House Of The Dragon: 'The Exiled Prince'

| Author's Note:

I'm experimenting with different writing styles, including shorter chapters this time.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback,— let me know what you think!

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"Some nights, when the castle is still and the world seems quiet, I think of Aenys,— of the boy I once knew, of the man he has become.

His survival feels like a miracle, a cruel and beautiful twist of fate, and as a mother, I should be content with the family I've built, with the love I have for Laena and Laenor, and yet... there are moments I find myself wondering what might have been.

If I had followed him into exile, if I had cast aside the weight of my Targaryen name and my duty, would we have found happiness in some far-off corner of the world? Or was I always bound to this path, to this marriage, this life?

The woman I am now cannot regret the children I've borne, but the girl I was... she mourns the years I let him be lost.

Deep down, I know I would never have gone after him,— not because I didn't want to, but because I was too much my father's daughter, too much a Targaryen.

I told myself he was strong, that he would endure, and that he would find his way back.

And now, he has returned.

He stands as proud and unyielding as the dragons we both wanted to ride in our youth, but there is a distance between us now, a chasm carved by time and choices.

I know I cannot go back, yet I also know that a part of me will always belong to him, even if I can never let him know."

— By Rhaenys Targaryen.

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The winds above Dragonstone screamed their haunting symphony, carrying with them the salt of the Narrow Sea.

High in the skies, where the clouds danced and broke apart like shredded banners, two dragons wove through the air as if the heavens themselves had become their arena.

The Blood Wyrm moved with serpentine grace, Caraxes's elongated form twisting as though fire flowed through his veins,— in contrast, Vhagar was a leviathan of the sky, her immense wings cutting through the air with ancient power, each beat a thunderclap against the endless expanse.

Below, the world was but a speck.

"Higher, Caraxes!" Daemon's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, as he leaned into the Blood Wyrm's saddle, his silver hair a wild torrent behind him.

And Caraxes obeyed, ascending with fierce purpose, shooting playfull flames upwards, while behind them, Aenys narrowed his eyes, the sun gleaming off his armor as Vhagar followed the fiery path of her kin.

His voice was muffled by the wind, but his words carried no less weight. "Are you trying to kill me?!" he shouted, though his lips curled into a wry grin.

Daemon glanced back, his laughter cutting through the roaring gale. "Yes! That's exactly what I'm trying to do, idiot!"

Aenys rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as Vhagar's wings beat with steady power. "Well, let's land before you succeed!" he called out, and Daemon gestured toward a jagged plateau nestled against the cliffs.

"Lead the way!" He shouted, as Vhagar descended first, her massive shadow swallowing the earth below as she touched down with surprising grace, talons sinking into the stone, leaving behind faint gouges as though to mark her dominion.

Caraxes followed suit, less poised but no less imposing, his landing punctuated by a shrill, reptilian growl.

The two brothers dismounted then, their boots crunching against the uneven stone.

The air was still now, save for the low rumble of the dragons as they settled, their watchful eyes ever alert.

"That reminds me," Daemon began, his tone casual but laced with curiosity. "Still a vacant spot for a dragon, no?" And as Aenys adjusted the leather straps on his vambraces, nodding, he answered. "I do have one, yes."

They had talked before, about all the artifacts that Aenys had brought from Valyria, and so, the question did not come as a surprise to him.

Daemon then leaned against Caraxes' side, crossing his arms. "Haven't thought of choosing Vermithor or Silverwing?"

And Aenys hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the sun bled into the sea. "I'm… honestly undecided."

"How so?"

"I'd want them both." Aenys admitted after a pause, his tone contemplative. "Vermithor for his strength and as a stupid way of revenge against grandfather,— and Silverwing for what she represents. After all, she was our dear grandmother's dragon."

Daemon chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, the dilemma of a man who has too many choices."

That made Aenys smirk. "Exactly. Or I could take an egg from Vhagar, raise it, and give the next generation a worthy dragon."

Daemon raised a brow, his tone half-amused, half-skeptical. "You've always been the sentimental one, huh."

"Sentimental or pragmatic?" Aenys countered, his words light but thoughtful.

"Anyway, enough about dragons. How about we spar for a change of pace?" Faced with Aenys offer, Daemon's grin widened, though his eyes glinted with something darker,— anticipation, perhaps. "You want me to spar with you?"

"Are you scared?" Aenys asked, his smirk growing, which made Daemon scoff, pushing off Caraxes with a flourish, "I have eleven years of experience on you, 'little brother'." he teased.

"And I was trained by the goddess of war for five years." Aenys replied, shrugging as if the statement were inconsequential. "Your point is?"

Daemon's smile faltered for the briefest moment before he masked it with a cocky grin. "Fair enough... but don't cry when I best you."

Aenys chuckled. "And go easy on you? I'd rather not."

The plateau atop the Dragonmont stood silent, save for the distant cries of gulls and the whisper of the sea breeze.

Aenys and Daemon Targaryen faced each other, the weight of their past spars and training lessons once upon a time, palpable in the air between them.

The sun hung low, casting elongated shadows that danced around them like specters of the past, and Daemon's lips curled into a sardonic smile as he drew Darksister, the Valyrian steel blade emerging with a silken hiss.

The sword's dark surface seemed to drink in the light, a weapon forged for a warrior of his temperament, while Aenys mirrored the motion, unsheathing his own Valyrian-Steel blade, Sunset,— a masterpiece of crimson and gold hues, that caught the sun's rays, scattering them in a dazzling display.

"Shall we dispense with the pleasantries then, brother?" Daemon's voice was a low drawl, his eyes narrowing with anticipation.

Aenys inclined his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "As you wish."

Without further preamble, Daemon lunged, Darksister slicing through the air with lethal intent.

Aenys met the assault head-on, Sunset rising to intercept, the clash of Valyrian steel resonating across the plateau, a crystalline note that hung in the air.

Daemon pressed the attack, his movements a blend of aggression and fluidity, each strike a testament to his prowess, honed through countless hours of training and sparring.

Aenys, however, was no mere novice, nor a normal swordsman.

He parried and countered with measured precision, his footwork a dance of anticipation and reaction, though still going easy on the effort.

"You're and always were faster than me, but I've been practicing. Speed alone won't give you the win, Aenys!" Daemon remarked between strikes, a glint of approval in his eyes.

"You dream too much brother!" Aenys retorted, becoming slightly faster than before, deflecting a particularly vicious slash and retaliating with a swift riposte that Daemon barely evaded.

The brothers moved in a deadly ballet, their blades weaving patterns of light and shadow.

Daemon's style was tempestuous, a storm of swift cuts and unpredictable angles, while Aenys seemed to always counter with a calm, almost serene demeanor, his defenses impenetrable, his counters precise.

"Is that frustration I see, brother?" Aenys teased, sidestepping a thrust and delivering a light tap to Daemon's shoulder with the flat of his blade, and Daemon's eyes flashed with a mix of irritation and admiration.

Undeterred, Aenys advanced, his attacks gaining momentum.

He wove a tapestry of feints and genuine strikes, each designed to probe Daemon's defenses, while the 'Rogue Prince' found himself yielding ground, a rare occurrence in his life, that sparked a fire in his gaze.

With a sudden, feral grin, Daemon shifted tactics.

He feigned a retreat, then pivoted sharply, bringing Darksister around in a sweeping arc aimed at Aenys's midsection. Anticipating the maneuver, Aenys dropped to one knee, Sunset flashing upward to intercept. The force of the collision sent vibrations up Daemon's arm, and Aenys held firm,— still taking easy with his brother.

"Impressive, but I can do much better as well." Daemon conceded, breathing heavily.

"Go for it, then!" Aenys taunted, his breathing coming in even pauses, not at all winded.

The duel continued, an intricate interplay of skill and will, and sweat glistened on Daemon's brows already, his chest heaved with exertion, yet he didn't yield.

The world beyond the plateau faded, leaving only the two of them and the relentless song of steel against steel, and finally, in a daring gambit, Aenys feigned a misstep, luring Daemon into overextending.

Seizing the moment, he twisted his wrist, disarming Daemon with a deft flick, making Darksister fly from Daemon's grasp, embedding itself in the earth several paces away, while Daemon fell on his butt softly.

Aenys leveled Sunset at his brother's chest, a triumphant gleam in his violet eyes, while he broke no sweat. "Yield?" He asked Daemon, and the latter threw back his head and laughed, a rich, unrestrained sound.

"Yield, to you? Never." That made Aenys chuckle, lowering his blade. "Stubborn as ever, I see."

Daemon clasped Aenys's forearm, pulling himself upright. "And you, insufferable as always."

Their laughter mingled, echoing across the plateau, while above, Vhagar and Caraxes watched with keen eyes, their massive forms silhouetted against the darkening sky.

As the brothers retrieved their swords and made their way back toward the looming edifice of the castle, a comfortable silence settled between them.

However, a question lingered in the air, as persistent as the sea breeze that whipped against Dragonstone's cliffs.

Where, one might wonder, had Cannibal chosen to rest while all of this came to happen? And, more importantly, why do some people insist that the moon is made out of cookies?

... "Cut! Cut! Author, what are you doing? Stick to the script!"

Ah, apologies. Let's refocus.

The true question was far more pressing.

Would the bond between these two Targaryen brothers endure, forged stronger in fire and steel? Or would the tides of fate and ambition conspire to fracture them, as so often happens in the 'House of the Dragon'?

Time, as always, held the answer,— and it wasn't sharing yet.

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The night descended over Dragonstone like a shroud of ink, swallowing the castle and its surroundings in a suffocating darkness.

A cold wind rolled off the Narrow Sea, carrying the scent of salt and despair as it swept through the ranks of Goldcloaks who had followed Daemon Targaryen on his foolishly-conceived 'rebellion'.

They stood on the bleak plateau outside the castle gates, the jagged cliffs of the island rising ominously around them, their breaths visible in the chill night air.

Tension crackled like a storm about to break.

Aenys Targaryen, cloaked in shadow and flame, stood at the forefront, his posture regal and unyielding. His silver-gold hair gleamed faintly in the light of the torches that lined the courtyard, his eyes like molten amethysts as they bore into the gathered men.

Behind him, a darker shadow loomed,— Vhagar, the ancient titan, her massive wings partially unfurled as if ready to blot out the stars, while nearby, Cannibal crouched like a coiled beast, his eyes gleaming with an almost feral hunger, his black scales absorbing the faint light.

Daemon Targaryen stood beside his brother, visibly torn, his expression was a battlefield of emotions... anger, regret, and a flicker of fear he would never admit to.

His usual swagger was absent, replaced by a stiffness that betrayed his unease. "Is this truly necessary?" Daemon's voice broke the silence, strained and uncertain.

And yet, Aenys did not look at him, "It is." he replied, his tone cold and unyielding, like a blade tempered in fire.

Daemon stepped closer, his voice rising in desperation. "I think it is too much. They are loyal men, Aenys, with families and friends in King's Landing,—..."

"And yet..." Aenys interrupted sharply, his gaze finally turning to his younger brother with a fierce glare.

"They made their choice! They followed you, betraying their king, abandoning their posts, and leaving King's Landing more vulnerable. Did they not?" Daemon hesitated, the weight of his brother's words pressing down on him.

"They did." he admitted reluctantly. "But to burn them alive as consequence,— this is madness!"

Aenys tilted his head, studying his brother with a faint, almost pitying smile. "You forget, Daemon, that every action has its consequence. Do not mistake my affection for you as weakness." His voice dropped, laced with steel. "I am not weak."

Daemon's jaw tightened, his frustration evident. "Aenys, this is madness."

The soldiers shuffled uneasily, their faces pale and drawn, as fear hung thick in the air, as tangible as the cold.

Aenys stepped forward, addressing the gathered men.

His voice carried over the plateau with a commanding force that silenced even the whispers of the wind. "You all stand today in the presence of Aenys Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne."

One of the soldiers, emboldened by desperation, fell to his knees. "Please, my prince! Forgive us!"

Aenys regarded him with an expression that was almost sorrowful. "You, soldiers and knights alike, made your choice when you followed my brother into his drunken and hurt endeavor. For that, you will pay the price."

The plea rippled through the ranks, others dropping to their knees, their voices rising in a cacophony of fear and regret.

"Prince Daemon, help us!"

"Have mercy!"

"We were only following orders!"

Daemon looked to his brother, his voice low and urgent. "Aenys, don't do this. Think of what this will make you...!"

Aenys ignored him, his gaze sweeping over the trembling men. "For the crimes of betraying your king..." he began, his tone heavy with finality, "... for the crimes of abandoning the people you are sworn to protect,— all for the sake of indulging my brother's folly,—..."

He took a deep breath, his expression hardening like stone. "I, Aenys Targaryen, sentence you to die for your sins."

The words fell like a hammer, the soldiers recoiling as if struck. Some wept openly, others muttered prayers to gods that would not answer.

Above them, the night seemed to shift.

The winds carried a low, guttural growl, and the shadows moved.

Vhagar's colossal form emerged fully into view, her wings spreading wide as she loomed over the plateau, and Cannibal stepped forward beside her, his maw opening to reveal rows of jagged teeth.

The air grew heavier, suffused with a heat that seemed to emanate from the dragons themselves.

"Forgive me." Aenys said softly, his voice almost a whisper, yet it carried to every ear.

A small, sad smile touched his lips, a flicker of humanity amidst the coldness of his judgment.

Then, with a voice that echoed like thunder, he spoke the command.

"Dracarys." And the roar of flames consumed the night. Vhagar and Cannibal unleashed their fury in unison, their fire hotter and fiercer than anything mortal men could withstand. The inferno engulfed the plateau, the heat so intense that it turned screams into silence before they could even form.

Daemon turned his face away, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

The reflection of the flames danced in his violet eyes, and for the first time in years, he felt powerless. This was no battlefield where his sword could turn the tide, this was something far beyond his control.

When the flames finally subsided, the plateau was unrecognizable.

The soldiers were gone, reduced to ash and embers, their betrayal erased as if they had never existed. The air shimmered with heat, and the faint smell of charred flesh lingered, carried by the wind.

Aenys turned to his brother, his expression unreadable. "Do you understand now, Daemon?" he asked quietly. "There can be no leniency in matters of loyalty... The realm, and our standing demands it."

Daemon met his gaze, his own filled with a mixture of anger and grudging respect.

"You've made your point, brother." he said through gritted teeth. "Good." Aenys replied, turning away. "Let this be a lesson to all who think to betray the crown,— even if loyal to you."

Above them, Vhagar and Cannibal let out a final, thunderous roar before taking to the skies, their wings beating the air with a force that shook the earth.

The brothers stood in silence, the distance between them now as vast as the stars above. (A/N: Insert devious smirk.)

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| Fire & Blood |

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