Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 2

Five years had passed, and Princess Aenyra was now ten-and-two—taller, sharper of tongue, and no less spirited than she had been as a child. She had grown into her Valyrian beauty—long, moon-pale hair that cascaded in waves down her back, and eyes the striking blue of a Larimar stone. Though she studied diligently with the maesters, especially in High Valyrian, she preferred the sword and the saddle over scrolls and ink.

This afternoon, as she walked back from her lessons, the carved stone halls of the Red Keep echoing with the soft patter of her boots, something unusual made her pause. Faint screams bled through the corridor. Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head toward the sound. It was coming from her mother's chambers.

She approached cautiously, the shrill cry of a newborn barely audible beneath her mother's sharp, agonized voice. "Get out, you stupid cunt!" Rhaenyra screamed, just as a young maid burst from the chamber, eyes red, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sprinted past Aenyra without so much as a glance.

Aenyra exhaled, shaking her head slightly. She'd seen many sides of her mother—stern, loving, fierce—but childbirth always brought out a fire that left even seasoned midwives in retreat.

She pushed open the heavy door slowly, stepping inside.

Her mother was on the floor, kneeling, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her hands bracing her trembling body. The screaming had ceased, replaced by the distinct, squalling wail of new life.

"It's a boy, Princess!" the midwife exclaimed joyously, holding the wriggling newborn aloft before placing him into Rhaenyra's waiting arms.

Relief and joy swept through Aenyra as a smile bloomed across her face. Another baby brother. Her heart swelled.

Without hesitation, she crossed the room and grabbed a cloth, dipping it into a basin of cool water before gently wiping her mother's face. She peeled strands of damp hair from Rhaenyra's cheeks and tucked them behind her ear, offering a smile of her own.

"Healthy?" her mother asked, her voice hoarse, eyes fluttering shut.

"Yes, Princess," the midwife confirmed with a proud grin. "Healthy and kicking like a goat."

Rhaenyra gave a breathless laugh as the baby was placed gently into her arms. His cries softened almost instantly at the warmth of her touch.

"Another boy..." Aenyra said with a playful pout, leaning in to peer at her brother's tiny face. "Well, maybe one day you'll finally give me a sister!"

Rhaenyra chuckled, exhaustion evident in her voice. "Perhaps... but don't hold your breath."

Aenyra's fingers brushed her brother's soft cheek, and for a moment, she was still. She loved her brothers fiercely—Jacaerys, Lucerys... and now this little one. But she wasn't blind. She heard the whispers in court, caught in hushed tones behind heavy doors or muttered by lords who thought her too young to understand.

"Strong boys," they called them. "Bastards," when they thought no one was listening.

She didn't care. They were her family. Her brothers. And though they bore no resemblance to her—with their chestnut curls and warm brown eyes—she had always found comfort in the familiar gentleness of their features... features that mirrored a certain knight's more than her husband-father, Laenor Velaryon.

And she? She didn't look like them at all. Nor like Laenor. Her pale complexion, Valyrian silver hair, and storm-blue eyes marked her as something... else.

Who is my father, truly? the thought crept into her mind, unwelcome and yet persistent. She had asked no one. Not yet. But the seed of doubt had long taken root.