OF BASTARDS & DRAGONS || Aenar Targaryen [1]

115▪️ WHISPERERS OF FIRE & BLOOD

One month had passed since Otto Hightower and his Green cohorts were locked in the dungeons, their fate uncertain. In those brief days, King Aenar had made a decisive move.

He stripped his wife, Alicent, of her position as Hand and bestowed it upon Lord Celtigar, a seasoned advisor whose loyalty, though untested in the recent chaos, was known to be unwavering.

Yet, there was an unsettling quiet within the halls of the Red Keep-Aenar's trust in Daemon remained fractured. The Rogue Prince's bitterness simmered just beneath the surface, his resentment of not being chosen as Aenar's adviser casting a shadow over the court.

The investigation into Cersei's alleged infidelity had been concluded-unfounded. She had been proven innocent of the accusations levied against her, but even this truth seemed to weigh heavily upon the Queen's shoulders, for behind her innocent eyes, something darker lingered.

And in the shadows of the Red Keep, Berenice, ever the schemer, continued to weave her web, plotting to tear the Targaryen family asunder, one delicate thread at a time.

For Laena, the days felt like an eternity. The turmoil inside her heart threatened to drown her-how could she tell Daemon the truth? That he was not the father of her unborn child. The truth was a beast, clawing at her, but the consequences of revealing it were too grave to consider.

And then there was Rhaenyra. Her marriage to Laenor was at the brink of collapse, both of them trapped in the web of expectations, of duty and desire that neither could escape. She wanted to love him, wanted to be the perfect wife, but the weight of their union, and her own heart, were pulling her in opposite directions.

Far away from these troubles, Daenerys lay restless, plagued by nightmares that seemed to twist the very walls of the Red Keep into rivers of blood. She awoke in a cold sweat, trembling, the images haunting her, and yet, she could not decipher the warning embedded in her dreams. Was it a prophecy? A curse? Or something more?

And so, after the weight of court matters had been seen to, King Aenar stood alone in the throne room, his back to the flickering firelight. His voice had been a commanding force that had guided the kingdom through treachery and intrigue, but tonight it seemed to falter as he called for his wife to stay behind.

"Alicent," he had said, his voice low but edged with authority. "There are things we must discuss."

The Queen nodded silently, her face a mask of resignation. She had already felt the weight of his judgment, the distance that had begun to grow between them. The silence stretched on, thick and unbearable.

The words she had yet to say seemed to stretch across an impossible distance, and as Queen Alicent stood there, on the brink of either redemption or destruction, the door to the great hall suddenly creaked open behind her.

A shadow crossed the threshold-a figure, cloaked in darkness, their face hidden beneath a hood. Their presence was like a cold breeze that swept through the room, unsettling and yet strangely familiar.

Aenar's gaze snapped toward the intruder, his sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Who dares-"

Before he could finish, the figure stepped forward, their voice a whisper of dread, barely audible but chilling in its intent: "Your Grace, the truth you seek... it is not all you will find. There are darker secrets than you could ever imagine, and they will come for both of you."