Fire and Blood

Chapter 140: The Prophecy ― Pride and Grudges

Somewhere within the dream world...

"Gah!" Aeonar was yanked through the ether, landing heavily on his back in yet another section of the Red Keep. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, and he lay there for a moment, disoriented, as the world around him swirled in a haze of colors and shadows before struggling to regain his bearings. It felt like he was being dragged through the very corridors of time and space, each transition more jarring than the last. This dreamlike landscape, this disorienting void filled with echoes of the past, was pulling him toward an uncertain fate. Aeonar yearned to escape its grasp, to break free from the chains of this disorienting experience that held him captive. However, he could not muster the energy needed to awaken, as if some unseen force anchored him to this place.

However, Aeonar found himself unable to summon the strength to awaken from this relentless dream, and each attempt was met with an invisible barrier that held him fast. The vision of a younger Rhaenyra with his first son Jaehaerys, humming a harmonic melody in the air as she cradled him tenderly in her arms, filled him with confusion. While his sister loved him deeply, a deep-seated resentment flowed beneath the surface; Rhaenyra felt weighed down by the high expectations Aeonar had imposed on her, the dreams he had woven around her like a gilded cage. He could see it in her eyes, a flicker of disappointment that cut deeper than any blade. He had pushed his sister to be more than she could be and, in doing so, had inadvertently widened the chasm between them.

« The Princess Rhaenyra wanted to tell you how she truly felt, but time and time again, you refused to hear her plea. Was it what you call a sense of duty to the House of the Dragon? Or did pride end up causing you two to drift further apart? »

"No!" Aeonar shook his head, unwilling to recognize what he had seen. "Rhaenyra was a stubborn little girl who needed to understand her place! She needed to grow and take her royal duties seriously, but my sister would repeatedly throw everything I gave her away!" The twitching and tugging at the back of his head, pulling on his nerves, began to cause pain. "No... Rhaenyra was merely a piece on the board. Daemon groomed her since she came of age. He made her this way. And for what?! Because I was his elder brother's firstborn son, that I had something our uncle would never have ever again?!"

« So you instead blame your uncle? You believe Daemon Targaryen, Lord of Flea Bottom and Prince of the City, to be the source of your ire? Was it from the Summer Festival, or did it begin at the tourney your parents proudly arranged in your honor? »

Once more, the relentless tugging and pulling at the nerves within Aeonar's head surged forth, enveloping him in a wave of profound discomfort and agony. It felt as if a thousand tiny daggers were piercing through the fog of his thoughts, each pulse of pain reverberating through his skull like a war drum. He clenched his eyes shut, gripping his head tightly and digging his fingers into his temples with a desperate intensity, as if he could physically suppress the torment that raged within, yelling as if he could command the pain to stop through sheer force of will. But the agony only intensified, a cruel reminder of his vulnerability. Yet, when Aeonar finally opened his eyes again, the world around him shifted dramatically. He was astonished and even more confused to find himself standing on the tournament grounds just outside King's Landing, near the Lion Gate. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and the sweet aroma of spiced wine, mingling with the excited chatter of the crowd, a stark contrast to the isolation of his previous torment. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the scene, illuminating the banners that fluttered in the gentle breeze, each emblazoned with the sigils of the great noble houses of Westeros.