A Prince of House Targaryen Chapter 75 (A Song of Dragons) (Patreon)

Note: It took a while to write this one. It's 15332 Words Long. I hope you all Enjoy It. I'm sorry for the Delay.

"If you think this has a Happy Ending, then you haven't been paying attention."

Warning: Sad Chapter

Rhaenys looked at the dragon's eyes. At that moment, it felt as if time had ceased to exist, for when the dragon returned her gaze, a profound familiarity washed over her. Unbeknownst to her conscious mind, a mysterious force propelled Rhaenys forward, her legs moving with an ethereal grace.

Ser Arthur attempted to caution her, urging her to remain behind for her safety. Yet, his words fell upon deaf ears. Closer the dragon leaned, its massive head tilting toward Rhaenys, its hot breath hitting her. And as their gazes locked once more, the dragon's eyes gleamed with the brilliance of molten gold.

With a graceful motion, Rhaenys outstretched her delicate hand towards the magnificent creature before her. As her fingertips brushed against the dragon's formidable scales, she couldn't help but marvel at their razor-sharp texture, reminiscent of the Valyria Steel.

To her astonishment, instead of responding with a thunderous roar, the dragon seemed to melt under her touch, surrendering to the pleasure of her caress. The bond between Rhaenys and the dragon grew stronger with each stroke.

Rhaenys beamed with unbridled joy, her laughter echoing through the air as she continued to run her fingers along the dragon's mesmerizing scales. Finally, unable to contain her excitement any longer, she leaned in close and whispered the dragon's name.

"Morning." The dragon, shimmering pink scales, emitted a gentle purr as Rhaenys tenderly caressed her. With a sense of awe and bond between them, Rhaenys marveled as the majestic beast leaned its massive head closer to her touch, craving the gentle strokes of her hand. Rhaenys couldn't help but giggle, her laughter filled with joy and exhilaration.

Her hands glided over the dragon's sharp yet surprisingly smooth scales. The dragon reciprocated the affectionate gesture by exhaling a warm breath from her nostrils—a sensation that enveloped Rhaenys in a comforting embrace. The heat from the dragon's breath transported her back to her memories in the Water Gardens of Dorne.

Rhaenys felt an overwhelming connection with the dragon. It reminded her of the peace she found amidst the calming fountains and lush greenery of the Water Gardens.

"Iksā iā sȳz riña, iā gevie riña (You're a good girl, a beautiful girl)." As Rhaenys spoke with a playful voice, her words danced in the air, carrying a mischievous undertone. Morning responded by emitting a deep rumble, almost like a cat that got their favorite treat. The resonance of its purr resonated through the air. Rhaenys looked at the dragon's golden eyes, her eyes like melted gold.

Rhaenys experienced an overwhelming surge of warmth in the depths of her being, as if a hidden flame had been kindled. A sensation of pure exultation coursed through her veins, igniting her every nerve. Her legs, seemingly driven by an inner force, propelled her forward without conscious command as her gaze met that of the immense dragon before her; an unspoken understanding passed between them as if they shared a profound connection.

Morning, as if she knew what Rhaenyes was thinking, bowed her head and gently folded her wings. Rhaenys reached out, her hands trembling with anticipation, and securely grasped ahold of its shimmering scales. She propelled herself upward.

Taking hold of each scale, climbing ever higher. With all its grandeur, the dragon remained steadfast, providing a sturdy ascent, its scales akin to a spiraling staircase leading her toward the back. With each step, her heart swelled with awe and triumph.

Rhaenys finally reached the top of Morning. As she settled upon its mighty back, a sense of invincibility welled up within her being. The sheer strength and dominance exuded by the dragon sent a surge of empowerment coursing through Rhaenys' veins. It was a sensation she had never felt before, as if she held the potential to accomplish anything her heart desired in this vast world.

"Rhaenys!"

Rhaenys escaped her thoughts. She looked down to see her brother looking at her with concern and awe, and only now, Rhaenys noticed that Aegarax had arrived; he was behind her brother, his wing standing protectively around her brother while looking at Morning with wariness. He seemed ready to protect Aemon if Morning tried anything.

"Morning wants to fly Valonqar!" Rhaenys exclaimed. Gripping tightly onto the sharp scales of her beloved dragon, Morning, she could feel a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. With her upper body leaning forward in exhilaration, Rhaenys found herself consumed by an insatiable desire that had seized her very being.

Although she couldn't quite put her finger on it, an unyielding longing imbued her every thought - the yearning to take to the skies. Rhaenys craved to witness the panorama that lay beneath her, experiencing the surreal beauty by beholding every detail with her own eyes. This deep-rooted aspiration had long been a shared dream among the Targaryens.

She felt Morning at the back of her head as if she and Morning had bonded in a way that she had never bonded before with anyone else.

Rhaenys knew Morning wanted the same as her; she wanted to fly with her. "Your grace, it's dangerous; please let's talk with the King first," Ser Arthur shouted from below, looking up at Rhaenys with concern, who looked down at him, a reassuring smile on her face.

"Naught to worry, Ser Arthur, tell my father I will return soon. Morning will keep me safe," Rhaenys shouted down at Arthur. He seemed ready to argue, ready to suggest something perhaps, to tell her that she needed to wait, but Rhaenys couldn't wait any longer. She could feel Morning growing impatient.

"Sōvegon (Fly)," Rhaenys exclaimed with vibrant excitement. Her dragon unleashed a thunderous roar that resonated through the air, causing the surrounding trees to quiver in response. Morning began advancing with calculated steps, its immense weight causing the earth beneath to tremble and groan. Startled by the impending presence, the smaller creatures in the vicinity scattered in a frantic frenzy, seeking safety from the dragon. Each resounding step reverberated through the ground as the dragon picked up its pace. Rhaenys firmly clutched the dragon's sleek scales, her grip tight with anticipation, as her companion extended its magnificent wings gracefully. With an effortless leap upward, Morning soared into the sky, its powerful wings slicing through the air, propelling Rhaenys and her dragon on an exhilarating adventure.

Rhaenys found herself screaming at the top of her lungs as the exhilarating rush of the moment took hold of her. Struggling to understand whether her trembling heart was fuelled by fear or sheer excitement, she clung tightly to her dragon's scaly back.

As her majestic dragon steadily ascended into the heavens, each powerful sweep of its wings created a thrilling gust of wind reverberating through the air. The nearby trees, powerless against this force of nature, danced and swayed wildly, their trembling leaves whispering in the wind. In awe, Rhaenys's gaze darted in every direction, absorbing the incredible panorama that unfolded before her very eyes. The once-imposing Harrenhal now appeared small.

Overwhelmed with pure bliss and enchantment, Rhaenys couldn't contain her elation any longer; bursting forth with uncontrollable joy, she exclaimed, "Bisa iksis amazing!! (This Is Amazing!!)"

With each triumphant soar through the expansive sky, Rhaenys felt a surge of exhilaration course through her veins, causing an uncontrollable eruption of joy in the form of both delighted screams and infectious laughter. The gushing wind relentlessly embraced her, its powerful gusts whipping through her cascading hair. As she soared towards the heavens, the entire world beneath her began to diminish in scale, diminishing houses and landscapes, morphing into minute specks as if they were mere toys.

"Kostan sōvegon! īlon both kostagon sōvegon, Morning. Bisa iksis magnificent (I can Fly! We both can fly, Morning. This is magnificent.)" Rhaenys exclaimed, a surge of adrenaline rushing through her veins like never before, her heart beating faster with each passing second. The clouds now seemed much closer.

"Eglikta, ñuha riña (Higher, my girl.)" Rhaenys let out a resounding shout that reverberated in the air. It appeared that Morning shared her profound excitement. The enormous creature's eyes sparkled with delight, mirroring the genuine smile that formed on Rhaenys' face. In complete unison, the dragon emitted an ear-splitting roar that resonated through the vast expanse of the landscape. With each powerful flap of her wings, the dragon effortlessly propelled them both towards the heavens, higher and higher into the billowing clouds above.

"Jaelan naejot ūndegon se giez vys, don't keligon (I want to see the whole world, don't stop)," Rhaenys exclaimed. The intense rays of sunlight bathed the pink scales of her majestic dragon, causing them to shimmer and sparkle like precious gemstones decorating the sky. Ascending higher and higher, Rhaenys and her dragon, Morning, soared effortlessly among the clouds, their agile wings gracefully slicing through the mist.

As Rhaenys and Morning soared through the cloud, a sudden surge of cold enveloped her body, sending shivers down her spine. Straining her eyes against the blinding brightness, she squinted to protect her vision from the intensifying rays of the sun beyond the cloud. Gradually emerging from the icy mist, both Rhaenys and Morning transcended the heavens.

A sense of exhilaration ignited within Rhaenys as a euphoric expression swept over her face, fueled by the rush of wind relentlessly pushing against her. She beheld the breathtaking vista of Westeros sprawling beneath her. Even Harrenhal now appeared minuscule, reduced to the size of an insignificant ant amidst the vastness. The Narrow Sea stretched before her, its cerulean expanse seemingly impossibly distant yet paradoxically close as if she could reach out and touch it. This height, this perspective, offered Rhaenys an indescribable euphoria, almost as if the world had shrunk.

Rhaenys felt their flying speed getting slower and slower; Rhaenys could see the landscape and the clouds below her; she was above everything. She could feel as if everything was in the palm of her hands; everything was within her reach. Rhaenys spread out her arms, feeling the wind blowing around her.

Hearing a Dragon getting closer, Rhaenys looked behind her shoulders and saw Aegarax flying towards them with Aemon on top of him; Rhaenys gripped the scales of Morning.

"Faster, don't ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon īlva (Faster, don't let them catch us)," Rhaenys exclaimed with excitement; morning let out a resounding roar that echoed through the sky. With a powerful thrust of its massive wings, the magnificent creature plunged into a steep dive, easily cutting through the billowing clouds. As they descended rapidly, the rush of wind against Rhaenys' face intensified, the force of it pressing against her like a tangible entity. Determined to maintain her hold on Morning's back, Rhaenys clenched her teeth, her fingers tightly gripping the dragon's scales, the sensation of their sharp edges slightly piercing her skin.

Diving downwards with blistering speed, plummeting through the sky like a fiery meteor, Rhaenys keenly observed the ever-changing landscape unfold before her eyes. As she descended, the once-distant houses gradually grew in size. The rush of wind thundered in her ears. Morning momentarily halted the descent, unfurling her majestic wings. With a sudden halt, the terrifying plunge was suspended, replaced by a renewed momentum as the duo soared forward. The indescribable force threatened to tear Rhaenys from her perch, but she clung to the scales of her dragon with all her might, desperate to maintain her balance, but she couldn't help but feel a sharp pain on the palm of her hands, and wetness.

Rhaenys looked over her shoulder; Aegarax was still following them. He was larger than Morning but not faster than her; Rhaenys could see the gap between them getting bigger. Rhaenys turned to look forward and recognized that she was flying above Harrenhal; her eyes went to the island in the middle of the river near Harrenhal, the Isle of Faces.

My father was there, Rhaenys thought as she flew towards the island engulfed by trees everywhere. As they got closer, Rhaenys noticed a fog appearing around her, engulfing her and Morning. Morning's eyes darted anxiously, scouring their surroundings for any threats. Her massive body tensed up, muscles bulging under her glistening scales, before releasing another roar, this time laced with unmistakable fear.

"Naejot, (Forward)," Rhaenys commanded her dragon; as they flew through the thick fog that engulfed her entire vision, she looked around frantically, trying to understand where she was. She looked forward, expecting them to be near the island, only for the fog to clear away, and Rhaenys found herself flying towards Harrenhal.

What?! Rhaenys thought she looked over her shoulder to see she was flying away from the Isle of Faces. Before Rhaenys could command her dragon to return back, Aegarax flew near her; she saw Aemon gesturing for her to land along with him. Reluctantly, Rhaenys decided to follow him, soon both landing in the same place in the Trident near Ser Arthur, who was still waiting for them.

Rhaenys gently caressed the velvety scales on the top of Morning's head as they landed. In response to Rhaenys's affectionate touch, Morning emitted a resounding purr of pure joy. Rhaenys couldn't help but giggle, her laughter harmonizing with the hum of the wind. As Morning gracefully inclined her neck, Rhaenys seized the opportunity and nimbly leaped off the dragon's back, her feet touching the solid ground below.

Her attention shifted towards her brother, who was successfully dismounting from his own dragon nearby. A smile radiating across his face. Swiftly closing the distance between them, she threw herself into his open arms with affection, almost causing the two of them to lose their balance and tumble to the ground.

"Rhaeny-" his words were abruptly interrupted as Rhaenys passionately and unexpectedly slammed her soft, tender lips onto his. Caught off guard by her audacious move, Aemon felt a flutter of surprise but quickly reciprocated the kiss with increasing fervor. With his arms instinctively encircling her delicate waist, their bodies pressed together, creating a warm and intoxicating embrace. As their lips entwined and danced, their dragons let out roars. Undeterred by the outside world, Rhaenys continued to shower Aemon with affectionate kisses.

Arthur looked away in embarrassment. A chuckle escaped his lips. Kids, he thought with a shake of his head. He looked at the pink Dragon near him; he found it strange that the dragon didn't seem bothered by his presence. Arthur was almost tempted to say something when he remembered she was a dragon and probably wouldn't understand anything.

Rhaenys ended the passionate kiss with Aemon, their lips parting but their bodies remaining intimately close. She purposefully pressed her enticing form against his body, causing him to feel the softness and allure of her full breasts against his chest. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips. With his arms still wrapped tightly around her waist, he found himself consumed by the urge to ravish her. The image of tearing her dress apart to reveal her flawless, velvety skin tantalized his imagination. He wanted to claim her against a tree trunk, but Aemon knew Arthur was nearby, and a new Dragon had just arrived; Aemon knew they needed to talk with their father before doing anything else.

"Ser Arthur, you didn't need to wait for us," Aemon said humorously as they both turned to face the knight, who chuckled, shaking his head and looking at them as if they were a couple of stupid kids.

"I didn't? Well, if you two stop doing reckless things every time we go outside, then I might not wait for you two," Ser Arthur japed with a mischievous grin, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. A gentle breeze tugged at his cloak as he stood amidst the serene countryside. The three horses pricked their ears in response to Ser Arthur's whistle, carrying both command and camaraderie. Their heads turned in unison, gazes locking onto the knight. With a thunderous pounding of hooves against the earth, their powerful legs propelled them forward, accelerating swiftly toward Ser Arthur.

"Are you saying I can't protect my sister?" Aemon questioned playfully with a mischievous glint in his eyes as Rhaenys clung tightly to him. Not too far away, Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes playfully.

"You two are still young, your grace. I'm grateful that the Dragon decided that she didn't feel hungry. I don't know how I would have explained to the King," Ser Arthur answered as the horse stopped before him, and the same for Rhaenys and Aemon's horse.

"If you continue like this, my hair will become grey. I don't want to look like Ser Barristan yet, but don't tell him I said that" Ser Arthur japed as he grasped the reins of his horse. Aemon gracefully mounted his horse, fully expecting Rhaenys to do the same. However, to his surprise, his older sister adorned him with a sultry smile before settling onto the very same horse as him.

Seated in front of Aemon, she positioned herself in a way that pressed her enticing behind against his thighs. The exquisite sensation caused an involuntary groan to escape Aemon's lips as his manhood hardened considerably, straining uncomfortably against his restrictive breeches. With each stride of the horse, she shuddered, feeling the firm grip of Aemon's powerful hand around her waist while his other hand skillfully maneuvered the reins.

Aemon's mounting struggle intensified with each passing moment as Rhaenys provocatively pressed her ass against his thighs, her deliberate movements agitating his senses. Her soft, seductive moans reached his ears, igniting a burning desire within him. When she turned her head, locking eyes with him while flashing a suggestive wink, Aemon felt an electric surge of anticipation surge through his veins.

"Rhaenys, if you don't stop, you can't blame me for what I might do to you," Aemon growled with a ferocity that rivaled that of a dragon, his voice rumbling deep and radiating possessiveness, echoing against Rhaenys's ear.

"What will you do to me, my dear Valonqar? Are you saying you would do sinful things to your innocent sister?" Rhaenys, her voice laced with sensuality, questioned her little brother while an alluring smile played on her lips.

"Maybe I want to, perhaps I want you in your knees, or maybe I want to take you from behind while you ravage Val's cunt," Aemon leaned in close to Rhaenys, his voice resonating with profound conviction as he passionately expressed his thoughts against her ear.

"Valonqar!" Rhaenys moaned with a mixture of desire and anticipation, her body responding to the exhilarating touch as his hand caressed her supple breast, skillfully exploring every curve and eliciting waves of pleasure that consumed her senses.

Soon, they reached Harrenhal. The journey had been swift, and it didn't take long for Prince Aemon and Princess Rhaenys to be escorted through the grand corridors and guided towards the King's Chamber.

Within the chamber, conversing in hushed tones, were Queen Elia and Prince Oberyn. The atmosphere was tense. When Aemon made his entrance, the intensity in Oberyn's gaze became apparent. His eyes conveyed suppressed anger.

However, Oberyn's scowl turned to surprise when his eyes fell upon Aemon and Rhaenys holding hands. This caused him to scowl.

"Oberyn, this is not a discussion; I'm not going to send my son to Dorne," Rhaegar spoke firmly, glaring down at Oberyn, making it clear that he wouldn't budge. Oberyn simply looked away from him, admitting a silent defeat; Rhaegar turned to face Aemon and Rhaenys.

"First Cannibal, now I hear a third Dragon has been seen. Is it raining dragons now, one for everyone?" Rhaegar japed with a smile, but Elia could also hear a tiny bit of concern.

"I don't know your grace; me and Rhaenys were riding in the Trident when the dragon showed up," Aemon reported as Rhaenys eagerly stepped forward, a constant smile on her face.

"It's Morning, Kepa. The dragon bonded with me. She is Morning, Rhaena Targaryen's dragon. She came to me, and we bonded. I flew over Harrenhal. It was amazing," Rhaenys explained excitedly, feeling like a little girl who wanted to show her father something incredible that she did. It did not disappoint when Rhaegar smiled in approval before sharing a hug with Rhaenys, who couldn't help but enjoy the hug, her arms around him.

"Morning. I thought the dragon had died long ago," Elia questioned, puzzled as she looked at her mother-in-law, waiting for her to answer. Rhaella had an answer about everything, but someone else gave the answer.

"I read about it during my time in Citadel that Aegon the Third despised the dragons after what happened to Queen Rhaenyra. It's believed that he wanted the last dragon gone. It was said that he used a strong poison, mixing it with Morning's food to weaken her slowly. Morning disappeared one day to never been seen, but everyone assumed the dragon had been killed and her remains dumped to the sea, but apparently, it seems the dragon is still alive," Oberyn answered knowingly, as he stood up from his chair, walking towards Rhaenys, a proud smile on his face.

Oberyn hugged his niece close, but Aemon didn't miss the warning look Oberyn gave him. It was a look that promised pain if he stepped out of line, but Aemon didn't give him the satisfaction of showing fear or any sign of submission. Instead, Aemon smirked right at Oberyn as if challenging him.

Aemon didn't want Oberyn to think that he would do as they said or show fear towards someone who didn't deserve it. Aemon knew he held the higher power between them, not just because of his dragon, but in Swordfighting, too; Aemon was certain he could defeat Prince Oberyn in a fight.

Aemon remembered himself a long time ago when he used to be afraid whenever Lady Tully looked at him with a nasty glare. He had been a kid; of course, he was afraid of a grownup who looked at him with clear hatred. Aemon remembered himself running to a corner to cry, to run away from the glares; that's how he had found the existence of God's Wood. He had learned that Lady Tully almost never went there due to her Seven Stars, so Aemon always went there to be alone from everyone and let out his sorrow.

But not anymore. If Oberyn wanted to scare him, Aemon would show him why he shouldn't try to be against a Dragon. A snake might hide from wolves and lions in the grass, but a dragon will burn the grass, along with the snake.

"You have brought me great pride, my niece. I'm sure your brother, Aegon, will be pleased to see it. Perhaps you two can fly together," Oberyn suggested with an innocent smile. Oberyn didn't miss the way Rhaenys's amusement wavered slightly when he mentioned flying with Aegon; she didn't look that enthusiastic about it.

"Uncle, we both know Aegon loves his horse too much. I imagined he would say riding Leonard is better than riding a dragon," Rhaenys japed with a cute giggle; Oberyn snorted in amusement; everyone knew how much Aegon valued his horse.

Leonard was gifted to Aegon by Rhaegar when he had reached ten name days. Since then, the two of them had been best friends; Rhaenys would often jape that Aegon was half a horse due to his love for his horse.

"Maybe you're right, but I'm sure Aegon wouldn't mind spending time with his sister," Oberyn further encouraged. Rhaenys kept a smile as she took a step away from her uncle, her hand finding Aemon's hand, their fingers interviewed right in front of Oberyn, whose smile seemed forced, and only Rhaenys's presence restrained him from doing anything rash.

"Aegon is busy with Lady Margaery, Uncle. You know how he is when it comes to his duties as Prince," Rhaenys reminded him; everyone knew just how much Aegon valued his duty over everything.

"Very well, Aemon and Rhaenys, I need to have a discussion with you two later," Rhaegar commanded; both Rhaenys and Aemon nodded in understanding and left the chamber while holding hands together, walking through the corridor, their laughter and giggles heard to everyone who happened to hear them.

Eddard Stark

As the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the dank and musty corridors, Ned's senses sharpened, alerting him to an imminent presence. He gathered his strength, rising up from the cold floor despite the excruciating discomfort coursing through his wrists and ankles, shackled by chains. Ned refused to lie down like a rat when someone came to visit him in the dark cell.

Ned allowed his mind to wander towards the possibility of his beloved family visiting him. The mere thought of their presence brought a surge of warmth to his heart. In his imagination, he could almost see his children's faces. As time passed, the sound of approaching footsteps reached Ned's ears. Finally, the footsteps halted right outside his cell door, causing his heart to beat faster with anticipation. The unmistakable sound of the door being unlocked resonated through the air, and a flood of bright light bathed the darkness of his confined space. Squinting his eyes against the sudden glow, he was relieved to find that the brightness no longer scorched his vision.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering light of the lantern held by Ashara, he realized that she was not alone. Standing right beside her was Alyanna, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of them. Ned felt a tightness in his throat like a lump had formed, impeding his speaking ability. Shocked and rendered speechless, he attempted to utter something, but only unintelligible sounds escaped his lips as if his voice betrayed him at that moment. Ashara walked into the cell, the lantern casting eerie shadows on the cold stone walls. She placed it in the lantern holder attached to the wall, illuminating the confined space.

"Ashara, it's good to see you," Ned finally found his voice to speak; Ashara pushed Alyanna a bit forward with a small pat on the back.

"Ned, this is..." "I'm your daughter," Alyanna interrupted what Ashara had wanted to say as she stepped into the cell. Ned really wished they had met in a much better place than a dark cell, but nonetheless, Ned wasted no time speaking with his daughter.

"You like just like Ashara, Lady Alyanna," Ned said, the only words he could think of. His daughter reminded him so much of Ashara, but her jawline was that of a Stark, and her hair was a darker shade than that of Ashara, but she still had the Stark look. In a way, she reminded Ned of Arya.

"Alyanna," she quickly corrected, her voice filled with a mixture of longing and anticipation as she took another deliberate step toward Ned. With a bittersweet smile gracing her lips, she couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions flooding through her. "I want you to call me Alyanna," she added, her words carrying a subtle plea. And she jumped into Ned's waiting arms, her body nestled against his, her head finding solace in the crook of his neck.

A surge of warmth enveloped them both. Ned could feel his affection for her intensifying with each passing second. His lips tenderly brushed against her forehead.

Reluctantly, Alyanna pulled away, breaking their intimate embrace. As they reluctantly parted, their eyes locked for a lingering moment.

"You're beautiful, Alyanna," Ned said wholeheartedly as Alyanna stepped back, looking at his daughter from up close. Ned really wished they had met in a better place, not in a dark cell.

"Thank you, Father," Alyanna murmured, her voice trembling with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. She fought to regain control of her emotions, feeling a lump forming in her throat as she swallowed back a choke. Her eyes were swollen and red from her unshed tears.

Ned mirrored her pain, his own battle between grief and restraint evident on his face. Despite the overwhelming urge to release his emotions, he composed himself, unwilling to let his tears fall and further burden his already heavy heart.

His gaze shifted towards Ashara. Softness radiated from her features. But underneath the compassion, a trace of anger lingered.

"How are you here?"

"Elia is my friend, Ned. She permitted me to visit you," Ashara answered as she stepped towards Ned.

"Ned, why did you do it?" Ashara asked, almost desperately. She wanted to know the reason behind Ned's actions towards the prince because she couldn't; she wanted to understand him somewhat. She still remembered when they had shared a dance for the first time; she had never imagined that Ned would do something like that.

Ned closed his mouth, looking away from Ashara, deep in thought. "Did you want to protect him from Elia's brothers? Is that why you took him?"

"It doesn't matter anymore; what happened is in the past, and I will live with the consequences of my actions," Ned answered reluctantly, looking back at Ashara. Ashara didn't seem satisfied with his answer but reluctantly nodded in understanding.

"Alyanna, can we talk?"

"About what?"

"Whatever you like," Ned answered softly. Alyanna looked at her mother before nodding at her father.

For the next three hours, Ned talked with Alyanna about everything and the whole time, Ned couldn't stop himself from smiling, happy to get to know and talk with his daughter even if it was the last time he would.

After listening to everything she had to say, Ned hugged his daughter before kissing her forehead tenderly. "Daughter, can you wait outside? I need to speak with your mother," Ned requested. It felt good to call her 'Daughter'; it felt right.

Alyanna looked at his mother; she motioned for her to listen to him. Ned watched as she walked outside; once he did, he turned to face Ashara, a smile growing on his face. Despite so many years, Ashara was still beautiful, taking his breath with a single look, like she was doing right now.

"Ned,"

"What her life will be like? I want to know if you have thought of a potential husband. I would like to know that before I leave," Ned questioned. Ash didn't answer right away. Instead, she strolled around the cell before turning to face him.

"Alyanna told me of Robb, Ned. I told her everything about him," Ashara answered with no expression. Ned let out a weary sigh; never in his life would he have imagined that Robb would have something with his half-sister; at least now they knew the truth, Ned knew, at least hoped they would forget about it sooner or later.

"That's for the better," Ned mumbled.

"I thought of a few husbands. Garlan Tyrell is a good candidate, but Alyanna loves the cold." Ashara said. Ned nodded along, he really wished he could do more for his daughter.

"I trust you, Ashara. I know our daughter will have a happy life," Ned said, looking straight at Ashara. She looked at him, and for the first time, her cheeks went red.

"Do you remember the first time we danced?"

"Aye, I could hardly look at you," Ned admitted with a bitter smile on his face. Ashara slowly walked up to him, spreading her arms around him, their eyes looking at one another.

"You're not shy anymore, my Wolf," Ashara whispered breathlessly, her voice dripping with desire as she leaned her face closer to his. Ned closed the remaining distance. Their lips finally met, the world around them fading away as their passion ignited. Ashara couldn't help but release a moan of sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

Pulling away slowly, their foreheads gently touching, Ashara gazed into Ned's mesmerizing grey eyes, the intensity of her violet orbs conveying an unspoken longing. The shared proximity allowed them to feel the warmth of each other's breaths mingling in the air. Ashara's voice trembled, and her violet eyes glistened with unshed tears as she confessed, "I have missed you, Ned, for so long. I really wish we could go back to that dance. Before the Rebellion started."

"I would like that. I would have married you properly as I promised." Ned said with love. Ashara felt tears rolling down her face; Ned cupped her face tenderly, kissing her forehead with love.

"I love you, Ash. No matter where I am. The Wall, Winterfell, I will always think of you,"

"I love you, too-" Ashara's words were interrupted by Ned's kiss.

Rhaegar Targaryen

' "What can I do for you, your grace?" His son, sporting a slightly mischievous smile and with swollen lips, eagerly inquired the moment he stepped into his father's chamber. It was evident to Rhaegar that his son had recently been in the company of Margaery. His swollen lips hinted at passionate exchanges beyond mere conversation, and the constant smile on his face further confirmed that they had engaged in more than leisurely strolls through the gardens.

"We are alone, Aegon; you can call me father." Rhaegar reminded him, feeling a little tired. His son was way too formal sometimes.

"What can I do for you, Kepa?" Aegon questioned again respectfully; Rhaegar didn't answer right away. Instead, he gestured for his son to sit down; Aegon scooted out a chair, sat down, and waited for his father to continue.

"You and Margaery are going along well, I see,"

Rhaegar said teasingly; this made Aegon blush in embarrassment, looking like a kid who just got caught stealing cake from the kitchen.

"She's a good lady, Kepa; we went to see small villages around Harrenhal, and we visited an orphanage there. She gave coins to the children, and she was very kind to everyone. I offered a purse of gold coins to the lady in charge, but she declined but accepted one coin since I was persistent," Aegon said with a big smile of satisfaction, and not stopping, telling his father everything that happened between him and Lady Margaery, but not the more intimate parts. Rhaegar couldn't help but hear the way he spoke of her; it wasn't just out of duty; he spoke with passion.

"I never thought I'd see the day my little dragon grows up to love a lady," Rhaegar teased after his son was done speaking of Margaery. This caused Aegon to blush even more, lowering his head and trying to hide his face. Rhaegar chuckled in amusement, but eventually, he let out a sound from his throat, indicating that he was serious now.

"Aegon, you know that Daenerys has a dragon now, and so does Aemon," Rhaegar started. His son simply nodded without much thought.

"Their dragons don't compare to Leonard," his son japed with a bright smile as he looked at his father, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm sure you're aware that your uncle Oberyn is not a fan of your brother," Rhaegar reminded him. Aegon looked mildly annoyed that the discussion eventually was about his brother; again, Aegon had tried to shut it down several times, but it seemed there was always someone who wanted to bring it up again.

"My uncle can bitch and moan all he wants. Same for Uncle Doran, my brother is family, and they should see him as one," Aegon stated, making it clear that he didn't see Aemon as a threat.

"That's not how it works, Aegon. Aemon has a dragon, and I think they would be at ease knowing that you also have a dragon or you are tied to someone who has one," the moment Rhaegar uttered those words, his son's face went blank.

"What does Aunt Daenerys have to do with this? She's my aunt; she will support me if I ever need her support. She's family, and it's her duty," Aegon said with no hint of doubt in his voice, getting annoyed.

"Yes, but I believe your uncles would be more at ease if she was directly tied to you," Rhaegar said bluntly. Aegon's expression went blank, and the amusement he had felt during his time with Margaery disappeared.

"No," Aegon answered right away without missing a beat. He knew what his father was indicating. Rhaegar was ready to say something, but Aegon beat him to it.

"I'm not marrying, Aunt Daenerys. I'm already betrothed to Margaery. I don't want my children, with Margaery and Aunt Daenerys, to fight each other for the throne like Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Aegon did. You might think my marriage to Aunt Daenerys will secure my place, but it might start a second Dance. If Prince Oberyn is so worried about me, then he should just return back to Dorne. I'm not going to accept another marriage; House Tyrell won't be pleased that I took a second wife. What if they also decided that my future children with Aunt Daenerys are dangerous to my children with Margaery? It will start the same circle, another Dance of Dragons. We might have the blood of the Dragon, but all it takes is a spoon of poison, and we will fall just like the rest. We are not invincible." Aegon spoke defiantly, spreading his arms as he stood up, ready to leave the chamber.

"If you want to marry Aunt Daenerys to someone, then marry her to Lord Loren Lannister. It will tie House Lannister to us, and House Tully is out of the game as a potential threat. Tywin won't try anything; Daenerys would never fight against us. Lady Cersei and her husband are already destroying themselves. Let them, without Lord Tywin and the Westerlands, they are nothing." Aegon advised before leaving the chamber in haste, not wanting to stay with his father more.

Rhaegar let out a weary sigh. He figured his son would be against marrying Daenerys, and he made good points. If the prince of the realm had two wives, it could lead to potential conflict in the future, like with Rhaenyra and her half-brothers.

Rhaegar found himself confined to his chamber, the weight of everything that had happened bearing down on him. As he sat in his royal chair, his thoughts swirled in a whirlwind of uncertainty. The tension in his muscles made him acutely aware of his weariness, a testament to the countless sleepless nights that plagued him. Longing for respite, he yearned to shut his eyes.

Yet, his momentary respite was shattered as the sound of approaching footsteps broke through the air, interrupting his internal struggle. Focusing his gaze, Rhaegar leaned forward as the grand door swung open with a gentle creak. The sight that greeted him was Elia, but her countenance was marred with unease, her pallid visage revealing her deep concern.

"Elia!"

"Rhaegar, something has happened. One of the direwolves has been killed," Elia informed him with a grave voice; this caused Rhaegar to clench his jaw.

"Anything else?"

"The youngest Stark."

Robb Stark

"What Happened??!!" Robb exclaimed angrily, his voice resonating with fury that sent shivers down the spines of those present. As a Maester of Harrenhal meticulously examined Rickon, who seemed unharmed externally but had a complexion as colorless as milk. The only assurance that Rickon was still alive was his chest's rhythmic rise and fall. Overwhelmed with grief, his mother clung to his motionless form, tears streaming down her face as she poured her heart out, desperately searching for solace in whispered prayers, endlessly pleading for her beloved son to awaken.

Robb turned to face Arya and a boy he had never seen before, but he figured he was from House Dayne from his sigil. He looked around the same age as Arya.

Arya struggled to keep her tears from flooding down her face. The weight of her emotions was vividly evident in her bloodshot eyes, welled up with unshed tears. She clutched her beloved niddle tightly against her chest, embracing it as if seeking solace and comfort from the thin sword. Meanwhile, the boy took a hesitant step towards her, breaking the heavy silence and clearing his throat before mustering the courage to speak.

"My name is Edric Dayne, Lord Stark. Me and Lady Arya were playing around, and she said that she wanted to see the God's Wood of Harrenhal. I walked her to the God's Wood, and we found Lord Rickon lying on the ground, with the direwolf right next to the Weirwood," the boy named Edric explained.

Robb sighed wearily, feeling his head throbbing with a persistent pain that seemed to reverberate through his skull. Desperate for solace, he closed his eyes tightly, hoping to slightly alleviate the discomfort. As he did so, his attention shifted towards Arya, who stood resolutely beside Rickon. He appeared marginally improved. Observing this, Robb couldn't help but appreciate the genuine concern Arya displayed for her brother. Standing in close proximity to Rickon, Arya quietly uttered prayers, her voice laced with heartfelt anguish.

Cry Cry Cry

With an inquisitive gaze, Robb tilted his head back and gazed upwards into the open air, his eyes falling upon a dark-feathered crow. The bird, perched just outside the confines of the tent, emitted ear-piercing screeches that grated on the nerves of Robb. It peered into the tent with a peculiar, almost mocking expression. However, as Grey Wind emitted a low, rumbling growl in response, the crow hastily flapped its wings and swiftly disappeared into the distance.

With a heavy heart, Robb slowly shifted his gaze towards the motionless form of poor Shaggydog. The injuries inflicted upon Shaggydog were being remedied; the three arrows had been pulled out, with no traces of blood evident anymore. Nonetheless, a deep sense of sorrow inundated Robb, prompting a lone teardrop to escape his weary eyes and trickle down his anguished face. Shaggydog, in all his ferociousness and untamed nature, had always stood out among his direwolf siblings. Robb intimately understood the void that Shaggydog's absence would leave behind—a void that Rickon would especially feel.

Robb had been trying to find Alyanna; he wanted to spend time with her before leaving tomorrow. When Arya had come to him crying, Robb had followed her to the God's Wood of Harrenhal, only to find Rickon still breathing and Shaggydog, who had three arrows sticking out of his chest, his blood splattered all over the Weirwood Tree, especially the face of the tree, the face had turned red with Direwolf blood.

Robb wondered who had killed him and why, and with everything happening around him, he felt like he just wanted to forget about everything; he desperately wanted things to return to how they were. He closed his eyes, closing his ears with his hands. It was too much, too much, his mother crying for Rickon, everyone was crying; Robb couldn't handle all of it as his breathing rapid. He prayed that if he closed his eyes hard enough, he would wake up from this nightmare, his eyes shut so tightly that they started to burn.

First, his father is imprisoned, then Rickon; Robb felt overwhelmed and wanted to lash out at something. Moving his hands away from his ears, he felt a rush of cold in his body, as if someone threw a bucket of cold water on his body.

"Mother!"

Robb, his senses heightened by the sound of Rickon's voice, swiftly rotated his body to face the source of the sound. In that split second, his eyes gravitated towards his mother, who released a euphoric exclamation upon witnessing Rickon opening his eyes and speaking. Overwhelmed with joy and a profound sense of relief, she enveloped Rickon in a tight embrace, pressing kisses upon his face. Robb couldn't help but feel a surge of contentment surge through his being. Meanwhile, Arya, her eyes brimming with tears of relief, joined in the embrace, lavishing Rickon with affectionate hugs, feeling relief at the sight of her beloved brother's restored well-being.

Robb walked up to Rickon. His skin wasn't as pale anymore, but he seemed extremely exhausted, and he looked as if he didn't know where he was, his eyes looking around in confusion; Robb's shoulders slumped down in relief, overjoyed to see his brother was safe.

Robb was ready to ask what happened when he heard growling from behind. He turned around to see Grey Wind slowly walking towards Rickon while bearing his sharp white teeth, ready to attack him.

"Grey Wind!" Robb shouted with a commanding voice; his direwolf stopped right away, sitting down; he no longer growled, but he still looked at Rickon with fury. Robb was dumbfounded; their direwolves had never shown hostility towards anyone from House Stark.

The one time Nymeria had growled at Sansa was when Sansa had made fun of Arya a bit too much, calling her a 'horse face' until Arya had fallen into tears; Nymeria had growled at Sansa; that was the first time it had happened, yet, now Grey Wind was growling at Rickon for no apparent reason.

"What happened?" Arya questioned with a hoarse voice, wiping away the tears from her face with her sleeve.

"I don't know, I dreamed that Shaggydog was in danger. I wanted to find him, but I don't know what happened. There was a crow there," Rickon answered with a somewhat hesitant response when his eyes landed on Shaggydog's form.

Rickon unleashed a heart-wrenching cry that pierced through the air. He lunged forward with all his might. However, his cries, filled with a desperate plea, went unanswered as he realized his faithful friend was no longer by his side.

Rickon's trembling arms instinctively reached out to embrace the cold and lifeless form of Shaggydog. Clinging onto the thick, matted fur, he buried his tear-streaked face against the still body. His sobs became uncontrollable, resonating through the empty expanse around him.

The profound sense of loss overwhelmed him as the crimson lifeblood from his fallen direwolf soaked into his clothes. Rickon's devastated heart bled in harmony with Shaggydog's lifeless essence.

With a heavy heart, Robb looked away from the distraught sight of his brother crying again. The sound of his brother's sobs echoed in his ears. Robb yearned to escape it all, desperate to rid himself of the suffocating weight that encased him. The burden of his own emotions was becoming unbearable; every fiber of his being longed to break free from this tormenting cycle and simply erase the memories that haunted him. While Robb knew deep down that he should offer support to his brother, the weight of his own emotional turmoil rendered him incapable of providing the comfort that his brother so desperately needed.

Robb didn't know where he was going, only that he was walking away without thinking of where he was going, soon deciding where he wanted to go. In that moment, he knew to sought out the one person he knew could make him feel better.

Aemon Targaryen - Six Hours Later

The King had talked with the Starks, promising them he would find who killed Shaggydog; after the King returned, he spoke with Aemon and Rhaenys about their future marriage. He also talked with Aemon about his marriage with Val in God's Wood. He allowed Aemon to marry her tonight; his father promised that only his family would be there. Eventually, Aemon told his father he wanted to talk with the Starks. His father had reluctantly agreed but told Aemon to take Ser Arthur with him.

"Are you sure about this, Aemon?" Rhaenys inquired, her voice laced with genuine concern as she steadfastly trailed behind him amidst a labyrinth of tents. The muddy terrain beneath their feet amplified the difficulty with each step.

"Yes, I need to talk with them and check on Rickon," Aemon insisted as he walked in haste, followed by Ghost and Ser Arthur. Aemon didn't know what had happened, but he knew he wanted to learn the truth. He had wanted to meet with them, but after hearing that Shaggydog was found dead, Aemon had decided right away to talk with them. They all would leave tomorrow, and Aemon wanted to speak with them one last time before they all left.

"Aemon, I don't think they will want to see you after everything; they might not see you as their brother anymore. They might even see you as guilty for what happened to Lord Stark," Rhaenys reminded him with concern, knowing how much Aemon valued his cousins. Her words made Aemon pause for a moment, the thought of Arya hating him; Aemon didn't want to hear her say those words, but Aemon quickly resumed walking.

Aemon knew what would happen once he revealed himself; everyone would know, and Aemon knew Arya might hate his guts, but Aemon swallowed every bit of hesitation he had. Lord Stark had doomed himself the day he decided to take him away, and Aemon was simply returning back to his family; if his old family decided that he wasn't worth it from now on because of what Lord Stark did, then so be it.

Aemon finally arrived at the Stark tents. His arrival did not go unnoticed by the stern-faced soldiers who cast disapproving glances his way. Standing proudly beside Aemon were Arthur and Ghost, whose mere presence sent a clear message that any foolishness would be met with dire consequences.

As Aemon approached his intended destination, the sight that greeted him was unexpected. Just outside the tent stood Lady Dacey, conversing with GreatJon. Towering over her, the man's great size instantly captured attention, making even someone as confident as Lady Dacey appear diminutive in comparison. As if a grown man stood side by side with a young child.

Aemon couldn't help but let out a fierce curse under his breath. Lady Dacey was the first to see him, swiftly turning her gaze towards Aemon as he made his way closer. The same could be said for GreatJon, whose scowl deepened as he turned to squarely face Aemon, clearly anticipating trouble. Not one to be intimidated, Aemon's hand instinctively brushed against the cold, steel handle of Wolf Blood, his trusted sword, serving as a subtle warning to GreatJon against engaging in any impulsive or rash actions.

"Your grace, it's good to meet you," Lady Dacey greeted him respectfully with a bow of her head, a warm smile spreading across her beautiful face. GreatJon grunted once more, his icy gaze fixed upon Aemon. The air crackled, and Aemon could sense the impending danger as he noticed the way the man's hands clenched into tightly balled fists. The intimidating presence of Ghost added to the atmosphere of unease, the creature's low growl echoing through the air. Arthur instinctively took a protective step forward.

"What do you want, boy?" GreatJon questioned with a snarl towards Aemon.

"Watch your tone, Lord Umber," Arthur warned right away, a stern look etched across his face and his hand firmly grasping the handle of Dawn. GreatJon turned his attention towards Arthur when Prince Aemon took a determined step forward. Standing at the forefront, his presence commanded respect as he braced himself right before GreatJon.

I'm a prince, not a bastard anymore.

"I will talk with my cousins, Lord Umber. Are you going to stop me?" Aemon questioned with a hint of warning on his face as he grasped the handle of his hidden dagger, fully aware of the man's physical strength that could easily overwhelm him. Knowing that his opponent's powerful fists were capable of shattering bones effortlessly, Aemon, determined not to display any ounce of fear, looked up at the tall man and defiantly took another step forward, daring him to take action.

GreatJon let out a low, menacing growl directed right at Aemon's face. His large, calloused fists clenched tightly and then relaxed in a rhythmic motion. After a moment, he exhaled audibly, releasing a mixture of frustration and resignation. "I see you take after her in more than just looks," he commented, his voice laced with a hint of begrudging admiration. Slowly, GreatJon stepped aside, allowing Aemon to enter the tent granting him access.

"You two stay inside, Arthur. This is an order." Aemon ordered, his voice making it clear that he wouldn't change his mind.

"Aemon!!"

"Rhaenys, stay outside with Ser Arthur; Ghost and Kessa are with me," Aemon instructed, his voice filled with authority. In agreement with his command, Kessa gracefully soared through the skies above, keeping a vigilant watch over their surroundings. Suddenly, a high-pitched whistle resonated through the air, breaking the silence and signaling Kessa's vigilant presence.

Rhaenys looked ready to argue once more, but Aemon walked inside, followed by Ghost, who gave her a look as if it was to say that she shouldn't follow. Reluctantly, Rhaenys decided to stay outside as Kessa landed near her, her size alone scaring many soldiers.

Aemon moved up the tent's flap as he walked inside, and in front of him were Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, Bran Stark, Rickon Stark, and Catelyn Tully. The moment he walked inside, everyone's attention turned towards him; his presence earned different expressions from those he used to call siblings.

"Jon!" Arya, filled with a rush of both surprise and sheer joy, was the first to react upon seeing her beloved brother. Without a moment's hesitation, she sprinted towards him with unrestrained excitement, her heart racing with anticipation. With every ounce of strength in her body, she flung herself into his open arms, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Aemon reciprocated Arya's affection with equal intensity, his arms carefully encasing her petite frame.

"Arya, Get Away from him!"

Arya chose to dismiss the words spoken to her. His hands gently tousled her hair, a gesture that once irritated her but now brought unexpected reassurance. Though torn by conflicting emotions, Arya reluctantly withdrew herself from Jon's embrace, yet she couldn't bear to put too much distance between them, remaining steadfastly in front of him. Her pleading eyes, filled with a mixture of desperation and vulnerability, sought solace in his gaze, the tears welling up and threatening to spill over as her emotions became overwhelmingly intense.

"Jon, please don't let Father go to the Wall. Please, you're a Prince. You can try to convince the King. I know you can!" Arya pleaded to Jon, tears streaming down her face, her small hands holding his bigger ones.

Aemon felt a lump in his throat, finding it difficult to say 'No'; he could say that word to many people, but Arya had always been his favorite, his sister, the one person who made him forget that he was a bastard, but Aemon knew he didn't want her to have false hopes.

"No."

Arya's pleas stopped as her tears dropped down from her cheeks to the ground below, her eyes turning red. "I can't, Arya."

"Why not? You're the prince. Surely you can convince your... father to forgive him." Arya pleaded once again with a hushed tone and even more desperation in her voice.

"Arya, your father stole me from my family; he took away the years I could have had with my family. Years I will never have again. The King will never allow Lord Stark to go unpunished after doing something punishable by death," Aemon said with slight anger, trying to dodge the real reason behind it, the reason why he didn't want to talk with his father.

'Why should your father be free? Why should he not be punished after what he did to me? Should I just forget about it?' Aemon wanted to ask. He wanted to say those words; Aemon knew if he hadn't received the dreams from Bloodraven, Aemon knew he would have joined the Watch eventually. That had been his plan, and now Lord Stark would be joining it instead; Aemon didn't want his uncle not to be punished for what he had done. Aemon wanted to remind all of them what Lord Stark had done, but he remembered. Arya was there. He didn't want to say such words to her.

"But you were happy with us, you were home, you were with your siblings, right?" Arya questioned pleadingly. Every time Jon had spent time with her, he was always happy; he always smiled, so Arya couldn't understand why Jon wasn't saying 'Yes.'

"Rickon, are you alright?" Aemon asked instead of answering. The little boy's eyes were red as blood, his clothes reeked of blood.

"S-Shag-Shagg-" his words trailed, his words choked on his throat as he tried to speak but couldn't, more tears streaming down his face. Sansa quickly walked up to him, hugging her little brother, who kept crying against her shoulder. Sansa spoke smoothly to him, caressing the top of his head.

"How did this happen?"

"Arya found Shaggydog with three arrows. We will take his body and bury him in Winterfell, where he deserves. You wouldn't know anything about what happened to him, would you, Jon?" Robb questioned with a snarl, glaring at Jon, who returned back the glare.

"Why would I know anything about it? Are you saying I would do anything to harm him?" Aemon questioned, letting out a growl that almost sounded like a Dragon.

"If you want to say something, Robb, then say it. I'm right here."

"Our father treated you like his own son, and see how you pay him back. You sent him to the wall," Robb exclaimed with fury as he stepped forward toward Aemon, who didn't seem fazed by his words.

"Like his son," Aemon said the words with a snort and feeling insulted that Robb, of all people, would say that, from all his siblings, Robb was the one most aware of how his mother treated Aemon. He didn't know all of it, but still, it infuriated Aemon. "Did people whisper 'bastard' behind your back, Robb? Did you have to live in a shitty chamber that even servant's chambers are better? Were you always looked down on Robb? Did people always assume the worst for you whenever you did something better than your other brother? Did you not know if your mother was even alive your entire life because I didn't? Did Lord Stark refuse to tell you the truth?" Aemon growled at Robb, glaring at him furiously.

Robb didn't back down. Instead, he stepped forward towards Aemon, Grey Wind beside him. "Our father saved you. You wouldn't have lived past the first year in King's Landing, Father knew, but instead of being grateful, you sent him to the Wall," Robb sneered, glaring furiously at Aemon. Robb's hand brushed off against the handle of his blade.

As Aemon stood there, his blood seemed to reach its boiling point while his anger steadily intensified, fueled by an indescribable sense of injustice. The man he had once regarded as a brother, with whom he had shared countless memories and confidences, now stood before him, falsely accusing him of something his own father had committed. The weight of betrayal and disbelief settled heavily upon Aemon's shoulders.

"Aye, the Wall. You're lucky Lord Stark is keeping his head; my father wanted him dead. Every other King would have taken his head by now, but I convinced him otherwise to ensure you won't lose your father. He might be sent to the Wall, but at least he's still breathing; that's more than he deserves," Aemon growled, reminding them that Lord Stark would keep his head and that they should feel grateful that he saved him.

Robb's face turned a deep shade of crimson, his anger evident in his clenched fists and tense posture. However, Aemon refused to back down. Aemon prepared himself for a physical confrontation, fully aware that Robb desired nothing more than a fight. This time, there was no need for Aemon to conceal his true strength. The tension grew palpable as the direwolves, Grey Wind and Ghost, picked up on their masters' hostile vibes. Grey Wind emitted a low, menacing growl in Aemon's direction, a clear warning. Yet, Ghost also joined in, growling at both Robb and Grey Wind.

"Robb, enough. Please, don't fight," Bran and Arya pleaded as they got in between them, trying to push them away from one another.

Robb seemed like he wanted to ignore his brother's pleas; Aemon simply waited for him to do something. He wouldn't allow Robb to step on him. He would never allow anyone else ever to step on him. He didn't want to feel powerless ever again.

Suddenly, one person in particular had enough. "I always knew you would do something like this."

Aemon, consumed by a seething rage, turned to face the woman he despised. The mere sight of her ignited a furious storm within him, causing his blood to surge and churn like a tempestuous cauldron. Even at a great distance, Aegarax sensed the intensity of Aemon's anger radiating through their connection. Aegarax spread his massive wings and gracefully ascended into the sky, propelling himself towards Harrenhal.

"And what is that, Lady Stark?" Aemon questioned with a small smirk of satisfaction, relishing the opportunity to provoke her. He noticed the subtle change in her demeanor, her face turning redder with anger, mirroring the same fierce gaze she used to give him when he was just a young child. Aemon couldn't help but reminisce about the times he used to fear her gaze, his only instinct being to run away.

However, as he stood before her now, he knew he had no reason to be afraid of anyone. He held greater power than all of them.

"Ned took you under his roof, and you won't even lift a finger to save your own blood. I always knew you were like this. I knew you would betray your own blood," Catelyn's fury burned intensely, her hands clenched into tight fists, demonstrating a distinct gesture of anger that unmistakably conveyed her desire to strike Aemon with the same force as she had on that very occasion when he had dared to address her as "mother" for the first time.

"I always told Ned that you would bring us doom. Our family was happy. Everyone was happy when you were gone where you always belonged," Catelyn spoke, her voice increasing with each word she said as she slowly approached Aemon, the same way she used to do when he was a child and would get scared, but Aemon simply stood his ground, allowing her to approach, and it seemed that made her even more furious, seeing that her old tactics weren't working and that he no longer was afraid of her.

"Do you really think we will just stand around and do nothing. We will never allow Ned to be sent to the Wall," Catelyn seethed with a small smile of triumph, but Aemon didn't seem bothered by what she had said, something that made her smirk disappear.

"That would be treason. Listen here, listen well. All of You!" Aemon declared with authority, his eyes darting between Catelyn and Robb, his voice resonating powerfully as he spoke, causing every person in the tent to turn their attention to him. The forcefulness of his words echoed throughout the enclosed space, commanding the undivided attention of all those present.

"I don't want to bathe the North in flames. I still see the North as the place I was raised in; the people of the North are like a family to me, but if you force me to make a decision. I won't hesitate to turn Winterfell into a barren wasteland. People will call it the second Harrenhal." Aemon promised, earning gasps from the young Starks. Aemon turned to face Robb, who seemed even more furious.

"Do not be foolish, Robb. You cannot win against me." Aemon declared with an unwavering and relentless tone that conveyed absolute confidence in his assertion. His stern words resonated deeply within everyone present, leaving no room for doubt that he wholeheartedly believed in his own triumph over Robb.

The weight of his words was so powerful that it sent shivers down Sansa's spine, causing her to tremble in fear. Lady instinctively moved closer to her side, a cautious gaze fixed upon Aemon as if anticipating any potential threat that he may pose.

"You Bastard!" Catelyn seethed, grabbing Aemon's attention, who didn't care how she called him.

"Look what you have done. Ned will never be there to see his grandchildren be born and grow up because of you. All your siblings no longer have a father that will be there for them. It's only been two months, and you have already ruined this family, you bastard. Why couldn't you just stay in the wild with your filthy animal whore, and birth bastar-" "MOTHER!!!"

Catelyn found herself being forcefully propelled towards a sturdy wooden pillar, abruptly depriving her of both breath and composure. The unexpected impact caused her to emit a startled gasp, the sheer intensity of which resonated loudly within the tent's confines. Aemon viciously directed a powerful punch towards the same wooden pillar close to Catelyn's face, causing the wood to visibly contort and strain, emitting an eerie creaking sound, almost breaking it in two. Aemon's unyielding gaze, brimming with a mixture of anger and contempt, fixed upon Catelyn.

Catelyn's face had turned pale like freshly fallen snow, accentuating the intensity of Aemon's glare. As his furious gaze pierced through her, her breath hitched in her throat, catching for a moment as if it had forgotten how to flow. It was a sight she had never witnessed before – the sheer wrath burning in Aemon's eyes gripped her with an undeniable fear, freezing her in place. Every fiber of her being quivered, sending tremors throughout her body. At that moment, Catelyn was afraid of him.

"You can call me whatever you want, Lady Tully. I don't care anymore what you call me; after all, that's the only weapon you had against me, but call my wife like that again, and I will rip your tongue out right here." Aemon, his voice resonating with an intense growl that echoed the might of a ferocious dragon, threatened Catelyn. The sheer weight of his words sent shivers down her spine, enhancing the trembling that had already consumed her. Feeling the sudden surge of fear coursing through her, Catelyn instinctively shut her lips. Aemon eventually relinquished his grip on her.

Catelyn crumpled onto the hard ground, her body collapsing. Sansa hastened to her side, her steps filled with urgency and concern. Tears cascaded down Catelyn's face. Every fiber of her being vibrated with tremors, akin to a fragile leaf caught in a tumultuous storm. She felt as though an icy embrace was consuming her.

"Jon!" Aemon turned around and saw Robb ready to punch him, but Aemon quickly dodged before pushing Robb away. Grey Wind emitted a series of deep, menacing growls directed vehemently at Aemon. Grey Wind launched himself towards Aemon. However, his attempt to reach his intended target was swiftly thwarted by Ghost, the ghostly white counterpart of Grey Wind, who effortlessly intervened by lunging at him while exposing his formidable fangs in a threatening manner. Despite being effectively pushed back by Ghost, Grey Wind maintained an unwavering determination. Instead, he bared his teeth at Ghost, ready to attack him; same for Ghost, who growled at Grey Wind.

Robb stood up abruptly from the dusty ground, a fierce blaze of fury burning in his eyes, yet amidst the anger, Aemon discerned an underlying current of profound sadness. However, that semblance of melancholy swiftly dissipated, vanishing as swiftly as puffs of smoke carried away by the breeze. Robb let out a sharp whistle, commanding Grey Wind to return to his side. His complexion turned a fiery shade of crimson that spread from his neck to his entire countenance. He inhaled deeply, the breaths deliberate and measured, as though endeavoring to find solace and regain composure.

"Aemon Targaryen, you are no longer my brother; you are not welcome in Winterfell. I don't want to see your face ever again." Robb declared, choking on his own rage, as he glared at Aemon furiously, his voice echoing beyond the tent.

Aemon stiffened for a moment, saddened to hear that, saddened that the man he once considered a brother hated his guts, but he expected this. Deep down, he knew that the moment he revealed his identity, his siblings might hate him. Aemon turned on his heels and walked away. As he strode away from the tent, he heard Arya pleas for him to stay, but Aemon didn't. He couldn't stay any longer.

As he walked away, Aemon could only think of a time when he used to play with Robb. Knight and Lord. Those days were no more.

A Prince - 289 AC

As he slowly regained consciousness, a subtle awareness dawned upon him - a gentle fluttering sensation urging his eyelids upwards. Gradually, they obeyed, revealing a world washed vibrant by the morning sunlight. But, to his dismay, the radiance abruptly transformed into a searing force, stabbing his sensitive eyes like a blade. Reacting instinctively, his hands shot up in a protective reflex. Desperately scanning the immediate surroundings, he stretched his other hand in search of someone. A pang of disappointment feathered across his heart as his outstretched hand encountered only emptiness.

"Jenny!" He called out, expecting his sister to jump on him, but when all he heard was the chamber's silence, he moved away the sheets covering his body, his eyes searching the room. Her chair next to the window was empty.

"Jenny!!" He called out again, moving his legs over the bed frame, touching the cool golden plate that made the entire floor. He ran towards the door, almost tripping on the black rug next to the door; reaching up with both hands, he moved the door handle, opening the door.

He walked out in quick steps, stepping into the massive hall of his house. The sunlight made the gold plates that covered every inch of the floor glitter; some even said that it could blind someone if they stared at it for too long.

His eyes found Irri, who was walking downstairs holding a silver square plate with empty plates. "Irri, where is Jenny?"

"In the warm pool, my prince," Irri answered warmly, her eyes flickering at him for a brief moment. He let out a breath of relief before quickly walking downstairs, jumping and skipping steps, something his father always told him not to do.

"Thank you, Irri." He said as he jumped on the floor of the first floor, this one covered by silver plates with golden outlines; even the supporting pillars outside looked like they were made of silver, beautiful, and strong; their house was more like a small castle rather than a normal house.

He took a left turn, and at the end of the corridor was the door to the pool; he grasped the handle and opened the door, his body assaulted by the pool's steam. The entire chamber where the pool was engulfed by hot steam. He stepped further into the foggy room, his eyes searching for her figure, but he couldn't find her anywhere.

"Jenny!"

"Daemon!!"

"Jenny, why are you in the pool?" Daemon asked, increasingly annoyed; his sister's face ascended from the water, her violet eyes looking at him with a hint of teasing, her long silver hair floating above the water.

"Afraid I might drown, little brother, or are you just annoyed that I didn't wait for you?" Jenny teased. Daemon couldn't see her smile through the thick steam, but he knew she was smiling. She always enjoyed teasing him. His sister was in a happier mood this morning.

"I'm only a minute younger than you; how am I a little brother?" Daemon questioned teasingly, deciding to play along with her game. Her giggle echoed from the pool. Suddenly, a splash of water hit his clothes; Daemon heard his sister giggle again.

"You will always be my little brother. Join me in the pool. We can splash each other," his sister suggested, but Daemon knew they couldn't do that anymore.

"Father won't be happy," Daemon reminded her. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was no longer smiling, which made him unhappy.

It's been a month since their father forbade them from sleeping together in the same bed or sharing a bath, something they had done since Daemon was old enough to remember anything. He and Jenny always did everything together, but after their ten-name day, their father forbade him and her from doing anything together anymore.

Daemon couldn't understand why. They always had more fun together, and it's not like he had other kids his age to be his friends. Irri was of his age, but his father had been furious when he and Jenny had played with her one time, telling them that Irri was a servant and should never think of herself as anything more. Daemon disagreed, but his father was scary when he was mad, so Daemon had said nothing to defend Irri.

"Father is never happy, Daemon," Jenny said. Her amusement disappeared before quickly splashing Daemon with water again; Daemon groaned loudly before wiping his face with his sleeves.

"Fine, but we can't play for long." Daemon agreed, not wasting time removing his clothes and jumping into the pool; Daemon and Jenny giggled, splashing each other with water.

Daemon abruptly stopped when he heard the door open; without a knock, he turned and saw his father walking with the help of two spear soldiers.

The sight of his father made him want to vomit; despite seeing him for ten long years, Daemon always found it difficult to look at his father directly. His father was as fat as a pig. He has pig's eyes and fat cheeks. He has a huge white belly and a pair of heavy breasts that sag like sacks of suet covered with coarse yellow hair. He has a forked yellow beard that is oiled so it gleams like gold, and he has crooked yellow teeth.

Daemon opened his mouth to answer when a pair of hands forced his head underwater; he knew his sister was hiding him, so he stopped himself from rising above the surface right away. Daemon heard his sister and their father exchanging words, but he could hardly understand them since his head was underwater.

Eventually, his sister let go of his hair; Daemon pulled his head above the water's surface, letting out a loud gasp, trying to fill his lungs with air.

"Are you mad?"

"It worked, didn't it?" His sister questioned with another sweet smile, completely ignoring his comment about her sanity. Daemon sighed with annoyance; his sister knew her smile was his weakest point.

"You are a witch. My sister is a witch." Daemon declared with a playful voice. His sister giggled before splashing him with more water.

Later

Sneaking out of the pool proved difficult, but with Irri's help, he found his way to his chamber. Irri helped him to change and wear other clothes, despite how many times he told her that he could do it by himself, but Irri always said that it was her duty to help him and that his father wouldn't be pleased if she didn't do her duty, the thought of his father being angry with Irri didn't sit well with Daemon so he accepted her helping hand.

Once Daemon prepared himself for the day, he meticulously combed his hair and dressed in his finest attire. As he pushed open the garden gate, the delicate fragrance of blooming flowers embraced him.

The garden boasted an impressive collection of trees, ranging from elegant cherry blossoms imported from the farthest reaches of the Orient to the towering oak trees native to his homeland. Among them, a row of lemon trees proudly displayed their vibrant fruits, skillfully cultivated from the sun-drenched lands of Dorne. Their vibrant yellow hues added a touch of exoticism to the already diverse ensemble of flora.

As Daemon ventured further into the garden, his ears were greeted by a harmonious symphony of melodies. He traced the source of the mellifluous tunes to intricately designed birdcages suspended from sturdy branches. A unique feathered creature showed off its resplendent plumage within each cage, painting the air with a kaleidoscope of colors. From the azure blues of the jays to the fiery reds of the cardinals, every bird possessed a distinctive allure.

Their radiant feathers, reminiscent of a painter's brushstrokes dancing on a vibrant canvas, seemed far more enchanting and precious to him than any amount of gold that adorned his father's extravagant chambers.

But in the center of the garden was what caught everyone's eyes: a mesmerizing statue of a woman. With sorrow etched into her delicate features, this stunning figure cradled two cherubic infants tenderly in her embrace. Ensconced within a chair crafted entirely from a breathtaking array of blossoms.

"Mother," Daemon thought. He knew he should feel something whenever he laid his eyes on her statue, but he couldn't find in himself to feel anything for someone he had never known, and neither had Jenny. Their father always said how she died protecting them from the cutthroats that House Targaryen sent.

Daemon's eyes were immediately drawn to the large circular table in the garden, positioned right before the statue. At the table, Jenny sat gracefully, delicately consuming her meal, every movement exuding elegance. Their father was haphazardly stuffing his face with food, oblivious to any semblance of dining etiquette. The putrid smell emanating from his mouth was enough to turn anyone's stomach, yet he persisted in his relentless consumption. Determined to distance himself from this unsightly spectacle, Daemon deliberately chose to sit alongside his sister, who had purposefully positioned herself as far away from their father as possible.

They both ate, and it was quiet. The beautiful songs of the bird only added to it until their father started discussing the same thing he had been discussing since Daemon could remember anything. "Daemon, Harry Strickland will arrive tomorrow to start your training." His father spoke as he gulped down a biscuit before following it with sweet wine.

"Should he? Why is he even coming here? So we can take back what belonged to us?" Jenny questioned with a hint of mockery. Her words caused their father to start coughing, choking on the food he had been eating. He quickly gulped it down with more sweet wine, wiping the wine away from his lips with his palm before he glared furiously at Jenny.

"Watch your tone, daughter. Your mother gave her life for you both, and this is how you two repay her?" Their father questioned. His face had gone purple with anger; he was short of breath after talking.

'Your mother gave her life for you both, and this is how you two repay her?' Daemon repeated the words in his head; he had lost count of how many times their father had talked about what their mother had sacrificed for them, how they were robbed of Westeros.

But Daemon and his sister had never been to Westeros. To them, Westeros was the name of a land far away, with people they had never met, a strange land full of strangers.

People still hold secret feasts on their honor, awaiting the return of House Blackfyre. At least that's what their father always told them. Houses had the banner of the black dragon inside their most secured rooms, so when House Blackfyre returned, they would put out the flags, welcoming them with open arms and love, ready to fight for them for the rightful heirs.

But Daemon had never seen anything like that. All he had were their father's tales, which Jenny loved to tell was naught but a fairy tale.

"He will come here to train, Daemon; under his wig, you will be the best swordsman in the world. Harry Strickland is the captain of the Golden Company. He is the best you can get," His father spoke after drinking some more sweet wine, shoving his face with more food.

Daemon couldn't help but imagine himself swinging a sword. The thought excited him. He always wanted to use a sword. He was good with large swords. When he was a child, he used to carry around a large wooden plank because it used to look like a sword, and it was quite heavy, until his sister burned it when he was sleeping.

"Daemon doesn't need Swordfighting, do you, Daemon?" Jenny questioned, turning her head to face her brother with a pleading look on her face.

"S-she's right. I don't like swords, Father," Daemon answered right away with a slight stutter. His sister smiled sweetly once she heard his answer, something that always made his heart beat faster. She leaned closer and kissed his cheek as a reward, something that made Daemon blush, but their father didn't look pleased, his face turning even more purple with rage.

"So you want to abandon what your mother sacrificed for you both?"

"Our mother would have wanted us to be happy and not go to war for a throne made of swords," his sister shouted defiantly, standing up and grabbing Daemon's wrist, forcing him to follow her as they walked inside their home, ignoring their father telling them to return back.

"Our father just wants the best for us," Daemon said as he walked upstairs, still following her. His sister stopped pulling him, letting go of his wrist. She turned to face him, but the smile had disappeared, something Daemon never liked seeing. She was much more beautiful when she smiled.

"He wants a War for us, Daemon. You know I'm right; since the beginning, it is all about Westeros and how much our mother suffered because of the evil Targaryens. When you have children and go to war and you die, should your children take revenge for you, should your children's children? When does it end? Does it ever End? You make me happy, Daemon, not some Throne made of swords. Only you." His sister said wholeheartedly, her hand touching his cheek tenderly, his head leaning against her soft hand, his hand reaching up, cupping her hand, his lips kissing her palm.

"I will talk with Father tomorrow. I will tell him Harry Strickland won't have to come," Daemon promised. Her face brightened, and she threw herself into his arms. He hugged her close as she laid kisses on his cheeks.

Tomorrow

Once again, he relished the warm caress of the morning sunlight as it filtered through his half-closed eyelids. With a contented sigh, he leisurely unfurled himself from beneath the cozy embrace of his blanket. Stretching his tired limbs, he gingerly rose to his feet.

The silence of the morning was shattered when he heard the sound of multiple footsteps. Muffled shuffling and hurried footsteps resonated from beyond his chamber.

"Jenny!" Daemon called out, expecting his sister to walk inside. The door opened, but it was Irri who walked in instead of his sister, her face showing distress and fear, pale as milk. The sight of her distressed face made Daemon gulp.

"Where's my sister?"

Her slender frame trembled as her lower lip quivered, and her eyes, usually vibrant and full of life, now glistened with the unshed tears that threatened to escape.

Irri managed to stammer through her choked sobs, her voice trembling with fear and anxiety. "D-Daemon," she began, struggling to articulate herself. "Lord Illyrio, he... he wants you to stay inside until they deal with the thief." her voice trailed off, barely audible through the steady stream of tears cascading down her face.

Daemon's legs moved on their own. He pushed Irri away, slamming the door open, and ran across the second-floor hall towards Jenny's chamber; three spear guards guarding the door moved away, allowing him entrance.

"Jenny!" Daemon urgently called out, his voice echoing through the chilling silence of her chamber. As he stepped inside, a nauseating stench of blood invaded his nostrils, overwhelming him instantly. His senses were intoxicated by the metallic tang that permeated the air. Gazing upon the gruesome scene that unfolded before his eyes, he recoiled in horror.

The chamber walls were drenched in crimson, like a macabre artwork of despair. Thick rivulets of blood descended from above, forming glistening droplets that harmoniously merged with the pulsating red pool below. The once serene and immaculate bed now transformed into a horrifying tableau. A thick, sticky layer of red now enveloped every inch of the once pristine white fabric.

And there, lying motionless atop the crimson-stained bed, laid Jenny's lifeless figure. A ghastly, wide red smile slashed across her delicate neck, extending from ear to ear, mocking any trace of joy that might have once graced her face. Her pale, lifeless body mirrored the color of pure milk, stripped of all vitality. Grief and despair engulfed Daemon's heart as his eyes wandered downwards, revealing a horrifying sight. Countless stab wounds riddled her once pristine belly, mercilessly tearing through her flesh. The wounds appeared countless.

But even in death, Jenny's face bore the unmistakable expression of sheer terror, eternally etched onto her pale visage.

Daemon's knees buckled, his heart pounding on his head like a bell, tears burned like fire against his cheek, and his mouth stretched open, letting out a cry. It hurts, he thought. It hurts too much. The corner of his mouth tore and bled as he screamed to the heavens, his mouth open wider than ever before.

Jenny, please wake me up, please, please make it stop, Daemon thought as he screamed, his lips tasting both blood and tears, as he released the loudest cry he could, tasting even more blood in his mouth.

Daemon didn't know how long he had stayed there, but he felt his kneecaps burning from pressing against the floor. The thought made his blood boil when he remembered that Irri said there had been a thief.

Daemon's legs moved on their own. He left his sister's chamber, his mouth bleeding, but he ignored the pain and the taste of blood. It didn't take long to find his father; once he entered the chamber, he found his father standing near a chair. A man was tied to the chair with chains, blood dripping from a slash wound across his cheek. He looked as if he was beaten up, his lips swollen and bleeding.

"He is the one that killed your sister, Daemon. I'm sorry," his father said with deep sorrow, not looking at his son, but Daemon barely paid his father any attention as he walked in front of the man who killed his sister. The man lifted his face up to look at him; Daemon noticed a knife resting on the table near him.

"So you are the brother I missed." The man spoke with a sneer, a smug smirk on his face; Daemon recognized his accent.

"Too far away from Westeros. Why did you come here?" Daemon questioned, his hand grasping the knife from the table nearby, grasping it hard enough that his hand started to burn.

The man laughed mockingly, looking up at Daemon with smugness. "The Targaryens sent their regards, bastard. Your sister was quite a screamer when I cut her hair, she..." his words stuck in his throat as Daemon plunged the dagger near his right ear, but not too deep. The man screamed in pain, and Daemon smiled.

With a swift downward motion, he mercilessly sliced through the layers of flesh, his strength propelling the blade through the man's ear and downward along the contours of his face, reaching the jawline with a sickening precision. The resounding scream of agony filled the air, only fueling Daemon's pleasure. Ignoring the cries, he continued his relentless assault, hacking away at the man's flesh with relentless fervor, creating a gruesome red smile that stretched from one ear to the other.

Unfazed, Daemon held the dagger tightly, slippy from the blood as he stabbed his eye with all the strength he had, then his nose, then his cheek. He stabbed, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again...

Now - 297 AC

Daemon immersed himself in the glorious warmth of the early morning sun. As the golden rays caressed his skin, his trusty sword stood tall against the sturdy back of his chair. The tranquility of the peaceful solitude enveloped him until a sudden disturbance ruptured the stillness. The distant and unmistakable clattering of hooves echoed through the air, gradually growing louder with each passing moment. With unwavering composure, Daemon remained rooted to his spot. Then, his ears detected the muffled sound of footsteps drawing nearer from behind.

"My Prince, Khal Drogo, and his army have arrived. They are in front of the city," Irri said, bowing her head.

"Good to know the horselord is so generous to give me his army," Daemon said with a hoarse voice, standing up; his bulky body attracted the attention of many, especially Irri, who had a flush on her cheeks; her figure looked tiny in front of Daemon.

His large and calloused hand, with knuckles as thick as iron, firmly gripped the smooth handle of his gleaming sword. The mere presence of the sword cast an intimidating shadow that seemed to devour the petite figure of Irri.

With a swift and powerful movement, Daemon spun around and positioned himself in front of her, his towering frame matching the size of his father's. However, unlike his father's protruding belly, Daemon's physique was impressive and robust, resembling a muscular beast.

Standing at a height of over eight feet, he was often referred to as a bear among men. The immense sword he wielded, named the Black Blade, was - thick and sharp like Valyrian Steep. It surpassed the length of an average man, measuring a staggering seven feet, and capable of cleaving through both horse and rider with terrifying ease.

"I heard they love horses more than women. Well, they will be happy. They will go to hell with their horses."

Chapter 76 (Leaving Harrenhal)

Why did Grey Wind growl at Rickon when he woke up?

The name of the first Blackfyre is Daemon, so Illyrio gave that name to his son in Honor of the first Blackfyre.

NOTE: Since A Dragon Kissed by Sun is near its end, I Have been thinking of a new GoT Story after I complete it. I Have two ideas right now.

A: When Ned Stark returns to Winterfell with his nephew, his mother, Lyarra Stark, recognizes who Jon Snow is and decides to raise him herself. Title: A Hungry Dragon, Ruthless Jon Snow, and a little Power Hungry. As for Pairing, I'm not sure yet.

B: Game of Thrones x Elden Ring (Jon Snow gets angry with Robb and decides to go and pray in God's Wood, where he meets Melina.) other characters from the game will appear around the GoT World: Malenia, Ranni The Witch, General Radahn, Queen Marika, Radagon, and a few others.

Which one is Better?