Birds chirp and bells toll as morning comes. The Iron Throne sits empty as the king groans in his chambers while being cared for by the maesters. Everyone prepares for the trial yet to come, both mentally and physically. They pile into the grand hall and simply wait.

Vaemyra and Aemond enter with Helaena and Aegon, who seems entirely content staring at his older sister's backside. He longs for her touch after so long of being without it. He wishes for someone like her, he wishes for someone with her fire. He wishes for someone who could understand him, and in turn someone he could understand, for he only finds his wife to be strange.

Aemond notices his brother's gaze and makes it a point to step on his toes as they assume their positions. Aegon winces from the pain, but Aemond only smiles. He smiles because he knows he could do so much worse if he wanted.

Vaemyra's eyes follow Rhaenyra and her husband as they take their places, finding it odd that they're not standing together in court for the very first time.

" Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark," Otto announces as he stands on the steps before the throne, " As Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters."

But as he sits down on the throne, Vaemyra feels her blood boiling and bubbling. She's enraged to see someone with no Valyrian blood take the throne, and positively furious to see someone else sitting in her father's chair. Her jaw clenches as her eyes stare daggers into his soul, but as she takes one step to lunge, Aemond's hand wraps around her arm and stops her, to which she releases a breath so hot, it's practically steam.

Most of the room turns a blind eye to the princess and focuses on the Hand, but Rhaenyra sees. She sees how angry her sister has gotten in only a matter of seconds and finds it to be extremely out of character, while Daemon only chuckles as he finds it quite amusing.

" The crown will now hear the petitions," Otto continues, " Ser Vaemond of Hous Velaryon."

The younger Velaryon brother steps forward, standing before the throne as he casts a snide glance over to Rhaenyra and her children.

" My queen," He greets, " The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end of their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true, impeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins."

" As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon," Rhaenyra quips, " If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself, and for your own ambition."

" You will have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra," Alicent interjects, " Do Ser Vaemomd the courtesy of allowing his to be heard."

The princess shuts her mouth as the Velaryon turns to face her with a smug grin.

" What do you know of Velaryon blood, princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn't recognize it... but perhaps your sister would," Vaemond provokes, only increasing the anger bubbling below the surface in Vaemyra, anger that her husband and uncle are well aware of, " This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours," he glances over to the brunette boys before he turns to face the throne yet again, " My Queen, my Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor... the Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides."

Before Rhaenyra even has the chance to speak, the doors open, the sound loud and booming that demands attention.

" King Viserys Targaryen. First of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

The King hobbles to the Iron Throne with a golden mask upon his face. The sight of him brings many tears to many eyes, especially as he wheezes and groans up the steps. His crown falls from his head, and before Vaemyra has the chance to take one step forward, Daemon is already there, helping his brother to his throne, then places the crown back on his head.

" I must admit my confusion," He starts, " I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present... who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."

" Indeed, Your Grace," The Princess nods, " It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son... Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree."

" Well... the matter is settled. Again," The King sighs, " I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides."

But his words only act as fuel to the fire within the true heir.

" You break law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me... who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon," Vaemond nearly seethes, "No. I will not allow it."

"Allow it? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond," Viserys utters.

" That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine," Vaemond shouts as he points and accusing finger at the bastard boy.

" You have said enough. Lucerys is my true-born grandson," The King affirms, "And you... are no more than the second son of Driftmark."

" You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned... I will not see it ended on the account of this..."

He pauses, stopping himself from saying something he may come to regret. Vaemyra's blood is boiling, her skin is burning and her eyes are on fire. Her jaw trembles and nearly cracks her teeth in anger. His words will bring him only death.

" Say it," Daemon whispers, as if to challenge him.

" Her children... are bastards!  And she... is... a whοre."

The crowd gasps in shock whilst Vaemyra snaps. Her mind works in tandem with her uncle's, for they both reach for a sword

" I... will have your tongue for that," Viserys wheezes as he stands up with his blade.

In a flash, Vaemyra and Daemon act as one, using their swords to slash the head of Vaemond Velaryon, leaving only his tongue as their swords clash in the middle. Their eyes meet once the head falls to the floor, and in that moment Daemon sees the burning fire within her eyes.

" He can keep his tongue," Daemon remarks.

" Disarm them!" Otto commands.

" No need," The Prince utters as he puts down his sword, then turns his head to lock eyes with his niece, " Dove?"

Vaemyra puts down the sword as well, feeling the blood of Vaemond dripping down her pretty dress. She turns to see Aemond comforting their sister, of whom as covered her ears with her hands to help drown out the noise, sending a pang of guilt to Vaemyra's gut.

Vaemond's body is taken to the Sept where the Silent Sisters care for him, while Vaemyra barely reaps any repercussions of her actions with her uncle. The Rogue Prince and Mad Princess face no consequences, despite having murdered a man of royal blood in the eyes of the Grand Hall.

Vaemyra cleans the blood off her body and changes into a new dress before the family supper that will take place that very night. Her handmaiden Emily daps her face with a small cloth to wipe away the sweat that beads all around her.

While the princess is no stranger to the heat, it has become quite uncomfortable over the last couple of days.

And so, Vaemyra sits at the large table, sitting at the corner with her husband sitting at the end. She sits with her husband on her left and Helaena on her right, who seems preoccupied with a cloth on her lap. The king soon arrives, and all rise to greet him as he gets carried in by the Kings Guard and placed between Alicent and Rhaenyra, and only then does everybody take their seats once more.

" How good it is... to see you all tonight... together," Viserys starts, glancing over at his secondborn and smiling.

" Prayer before we begin?" The queen suggests, earning a quiet scoff from the King's secondborn as she claps her hand and closes her eyes, " May the mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may gods give him rest."

Both Vaemyra and Daemon smile to themselves at the queen's choice of words.

" This is an occasion for celebration, it seems," The king observes, " My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young princes... and their betrothed."

The goblets are raised and then brought to their mouths to drink as Aegon leans over to his nephew.

" Well done, Jace. You'll finally get to lie with a woman," He smugly whispers.

" Let's toast as well to Prince Lucerys... the future Lord of the Tides," Viserys adds.

The goblets are raised once more as Rhaena smiles at her betrothed, but Aemond only keeps his sharp eye on his young nephew as he drinks his wine.

" You do know how the act is done, I presume?" Aegon asks as he leans to his nephew once more, " At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that."

" Let it be, cousin," Baela states.

" You can play jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed," Jace bites back.

Aegon nods like a fool as he backs off for now, while Vaemyra finds their little spat to be quite amusing. Aegon is a little shit, that is certain, but gods be damned if he isn't a comical little shit.

King Viserys groans as he uses his cane to stand up straight, wanting to address his family in a more serious and formal manner, for it may be the last.

" It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table," He starts as he looks around at each of his family's faces, " The faces most dear to me in all the world... yet grown so distant from each other in the years past," he then brings his hand up to remove his golden mask to reveal his true form, his true face that has become horrid and decayed over time from his illness, which comes to a shock to most of his family, for very few have seen it, " My own face... is no longer a handsome one... if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father, your brother, your husband... and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."

The queen aids her husband as he collapses back into his chair, his speech having touched most at the table. His words stick in their hearts, though it means having to let go of the past and just be a family.

" I wish to raise my cup to her grace, the Queen," Rhaenyra states as she stands up and brings the attention to her, " I love my father. But I must admit that no one, not other than my own sister, has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude... and my apology."

And not long after, the queen stands as well.

" Your graciousness moves me deeply, princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow," Alicent starts, " I raise my cup to you... and to your house. You will make a fine queen."

Her words catch not only Otto by surprise but Vaemyra as well. She has always been under the impression that Alicent would want her son to be king since he is the eldest son of the king, but hearing the queen say these kind words hit Vaemyra deep in her heart.

Perhaps all this infighting really has been for nothing. Perhaps the family can be whole again.

" Allow me to raise my cup as well," Vaemyra utters as she stands up and surprises the room, " To my husband, Aemond, my sister Rhaenyra and my beautiful nephews and nieces... to my step-mother Alicent, and her wonderful children. And to my father... King Viserys."

She takes her seat, and then everyone takes their drink. They drink in celebration of the mending of their family, and it may be the wine, but Vaemyra is actually starting to feel... good. It feels good to not hold such ugly feelings, and perhaps she's not the Mad Princess after all, but just someone who lost their way, who lost their kind heart.

But of course, Aegon just has to ruin it.

" I, um, I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer," He whispers to Baela as he refills his goblet, " But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask."

Which makes Jace slam the table with his fists and stand up from his chair, followed by Aemond slowly rising to lock his eye on his nephew, and it seems to make the Velaryon boy back down as he grabs his goblet.

" To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond," Jacaerys starts, " We have not seen each other in years, but I have found memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, uncles," then he turns to his favorite aunt, " And to my... courageous Aunt Vaemyra... may your marriage bring you nothing but happiness."

" To you, as well," Aegon coughs as his nephew pats his shoulder.

Aemond stays silent as he reluctantly takes his seat, where he grips onto his wife's thigh ever so tightly as to calm the storm brewing inside him.

" Beware the beast beneath the boards," Helaena whispers, drawing yet another concerning look from Vaemyra, then stands up as she grabs her cup, " I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you... except sometimes when he's drunk."

Vaemyra's heart clenches at her words. The true horror of Helaena's marriage to Aegon has been kept hidden from her elder sister, for Helaena fears what she may do to her husband.

The music begins to play, filling the room with a sense of peace and happiness as the feast continues. Though the family may be feuding, in this one moment, they are a family. It's enough to bring tears to the king's eyes, whom is escorted back to his chambers not long after. He's old, tired and feeble, but truly needed this dinner. He needed to see his family together at least one last time.

Jacaerys invites Helaena to dance, and Vaemyra watches in delight as her sister smiles. It warms her heart to see Helaena happy, at least just for a little while. Vaemyra continues to sip her wine as Aemond's hand never leaves her thigh. He watches his wife eat and drink, and overall enjoy herself, and it brings a smile upon his face.

One that fades the moment a roasted pig is placed on the table and Lucerys can't help but chuckle.

" Final tribute," Aemond announces, after he's slammed his fists on the table and stands up from his chair, goblet of wine in hand as his eye narrows on Luke, " To the health of my nephews. Jace... Luke... and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise... strong."

The air is sucked from the room as the tension only grows.

" Let us drain our cups to these three.... strong boys."

" I dare you to say that again," Jace seethes.

" Why? 'Twas only a compliment," Aemond smirks as his nephew marches straight for him, "Do you not think yourself Strong?"

Jace lands a hard blow to his uncle's face, who only chuckles and pushes him to the ground. Vaemyra sees Aegon pinning Lucerys down to the table, prompting her to stand from her chair and pull her brother up by his hair, as if he's a dog.

" Why would you say such a thing before these people?" Alicent questions as she stands before her son.

" I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother," Aemond simply responds. "Mmm. Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs."

Jace attempts to lunge forward, but he's stopped and silenced by his step-father. Daemon faces Aemond, two men who appear to be quite similar, yet ever so different, and Vaemyra is placed in between them both.

In between the Blacks and the Greens.

In the depths of the night, as rain lashes against the windows and thunder echoes through the castle, Vaemyra's heart is heavy with a sense of foreboding. Restlessness plagues her, urging her to seek solace in the presence of her father. The flickering candlelight casts eerie shadows as she makes her way to his chamber. With each step, her apprehension grows, and a knot forms in the pit of her stomach. As she reaches the door, a sense of dread washes over her, and she hesitates for a moment before pushing it open. The sight that awaits her shatters her world into a million fragments.

Her father, the once-mighty king, lies motionless on the bed, his face serene in death. The room feels suffocating, the air thick with sorrow and the weight of loss. Vaemyra's breath catches in her throat as tears well up in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks. She rushes to his side, trembling, and clutches his lifeless hand.

"Father..." She whispers, her voice choked with grief, "Why did you leave me?"

Her cries pierce the silence of the room, mingling with the raging storm outside. In her despair, she stumbles backward, knocking the Valyrian Steel dagger from a nearby table. The dagger clatters to the floor, its blade dangerously close to an open fire pit. In a desperate attempt to salvage what remains of her father's memory, Vaemyra lunges forward, reaching out to grab the dagger. But as she touches it, her eyes catch a glimmer of writing etched into the hilt—a revelation that sends her mind spiraling into chaos.

Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se pōjon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.

From my blood, come the prince or princess that was promised... and theirs will be the Song of Ice and Fire.

The words etched onto the blade seem to dance before her eyes, and her fractured mind weaves them into a narrative that only she can comprehend. The Song of Ice and Fire, Aegon's dream, converge in her thoughts, and a belief takes hold, twisting her perception of reality.

"I am the Princess that was Promised," She murmurs through her tears, her voice carrying a chilling edge.

A maddening laughter bubbles up from deep within her, mingling with her sobs, as her mind teeters on the precipice of madness.

Driven by a delusion that now consumes her, Vaemyra's cackles of laughter reverberate through the castle walls, blending with the storm's fury. A manic determination takes hold of her, compelling her to seek refuge in the one place that feels like home—the dragon pit.

Through the wind and rain, her disheveled hair whipping around her face, Vaemyra makes her way to the dragon pit. Her eyes blaze with a frenzied fire as she approaches the massive gates, her heart pounding in her chest. With a gesture born of madness, she flings open the gates, allowing the dragons, her children, to soar freely into the tempestuous night sky. Drea, her faithful companion, lands before her, its eyes reflecting the tumultuous storm within her soul.

In a moment of reckless abandon, Vaemyra throws herself onto Drea's back, laughter intermingling with her tears. The dragon takes flight, its wings cutting through the torrential rain as Vaemyra's laughter echoes through the storm-ravaged night.

Higher and higher they soar, until Vaemyra's grip on reality loosens further, and with a defiant cry, she hurls herself off Drea's back. In a breathtaking descent, she plummets through the stormy abyss, her mind consumed by a fractured belief in her destiny.

As Vaemyra hurtles toward the ground, consumed by her fractured beliefs and the madness that grips her, Freya, her fierce and loyal dragon, streaks through the stormy sky, catching her in mid-air with swift precision. Vaemyra lands securely on Freya's back, her laughter transformed into a maniacal cackle that reverberates through the night.

The storm rages around them as Freya takes flight, her wings beating against the howling wind. Vaemyra clings to her dragon with an unhinged fervor, her mind lost in the labyrinth of her delusions. She believes herself to be the chosen one, the embodiment of Aegon's vision, destined to bring about the song of ice and fire.

As they soar through the turbulent night, flashes of lightning illuminate Vaemyra's wild, ecstatic expression. Her eyes, wide and filled with a mixture of triumph and madness, search the horizon as if seeking the fulfillment of her deluded destiny.

The torrential rain pelts against Vaemyra's face, mingling with her tears, but she pays it no heed. The world around her blurs, distorted by her fractured perception. She no longer distinguishes between reality and the fragmented reality she has constructed in her mind. Freya, sensing her rider's anguish, lets out a mournful cry that echoes through the storm. It is a plea, a desperate attempt to reach the Vaemyra she once knew, the one who was strong and determined, yet tethered to the realm of reason.

But Vaemyra, lost in the depths of her madness, is deaf to Freya's cries. Her laughter echoes through the storm, growing louder and more unhinged with each passing moment. She revels in her perceived power, believing herself to be the instrument of destiny's grand design.

As they continue their frenzied flight, Vaemyra's laughter shifts into a haunting melody—a twisted hymn to her fractured mind. The storm becomes her orchestra, the thunder and rain providing the dissonant backdrop to her maddened aria. But even within the chaotic symphony of her madness, a small part of Vaemyra's true self struggles to break free from the shackles of delusion. A glimmer of recognition flickers in her eyes as she gazes upon the raging storm beneath her, the devastation she has caused.

Freya, sensing the shift in her rider's turmoil, slows her flight and descends toward the ground. The storm continues to rage, but with each passing moment, its intensity diminishes, mirroring Vaemyra's inner struggle. As Freya touches down on solid ground, Vaemyra dismounts, her movements unsteady, her laughter now reduced to quiet sobs. The storm subsides, leaving only the echoes of thunder in the distance.

The true identity of the Prince or Princess that was Promised is a mystery. Perhaps it is a Targaryen yet to be born... but that thought does not run across Vaemyra's mind. Her delusions lead her to believe it is her, and can only be here.

For she is the Mother of Dragons.

But along the way back to the dragonpit, where Vaemyra curls up with her children, she feels a sharp pain emerge from her stomach as bile creeps up her throat. It escapes her body and lands on the floor, giving her a singular moment of clarity as Vaemyra's eyes are wide open, and her hand is placed upon her stomach.

It cannot be... it should not be... and yet it is.

What makes Aemond's seed different from all the rest is unknown, and after a lifetime of believing herself to be infertile... Vaemyra refuses to have any children other than her dragons. They are the only true children she will ever have.

She will only ever be the Mother of Dragons.

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