The War of the Two Dragons || A Fire and Blood Story

Chapter 1

The somber toll of bells echoed across the rocky shores of Driftmark, a mournful reminder of the day's solemnity. The gray sky cast a muted light over the gathering, making the sea appear as a vast expanse of steel. The funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, Daemon Targaryen's first wife, was an event that had drawn nobles from across the realm, each cloaked in black and bearing expressions of practiced grief.

The ceremony took place in the courtyard of High Tide, the ancestral seat of House Velaryon. Banners of House Velaryon and House Targaryen fluttered in the cool breeze, their sigils vivid against the dark stone of the castle. The scent of salt and sea mingled with the fragrance of incense, creating a poignant atmosphere. Waves crashed against the rocks in a mournful cadence, a fitting backdrop to the sorrow that hung in the air.

Visenya Targaryen stood among her family, her violet-blue eyes reflecting the overcast sky. She wore a simple yet elegant black dress, the color making her platinum hair stand out even more. Beside her, Aemond stood tall and stoic, his own gaze fixed on the pyre where Lady Laena's body lay. Though she had not known Laena well, Visenya felt the weight of the occasion; the loss of a family member, however distant, was a reminder of the fragile nature of their world.

King Viserys I, grey and frail, stood at the forefront, his face etched with sorrow. His silver hair, now streaked with white, fell limply around his face. He wore a dark robe embroidered with the sigil of House Targaryen, the three-headed dragon shimmering in the dim light. To his right was Rhaenyra, her eyes red-rimmed from tears, her dark hair framing a face that was pale with grief. Beside her, Daemon stood with a stoic expression, his striking violet eyes revealing nothing of his inner turmoil. His black leather armor was adorned with silver accents, making him appear both regal and menacing.

The tension between the Greens and the Blacks was palpable, a silent undercurrent of animosity that threatened to erupt at any moment. Visenya's gaze drifted to her mother, Alicent, who stood with her usual regal bearing. Her auburn hair was neatly arranged in an intricate braid, adorned with small emeralds that matched her deep green dress. Her face was a mask of composed dignity, though Visenya knew her mother well enough to see the flicker of disdain in her eyes whenever they rested on Rhaenyra. Alicent's disappointment in Visenya's dragonless status still lingered, a silent judgment that Visenya carried with her always.

Aegon, now fourteen, shifted restlessly beside Haelena, who at thirteen appeared lost in her own world. Her gaze was distant and unfocused, as if she were conversing with unseen spirits. Aegon's tousled silver hair and piercing violet eyes gave him a roguish charm, but his restlessness betrayed his discomfort. He wore a finely tailored black doublet, adorned with silver embroidery that matched the dragon motif of House Targaryen. Haelena's dress was a soft shade of lavender, delicate lace trimming the sleeves and neckline, giving her an ethereal appearance. Daeron, the youngest at seven years old, clung to Visenya's side, his hand gripping hers tightly. His curious eyes and youthful face were a stark contrast to the solemnity of the occasion. He wore a simple black tunic, his young face marked by a solemn expression that belied his age. She gave him a reassuring squeeze, drawing strength from their bond.

As the priest's voice rose in a final prayer, the pyre was lit. Flames leaped up, hungrily consuming the wood and shrouding Laena's body in a fiery embrace. The crowd watched in silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound. As the smoke rose into the sky, it seemed to carry with it the unspoken grief and unresolved tensions of those gathered.

Visenya exchanged a look with Aemond, twelve years old, whose expression mirrored her own unease. Despite the palpable tension, there was a silent understanding between them; they would face whatever came together. Aemond's silver hair, which fell in waves around his face, and his intense violet eyes gave him a fierce appearance. He wore a dark blue tunic with silver embroidery, the dragon sigil prominent on his chest. Aegon, however, seemed bored, his gaze wandering over the crowd, lingering on the serving girls. Haelena murmured to herself, her fingers tracing patterns in the air, her delicate features serene and otherworldly.