King's Landing…

Secluded within the grand halls of the Grand Sept, Queen Alicent sought solace in her religious customs' tranquility. With its towering arches and intricate stained glass windows, the Grand Sept was a sanctuary. Here, she could lay bare her heart and soul, seeking guidance and comfort from the gods. Surrounded by the hallowed silence, she found solace in the flickering glow of votive prayer candles, their gentle flames casting dancing shadows on the marble walls. And as she knelt before the altar, her tears mingling with the flickering candlelight, she carefully lit each candle with utmost reverence, her hand trembling slightly under the weight of sorrow for the departed. Alicent's mind wandered back to happier times as the soft light illuminated the sacred space. Her childhood sweetheart, her sons, her daughter, Rhaenyra… a time when her family was whole and united. But now, the passage of time seemed to compress as if the weight of their disintegration bore down upon her. She could still hear the echoes of their laughter, the warmth of their embraces, but those memories were fading, slipping away like sand through her fingers.

With each candle she lit, Alicent whispered the names of her loved ones, their faces etched in her memory. "Evelyne Florent… King Viserys Targaryen… Lucerys Velaryon…" she then paused. With each flicker of the candle flames, Alicent's hope flickered too, like a fragile flame threatened by a gust of wind, before taking a deep, shaky breath. "Alaena Targaryen… Daeron Targaryen… V-Viserys Targaryen…" As the hours passed, Alicent's prayers became a whispered mantra, a lifeline in the storm of her emotions. She poured her heart into each word, her voice growing hoarse with the weight of her grief. In the quiet solitude of the Grand Sept, Alicent found a sanctuary where she could confront her pain and seek solace. The flickering candles became her companions, their gentle glow a reminder that even in the darkest times, there was still light to be found.

After extinguishing the candle, Alicent rose with a graceful fluidity. The flickering candlelight danced in her eyes as she extinguished the flame, casting a soft glow upon her porcelain skin. Standing up leisurely, she straightened her gown, the fabric cascading around her like a silk waterfall. Upon departing the Grand Sept, the hallowed echoes of prayers and hymns still reverberating in their ears, Alicent's older brother, Ser Gwayne, reached out and gently took her hand in his. His touch was protective and comforting, reassuring that she was safe in his presence. With a nod of gratitude, she allowed him to lead her back to the Red Keep. The city was alive with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares, children playing in the cobblestone alleys, and the distant clatter of horses' hooves. But amidst the vibrant tapestry of everyday life, a sudden commotion erupted from the nearby Street of the Sisters, capturing their attention like a siren's call.

"*RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!*"

The resonating, draconic call captured Alicent and Gwayne's attention, causing them to gaze toward the heavens. They witnessed Vaelor soaring through the sky, accompanied by Caraxes, Vermithor, Silverwing, and Sheepstealer, who followed closely behind. However, it was evident that the Bronze Fury faced difficulties maintaining flight due to the tears in his wings. Despite the injuries, the Bronze Fury fought to remain airborne after his battle with Seasmoke and Tessarion, rendering him somewhat clumsy as he ungracefully touched the ground. Vermithor's landing was rough and unsteady, causing him to stumble slightly before regaining his balance.

The thunderous clatter of horse hooves racing down the Street of the Sisters echoed through the narrow alleys, sending the smallfolk into a frenzy. The unsuspecting smallfolk, going about their daily routines, were startled by the commotion and hastily scattered in all directions. The sound grew louder and louder until, finally, a white stallion burst into view, its hooves pounding against the cobblestones with relentless fury, forcing the smallfolk to seek safety and make way for the oncoming horse desperately. Despite the white stallion speeding past them, Alicent and Gwayne recognized it was a visibly distraught Aegon the Younger. With his head bowed low and his figure hunched over, he avoided making eye contact with anyone, his grip on the reins so tight that his knuckles turned white. The wind whipped through Aegon's silver Valyrian hair, his cloak billowing behind him, as he pushed his horse to its limits. Since learning about the death of his twin brother, VIserys, Aegon was emotionally devastated. As his horse thundered through the Street of the Sisters, its hooves continued to pound against the cobblestones, echoing through the narrow streets, past the bewildered smallfolk; their eyes followed him with trepidation.

No doubt these people will find out what's happened or what will happen the longer this war goes on. Gwayne nudged his sister. "Come. I know it isn't easy as a mother, but…"

Alicent said nothing. Her eyes were puffy and inflamed, and tear marks traced her cheeks. The weight of her grief was palpable, evident in the strained and raspy quality of her voice. It was a voice that had been pushed to its limits, having endured intense and prolonged crying following the devastating news from Farrier about the situation in Tumbleton, along with the deaths of Prince Lucerys and her third son, Prince Viserys. The pain of losing two sons was so profound that she couldn't find any words to express the depths of her grief. Her heart felt like it had been ripped to shreds, the pain searing through her veins with every beat. The loss of Daeron and Viserys was a wound that would never fully heal. The realization that she would never hear their voices or see their faces again was a crushing blow that threatened to shatter her fragile spirit. Without a word, Gwayne escorted the queen back to the Red Keep.

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Otto led the Black Council towards the outer courtyard, where they patiently waited for the royal family's arrival. Despite the strain on his body, Corlys supported himself with his cane as he pushed his wife's wheelchair. Their granddaughter, Baela, accompanied them on this solemn journey. The news of Rhaenys awakening from her coma brought joy to Corlys and Baela, but the Queen Who Never Was remained as silent as a tomb. Rhaenyra and her sons, Jacaerys, Aemon, and Baelon, also joined them. The usually lively courtyard now stood eerily quiet, with only the sound of footsteps reverberating against the stone walls. Gwayne and Alicent returned to the keep and stood alongside the rest of the council, but there was no grand celebration or fanfare. Instead, a somber atmosphere hung as if the entire realm mourned.

As Aemma carefully descended from Silverwing, her graceful movements slowed by the weight of sorrow that burdened her. Her once lustrous silver Valyrian hair, which cascaded down her back like a waterfall, was now tangled and messy, reflecting the turmoil that had consumed her. Her fair face, once the epitome of innocence and joy, was now marred with tears and redness, evidence of the deep sorrow that had taken hold of her heart. Her violet eyes, usually filled with a spark of life and warmth, now glistened with deep sadness. While Aemma took her unsteady steps towards her mother, her elegant dark gray riding attire bore the marks of Viserys' dried blood. It served as a haunting reminder of the battle at Tumbleton that had claimed her brother's life. The once pristine leather fabric, now stained and torn, mirrored the shattered state of their world. "Mama,~" she choked a sob, overwhelmed with grief. Her body trembled with the weight of her emotions. In that moment, she stumbled into Alicent's waiting arms, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of her mother.

Alicent, too, was consumed by her grief, her heart shattered by the loss of another son. But at that moment, she found the strength to hold her daughter and offer her the solace and support they both desperately needed. As a mother, Alicent has now lost two sons and a nephew, who, despite having no Velaryon blood, meant everything to Rhaenyra. It wasn't just her loss, but her best friend's as well. Daeron, Luke, and Viserys, wherever they are now, they were in heaven. Their pain is ended, and their suffering is over. But that didn't make things much easier for those left behind. "It-it-it's okay, sweetling," she sniffles.

Aegon the Younger, after finally reaching the summit of Aegon's High Hill, dismounted from his horse, his heart heavy with sorrow. The servants hurriedly took charge of his stallion, sensing the weight of his emotions. Overwhelmed by grief, Aegon found no solace. "Oh no, no, noo…!~" he lamented and stuttered, pouring out all his sorrow for the death of his twin. Tears streamed down his face, his anguish echoing through the air. Despite the well-meaning attempts of maids and household knights to offer solace or lend a helping hand, Aegon pushed them aside, unwilling to be consoled or comforted as his pain was just too raw. With each strike of his clenched fists against the unforgiving ground, Aegon sought to release his pain, anger, and longing. The physical pain, however, was a mere echo of the emotional torment that ravaged his soul.

Amid his despair, Aegon's mind wandered back to the memories he had shared with Viserys. They were twins, each of them their constant companion. They had been inseparable since birth. They had shared everything, from their dreams and aspirations to their deepest fears and secrets, their mischievous pranks filling the halls of the Red Keep. Their bond was unbreakable. But now, with Viserys dead, Aegon felt like he had lost a part of himself, creating a void that couldn't be closed. It was these memories that both comforted and tormented him, reminding him of what was forever gone. He knew that no matter how hard he struck or how loud he cried, it would never bring Viserys back to life. He would never indeed be whole again. Aegon's body grew weary, his muscles aching from the exertion, but he persisted.

Jaehaerys, however, remained unusually quiet. The events that had unfolded at Tumbleton had left him burdened with a heavy weight of responsibility. As the eldest among the next generation of Targaryens, he felt a profound helplessness for not being there to protect Luke and Viserys from the Two Betrayers. Despite avenging their deaths by killing Hugh Hammer and Ulf White, the weight of his failure remained largely unalleviated. Before their return to King's Landing, he painstakingly fashioned a makeshift urn out of stone with his personalized crafting tools, carefully preserving Lucerys Velaryon's ashes within it and securing it with the tattered remnants of his clothing. When he approached Rhaenyra and Jacaerys, clutching the urn in his hands, Jaehaerys found himself unable to meet their gaze. No one knew whether it was due to regret or remorse. Instead, he silently extended his hand, offering the urn containing Luke's remains to his aunt and cousin. It was a solemn gesture, a way for him to express how sorry he felt. I'm sorry, aunt Rhaenyra. Jace…

Rhaenyra and Jacaerys were both taken aback by Jaehaerys' gesture. Their eyes filled with tears as they realized the significance of the urn he held. They reached out to take it from him, their hands trembling as they felt the weight of Luke's ashes in their grasp.

"You… did what you could, Jaehaerys," Rhaenyra choked, trying to hold back a sob, her eyes brimming with tears as she held the urn close to her chest. "Don't… Don't blame yourself for this."

Jacaerys nodded in agreement, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, cousin," he said, his voice choked with emotion mid-sentence. "…for bringing Luke home to us."

Nettles, a dragonseed born into a lowly lineage, continued to mourn the loss of Viserys, the Targaryen prince who took her under his tutelage to train her as a dragonrider… and the one who lay with her, took her maidenhead. Although their liaison was brief, Nettles couldn't deny that Viserys's death deeply hurt her. Why, Serys? Why… why did you have to go? It-It's not fair…! Even so, Nettles found herself growing more and more alienated from the rest of the Targaryens. Despite the acceptance of three of them, Nettles couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider among them. Her origins as a baseborn commoner made her acutely aware of the stark differences between herself and the true dragonlords of Old Valyria. She could sense the whispers and the sideways glances, the subtle reminders that she was not one of them, no matter how much she tried to prove herself. The feeling of not truly belonging weighed heavily on her heart, like an invisible burden she couldn't shake off.

As Sheepstealer gave a warning growl, Nettles turned to see Vaelor approaching. "*Grrrrrrrr!*"

"*Grrrrrrr!*" Vaelor growled menacingly, baring his teeth at the wild dragon – forcing Sheepstealer to back down in submission. As the alpha, the Swiftrunner wouldn't hesitate to assert his dominance over the other dragons if they seemingly stepped out of line. In terms of size, he was only twenty feet smaller than Vhagar, the Queen of All Dragons – and, perhaps, the only dragon large enough to face her head-on to challenge her for ultimate supremacy amongst their kind. With a deep rumble, Vaelor crouched down, lowering his colossal body to allow his rider to dismount.

Aeonar walked away from Vaelor, cradling the lifeless body of his son, Prince Viserys, in his arms, enveloped in the black banner adorned with House Targaryen's sigil of the red three-headed dragon. The weight of his son's lifeless body in his arms seemed to fuel his every step, heavy and purposeful, each one echoing with the weight of destructive levels of hatred and fury. While the rest of his family displayed sorrow and grief, Aeonar's face betrayed no signs of despair, suffering, or melancholy. Instead, a fleeting glimpse into his blood-stained eyes revealed an inferno of anger, fury, hatred, wrath, malice, and an insatiable thirst for revenge. Having lost his youngest son to Aemond Targaryen and now his third to the Two Betrayers, Aeonar was beyond reason, consumed by his madness, and so great was his rage that he would hunt down every Caltrop sympathizer, every supporter, every ally, and he would make them suffer for their insolence.

No mercy would be shown, no quarter given.

Do the malcontents think they'll be safe from his wrath? After what they've done? Oh, they were wrong. They had hurt him for the very last time. If he must suffer, then the world will suffer with him. No matter what they do or where they run and hide, the Young Dragon's web of influence will find and burn them out.

No matter the cost.

Aeonar's gaze briefly met Alicent's, his wife and mother of his children. Her eyes were filled with tears, her face etched with sorrow. But Aeonar's expression remained unchanged. He turned away from her, his determination unwavering, as he strode past her and the Black Council.

It was Otto who then broke the silence. "Let the Silent Sisters ready the princes for their final journey," he instructed calmly. "And riding behind them―"

"No!" Aegon choked. Still trembling with sorrow, he wasn't prepared to accept it. "D-Don't touch him…"

"And riding behind them, his mother the Queen, and with her, the Princess Rhaenyra―"

"Stop it!" Rhaenyra shrieked, still grieving for her son's death.

Daemon, his patience worn thin, stormed towards Otto with a determined stride, his frustration emanating from every fiber of his being. With a swift and forceful motion, he reached out and firmly seized hold of Otto's arm, his grip tight and unyielding. "You never seem to learn when to shut the fuck up, do you, Otto?" he menacingly whispered.

Otto glared at his rival. "Let no one say I do not grieve, Daemon," he whispered calmly. "Viserys was my grandson. I loved him. And I will not have him die in vain."

"Again, you're missing the point. If you all had acted when you had the chance… Beatrice's line would've been extinguished long ago. And those three boys would still be alive, Otto."

Although appearing calm and composed on the outside, deep down, Otto was furious. How dare Daemon question his loyalty and dedication to the crown? How dare he accuse him of something so ridiculously heinous and entirely beyond his control? The audacity of Daemon's malicious implication that the Hand of the King, the highest appointed position of authority in the Seven Kingdoms, second only to the king himself, was incapable of foreseeing Beatrice Peake's coup attempt sooner. He had dedicated countless hours to ensuring the safety and stability of the realm. Yet, Daemon's insinuation seemed to suggest that Otto had failed in his duty and had been blind to the dangers lurking in the shadows. And how dare he insinuate that they were somehow complicit in the deaths of Daeron, Lucerys, and Viserys? That two of them were his grandsons was a cruel jab. And now, Daemon's words seemed to suggest that all three of their deaths were not only a result of the chaos of war but also a consequence of Otto's and Aeonar's inaction. How dare he insinuate that the Blacks had not taken proactive measures? The war had been a relentless struggle, with battles fought on multiple fronts and sacrifices made by both sides. To suggest that the Blacks had not fought tooth and nail to protect their own was a gross distortion of the truth. But as much as he wanted to lash out and defend himself, Otto knew he had to maintain his composure. He couldn't let the Rogue Prince's words get to him as they usually did. But Otto knew the truth. He had done everything in his power to try to stop it from happening. The blame lay squarely on those who sought to sow chaos and destruction in the realm, who placed their self-interests above the greater good of all. And as he met Daemon's gaze with a cold, unwavering stare, he silently vowed never again to let the words of a mere provocateur wound his pride.

"Father," Baela said.

"Daemon," Jaehaerys finally spoke up after moments of silence, breaking the heavy silence that filled the air. Glancing at his great-uncle/father-in-law, the Silver Dragon remained collected and composed despite experiencing personal turmoil. "…that's enough," he stated, his voice steady yet firm.

For his part, Daemon bristled at the dismissal, his own temper flaring. But Jaehaerys held his ground. However, the Rogue Prince was amused by his grandnephew/son-in-law standing up to him. Jaehaerys may have his father's looks and mind; he may have his mother's kind heart and protective instincts, but Daemon, for a brief moment, could see a little bit of his late brother King Viserys in this boy. And as they looked into each other's eyes, the Targaryens had a glimmer of understanding and respect for the other. Without a word, Daemon finally relented.

The funeral was to begin soon.

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Following the ancient customs and traditions of House Targaryen, the royal family opted for a private funeral instead of a public ceremony at the Grand Sept. Behind the fortified walls of the Red Keep, a Valyrian altar served as the solemn setting for this intimate gathering. Aeonar, holding a torch ablaze, approached the pyre to initiate the cremation of his son's body. Daeron and Viserys… two of his sons, were unjustly taken from him. While justice had been served for Viserys' death with the killing of his murderers, one other culprit remained at large. Aeonar had received reports suggesting that Aemond had miraculously survived Jaehaerys' assassination attempt at Harrenhal. Though defeated and poisoned, he was somehow still alive. Aeonar had never come across this Alys Rivers before but based on the information provided by Jaehaerys. If the rumors surrounding her and the truth behind Jaehaerys' account held any weight, Alys Rivers might have possessed mystical powers that had kept Daeron's killer alive.

As the flames engulfed his son's body, Aeonar's mind raced with thoughts of vengeance.

Aegon, overwhelmed by sorrow and completely disoriented, made his way toward the altar with a heavy heart, clutching precious keepsakes to pay tribute to his twin. He held the wooden practice sword they had wielded during their carefree duels as children within his grasp. "I-I'll miss you… Viserys," he whispered, his voice strained from mourning. Casting a final glance at the funeral pyre, he solemnly tossed the training sword into the engulfing flames.

Aemma stepped forward, carrying the clothes she had lovingly knitted for her brother. Even though she could no longer mend them for Viserys, they held a special place in her heart. With tears in her eyes, she whispered, "Good… Goodbye, my dear brother…" as she gently placed the garments into the flames. She then turned to Aegon, resting her head on his shoulder while holding their daughter Saena close, finding solace in each other's embrace.

Jaehaerys witnessed the somber scene before him as each family member paid tribute to Viserys and Lucerys. His violet eyes were fixed on the altar, where flames consumed his brother's body. By his side stood Baela; her presence was a source of strength for him during this difficult time. Despite the advanced stage of her pregnancy, she refused to let her discomfort hinder her support for Jaehaerys, even as her due date approached. Her swollen belly, a testament to the new life growing within her, served as a reminder of the cycle of life and death, of the bittersweet nature of existence. Even if it caused her significant discomfort, Baela put up a solid front to stand by Jaehaerys and their kin.

"Come on, Jay. It's time," Baela patiently urged.

Together, they approached the altar. Delving into his pocket, Jaehaerys extracted a miniature marble sculpture depicting Viserys and his dragon, Maelyx. Every stroke of the chisel, every delicate curve, had been meticulously crafted to capture the essence of Viserys and Maelyx as a gift for his younger brother on his fifteenth nameday. The scratches and cuts on Jaehaerys' hands were a testament to the countless hours he had spent hunched over the marble, pouring his heart and soul into the creation. The sculpture in his hand seemed to grow heavier, a physical representation of the burden he carried for his family. But now, everything seemed to be slipping through his fingers, like grains of sand in an hourglass. Life is born, and life dies. But sometimes… life can either be saved or lost, regardless of circumstance. A family grows, new life is born, and bonds are formed. The pain of losing a life draws people close to honor the ones who died together. He hadn't had these thoughts since Laena Velaryon's funeral at Driftmark many years ago; oh, the irony wasn't lost on him that he would have the same thoughts about his brother and cousin. Time seemed to stand still as Jaehaerys gazed deeply into the flickering flames of the funeral pyre, lost in contemplation of the past, present, and future. The weight of their responsibilities as the eldest brother and cousin pressed heavily upon him, and they trusted him… however, Jaehaerys couldn't shake off the nagging feeling of helplessness for not being able to protect Daeron, Luke or Viserys from Aemond Targaryen or the Two Betrayers.

"Never again."

Jaehaerys placed the marble sculpture on the sacred altar beside his brother's body. The flames danced and flickered, casting an ethereal glow upon the sculpture.

Meanwhile, Aeonar's gaze was fixed upon the altar. The flickering flames of the pyre danced and crackled around his son's body, casting an ethereal glow upon the faces of Alicent and Rhaenyra as they approached with their tributes. As Alicent, with trembling hands, delicately placed Viserys' childhood pajamas upon the altar. With a heavy heart, she released the cherished garment into the fiery abyss, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Beside her, Rhaenyra held a treasured collection of books. These were the stories that had shaped her son's and nephew's lives, the tales that had ignited their imaginations and fueled their dreams. Each book held a piece of their souls, a part of their identity. With a steady hand, Rhaenyra surrendered the books to the consuming flames, their worn spines and dog-eared pages a testament to the countless hours spent lost in their pages.

Silent and unmoving, Aeonar observed the funeral pyre. The flames crackled and popped, sending sparks and embers into the evening sky. Aeonar clenched his fists, his draconic gauntlets digging into his palms. And then, in that poignant instant, a single tear of blood escaped from the Young Dragon's left eye, slowly making its way down his pale cheek. The tear was red, thick, warm, and carried a distinct smell of iron. "Ngh!" he muttered under his breath. Damn insolent worms! He quickly wiped it away with his sleeves, not wanting to show any perceived sign of emotional vulnerability in front of everyone. However, instead of erasing the evidence, it only smeared his face with his own blood, intensifying his already boiling rage. I'll kill them all. Every. Single. ONE OF THEM! They will. ALL. DIE!

Amid his escalating madness and derangement, Aeonar stood transfixed, his eyes fixed on the funeral pyre where Viserys' body was slowly turning to ash. Time seemed to stand still. As the flames danced and swirled, their orange and red hues reflecting his eyes as if they were mythical portals to another world, the smoke billowed, the sounds of crackling growing louder, echoing in his ears, drowning out all others, a vision began to form in his mind from the glowing embers. It seemed to whisper secrets in his ears, revealing glimpses of a forgotten past and a future yet to unfold. Within this mesmerizing display, Aeonar was drawn into a trance-like state, his consciousness tethered to the flickering flames. The world around him faded into obscurity, leaving only the visions the flames conjured. The smoke billowed and twisted, taking on ethereal shapes. In the flickering light, Aeonar witnessed a prophetic vision unfold before his very eyes—two powerful dragons locked in mortal combat. He saw them fighting each other in the skies over the realm's largest ruined castle, a battle that shook heaven and hell; their roars reverberating through the air, gallons of water as tall as the Fourteen Flames shooting into the skies above, threatening to swallow the earth as the Doom claimed Old Valyria, and from the remains, a horde of men, legions of them, slowly emerging from the concealed undergrowth, threatening to overwhelm whoever remained standing.

It was beautiful.

Yes… Yes, I see it now…

Aeonar smirked maliciously. He now understood what this means. What was the power of a dragon, inhumane levels of immunity to fire… next to the power of prophecy? The power of a Dreamer.

Even as others didn't recognize it, only one Targaryen did.

Daemon turned his head and saw the look in Aeonar's eyes. The Rogue Prince's instincts warned him that his nephew knew something but wouldn't reveal his intents or why.

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After extensive hours of research delving into Old Valyria's ancient history, meticulously scouring the vast libraries and archives for any semblance of clues, Aeonar stormed through the halls of the Red Keep. His relentless pursuit led him to the foreboding depths of the dungeon's second levels, where highborn captives and valuable hostages were held captive. Despite the late hour and the shroud of nightfall blanketing the sky, Aeonar was not backing down. The vision he had witnessed in the flickering flames from the altar's funeral pyre held a profound truth, and the countless volumes of historical tomes and ancient Valyrian scrolls, intricately intertwined, hinted at a connection that demanded validation from an external source. Yet, there existed only one person who possibly held the potential key to unlocking these enigmatic truths. Aeonar's footsteps stopped before a particular door as he turned the corner. Without hesitation and unwilling to delay any longer, he forcefully kicked the door open.

Within the dimly illuminated confines of the cell, Helaena Targaryen languished in a profound state of desolation and grief, her spirit still shattered by the death of her son. She had withdrawn from the world, refusing to eat, bathe, or even dare to speak to anyone. Not even the innocent presence of her four-year-old daughter, Jaehaera, could coax her mother out of this desolate state. When Jaehaera glanced up and saw Aeonar towering above them, fear coursed through her tiny frame, causing her to tremble. However, Aeonar paid no attention to the frightened child and instead focused solely on Helaena.

"These visions. You saw them too, didn't you?"

Helaena remained silent.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, girl!" Irritated, Aeonar grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Answer me: the dreams, the visions. You've seen them as I did. Tell me what you see."

Helaena again was quiet.

"TELL ME, DAMN YOU!"

Helaena let out a sharp cry. Aeonar's grasp on her hair tightened, the sharp steel tip of his draconic gauntlets dug into her scalp, while his other hand gripped her cheeks, compelling her to meet his gaze. Despite both being afflicted by the Targaryen madness, Helaena's descent into madness was not as profound as Aeonar's… or were they? Yet as she was compelled to look at him in the flickering candlelight, all she saw was a demon, a monster. A devil. Finally, she found her voice and spoke. "Fires of doom… Beasts soaring through the skies… One falls, another rises," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And?" Aeonar pressed, tugging her hair again.

"Fires of doom… Beasts soaring through the skies; one falls, another rises… Fires of doom; beasts soaring through… the skies. One falls… another rises…"

Aeonar huffed.

"A castle… ruined, melted… the center of the world…"

That caught Aeonar's attention. 'A castle ruined, melted, the center of the world…' "Harrenhal," he said under his breath, analyzing Helaena's words. "Harrenhal. Yes. Yes… I see it now." Putting together the pieces of the puzzle in his mind, Aeonar envisioned the prophesied dragon battle looming would inevitably take place above the ancient ruins of Harrenhal. With Aemond and Vhagar likely still present there, he anticipated a monumental clash that would determine the fate of House Targaryen. Feeling that he had gleaned all the information he could from Helaena, who was useless to him in her current state, Aeonar released his grip on her and turned to depart.

"Why…?"

Aeonar came to a sudden halt and cast a glance over his shoulder. Despite Helaena not meeting his eyes, he sensed she was speaking directly to him.

"Why do you hate us…?" Helaena asked silently.

"'Why'?! You ask that!?" Aeonar whipped around; his expression twisted with anger, wrath, and vengeance. "You, your brothers, your mother… All of you are nothing but mistakes! You should never have existed!" he seethed. Slamming the door behind him, the Young Dragon made his way through Maegor's Tunnels, secret passageways throughout the Red Keep that only the royal family were privy to.

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Emerging from the Red Keep and heading towards Visenya's Hill, Aeonar, concealed in his majestic Lykirī Mēre grandmaster's cloak and adorned in draconic steel plate armor, meticulously assembled all the necessary elements to bring the tumultuous Dance of the Dragons to its long-awaited conclusion. The streets of King's Landing were eerily quiet as Aeonar passed through them, the city's people seemingly holding their breath in anticipation of what was to come. Sticking to the shadows, none of the city's smallfolk nor the City Watch could see or hear him. Aeonar's movements were silent as they were swift. As he approached Visenya's Hill, Aeonar's mind raced with thoughts of the battles ahead. He had spent countless hours strategizing and preparing to bring the Dance of the Dragons to a close, alone if necessary.

For 30 years, Aeonar was trained and groomed to one day take his father's place on the Iron Throne. And now, with his leadership threatened, the Young Dragon wouldn't tolerate the malcontents' defiance anymore. When he reached the base of Visenya's Hill, Aeonar glanced at the Dragonpit before turning toward the rear exit atop the cliffs overlooking the Blackwater Rush. Clad in his grandmaster's cloak and draconic armor, he acrobatically descended the hill behind the Dragonpit with a blazing inferno in his eyes. He knew Aemond would not go down easily, not with Vhagar at his side.

But… he had a dragon of his own… one who could match the Queen of All Dragons.

Aeonar executed a flawless front flip, soaring through the air from the edge of the cliff, landing from one ledge to the other before gracefully landing on the ground behind the rear exit of the Dragonpit. As he landed, he couldn't help but look up and notice the presence of eight Dragonkeepers. However, his attention quickly shifted to Vaelor, who stood and rose to his maximum height. The Swiftrunner, who was once slightly bigger than Syrax and inevitably grew to become one of the largest dragons in the world who could challenge Vhagar, had been Aeonar's loyal companion for many years, ever since hatching from the petrified dragon egg his grandfather, Prince Baelon the Brave, placed beside his cradle. With his pitch-black scales and piercing crimson-red eyes, Vaelor bore an uncanny resemblance to the Black Dread himself. They had played together, hunted together, and fought side by side in numerous battles. Wherever Aeonar went, Vaelor would follow. It was an unbreakable bond that transcended the boundaries of Targaryen and their dragon. They were two kindred spirits, connected on a level that few could understand; their bond had been tested time and time again, only growing stronger with each trial.

Sensing his rider's approach, Vaelor moved closer. The ground beneath them trembled as he took a step forward, his massive claws digging into the earth. Lowering his head to look at Aeonar, a silent understanding passed between them. They had been through so much together, and this would be no different. Aeonar knew that Vaelor would protect him with his life, just as he would protect Vaelor in return. Aeonar ran his hand along Vaelor's massive snout, feeling the warmth of his scales beneath his draconic gauntlets.

"Issi ao ūbrie naejot arghutan? (Are you ready to hunt?)" Aeonar spoke in High Valyrian.

"*Grrrrrrrrr!*" Vaelor gave an affirmative draconic growl in response, a silent reassurance that they were in this together, no matter what lay ahead.

Chapter End

Author's Note: We're getting closer to the Battle Above the Gods Eye. Before we do, what were some takeaways from this chapter that struck out? There might be more included before we inevitably bridge the gap (I know how much you've all been asking for it, and believe me, I'm trying my best). Since Season 2 has aired, what comparisons and/or differences did you notice between that and this one? Let me know what you guys think and I'll catch you all later.

AkumaAxi: gain, you refused to answer my last question. is aenor going to remain mad forever that it? i dont like where this is going at all. after everything why ficus on Aenor madness? why is it that it's only him that suffers it? i hope it won't be permanent.

―I can't spoil anything. You'll have to continue reading each chapter to find out the results.

Mr9n6s: Another great hint at what your next story might be?

―Once I'm done with "Fire and Blood", I think I'll be taking a break for a while for my mental health.

XavierWright: ...Damn. It's all coming full circle.

I suppose Aegon and Aemma will be leaning on each other for support? Will we ever get a chapter that centers around their marriage? I feel like that doesn't get enough attention, if you don't mind me saying.

―I'll try, but I'm getting a lot of demands for an action-packed chapter.

C.E.W: The Blacks mourn the losses of Prince Viserys Targaryen and Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Otto Hightower of course suggested showing them off to the people with mothers in attendance to earn sympathy from the people. A technically good political move, but not a good emotional one for the royal family. And then there is the matter of Aeonar Targaryen's madness to consider which has taken a new depth and he is heading for Harrenhal to deal with Aemond Targaryen and Vhagar.

I take Daemon Targaryen will follow Aeonar on Caraxes, he will arrive later because Caraxes is a slower dragon.

Here's an idea on how Aeonar will be, probably close to death after the battle with Aemond and Vhagar. Probably go through a bit of a conscious journey like Rick Grimes did on Walking Dead Season 9 Episode 5. Aeonar goes on his own journey in different places and encounters people from his past.

First, Aeonar finds himself back at the Grey Gallows where he is reunited with none other than Laenor Velaryon. Aeonar no doubt wondering if it is a dream, or where they are. Laenor responded that Aeonar knows where they are, in the Grey Gallows where they fought side by side and won. Laenor reminded Aeonar that he was decisive, efficient and effective and he fought for the integrity and safety of his family. Laenor insists that Aeonar must be the leader House Targaryen needs, yes he is winning almost all the battles, but he is losing his people and his family which is more important who need him, including Laenor's boys. Aeonar might counter that Jace, Luke and Joffrey are not his, but Laenor countered that blood alone doesn't make a family, and that they are his boys who he loves and he already lost one. Laenor implores Aeonar to save the ones who are left along with his nieces and parents.

Second, Aeonar is in the Red Keep in the king's chambers where he is reunited with none other than his great-grandparents King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. Aeonar apologizes for being unable to keep the House of the Dragon together, and for being unable to stop the civil war. Jaehaerys admits that Aeonar had his part, but others were involved. Alysanne stated her heartbreak and sympathy for what Aeonar has had to endure. Jaehaerys and Alysanne have made their fair share of mistakes in their live, despite the golden age of peace for the realm they left behind. However the Old King and Good Queen both insists that Aeonar must own up to his mistakes and come to his senses. Aeonar's family needs him more than he knows, or doom will come.

Third, Aeonar is on a beach and he is surrounded by the dead bodies of people he knows such as his wife, his children, Rhaenyra, her sons, Otto, Corlys, Rhaenys, Baela, Rhaena. And people he lost such as Daeron, Viserys, Lucerys, the Cargyll twins, Harrold Westerling, Ryam Redwyne, Lyonel Strong, Harwin Strong. Then from the ocean of the water appears Laena Velaryon. Aeonar is devastated by the bodies, and Laena sympathizes as it is the fate of all of them if he does not come to his senses. Laena says that Aeonar must help his family, overcome his madness and give later generations hope that it can overcome. Laena implores him to come through, especially for the sake of Jaehaerys and Baela's child, the grandchild that Aeonar and Laena share.

Four, last but not least, Aeonar finds himself walking into a room where he is greeted by none other than his parents King Viserys and Queen Aemma sitting on a bed with an infant boy whose none other than Baelon the stillborn son who died with Aemma. Aeonar is overwhelmed at seeing them again. Queen Aemma spoke of her sadness about how Aeonar become more cold, ruthless and distant, but there good things to such as marriage to Alicent, having children and all. King Viserys states his regret as his actions help sow the seeds for civil war, and implores Aeonar to save their family. Then Aeonar's sons Viserys and Daeron walk in, and say to Aeonar that their deaths are not his fault and implored him not to let revenge drive him.

Questions:

How does Daemon feel about Aeonar's madness? Daemon's feelings about Aeonar at the funeral were... unclear.

―There are things Daemon does agree with, but even he knows there's something wrong

I take the loss of Meleys and the use of her legs is the cause of Rhaenys' silence?

―Yes

What's the status of Unwin Peake and Larys Strong? Hardly any mention of them since capture.

―They're in the deepest, darkest levels of the Black Cells

Has Aemond recovered?

―Yes

What's the current status of the Stormlands? Have any measures been taken since surrender?

―Yes; Cassandra, Ellyn, and Floris Baratheon are to be sent to the capital to serve as cupbearers, Maris is to be sent to the Silent Sisters, and the infant Royce would be taken in as a page once old enough.

Will Aegon the Younger or Aemma offer Nettles any council or comfort? Aegon promised Viserys, he'd look after Nettles.

―They'll try, but they'll be too grief-stricken

rogerlopez999: Well it has happen, Aeonar has finally been costume by the madness, there no turning back as his last bit of light has been blown away, the funeral was heartbreaking for everyone, so Daemon was referring to Otto last chapter, well what could Otto do, there were Viserys children there was nothing that can be done.

Helaena seeing a vision of the battle of the gods eyes I wonder how it will be different from the book.

Question
1. With the battle of the gods eyes coming soon is it going to be a single chapter or be parters

―It might be in multiple parts

2. Could Otto truly gotten rid of Aegon Aemond and Helaena during the time Viserys was alive

―I'll leave that up to your interpretation

3. Is Viserys model of Valyria still there in the reds keep

―Yes

randomdude24: Well, the madness has finally consumed Aeonar, gone is charming prince we saw in the beginning, now all we have is the vengeful madman hellbent on destruction.

The funeral was hard for everyone mouring Viserys and Lucerys. Their deaths will have a lasting effect t

Questions,

This is a bit out their, given what the show did. Were Beatrice and Ser Cristion sleeping with each other? Given that both of these characters follow the rules when it's convivent, makes me wonder

―No, they weren't

Who openly still supports Aegon's claim to the iron throne?

―Practically they're either gone, captured, or dead

Do the Caltrops have any standing army left?

―Very few at Harrenhal

Follow up question, came to me at the last second.

Were is Alicent emotionally with Aeonar? She's lost 3 children including her stillborn and her husband is no longer the man of her dreams

―You can't help but feel bad for Alicent after having to go through so much. She feels like she's lost the Aeonar she grew up with and married.

TrulyOnlyReader: I have read your novels ever Trials and Tribulation started. I want to say thank you for writing such great stories. Each chapter makes my day. Keep going and I can not wait for the next chapter.

―Thanks

romanomichael391: And The Final Showdown Above The Gods Eye Is Soon To Happen, I'm Really Looking Forward To How You Can Articulate A Dragon Fight Between Two That Are Roughly The Same Size But With One Being More Battle Hardened And Tested Like Vhagar And The Swifter And More Agile Yet Equally As Fierce Vaelor, Unlike Many Of The Other Dragon Fights Both In Fire And Blood And It's Dance And Your Own Story, All The Fights Have Been With Older And Bigger Dragons Against Younger And Smaller Ones, But Now We'll Finally Get A Fight Of Epic Proportions With Two Equally Sized Dragons, I Also Wonder If You're Going To Implement The Part Of Vaelor Being An Egg Of Balerion And Vhagar;Perhaps Vhagar Recognizes Vaelor? Although That Seems A Bit Farfetched. The Part Of Ser Otto Once Again Offering (More Like Demanding) To 'Show Off' The Body Of The Fallen Viserys Was A Really Nice Touch, Especially The Part Where Aegon The Younger Firmly Denies Otto As It Would Further Desecrate The Memory Of Viserys, Honestly, That Part Of The Second Episode Of S2 Was Always Unnerving To Me, I Always Felt Like Jaehaerys' Head Was Going To Fall Off, And We Finally Got Confirmation(In This AU Atleast) That Helaena Is In Fact A Dreamer With Said Dream Spoken In This Chapter Painting A Rather Ominous Sign, One Falls And One Rises, Considering The Protagonist Is Aeonar I Doubt He'd Be The One To Fall But Considering All The Character Deaths You've Had In This Story I Wont Really Be Surprised If You Manage To Kill Off Aeonar, If You Do Kill The Protag, I'm Really Excited To See How His Family Will React To The Death Of Their Patriarch And Specifically How Jaehaerys Will Have To Deal With Having To Ascend To The Iron Thrones And His Reservations To Seat Upon It Given That It Was The Iron Thrones That Led To The Madness That Has Engulged Aeonar, But All In All, This Chapter Marks The Beginning Of The End Of This Story, And It Was A Really Good Story, Long May They Reign With Fire And Blood

Dante 101: If you have any doubts about Aeonar's remaining sanity, they should be dissipated by now. He's gone so deep in the tunnel that he came out a total crazy ass.

What happens after the Dance is over?

―Can't spoil anything.