Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 42

Aenyra

It had been two days...

Two days since they fled King's Landing, leaving Aemond behind.

Two days since the devastating news reached them—that her beloved grandsire, King Viserys, had passed beyond the realm of the living.

Two days since Aegon had usurped the Iron Throne, ripping it from her mother's rightful claim, plunging everything into chaos.

And now, two days since Rhaenyra had fallen into a spiral of grief so deep, it sent her into early labor.

Two days since the stillbirth of her little sister, Visenya.

The loss had shattered Aenyra's heart. She had longed for a sister—one born of the same love between her father and mother, just as she was. But that fragile hope had been cruelly snatched away before it even had the chance to bloom.

Now, standing before the pyre where Visenya's tiny form was consumed by flame, Aenyra fought to hold back the silent sobs rising in her throat. In her arms, she cradled little Aegon close, his soft breaths and innocent confusion grounding her in the present. Joffrey leaned against her side, his small hands clutching the fabric of her skirts. Behind her, Jacaerys and Lucerys stood with quiet strength—Jace's grip firm on Joffrey's hand, though his jaw trembled as he struggled to maintain a stoic front, while Luke clasped his own hands tightly in front of him.

Aenyra's gaze drifted to their mother.

Rhaenyra stood apart from them all, unmoving, her eyes lost to the sea. She stared across the waters—toward the horizon where King's Landing lay hidden, where her father had died, where her throne had been stolen. Her face was unreadable, carved from stone, but something in her stillness was more terrifying than any fury she might unleash.

Aenyra took a deep breath, trying to steady herself amidst the tumult of emotions churning within her.She glanced down at Aegon—his small face a picture of innocence, blissfully unaware of the grief that clung to their family like a shroud. The rustle of the wind and the crashing of waves were the only sounds breaking the heavy silence.

How could Aegon do this?
Surely he didn't want to be king. It had to have been forced on him by Otto and Alicent.
Aegon had made it obvious growing up that he never desired the crown.
And yet, here we are—him on the Iron Throne, with Otto Hightower of all fuckers as his Hand.

Her jaw clenched as her gaze drifted to her mother.

Unlike her and her siblings, who struggled to keep their tears at bay, Rhaenyra wore a blank expression. But her bloodshot eyes betrayed the weight of the last two days, the pain etched deep into her very soul.

Aenyra turned slightly, her eyes meeting her grandmother Rhaenys's gaze. A moment of silent solidarity passed between them—strength shared without a word. She glanced beside her to Baela and Rhaena who had there head bowed in a quiet moment, to show their respect.

But then her attention shifted.
A figure was approaching—clad in the white cloak of the Kingsguard, making his way up the stone path toward them.

Rage coursed through her veins as Aenyra swiftly passed Aegon off to Jacaerys and drew the knife from the sheath at her hip. Her heart pounded, instincts screaming to protect her family.
Daemon was already a step ahead, unsheathing Dark Sister with fluid precision and pointing the blade at the approaching guard.

The sudden appearance of a King's Guard in their moment of deepest grief felt like a threat.

Aenyra gripped her blade tighter, stepping into place beside her father, ready to fight.