A Dragon's Song

Embers of Hatred

The sun was high in the sky, casting sharp shadows across the courtyard of the Red Keep as Naerys stood beside Aemond and Alicent. The three of them watched in silence as Criston Cole's host finally returned to King's Landing. The city had been buzzing with anticipation for days, and now, the moment had arrived.

Narys glanced at Aemond, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression. He had been distant since his return, the weight of the war clearly taking its toll on him. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently, but he didn't respond. His eye remained fixed on the gate, watching intently as the soldiers began to file through.

Alicent stood on Aemond's other side, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Narys could see the strain in her eyes, the worry that had been growing since they first heard the news of Rook's Rest. She was trying to stay strong, to hold herself together for the sake of her children, but Naerys could see the cracks forming in her usually composed exterior.

The gate creaked open, and the first ranks of soldiers marched through, their armor gleaming in the harsh light. The banners of House Hightower and House Targaryen flapped in the breeze, a stark contrast to the grim expressions of the men who carried them.

Naerys's eyes were drawn to the front of the procession, where Criston Cole rode at the head of his men. His armor was tarnished, his face set in a grim expression as he guided his horse into the courtyard.

But what truly captured Naerys's attention was the grotesque sight that followed. On a large, flat cart, pulled by two heavy draft horses, lay the severed head of Meleys, the Red Queen. The dragon's massive jaws hung open, exposing rows of sharp teeth, while her once-brilliant red scales were now blackened and charred. Blood still clung to her, dried and cracked in the midday heat.

The crowd that had gathered to watch the procession erupted into cheers, their voices rising in a cacophony of triumph and celebration.

Naerys felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

She turned to Aemond, her voice trembling with barely-contained anger. "The disrespect..." she muttered, her eyes flashing with outrage as she looked back at the gruesome display.

"She chose Rhaenyra, and this was the consequence."

Naerys shook her head, her hand tightening around Aemond's. "But this... This is disrespectful to our blood. Dragons are more than just weapons or trophies. They are to be revered as gods, even in death."

Aemond stood beside her, arms crossed. "She disrespected our family first by siding with Rhaenyra. She got what she deserved."

Alicent, watching the scene with cold, unreadable eyes, nodded slightly. "Dragons are power, yes, but they are also tools in this war. Rhaenys sealed her fate when she took Rhaenyra's side. Meleys is no different. If parading her head inspires fear, then let it be done."

Naerys let out a dry laugh. "Rhaenys was a fool to fight for Rhaenyra, just as Rhaenyra is a fool for thinking she could ever rule. She's no queen. She's a usurper, a traitor. She always thought herself better, more deserving—" her voice grew harsher, venom lacing her words, "—but she's nothing. She's torn this family apart, and for what? Her greed? Her lust for power?"

Aemond, listening to Naerys, gave a slow nod of approval. Alicent, standing firm, did not disagree. "Rhaenyra has brought destruction upon this house," she said quietly, though her tone held no sorrow. "Her claim to the throne has cost us dearly. Let her suffer for it."

Naerys clenched her jaw, her hands trembling slightly as she thought of all that had been lost—what had yet to be lost. "She will suffer. When I see her fall, it will be the end of this madness."