" I'm afraid."

" Don't be. They'd be fools to come with Vhagar protecting the city."

" Not the dragons. The rats."

If only Vaemyra were in the Red Keep. If only the one person who truly understands Helaena's dreams were there.

" Aemond is my closest blood and our best sword," Aegon says as his brother joins the council meeting, "I welcome him."

Even though his brother's wife attempted to kill him and is on the side of the Blacks as far as the realm knows.

" Path to King's Landing is through the Riverlands. We must establish a toehold there, at Harrenhal," Aemond surmises as his finger dances across the map.

" The Riverlords will either declare for me, or they will meet Vhagar and Sunfyre together. And we can burn the blockade while we're at it."

" Rhaenyra has dragons as well," The Dowager Queen speaks up.

" Mine are bigger," The King states.

" If we lose the dragons to war, there'll be no calling them back. We must proceed cautiously.

" No. Fat, old Lord Tully will either raise my banner or see his burn. We should fly to Riverrun.

All it takes is one look from Alicent in order for Ser Criston to speak up with her taste still coats his tongue," You are the king, Your Grace. You must not put yourself at risk.

" And Vhagar is needed here to deter Rhaenyra from attacking in retribution for the death of her son," Alicent adds.

" Errors were made in the hours following King Viserys's death," Otto says whilst he still remains Hand of the King," We mustn't compound them. You've already demonstrated your might, Your Grace. We must now favor patience and restraint."

Aegon sighs dramatically," I send ravens by the hour."

" Many and more houses will declare for you in time. History and precedent will come to your side."

" And what of your wife's son?" Aegon all but taunts as he stares at his brother across the table," It is to my knowledge that the beast is still in the dragon pit."

" Rhaeyn has eaten every dragon keeper we've sent down there," Aemond utters without missing a beat," Provoking him is not wise."

" Then we should kill him."

" And risk Vaemyra's wrath thereafter? We already have one grieving mother to deal with, two could bring the realm to its knees."

" But Vaemyra is but a woman," The Lannister dares to speak up," A Mad Princess as some say."

" A woman with three dragons and a taste for blood," Aemond says without even looking at him," You would be wise to fear my wife."

Vaemyra soars high above the clouds, astride Drea, her dark dragon, whose immense wings beat rhythmically against the thin air. The higher they climb, the more the world below shrinks into insignificance. Dragonstone and King's Landing are nothing more than tiny specks, as if she is gazing down at a painted map rather than the very realm she seeks to rule. The cold, crisp air bites at her cheeks, and the clouds swirl around them, a cloak of mist that obscures everything but her thoughts.

She urges Drea forward, away from the stifling politics and blood-soaked memories that plague her. The dragon obeys, gliding over the churning sea, its waters a dark, brooding expanse that mirrors her own turbulent emotions. She hopes the endless horizon will clear her mind, offer her some respite from the chaos within. But no matter how fast or far they fly, she cannot escape the ghosts of her past, nor the weight of her decisions.

Vaemyra's mind drifts back to the pivotal moment that haunts her—the moment she saw Aemond chasing Lucerys through the storm. She should have acted. She could have called Drea to intervene, could have saved Luke from his tragic fate. The guilt gnaws at her, a relentless beast that she cannot silence. If she had stopped Aemond, if she had not hesitated, Lucerys would still be alive, and Rhaenyra's heart would not be shattered.

The image of Drea and Freya, her fierce and loyal dragons, standing at her command in King's Landing is seared into her memory. She remembers the surge of power she felt, the intoxicating thrill of knowing she could end it all, take the throne for herself with a single command. The city had been at her mercy, a tinderbox waiting for a spark. But she had faltered, her humanity tethering her to the ground, whispering caution in her ear. She could have burned King's Landing, claimed her destiny in a blaze of dragonfire, but instead, she had chosen restraint.

Her hands tighten on Drea's reins, the leather creaking under the strain. Vaemyra's heart is a battlefield, torn between her ruthless ambition and the lingering threads of compassion that still bind her. She is a Targaryen, a dragon, driven by the fire in her veins and the prophecy she believes she embodies—the Princess That Was Promised. Her destiny, she is convinced, is to sit upon the Iron Throne, to rule as the queen the realm needs. But that destiny is marred by the blood of her loved ones, the impossible choice that lies before her.

On one side stands her sister, Rhaenyra, a woman she has loved and admired, whose grief and strength are a mirror to her own. On the other side is her husband, Aemond, the warrior prince with whom she shares a bond of fire and blood, their relationship a tempestuous blend of passion and rivalry. To claim the throne, she would have to destroy them both, to cast aside the last remnants of her humanity and embrace the madness that threatens to consume her.

Vaemyra's thoughts are interrupted by the roar of the wind and the steady beat of Drea's wings. She looks down at the sea below, the waves crashing against each other in a relentless dance of destruction and renewal. It is a reflection of her own inner turmoil, the endless cycle of power and consequence that defines her existence. She feels the madness whispering in her ear, urging her to act, to seize what she believes is rightfully hers. But the humanity that grounds her, that still clings to the edges of her soul, holds her back.

The realm is oblivious to her true intentions, believing her to be a loyal supporter of her sister's claim. It is a delicate balance she maintains, a mask she wears to navigate the treacherous waters of loyalty and ambition.

As Vaemyra flies over the sea, the wind whipping through her hair, she feels the weight of those words. Aemond knows her, understands the depths of her ambition and the fire that drives her. But he does not see the conflict within her, the humanity that still clings to her like a lifeline. She is a woman torn between love and power, between her destiny and the bonds that hold her to this world.

All he knows is that he and Vaemyra are the most powerful forces in the entire realm, and for them to collide would bring nothing but fire and blood.

The Black Queen has found the confirmation she was searching for. Syrax's unique cry echoes throughout the island, marking her return as all settle into the hall with the painted table to await her return.

" Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

It is Daemon whom first steps forward, his forehead touching Rhaenyra's as they both still mourn the loss of Lucerys. The Queen looks as though she didn't sleep the entire time she was gone. Her hair is deshelved and her eyes are red and swollen.

" Your council stands at the ready, Your Grace. I will fly to Harrenhal at your command and set our toehold in the Riverlands."

" Your Grace, my lord husband's blockade of the Gullet moves into place. All seaborne travel and trade to King's Landing will soon be cut off."

But Rhaenyra pays them no mind. She simply walks to the head of the painted table, her hands clutching onto a cloak that she won't dare to let go of. She speaks nothing other than four simple words for the first time in weeks.

" I want Aemond Targaryen."

It's all that Daemon needs to hear in order for him to set his plan in motion, but it gives Vaemyra great pause to hear that her sister wants her husband dead.

Vaemyra has a choice.

She can either follow her sister and all but gurantee her husband's death.

Or...

" In your years as a merchant of gossip, you surely accumulated spies within the Red Keep. Servants who knew the comings and goings."

" Scheme with someone else, Daemon. I was once in your thrall, but no longer."

" A transaction, then. Your knowledge in exchange for your freedom."

Vaemyra listens to the specifics of their transaction, but only confronts her uncle as he begins to march out into the hall and down the steps of the castle.

" Daemon," She utters, " You cannot."

" It's the Queen's will," Daemon says simply as he continues to walk.

" Daemon!" Vaemyra exclaims as she grabs his arm and forces him to stop, " I can be of service. Rhaeyn is in the dragon pit. I can get him out and bring him home... one more dragon on our side."

" I'm assuming you want something in return," He says, " What is it, dove?"

" I will not stop you on your quest for revenge, but allow me to make a suggestion," She says as she leans forward to whisper in his ear," A son for a son."

The Princess knows that she has put innocent children into the frey, but they are a small price to pay for her husband's life.

And so the Rogue Prince and the Mad Princess secure passage through Blackwater Bay and to King's Landing, where a sack of gold is placed in the hand of those who aid.

It is there where they part to carry out their perspective missions.

Daemon finds a man whom still regards him as Commander, a man whom hates the Hightowers.

Blood.

And a man with rat traps whom works in the castle and has a gambling debt to be cleared.

Cheese.

It's by Vaemyra's persuasion that leads Daemon to give the men their mission.

A son for a son.

While the men sneak inside of the castle whilst all are asleep, Vaemyra covers herself in a hooded cloak as she makes her way to the dragon pit.

The night air is cool and heavy with the scent of salt and sea as Vaemyra makes her way to the dragon pit, her heart a storm of emotions. The cloak she wears is tattered, its hood pulled low over her face to conceal her identity. Each step she takes is a battle between her fear and her resolve, the weight of her mission pressing down on her like a physical burden.

The streets of King's Landing are eerily silent, the city's usual clamor replaced by an uneasy stillness. Shadows flicker and dance in the torchlight, casting eerie shapes on the cobblestone streets. Vaemyra's footsteps echo softly as she moves with purpose, her mind focused on the task ahead. She must retrieve Rhaeyn and bring him to Dragonstone, but the uncertainty of what she will find gnaws at her.

When she finally reaches the dragon pit, the sight that greets her is both awe-inspiring and heartbreaking. The massive structure looms before her, its walls scarred and blackened by dragonfire. She slips inside, her breath catching in her throat as she descends into the depths of the pit. The air grows warmer, the scent of sulfur and charred flesh filling her nostrils.

As she rounds a corner, she sees him. Rhaeyn, her son, the little dragon who once slept in her bed and nuzzled her for comfort. But now, he is a beast, chained and thrashing in his confinement. His scales are dark and mottled, his eyes burning with a feral intensity that sends a shiver down her spine. He roars and snaps at the chains that bind him, the sound reverberating through the cavernous space.

Vaemyra takes a hesitant step forward, her voice trembling as she calls out to him, "Ziry iksos nyke. Aōha muña (It's me. It's your mother.)"

Rhaeyn's response is immediate and violent. He lashes out, his massive tail whipping through the air and crashing against the stone walls. Vaemyra narrowly avoids the blow, her heart pounding in her chest. She tries again, her voice louder, more insistent, "Rhaeyn, kostilus (please.)"

But the dragon's rage is uncontrollable. He lunges at her, his jaws snapping shut just inches from her face. Vaemyra stumbles back, her eyes wide with fear and sorrow. This is not the dragon she remembers, not the gentle creature she raised. He is wild and untamed, a beast driven by anger and pain.

Tears stream down her face as she realizes the truth. Rhaeyn cannot be tamed, cannot be brought back to Dragonstone. The Greens have turned him into a weapon, a monster that even his own mother cannot control. Her heart shatters as she makes the heartbreaking choice. She cannot let the Greens use him, cannot let them kill him slowly and painfully.

With a heavy heart, she draws her dagger, the blade glinting in the dim light. She moves closer, her steps steady despite the turmoil within her. Rhaeyn's eyes lock onto hers, and for a brief moment, she sees a flicker of recognition, a glimmer of the dragon she once knew.

"Avy jorrāelan (I love you)," She whispers, her voice breaking.

In one swift motion, she plunges the dagger into his heart, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. Rhaeyn roars in pain, his body convulsing as the life drains from him. Vaemyra holds him, her tears mingling with his blood as she watches the light fade from his eyes. His body goes limp, the chains rattling as he collapses to the ground.

Vaemyra falls to her knees beside him, her sobs echoing through the empty pit. She screams, a raw, guttural sound that tears through the silence, heard by no one but herself. The weight of her actions crushes her, the loss of her son a wound that will never heal.

Time loses all meaning as she cradles Rhaeyn's lifeless body, her grief consuming her. She has lost so much—her son, her innocence, her hope. The world around her fades, leaving her alone in her agony, a mother mourning the death of her child.

It's just as Aemond had said.

Two grieving mothers could bring the realm to its knees... only now there are three.

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