Bloodstone, Crimson Hall – 132 AC

The morning broke like any other in wartime, the air thick with salt and the taste of impending violence. I had learned long ago not to expect good news when the sun rose, and yet today, as I pulled myself from the bed, wiping the remnants of a half-remembered dream from my mind, there was something different. A shift. I could feel it in my bones, like the gods themselves were holding their breath.

Then came the knock at my door. Quick, urgent. It didn't take a fool to realize that it wasn't a summons for another day of strategy meetings and arguments over maps.

"Come in," I grunted, already pulling on my tunic, my patience wearing thin before I even knew the reason for this disturbance. The door swung open, and there stood Ser Harwin Strong, his face set in that grim expression of his, one that told me whatever he was about to say wasn't a simple report.

"Prince Daemon," he started, stepping inside, his boots clacking on the stone. "News from the fleet."

I turned to face him, eyes narrowing. "The fleet?"

Harwin nodded, his voice steady but carrying that undertone of disbelief that piqued my interest. "Half of the Dornish navy has been taken down. Their ships sunk."

For a moment, I just stared at him, letting the words sink in. The Dornish navy. Half of it. Gone. I blinked, trying to find the pieces of logic that were supposed to fit this puzzle together. I knew what I had ordered. I knew what the fleet was capable of, but this? No. This wasn't the work of sword and fire.

"How?" I asked, my voice sharp, slicing through the air between us like a blade. "How did they sink?"

Harwin hesitated, and I didn't like the look on his face. There was something else. Something he was holding back.

"Whales," he said after a long pause, as if the very word tasted ridiculous on his tongue. "A pod of whales took down their ships. Smashed through the hulls like battering rams."

I raised an eyebrow, the snarl of a laugh barely contained in my throat. "Whales? You're telling me a fleet of ships was destroyed by whales?"

Harwin looked uncomfortable, but he nodded all the same. "Aye, my lord. That's the word. The sailors say they didn't see it coming. One minute they were holding position, and the next, the sea was alive with them. Great beasts, thrashing and tearing the ships apart."

It was absurd. Absolutely absurd. But as the words settled into the space between us, I felt something crawl up my spine, something cold and uneasy. This wasn't nature at work. This wasn't the random wrath of the sea.

This reeked of magic. Old magic.

And then Harwin's face tightened, his expression darkening as he added, "There's more, my lord. About Princess Lucerys."

I felt the breath catch in my chest before I could stop it. Lucerys. She had been as much a part of my thoughts these last weeks as the war itself, her fire, her promise, the burning determination in her eyes the last time I saw her.

"What about her?" I demanded, a pit forming in my stomach.

"She collapsed last night," Harwin said, his voice lowering. "High fever, unconscious. The maester says it could be from her time in the cave, from exposure." He hesitated again, and I shot him a glare that could've stopped a dragon in flight.

That was all I needed to hear. My mind was already working through the pieces, the flickers of suspicion taking root. I had seen blood magic before, knew the signs, the way it clung to the air like smoke from a funeral pyre. And this? A fleet destroyed by whales? Lucerys collapsing from a sudden fever after vowing to turn the tide of the war?

It wasn't exposure. It wasn't the cave. It was magic.

"Leave me," I ordered, my voice gruff, harsher than I intended. Harwin nodded, bowing out of the room without another word. As soon as the door clicked shut, I began pacing, my thoughts running wild.

Blood magic. It wasn't so far-fetched. Lucerys had always had something wild in her—something untamed, the way fire blazed in her eyes even when she tried to hide it. The connection she had with her dragon, with Ghost, was beyond what I'd ever seen. I'd always chalked it up to her being more Targaryen than Velaryon. But this? This was something different.

If she'd found a way to reach into the depths of the sea, to control the creatures there, to harness the strength of the whales and use them to crush our enemies… Gods, it was reckless. It was dangerous. And it was exactly the kind of madness I should've expected from her.

I couldn't decide whether to be furious or impressed.

Lucerys was always one to push limits, to dive headfirst into the impossible without waiting for permission or even thinking twice about the consequences. And now, she had done it again. But at what cost?

I made my way to her chambers, my boots heavy against the stone, my thoughts darker with every step. I had given her that promise—I had sworn not to ask, not to question whatever she planned to do. But now, I couldn't help the growing knot of worry tightening in my chest. If she had used blood magic, if she had risked her very life to do this, to destroy the Dornish navy, what had it taken from her in return?

I found the maester at the door of her chambers, his face lined with worry. He tried to stop me, to say something about her needing rest, but I pushed past him, my patience long since burned away.

Lucerys was lying on her bed, her face pale, her skin glistening with sweat. She looked small, so small, like the fire that had burned so brightly within her had been snuffed out. But I knew better. It wasn't gone. Just buried, for now.

The maester hovered nearby, wringing his hands. "She's weak, my lord. Her fever—"

"I know what it is," I snapped, cutting him off. "You don't need to tell me."

Blood magic was never clean. It always left a mark, always exacted a price. I had seen it before, in the shadowy corners of the world where most feared to tread. But I hadn't expected it here. Not from Lucerys. Not like this.

I moved closer to her bedside, staring down at her as she lay there, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. She looked like a child, fragile and broken, but I knew better. I had seen the fire in her eyes. I had seen the strength that burned beneath that delicate exterior.

She had done this. She had brought the Triarchy to its knees. But the cost? Gods, the cost was written all over her now.

I reached out, my hand hovering over hers, but I didn't touch her. I wasn't sure if she was still in there—still her—or if whatever magic she had wielded had taken too much. If I touched her, would she even know I was there? Would she even recognize the world around her anymore?

But even as I stood there, my mind racing with questions, with worry, with anger, I couldn't help but feel a spark of pride. Lucerys Velaryon had done what no one else could. She had turned the tide of this war in a single night, and she had done it with a power no one else would dare to touch.

I just hoped she hadn't destroyed herself in the process.

I kept my promise. It's what we do, isn't it? Blood of the dragon. Fire in our veins, and once we give our word, it's ironclad. So no, I will not ask Lucerys what she'd done, even though the answers danced right there on the edge of my thoughts, gnawing at me like a hungry beast. She'd collapsed with a fever that had the maesters pacing like worried hens, and a pod of whales had sunk half the Dornish fleet. The connection wasn't difficult to make.

But I kept my mouth shut.

I will not ask, because I wasn't stupid. The look on Lucerys' face when I made her that promise, the fire that had lit in her eyes, was enough. Whatever she did, it wasn't something for the light of day. The girl—no, the woman—was a Velaryon and a Targaryen all at once. She had the sea in her blood and fire in her bones, and apparently, a touch of madness that only a true dragon can wield. Just like me.

But I had a war to finish.

The Triarchy was wounded, but they were not dead. Not yet. They were scattered, scrambling to regain control after losing half their fleet to a gods-damned pod of whales, but they were still dangerous. I knew they'd try to regroup. They always do. Like a wounded animal, cornered and desperate, they'd lash out if we gave them the chance. And I wasn't about to give them that.

No, my mind was already set. The moment I heard what Lucerys had done, I knew what came next. She'd turned the tide. Now it was up to me to burn the rest.

I didn't linger in her chambers. I wasn't one for hovering, and she wasn't one for pity. Besides, I had other matters to attend to. Caraxes was waiting, his scales gleaming red in the light of the morning sun as if the old beast had been dipped in the blood of our enemies. Maybe he had been, for all I knew. He was as eager for battle as I was, restless, the hunger for destruction practically vibrating through him.

As I approached, his eyes locked onto mine, and I could feel the shared understanding between us. The bond that only dragon and rider could know. He was ready. So was I.

I climbed onto his back without a word, the familiar feel of the saddle beneath me, the reins in my hands. The moment I gave the command, Caraxes let out a low, guttural growl, his wings unfurling with a sharp crack as he lifted off into the sky. The ground fell away beneath us, and the wind whipped through my hair, biting at my face. I welcomed the sting. It reminded me that I was alive. That I was meant for this.

The Triarchy didn't know what was coming for them.

We flew hard and fast, the landscape below blurring into nothingness as we climbed higher and higher. The air was thinner up here, colder, but that didn't matter. I could see the ocean stretching out before us, the remaining Dornish ships huddled together in a last-ditch attempt to regroup, to form some kind of defense against the fury that was about to rain down on them.

They didn't stand a chance.

I could already see Vhagar in the distance, her massive form casting a shadow over the sea, her wings beating with the slow, deliberate power of a creature that knew it was unstoppable. Rhaenys was there too, riding Meleys, the Red Queen gleaming like a living flame as she soared above the ships. And Seasmoke… well, Laenor's boy had done well for himself. The silver dragon darted through the air with a speed and precision that made me grin.

But it was time to end this.

I guided Caraxes lower, circling the fleet from above, my eyes scanning the deck of each ship, looking for their scorpions, their archers, their pitiful attempts to prepare for what was coming. They were scrambling, shouting orders, but it was already too late. They were surrounded. Four dragons against their pitiful fleet. They didn't stand a chance.

"Dracarys," I growled, and Caraxes responded without hesitation.

The fire erupted from his jaws, a torrent of flame that lit up the sky like a second sun. It washed over the nearest ship, the sails catching fire in an instant, the wood cracking and splintering under the heat. Men screamed, their voices lost to the roar of the flames as they leaped into the sea, desperate to escape the inferno.

But there was no escape.

Vhagar unleashed her fury next, her fire burning hotter, fiercer, reducing another ship to ashes in a matter of moments. Meleys followed suit, her flames a brilliant red as they consumed the decks of the Triarchy's ships. Seasmoke darted in and out of the chaos, his smaller size making him perfect for striking at the ships that tried to flee, his fire just as deadly.

The sea itself seemed to boil beneath the heat of our dragons' wrath, the smoke rising in thick clouds, choking the air. The smell of burning wood and flesh filled my lungs, and I grinned, the satisfaction of it coursing through me like a drug.

By the end of the fortnight, there was nothing left of the Triarchy's navy. Their ships had been reduced to charred husks, their men either burned or drowned in the sea. The Dornish forces, the so-called allies of the Triarchy, had been obliterated alongside them. There would be no regrouping. No recovery.

We had crushed them.

I landed Caraxes on the shore, his wings folding neatly against his body as he let out a satisfied growl. I dismounted, my boots sinking into the sand, my eyes scanning the horizon. Smoke still rose from the wreckage, the remains of their fleet bobbing uselessly in the water. It was over.

I turned my gaze back toward the castle, knowing that Lucerys was still inside, recovering from whatever madness she had unleashed. I hadn't asked, and I wouldn't. But I knew this victory was as much hers as it was mine. She had taken the first step, and I had finished the job. That was how it was meant to be.

She had turned the tide. And now, we had drowned them all.

But as I stood there, watching the last of the Triarchy's navy burn, a thought crossed my mind—one I couldn't quite shake. Lucerys had tapped into something powerful, something dangerous. And while we had won this battle, I couldn't help but wonder what it had cost her.

What had she sacrificed for this victory?

And more importantly, what would it mean for the future?

Because if I knew anything about blood magic, about the kind of power Lucerys had wielded, it was that it always demanded something in return. Always.

But that was a problem for another day. For now, we had won. For now, we were still standing.

And for now, the world knew that the blood of the dragon still ruled the skies.

Let them burn.

When I finally returned to the Crimson Hall, the war's victory still burning in my veins, the last thing I expected was to walk into a bloody family circus. The moment I crossed the threshold, there they all were—Corlys, Laena, Rhaenys, and Laenor—hovering around Lucerys like hens over a wounded chick. It would've been almost laughable if the tension in the room weren't thick enough to choke on.

Lucerys had woken up, it seemed. I could see the stubborn set of her jaw from where I stood, her lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed as she sat beside Aemond's bed. Even after whatever madness she'd pulled with the whales, she was sitting there like some kind of ghostly sentinel, refusing to move. Refusing to rest.

And the lot of them? They looked like they didn't know whether to drag her away by force or start weeping in relief that she was back on her feet.

Laena, always the protective aunt, was trying to coax Lucerys into lying down, her voice soft but strained. "You need to rest, Lucerys," she said, her hand hovering over Lucerys' shoulder but not daring to actually touch her. She knew better. "You've been through enough. Let us take care of you for once."

Lucerys barely acknowledged her, her eyes fixed on Aemond's unconscious form, her fingers absently twisting the hem of her sleeve. She looked pale—paler than usual—but her eyes were sharp. Focused. She wasn't going anywhere.

Corlys was pacing by the window, his expression a stormy mix of concern and frustration. The Sea Snake was not a man accustomed to being powerless, and this situation was clearly fraying his nerves. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Rhaenys, standing stoically at the foot of the bed, looked as if she'd seen this sort of thing before and wasn't particularly surprised. She had the quiet calm of someone who had weathered enough storms to know that sometimes, you just had to let the waves crash. But there was an edge to her calmness, a sharpness in her gaze whenever it flicked between Lucerys and Aemond.

Laenor, though, looked like he was on the verge of dragging Lucerys out of the room himself. He kept glancing between his daughter and future good-son with a mixture of impatience and concern, his arms crossed over his chest. "Lucerys, you need to rest," he said, his voice low but firm. "You've done enough. Aemond's in good hands now. The maesters—"

"I'm not leaving him," Lucerys cut in, her voice sharp enough to slice through the air. She didn't even look at Laenor, her eyes still glued to Aemond's face, as if daring him to wake up just so she could make sure he was really there. "I'm not leaving."

Laenor sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He was losing this battle, and he knew it.

I couldn't help but smirk at the sight. Stubborn as ever. That was my Lucerys.

I stepped further into the room, catching their attention. "Give her some space," I said, my voice low but firm. The kind of tone that didn't leave much room for argument. "She's not going to move, and we all know it. You lot are only making it worse by hovering."

They all turned to look at me, and for a moment, there was a flicker of protest in Laena's eyes, but she bit it back. Rhaenys and Corlys exchanged a glance, and Laenor, bless him, looked like he might argue for a second, but one look at Lucerys' face and he sighed again, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"You heard me," I said, stepping closer to them. "Give her some peace. Let her do what she needs to do."

Reluctantly, they filed out, one by one. Corlys was the last to go, his hand lingering on the doorframe as he cast one last look at Lucerys, something like pride and worry warring in his eyes. I gave him a nod, and he finally stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.

I turned back to the bed, and there they were. Aemond, his one good eye barely cracked open, looking up at Lucerys with a tired smile on his lips. The bastard looked almost chipper, which was impressive, considering he'd just lost his eye. But the fool wasn't focused on his injuries. No, his gaze was locked on Lucerys like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. And maybe, to him, she was.

I walked to the corner of the room, leaning against the wall as I watched them. Lucerys was sitting so close to him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder, her fingers tracing light circles on his skin. She didn't say a word, but there was something in her eyes that I hadn't seen in a long time. Something like relief. Like the fire in her had finally settled, if only for a moment.

Aemond shifted slightly, wincing a bit as he moved. He reached up to his face with one hand, fumbling with the bandages that covered his eye—or what was left of it. Lucerys frowned, her hand moving to stop him, but Aemond just grinned up at her, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Let me show you," he said, his voice a little rough from disuse. With a careful tug, he pulled the bandage free, revealing the empty socket where his eye had once been.

But it wasn't empty.

Lucerys gasped softly, her eyes widening in surprise, and I couldn't help but chuckle under my breath.

There, nestled in the socket where his eye had been, was a pearl. A dark, iridescent thing that caught the light in a way that made it look like it was shifting colors. It was the kind of thing only a Targaryen—or a complete madman—would think to do.

Aemond's grin widened at Lucerys' reaction, and I had to bite back a laugh. He was clearly pleased with himself, like a boy showing off a new toy. And the way Lucerys was looking at him? She was half amused, half horrified, but there was no mistaking the affection in her eyes.

The boy was cuntstruck, plain and simple. He'd tear out his other eye if he thought it'd make her smile.

"Why?" Lucerys finally asked, her voice soft but laced with exasperation.

Aemond just shrugged, his grin never fading. "A pearl, for my pearl," he said simply, like that was the most reasonable explanation in the world.

Lucerys shook her head, but I could see the way her lips twitched, like she was fighting a smile. She reached out, her fingers brushing the pearl, and Aemond closed his eye, leaning into her touch like a man starved for affection.

I shook my head, chuckling softly as I pushed myself off the wall. There was nothing more to see here. They didn't need an audience.

As I turned to leave, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction. The boy had lost an eye, but he looked like he couldn't care less. And Lucerys… well, she was back. The fire in her was still burning, but it was different now. Controlled. Focused.

Whatever had happened—whatever magic she'd wielded—she had come out the other side, and Aemond was still hers. Pearl-eyed and all.

I reached for the door, pulling it shut behind me, and just before it clicked into place, I caught one last glance of them together—Aemond grinning like a fool, and Lucerys shaking her head with a fond smile.

I chuckled to myself as I walked down the hall, the sound echoing off the stone walls. That boy was so far gone, it was laughable. He'd give her his remaining eye if she asked for it. Hell, he'd probably tear out his own heart if she wanted it. And honestly? I couldn't blame him.

Because for all her madness, for all her fire and fury, Lucerys Velaryon was worth it.

Every damned bit of it.

Once I had Corlys, Laena, Rhaenys, and Laenor gathered in the war room of the Crimson Hall, the mood shifted from concern to the kind of tension that only comes with planning something large. Something that could shift the balance of power. The firelight from the hearth flickered across their faces, and I knew what we were all thinking: the Triarchy might have taken a beating, but we weren't fools. We had been here before.

Two decades ago, we'd watched the Triarchy fall apart after the War for the Stepstones, only to crawl back, like a rot that never fully dies. I wasn't about to let history repeat itself. My daughters weren't going to face this same enemy when they came into their own. The Triarchy had been knocked down, but they were always looking for a way back, and I wasn't about to let that happen. Not again.

"Their navy is in ruins," I said, pacing slowly, the weight of the room on my shoulders. "But so was it two decades ago. And what did we do? We left them to lick their wounds. Now look where we are. I won't let my daughters have to deal with them again, not in two decades, not ever."

Corlys was the first to nod, leaning over the war table, his fingers tracing the worn edges of the map. The Sea Snake knew better than anyone how these waters worked—how power shifted like the tides. He'd seen it all before. "We need to break them," he agreed, his voice a low rumble. "Once and for all. If we don't, they'll rise again, just like last time. But this time, we make sure they can't."

Laenor, standing beside him, chimed in with that sharp, strategic mind of his. "Tyrosh," he said, tapping a finger on the map, just East of the Stepstones. "It's close enough. If we take it, we can assimilate it into the Stepstones. Turn it into a stronghold. Make it part of Westeros."

I nodded, considering his words. Tyrosh was the key, a wealthy city, and it controlled much of the trade in Essos. If we took Tyrosh, the rest of the Triarchy would crumble. But it wouldn't be without consequences. "And what of Lys and Myr?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "They won't take kindly to losing Tyrosh."

"They'll be too busy fighting over the disputed lands between them," Rhaenys cut in, her voice sharp and clear. She stepped closer to the map, her eyes narrowing as she traced the borders between Lys and Myr with a gloved finger. "The Triarchy for all they claim their alliance is their strength, they still fight each other constantly for the territory between them. Their greed surpasses their intelligence, without Tyrosh in the way they'll turn on each other, too busy with their own squabbles to care about us."

Rhaenys had the instincts of a dragon, always quick to spot where the true threat lay and where opportunities could be seized. And she was right—Lys and Myr had always been at odds, more interested in tearing each other apart than dealing with outsiders.

"As for the rest of the Free Cities," Laena scoffed from across the room, arms crossed, her gaze steady and unflinching. "They won't shed a tear for the Triarchy. They've made enemies all around them, encroaching on everyone's waters, not just ours. They've been reckless, and now they're going to pay for it."

Corlys let out a low, satisfied hum. "My daughter is right. My contacts in Braavos have been saying the same. The Triarchy's been encroaching on Braavosi waters, too. They won't speak out against them directly, but Braavos isn't happy. They'll stay neutral, but they'll be pleased to see the Triarchy humbled."

He was right. Braavos never openly took sides in conflicts, but they valued their trade and their influence over the seas. The Triarchy had made too many enemies, had grown too bold, and now they were stretched too thin.

The more we spoke, the clearer the path became. The Triarchy was vulnerable, weakened, but not yet broken. We couldn't let this opportunity slip away. If we let them regroup, they would return with a vengeance, and it would be our children—Baela, Rhaena, and the others—who would face the brunt of it. I wasn't about to let that happen.

"We take Tyrosh," I said, my voice firm, my decision made. "We burn their ships, we seize their trade routes, and we cut their ties with Lys and Myr. If they want to squabble over the scraps, let them. But we're not giving them the chance to rebuild."

Laenor nodded. "We'll need to move quickly. Their navy might be in ruins, but they still have ships in port. If we strike now, while they're still reeling, they won't be able to mount any serious defense."

Rhaenys leaned over the map, tracing a line from Bloodstone to Tyrosh. "We can be there within days. Meleys and Seasmoke can fly ahead, clear the way for the fleet. Once we've taken the city, we'll hold it. Tyrosh has always been more concerned with their trade than their military. They'll fall easily enough, and when they do, Lys and Myr will tear each other apart."

I glanced around the room, seeing the fire in Laenor's eyes, the determination in Rhaenys', the quiet satisfaction in Corlys'. And Laena—well, she was already halfway to the sky, her mind racing with the thrill of what was to come.

This was the way of things. We were dragons. We were conquerors.

Let the rest of the world tremble.

"I'll write to Rhaenyra for permission to take Tyrosh. This is too big a move without her approval. I'll send Ser Harwin Strong with the letter to make sure it's not intercepted." Laenor made a grand show of it, puffing out his chest like a peacock. All noble intentions, polished words, and that overly serious look he'd perfected when playing at being the dutiful Prince Consort. He stood tall, pacing across the war room with a frown that suggested the weight of Westeros was resting squarely on his shoulders. Then, with all the self-importance he could muster, he turned to face me as if expecting my approval.

I kept my expression neutral, though the urge to roll my eyes was damn near irresistible. Of course. My dear Laenor didn't just want to play the part of the loyal, concerned husband—he wanted his lover back. It wasn't hard to see where this was headed. Ser Harwin would deliver the letter, but Laenor wouldn't stop there. Next, he'd be suggesting that Ser Qarl join us, under some flimsy excuse about strategy or naval tactics. And when that happened, it'd be no surprise to find Laenor tucked away with Qarl in some secluded corner, far from the frontlines, leaving the rest of us to deal with the blood and fire of war.

Still, I said nothing. Let Laenor play his little game. There were worse distractions than keeping him occupied with letters and faux politics while the rest of us focused on what really mattered—burning Tyrosh to the ground and putting an end to the Triarchy once and for all. He could write all the letters he wanted, pretend to care about strategic approval, but we all knew where his heart truly lay. And honestly, it was easier this way. Let him waste his time with his lofty speeches and Ser Harwin's secret deliveries.

"Do what you need to," I said with a curt nod, pretending to care, though my mind had already moved on to more important matters.

Laenor, satisfied with his decision, turned to Corlys and Rhaenys. The old Sea Snake, ever the picture of dignity, simply nodded at his son, but I caught the way his eyes flickered to Rhaenys, a silent conversation passing between them. They were both seasoned enough to know what was really at play here, but like me, they kept quiet. There was no need to call attention to Laenor's personal distractions, not when the rest of us had our eyes on the bigger picture.

"We'll check on the Velaryon forces," Corlys said, stepping forward, his voice that usual low rumble of authority. "Vaemond's been leading them well, but I want to make sure everything is in order before we move on Tyrosh."

"Agreed," Rhaenys added, her sharp eyes still scanning the map on the table as if memorizing every detail. "I want to see for myself how they're holding up."

I nodded. Let them go. They had their own work to do, and their presence wasn't needed here anymore. The moment they left the room, the air seemed to shift, the tension that had been hovering around us fading as the door clicked shut behind them.

And then it was just me and Laena.

She didn't wait—didn't hesitate. The moment we were alone, she was in my arms, her body pressing against mine as she buried her face into my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, I let myself breathe. Really breathe.

Laena let out a shaky sigh, her hands gripping the fabric of my tunic as if she was afraid I might slip away if she let go. I could feel the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on us both—this war, this constant push and pull between life and death, fire and blood, victory and loss. We'd come so close, so damned close to losing two of our own.

"I thought we'd lose them," she whispered against my chest, her voice muffled but raw with emotion. "Aemond… Lucerys… I thought—"

"You didn't lose them," I murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, my fingers brushing through her silver hair. "We didn't lose them."

"But we almost did," she said, her voice shaking. "Gods, Daemon, they're still children. We came so close to losing them both, and I—" She stopped herself, her breath hitching in her throat.

I knew what she was thinking. We'd already lost so much. Losing them, losing either of them, would've shattered everything. Aemond, with his bloody recklessness, and Lucerys, lost in her grief and madness, had both teetered on the edge. And we watched, helpless.

"I know," I said softly, pulling her closer. "But they're still here. We didn't lose them. Not this time."

Laena trembled against me, and I could feel the tension in her body easing, just slightly. We'd been carrying this weight for so long, the constant fear, the constant battle. And now? It felt like we were on the brink of something. Maybe not peace, not yet, but an end to this chapter at least.

"They're stronger than we thought," I added, my voice quiet but firm. "Lucerys… Aemond. They've both come through this. They'll be fine."

She nodded against my chest, though I could feel the doubt still lingering in her. The fear that the next time, we wouldn't be so lucky. And maybe she was right. Maybe next time, the gods wouldn't be so kind. But we couldn't live in that fear. Not when there was still so much left to fight for.

"We can't let this happen again," Laena whispered, her voice steadier now. "We can't come this close to losing them. Not ever again."

"No," I agreed, tightening my grip around her. "We won't. We'll finish this war. We'll make sure the Triarchy is crushed, once and for all. And then… then we can protect them. Truly protect them."

Laena looked up at me, her eyes shining with a fierce determination that mirrored my own. "I won't lose them, Daemon. I won't."

"And you won't," I promised, my voice a low growl. "Not while I still draw breath."

We stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of everything we'd been through hanging in the air between us. But there was something else there, too. Relief. This war was almost over. The end was within reach, and when it came, we'd make sure that our children—our family—would never have to face this again.

Not Aemond. Not Lucerys. Not Baela or Rhaena. Not any of them.

The Triarchy would be crushed. The war would be over. And we'd make sure that they were safe.

Finally.