Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 8

"Aenyra, are you sure you're alright?" Rhaenyra asked again, her voice laced with both worry and frustration as she leaned in to study her daughter's face more closely. Her eyes, wild with fear and still red from earlier panic, searched every inch of Aenyra's expression as if expecting to uncover some hidden wound.

"Yes, mother—I promise," Aenyra answered with a forced smile, attempting to calm her mother's nerves. "The Maester looked at it. He said it was only a small cut. He stitched me up quickly."

But even as she spoke, her hand drifted up to her temple unconsciously, fingers brushing the strands of hair she had left hanging purposely over the wound.

"Small cut?" the Maester interjected from where he stood just behind Aemond. He glanced up from cleaning his bloodied instruments, his tone hesitant but firm. "My Princess, forgive me, but that gash was not minor. It ran from the right side of her forehead into the hairline around her temple. It took nearly a dozen stitches to close, and it will scar."

Rhaenyra's eyes snapped back to her daughter.

"Aenyra?" she said again, this time with disbelief and anger flickering across her features. With swift, maternal hands, she reached forward and pushed aside the blood-matted curls that had been carefully hiding the injury.

The sight of the red, swollen stitches made her gasp softly.

Aenyra flinched, more from guilt than pain. "It's nothing, truly," she said quickly. "Mother, please don't worry. Look at Aemond. His injury is far worse than mine."

Her voice was sharp then, and for the first time since the chaos began, her tone took on a defensive edge. Her brow furrowed, and her grip on Aemond's hand tightened slightly as she glanced down at him, still pale but conscious beside her.

Rhaenyra pulled back slowly, her expression shifting—confusion, then hurt. "Aemond?" she repeated softly, testing the name on her tongue like it didn't quite belong.

Aenyra said nothing, only looked away, her jaw tight. She loved her brothers—deeply. She always had. But tonight, her heart wavered. She was furious with them. They had started it. They'd surrounded Aemond, cornered him, called him names, mocked him over a dragon that had already chosen him. And now, he would carry the cost for the rest of his life.

Brushing  her hand gently against Aenyra's cheek, she offered the faintest smile. "I'm going to check on your brothers. Would you like to come with me?"

Aenyra hesitated. She looked down at Aemond, whose lashes barely fluttered, the side of his face still streaked with drying blood, a new bandage over his eye. She reached with her free hand and gently adjusted the blanket that had been thrown across his chest.

"I'd like to stay," she whispered. "With Aemond. If that's alright."

Her voice cracked on his name, just slightly.

Rhaenyra gave a small, reluctant nod, though her lips were pressed into a tight line. "Very well," she said quietly, standing again. She smoothed her skirts with trembling fingers before moving back across the hall toward her sons.

Aenyra exhaled a slow breath once she was gone. She looked down at Aemond again, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the crease between his brows stay there even in sleep.

Across the room, King Viserys had arrived and erupted into a rage.

"Aemond, oh my dear boy!" Alicent exclaimed as she ran towards him. Examining his face.

"How could you allow such a thing to happen?" Viserys thundered, his voice thick with fury and disbelief. "I will have answers."

The gathered guards stood tense under his scrutiny, shifting uncomfortably as the King's voice echoed off the high walls.