Aelora Targaryen, known as "The Golden Child," was born of secrets and trained as a hidden weapon. Raised amidst prophecies and held back by her family's ambition, fire, and blood, she lived a life shrouded in mystery. Across the realm, Benjicot Bla...
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ACT III: Chapter one
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I wish I had told them the truth. I wish I could tell them that it wasn't me, it was him, but I lost that chance. I'm always underestimated by everyone, even myself. Maybe if I had been born a man instead of a woman, I could have a voice and an opinion. I wish my life were my own, that I wasn't just a bone for a dog.
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Weeks had passed since the devastating death of Rhaenys and her dragon, Meleys. The memory of that tragic day lingered like a heavy fog over the Riverlands, casting a shadow on the hearts of those who had once fought with unwavering conviction. Among them was Benjicot, now deeply entrenched in the ongoing war.
The battlefront had become his home, the constant clamor of swords clashing and the cries of men filling his days and nights. Yet, amidst the chaos, a relentless turmoil brewed within him. The betrayal of his wife, Aelora, haunted his every thought. He had seen her switch sides, fighting alongside Aegon and Aemond, and though it felt like a knife to the heart, a part of him understood the complexities that drove her actions.
Despite the stark reality of her betrayal, Benjicot couldn't help but wrestle with the belief that Aelora hadn't truly abandoned their cause. He knew her deeply, her dreams, her fears, and her relentless determination. There had to be a reason, a deeper motivation behind her choices that he couldn't yet comprehend.
The campfires at night offered little solace. As his men gathered to rest, Benjicot often found himself staring into the flames, the flickering light casting shadows that seemed to dance with memories of better times. He could still hear Aelora's laughter, see the spark in her eyes when she spoke of justice and their future together. Those memories were now a bittersweet reminder of what once was.
His fellow soldiers, sensing his internal struggle, offered words of support and camaraderie. They admired his resilience, his unwavering dedication to Rhaenyra's cause despite the personal cost. Yet, no amount of encouragement could ease the ache in his heart. The battlefield had become a place of escape, where the physical exertion of combat was a welcome distraction from the emotional wounds that refused to heal.
As the days turned into weeks, the war raged on with no end in sight. Benjicot's resolve remained steadfast, his loyalty to Rhaenyra unwavering. He fought fiercely, driven by the desire to see her on the Iron Throne, to restore the rightful order. But in the quiet moments, when the din of battle subsided, his thoughts inevitably turned to Aelora.
He wondered where she was, what she was thinking. Did she regret her decisions? Did she miss him as much as he missed her? The questions gnawed at him, leaving him restless and weary. Every piece of intelligence about the enemy forces was scrutinized for any sign of her, any clue that might offer an explanation or a glimpse of her current state.
