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We found his robes the next day. Lucerys'.
I watched mother sink to her knees on the sand as Syrax let out a strangled cry of her own grief. I sink down beside her, cradling her as she cries and claws at the fabric of his shredded clothes and the wing of his dragon. I don't let it heard but I sob with her, silently albeit, burying my face in her hair and letting my body shake with cries.
The war had been started over a misunderstanding.
That is what was said in Alicent's letter telling my mother how sorrowful she was that Lucerys had died. She did not mention how it was at the hands of her own, older son and his dragon.
So as I stand in the Council room, looking at my mother with her blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes that I think will permanently stay like that, and she asks for Aemond. That she wants Aemond Targaryen, I am the first to offer my services.
"Mother, let me go." I ask her, hand on the hilt of my sword.
She doesn't say anything. She hasn't said anything for the past few days. Not when Jacaerys returned home from the North. Not when Daemon has tried to get her to speak. It has been silent. And now it makes it feels as thought more than my brother has died. I want her to nod. It does not even have to be a full nod, just a slight one. A curt one. Or a flick of her hand.
Just something.
"Mother, please." I say, a whisper. She looks at me, her eyes finally flickering from the fire to my face before she sweeps out of the room, leaving everyone standing in silence. I look at Daemon, then Rhaena before looking back at the door that has left been open by her exit. Then everyone turns to me. "What?"
I ask and Daemon leans in. "What do you want us to do?"
"You are King Consort!" I fire back at him.
"You are Queen of King's Landing." Rhaena comments and it comes flooding back. That's right. Until my mother takes the Throne I am still Queen of King's Landing. Fuck.I flick between Rhaena and Daemon before moving to the head of the Council table. They all turn to me, and I begin to falter but I take a deep breath.
"Like our grace said, I want Aemond Targaryen." I say. I should know how to do this, how to talk to people. How to talk to a Council. "I want him to pay for my brothers death." Remembering that night and how I watched it happen, the anger stirs right back up inside me. "And he will pay." I declare, my voice steady but fierce. "I will take care of him myself."
Daemon leans forward, concern etched on his face. "You cannot just take care of him yourself."
I meet his gaze, unyielding. "I appreciate your concern, father. But I will handle this. I'm taking Lyrax." I say to them all before following in my mothers path, turning on my heel and striding out of the chamber, each step resonating.
As I descend the staircase toward the dragon pits, the weight of my decision pressing heavily on me. The air is thick with the scent of earth and fire, the distant sounds of dragons echoing in my ears. Suddenly, a voice calls out, slicing through my thoughts.
