princess, I have my ways. Should the worst come to pass, I've already set my contingency plans in motion. Your father was a brilliant spymaster, one of the best the realm could offer. A worthy challenge for my intellect."

"Even after all this, you still think this is a game, Lord Larys?" Aemma said with disgust. "You're even more despicable than I thought." She leaned in closer. "If I could do to you what father did to Beatrice right here, right now, I would." Aemma closed her eyes, focusing on taking slow, measured breaths to regain her composure. Despite her intense aversion to Larys, she understood the importance of not succumbing to such strong emotions. She was acutely aware that yielding to such feelings was one of the fundamental emotions and potential catalysts for the Targaryen madness. Don't do it, Aemma. This is precisely what he wants you to do. "But Jay is insistent on keeping you alive long enough to stand trial for what you've done."

"Hmm. Smart boy, your brother," Larys complimented. "But I fear it will already be too late by then for anyone to be the judge, jury, and potential executioners, princess. The stage has already been set for the final two phases. Either way, the House of the Dragon will never be the same again. You can't stop what's coming, I'm afraid."

Aemma moved swiftly and extended her arm through the cold, iron bars of Larys's cell. She seized him by the collar with a fierce grip and yanked him back with all her might. The sound of Larys's face striking against the unforgiving metal echoed through the black cells, punctuated by a small, pained groan from the Clubfoot. Aemma allowed herself a slight, self-satisfied smirk; she had managed to exact at least a small measure of retribution, even if it seemed petty to others. It was a small revenge, but it was enough to satisfy her for now. She had been waiting for this moment for so long, ever since Larys had betrayed the crown and contributed to causing her family so much pain. She had endured Larys's taunts and insults for far too long, and now it was her turn to show him that House Targaryen would decide his fate once the war was truly over. Pray to the gods that some in this life are more merciful than we are, Lord Strong, because you will find none here. The damage you have done is beyond all reckoning: a traitor's crime, a traitor's punishment. "Your words will disappear, Lord Larys. Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear." As she turned to leave, Aemma knew that stooping to Larys's level was beneath her, and yet, she couldn't deny the gratification she felt. It was a conflicting mix of emotions, but she allowed herself to revel in that moment's fleeting sense of retribution. Deep down, she knew that true justice would come in a different form, but for now, she couldn't resist the temptation to assert her power over Larys.

As she ascended the winding staircase, leaving the black cells behind her, Aemma's mind raced with the weight of the information she carried from her interrogation. The words of Larys Strong echoed in her ears, his alleged final two-phased plans that seemed to echo the potential damage it could cause to House Targaryen as a whole and alter the balance of power in ways no one could not yet fully comprehend. Even if it was a bluff, Aemma couldn't take that chance. She knew that time was of the essence and that every moment wasted could mean the difference between success and failure. Aemma hurriedly made her way toward the Tower of the Hand, intent on sharing the newly acquired knowledge with her grandfather and the council.

King's Landing ― Aegon's High Hill…

Jacaerys stood at the highest point of Aegon's High Hill, gazing over the city below. His days were consumed by endless tasks - pouring over reports, holding meetings with knights and lords, and meticulously planning for the future. Despite his efforts to keep his family together after the tragic deaths of Lucerys and Viserys, he felt pulled in every direction. It was a constant struggle, much like what his uncle and cousins must have experienced as they navigated the complexities of politics and bureaucracy. As he made his way back into the Red Keep, the sound of thumping and grunting caught his attention. Investigating further, he found one of his cousins, Aegon the Younger, punching a tree. He recognized his stance as the Lykiri Mere's ancient martial arts, repeated open-hand palm strikes and high kicks. The tree bore the scars of his frustrations, with bits of bark scattered on the ground and small bloodstains marring the wood. "You'd make better use of your hands and legs, cousin," he called out.

Aegon once again delivered a forceful open-hand palm strike against the sturdy, weathered tree. He let out a deep grunt as his hand made contact with the rough bark, the impact reverberating through his arm. "You clearly haven't seen how the Lykirī Mēre trains its acolytes, Jace," he panted, his breath heavy with effort. With precision, he delivered two more strikes, followed by a swift kick, before relaxing his stance. "The elders," he emphasized with another strike, "first see that you're disciplined. Educate you on ancient Valyrian history. Next, you're taught to ignore physical pain and embrace fear, not run from it." Another kick landed solidly. "Then―Ha! Then, put you through a series of tests. Yah!" A final palm strike hit the tree, sending more bark flying and staining the wood with fresh blood. "And even then, most initiates don't make it that far. Some of them break under pressure or die."

"Sounds brutal."

"Of course, it's brutal, Jace. It's fucking hell," Aegon wipes the sweat from his brow. "But… the results speak for themselves. After years of meditation and training, the Lykirī Mēre's methods help unlock your body's latent potential. It makes you stronger, faster, and more elusive. But it can make one rather… unorthodox. It helps get inside your opponent's head during a fight and throw them off-balance since no one's ever seen it since the Doom wiped out Old Valyria. The better skilled you are, the higher you ascend in the ranks. A single Lykirī Mēre assassin in their prime is worth ten men; even the Faceless Men of Braavos gave us a wide berth."

"Then why punch a tree? What did it ever do to you?" Jacaerys asked.

Aegon glanced to his left and then to his right.

"There's a story behind that, isn't there?"

"I, uh… had hay fever when I was 12. Viserys, as a joke, suggested I should punch a tree in retaliation, so I did, and after a while, the sneezing stopped. I've done it ever since."

Jacaerys and Aegon fell silent when Viserys was brought up. The mention of their lost brother brought back bittersweet memories of their childhood together. The courtyard was filled with a heavy silence, a poignant reminder of the brothers they had lost. Viserys, Daeron, Lucerys… Jace and Aegon missed them dearly, and the absence of their respective brothers left a noticeable void that couldn't be filled. "There's just too many empty seats," Jace admitted.

"Yeah. There are," Aegon agreed. "Fucking Caltrops, fuck Beatrice, fuck them all."

"They'll get their comeuppance. When the war is over."

"Tell that to the smallfolk. People in Cobbler's Square and Flea Bottom love to gossip."

"I heard what happened. You were involved in a tavern brawl."

"Ugh, I'm never going to hear the end of it. Yes, that was me. Neck-deep in ale, forced to listen to lies being spread around like a disease contracted from a Lyseni orgy, an old fool preaching nonsense and religious hatred: all lots of fun and made to turn a scared crowd into an angry mob, I'm sure. My uncle already knows about it, and so does Ser Luthor, commander of the City Watch. Mother and grandfather already gave me quite an earful afterward."

"It's hard… with tongues waging in places where they don't belong. I know. I've been there many times," Jacaerys sympathized.

"Only it's not only targeted at you, it's also aimed at your entire family," Aegon nodded. "I just wanted them to keep their mouths shut. It's more complicated than it looks."

"Fear can make them desperate and believe almost anything."

Aegon meticulously wrapped the coarse bandage cloths around his hands and arm, ignoring the sharp, stinging, and burning sensation that coursed through his palm. Despite the discomfort, he found solace in the rhythmic movements of his martial arts practice against the rugged trunk of a sturdy tree. Each impact resonated through his body, releasing the pent-up frustrations. But even as he sought refuge, the effect of his strikes against the unyielding tree took its toll, causing sharp pain to shoot through his hands with each powerful blow. "Ah. Okay, I may have overdone it… again," he conceded.

"I'd imagine you were reprimanded many times when we were children," Jacaerys raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes. Yes, I was. Me, Viserys, Daeron… we were the troublemakers. It drove everyone crazy. My father would always say, 'You're a Targaryen, and Targaryens don't act like fools.' It was his way of telling us, 'I'm not mad at you; I'm just disappointed.' Which hurts just as deep."

"Fathers can be like that."

"I know. Sometimes… I almost envied you and Luke. Having Ser Laenor Velaryon as a father."

Jacaerys paused. It had been years since he last thought about his late legal father. He had always believed Laenor to be his biological father, but there had always been a nagging feeling that he and his brothers differed from their Targaryen cousins. He never forgot the awkward glances, the unspoken accusations, and Ser Vaemond's attempt to challenge Jacaerys's status as heir to Driftmark at the hearing the previous year. Although it had failed, some still suspected him of being Ser Harwin Strong's bastard son. "It wasn't all that bad growing up," he downplayed it. "He taught us how to catch fish… and sing sailors' shanties. He had a weakness for cake."

"Really? I never thought of him having a sweet tooth," Aegon raised an eyebrow.

The two cousins sat in thoughtful silence, surrounded by the nostalgic sounds of gulls calling above the bay and the lively chatter of people on the bustling city streets below. They found themselves lost in childhood memories, each in their trance.

"I miss Luke," Jacaerys admitted.

"I know, Jace," Aegon sympathized. "Daeron, Viserys… I miss them too." Just be fortunate you never had a twin. Losing a brother is one thing, but when a twin dies… it's like losing a part of yourself. You're never going to get over it.

At that moment, Aegon and Jacaerys caught sight of a mysterious woman in white making her way toward the Red Keep. Her hood was pulled low, concealing her face, yet an air of intrigue surrounded her, causing the Velaryon and Targaryen princes to regard her arrival with heightened suspicion. Who was she, and what business did she have at the seat of power in King's Landing? Was she a friend, foe, potential ally, or a dangerous adversary? Whatever the truth, her sudden appearance had set the court on edge, and Aegon and Jacaerys knew something was up.

"Where does she think she's going?" Aegon narrowed his eyes.

"Something doesn't seem right," Jacaerys admitted.

Chapter End

Author's Note: Well, even a Targaryen princess as gentle as Aemma does have her moments when her inner dragon comes out. But even then she can reel herself in so as to not go too far. With what Aemma has learned from interrogating Larys Strong, what do you guys think the Clubfoot's two-phased plan is? How does it affect the outcome? And with Jacaerys and Aegon reminiscing over their brothers, the White Worm herself shows up to the Red Keep. What purpose do you think Mysaria has? Find out next time.

C.E.W: It seems everyone is on edge now, this war has gone on and tested everybody to their limits. Aegon has already lashed out against the Shepherd for the way he talked about his family. Rhaenyra is in grief and wants the Caltrops to suffer due to them starting that war that has already costed her two nephews and a son. Even gentle and sweet Aemma appears on edge with Larys Strong who is no doubt up to something.

Larys Strong has a breakout plan no doubt, which chaos coming from the Storming of the Dragonpit can give him his perfect getaway.

As Mysaria, her appearance might have something to do with the unrest in the capital. She has contacts in the city and even she is worried, and her reach doesn't go much further than that.

Questions:

How far is Aeonar away from Harrenhal?

―A day and a half or two

Has Tyland Lannister talked to the Blacks?

―Yes

Is Baela due any day now?

―Yes

Are Vermithor and Silverwing in the Dragonpit?

―No, they're both on the coast

rogerlopez99: Another great chapter that I just read, looks like Rhaneyra is slowly going into madness but to me it just a stage of grief, being crippled, her dragon dead and her nephews and cousin are all killed.

The scene with Aemma and Larys was a great moment, Larys is a dangerous person even when he is lock up he got information, there was a theory going on that Larys is a Warg because of the rats that are scene in the show, maybe that how he got info despite being imprison, Aemma wants to kill him but she not her father.

Jacaerys and Aegon scene was a sweet touch, but looks like someone has enter the red keep, is it Mysaria or Alys Rivers who knows but i can't wait for the next chapter.

question

1. There a theory going on about Larys Strong being a warg in the show, what do you think of that

―A little on the fence about it, but I doubt it

2. Is the Shepard followers growing more

―Can't spoil anything

3. Even if the caltrop is done, the slow decline of House Targaryen is inevitable right

―They won't be the same again

randomdude24: Well Aemma, Jacaerys, and Rhaenyra are all grieving for Luke and Viserys in their own way. The pain of losing a son, brother, or cousin who were all close is something that might never heal entirely.

Larys Strong, say what you want about him even chained up in the black cells he is still dangerous. I have a couple guesses on his plan to destroy the house of the dragon. However he's a character that I've never really understood. Everything he does is for power but he turns his cloak so often you can't guess who is loyal to.

Questions,

Rhaenyra, has the madness taken her or is she just in state of grief?

―Just in a state of grief

Could you provide a list all the dragons in the dragonpit? Followup to that, any dragons excluding the Cannibal on dragonstone? Trying to keep track of all remaining dragons

―So far, there are a few unnamed ones but Stormcloud is the newest dragon. The Cannibal is the only wild dragon left on Dragonstone.

Unwin Peake, has he reached a point he has given up on the caltrop cause and labeled his grandsons as lost causes? Would he put aside his ambition for the survival of his house?

―He'd have to