Game of thrones: A storm is coming

Sitting on the edge of a stone bench in the Red Keep's lush garden, I took a deep breath and let the scent of blooming roses fill my senses. The warm Westerosi sun was a far cry from the harsher light of Essos, but it wasn't unpleasant.

I watched Acnologia's dark shadow glide over the distant hills beyond the city, his massive form circling lazily in the sky. He was keeping himself entertained, and frankly, I wished I could say the same.

Westeros was... complicated.

Since arriving, I'd been greeted like a savior, battled with Daemon's ego (and won, thank you very much), and apparently captured the interest of at least two women who could very well burn the realm down one day—figuratively and literally.

Add to that the fact that Otto Hightower's scrutiny felt like a knife at my back, and Viserys's overeager welcome was like a too-friendly dog sniffing at your heels. Suffice to say, Westeros was less "home sweet home" and more "tread carefully or die trying."

I'd spent the morning replaying recent events in my mind. Rhaenyra's admiration? I could handle that—she was young, curious, and full of that Targaryen fire. Alicent's attention, though? That was a different beast entirely.

Let's be honest: both of those chicks scared me. Specially Alicent, the mature one compared to the child Rhaenyra.

Not because Alicent was particularly threatening—she was lovely, kind, and diplomatic, with a smile that could charm the most stoic courtier. No, it was because I knew what Alicent was capable of becoming.

The dowager queen. The co architect of civil war. The harbinger of green banners and bitter strife. I wasn't ready to become her new obsession, especially not when I was well aware of what lay ahead.

And yet, there she was, walking toward me with an unmistakable glint of determination in her eye. She looked radiant in a green gown that almost mocked me with its significance.

My stomach churned. Was I about to get dragged into a political quagmire disguised as a friendly chat?

"Prince Daeron," Alicent greeted, her voice soft and sweet, but with a hint of restlessness. "I thought I might find you here."

"Lady Alicent," I replied, keeping my tone casual. "Enjoying the gardens?"

She smiled, sitting down beside me, perhaps a little too close. "I find them soothing. And you? You seem... pensive."

I chuckled nervously. "Just taking stock of everything since I arrived. Westeros has a way of keeping you on your toes, doesn't it?"

She tilted her head, her smile turning slightly coy. "You've certainly had a remarkable entrance. Not everyone can tame a dragon like Acnologia and win a duel against Prince Daemon."

"Ah, well," I said, waving it off, "it's not about making an entrance. It's about surviving the aftermath."

Alicent leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing playfully. "And yet, you've stirred quite the pot. The court can't stop talking about you. My father... he hears all sorts of rumors."

Oh, no. Here it comes. I braced myself for whatever Otto Hightower had cooked up in his stew of paranoia. "Rumors, you say?" I replied with a raised brow.

"Yes," she said, her tone almost teasing. "That you're more than just a Targaryen bastard who made a name in Essos. Some say you have plans for the throne."

I laughed—a sharp, startled sound that I couldn't hold back. "Plans for the throne? Let them think that if it keeps them entertained. Honestly, if people find happiness in their gossip, who am I to take it away from them?"

Alicent blinked, clearly surprised by my lack of concern. "You... really don't care what they say?"

"Why should I?" I shrugged. "Their opinions don't define me, and they certainly won't stop me from living my life the way I choose. Worrying about what others think? That's a one-way ticket to misery, Alicent. Trust me, I've seen it ruin better people than me."

She stared at me for a moment, her cheeks slightly pink. "That's... quite a perspective," she said, her voice softer now. "I've never thought of it that way."

"Well, you should," I said with a grin. "Life's too short to spend it fretting over whispers. Live for yourself. Find your own happiness, not what others expect of you."

For a moment, she didn't respond. Her hand lightly brushed her chest, and she glanced down, as if surprised by the rapid beat of her heart. Then, just as quickly, she composed herself. "That's... a refreshing outlook, Prince Daeron."

I raised an eyebrow. "Refreshing, huh? I'll take that as a compliment."

But as we continued to chat, I couldn't help but notice the way she kept stealing glances at me, her cheeks faintly pink, her smile more genuine than before. My instincts told me something was amiss. Was Alicent Hightower blushing?

"Oh, hell nah! Did I accidentally flirt with her? Did I use some medieval pickup line? Why the hell is my worst enemy's daughter who was sent to spy on me, blushing and acting like a maiden in love?"

As she eventually excused herself, leaving me to my thoughts, I sat back and exhaled deeply. Alicent Hightower wasn't the bitter puppet queen of my memories. Not yet, anyway.

She was still just a young woman, trapped in a web of expectations and intrigue. It wasn't fair of me to judge her or Rhaenyra, for that matter—for futures they hadn't lived yet.

Maybe I could help them somehow. Help them grow, find peace, and avoid the mistakes I knew were coming.

But as I watched Alicent walk away, her hand clutched to her chest, her steps lighter than before, I couldn't shake the feeling that my presence here was already complicating things.

And if the suspicious glance Rhaenyra shot Alicent from across the garden was any indication, I wasn't the only one noticing the tension.

"Great," I muttered to myself, standing up and brushing off my tunic. "I'm the rope in a tug-of-war between a dragon princess and the future queen. What could possibly go wrong?"

Accompanying Acnologia into the wilderness for a few days suddenly sounded like a very good idea.

Alicent sat in her chambers, her hands clutching the delicate embroidery she had been working on for hours. Or rather, pretending to work on. The threads lay tangled, and the pattern was uneven—just like her thoughts.

Her father's voice echoed in her mind: "Watch him closely , Alicent. Find his weakness and his secrets. He's a threat to the realm and the King's peace."

She had always obeyed her father without question. His word was law, his wisdom infallible. But now, for the first time in her life, Alicent found herself doubting him.

Because of him.

Alicent felt the heat rise to her cheeks as her mind drifted to the mysterious prince. His casual charm, his unshakable confidence, and that maddening way he dismissed court gossip without a care—it was infuriating and, at the same time, charming . He wasn't like anyone she'd ever met.

When her father spoke ill of Daeron, calling him a manipulator, a bastard with delusions of grandeur, she snapped.

"He's not what you think!" She had protested, her voice trembling with uncharacteristic defiance.

"Daeron isn't scheming against the King. He's... he's a nice person. He really cares about the people! He's not like what you said! "

Otto's face had darkened, his tone colder than she had ever heard it. "Do not let your feelings cloud your judgment, Alicent. You are a Hightower. Your duty is to your house and the realm, not to some dragon-riding bastard with lofty ideals."

She argued back, " He is not like that! If you actually tried to get to know him without unreasonable hatred, maybe you would see it too."

The argument had left her shaken, her heart pounding with frustration and confusion. For the first time, she wanted to stand against her father and reject his orders outright. But the idea terrified her. What would become of her if she defied him?

She sighed, setting the embroidery aside and resting her head in her hands. What is wrong with me?

She felt like a hopeless maiden in one of the songs, pining for a man she barely knew. Worse, she didn't even know if Daeron cared for her—or anyone, for that matter.

"If this goes on, I'll lose my mind." She thought to herself.

Yet the thought of distancing herself from Daeron filled her with a deep, aching loneliness. He was the only one who made her feel like more than just a pawn in her father's game. She needed his company, even if she couldn't fully understand why.

Her friend Rhaenyra was going through similar emotional turmoil. Maybe because of her age, she didn't quite realize the new emotions budding within her.

But she felt as if something precious was being stolen from her. She didn't know how to quite put those feelings into words.

From the initial doubt and suspicions, she had found herself changing her views of Daeron slowly.

And when he knocked down her uncle Daemon, one of the best swordsmen in the realm, she felt a strong desire to get to know him more and why he could be so much better at everything despite being only 3 years older than her.