The Broken
The dark clouds hid the light of the stars. There was surely going to be a storm tonight, he heard Luke's voice sound in his mind. As Heir to the Tides, his brother had devoted himself to study all he could about sailing. Predicting the weather came second-nature to him. Aegon stood on the ramparts crowning one of the Red Keep's massive drum towers, but his mind travelled to the past, before his heart was torn apart, remembering his lost brother.
They frolicked at the beachfront of Dragonstone, right by the blue waters of the Narrow Sea, Arrax soaring right by them, his golden chest glittering in the scant evening light. Stormcloud was then too small and too timid to dare leave his lair in the Dragonmont when storm clouds were gathering above, so it was only Arrax they watched in their play.
Mother had been cross when she found them playing in the storm, only for her anger to melt away when Father chose to join them instead, Joff, Viserys, Baela and Rhaena following soon after. Even Jace, eventually, broke off from his seemingly endless studies to play with the rest of them. The rest of the afternoon was spent slinging wet sand balls at each other, and by sunset, they had to discard their soiled clothes, tears of joy flowing down their cheeks. Only Mother's sudden bout of nausea ended their play. That night, as they dined, they learned that they were to have another sibling.
Tears stung his eyes. All of them were gone now. Father, Jace and Luke died in battle atop their dragons, drowning in the waters they flew above. Joff was cut to pieces after falling from a dragon that was not his bonded. Visenya had not even lived. Aegon had left his little brother to die in the sea. And Mother… It was best not to think of Mother, else he would start shaking like a little boy again.
Rain began falling, gently, at first, before it steadily increased, the water coming down thick and fast. It felt cleansing in a way, for it blended with his tears as they fell.
"Your Grace," one of the guardsmen accompanying him said, "We should return to the castle."
The broken king did not reply, staring sightlessly into the sky, watching the flashing lightning and listening to the rumbling thunder. A septa had told him once that the sky was the way the gods showed their true thoughts. Sunshine meant they were happy, rain meant they were sad, and a storm like this meant they were seething with fury.
Sometimes, Aegon wished he could do the same; make the whole world tremble with his grief, show it the storm raging within him. Targaryens were closer to gods than to men, Father had always said, yet the pain in his heart consumed only him. Aegon was the king, a Targaryen king, yet the world marched forward with no care to his despair, time flowing onward like an undisturbed river.
"Your Grace…" the guardsman tried once more. The king's raised palm silenced him.
Neither the flashing lightning nor the roaring thunder could keep the darkness away for too long, no matter how much he wished it would. All he could think of was death and destruction, of his mother's screams as golden fires consumed her. Fresh tears gathered in his eyes and mingled with the rain as they fell upon the rampart. It was if his heart was being torn to pieces all over again.
The knife was out of the pocket of his dressing robe and in his hand before he realised. It was one he'd hid as he broke his fast the day before yesterday, even from Rhaena, who watched him like a hawk these days. The blade pierced his delicate skin, the resulting pain oh so relieving. The heart-wrenching hole in his heart was filled, his mind coming alive for once in his sad, sad existence that was barely a life. That did not last long, however, so he made another cut, this time deeper, to add to his growing collection, to abate the devastation swirling within him for a few short moments.
He looked at his forearm and the scars there, the fresh ones bleeding profusely, mixing with the rain. Shame flooded him at the sight of them, washing away the relief. Those he made in his isolation inside the dungeons of Dragonstone were long healed, leaving only scars. The more recent ones were scabbed over as well, while the fresh ones remained red and angry.
What was he doing to himself? Father would have been ashamed to call him a son. He had bestowed upon him the name Aegon, the most revered name of their family since the first conquered Westeros. That Aegon would be remembered as the Conqueror for all time because of that. Yet, what would he be known as, when his reign came to an end? Aegon the Unworthy seemed fitting, for he was never meant to be king.
He hated his name now. Fate had not been kind to the Aegons following the conqueror. The eldest grandson of the Conqueror was killed by his uncle upon the Black Dread. The son of the Conciliator died before he truly lived, like Visenya. Father's little brother met the same fate, though his was worse, as he took his mother with him. And his uncle… better not to think of the usurper.
All he could remember when he thought of him was his cackles blending in with Mother's brief screams as golden fires engulfed her. Aegon's own screams had been louder than both as he struggled fruitlessly against the hold of the knight restraining him. The worst part was, he knew he could not save his mother from the onslaught of the dragon. He wanted so badly to join her, to at least not have her die alone like Viserys did.
After leaving his valonqar with the bad men to die, Aegon knew he did not deserve to live. 'Always watch out for your little brother,' Mother had always said, 'the way Jace watches for all of you.' When he had been born, Aegon had bristled at having Viserys attach himself to him as he'd once attached himself to Joff.
Once, soon after he learned to speak, Aegon managed to hide from his little brother for an entire day. Viserys ran to Mother, wailing hysterically, worried that he was dead. Mother's displeasure at his neglect had been immense. That day, he swore he would care for Viserys the same way Jace cared for all them.
How he had broken his promise. As battle had raged on the ship that was set to take them to safety, Aegon's first instinct had been to flee upon his dragon, to find his own safety and tell Jace of the attack. Only halfway there, as Stormcloud's tender hide was being pelted with arrows and scorpions, did his frightened mind recall that he'd left his brother behind.
Thanks to his disregard, Jace was shot out of the sky when flew too low, too close to the sea, searching for the brother Aegon promised his mother he would protect. Baela's wails had been terrible as she ordered Moondancer to burn what they could salvage of Vermax, as Jace's body, full of arrows, had disappeared in the bottom of the sea. Worse still, because of him, Viserys was lost, most like drowned beneath Blackwater Bay in the chaos of battle.
The rest of his family had fought to preserve Mother's claim until the bitter end, while he ran, like the craven he was.
Father fought and slew the largest dragon in the realm, a dragon that was almost of a size with the great Black Dread, and did not flinch from the prospect of dying in that battle. Jace flew all about the realm securing allies for Mother's cause, before laying down his life as he searched for the brother Aegon abandoned. Luke remained steadfast in fulfilling his mission, even after sighting Vhagar upon landing in Storm's End's courtyard. Aegon would have turned right back like the coward he was upon seeing that monster. Joff, desperate to save the dragons in the Dragonpit, mounted a dragon that was not his own. Their grandmother did not balk at the prospect of facing two dragons, instead going to her death with courage, inflicting brutal wounds on one of them. Moondancer was younger than Stormcloud, yet Baela took her to battle against a dragon many times her size.
Aegon was drenched now. The rain kept pouring, and the fresh cuts of his arm continued to bleed, the pain now faint, though it no longer did anything to ease the anguish in his chest. Leaning on a parapet, he looked over the crenellation, onto the ground far below. There was no surviving a fall from that height. Death would be a respite from all that plagued him. Death was punishment sufficient for his cowardice, for his unworthiness. He was not fit to be the son of the Rogue Prince, a scion of House Targaryen, let alone its head.
"Aegon!" Rhaena's voice cracked like a whip, snapping him out of his deadly thoughts. He was grateful, for like always, he was too craven to do what needed to be done.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice barely louder than another rumble of thunder.
Heat flooded the boy king's cheeks, his body and garments drenched in the falling rain.
"We should head back inside," Rhaena said, taking him by his hand, the one bleeding still, and guiding back towards his chambers in the castle.
It was in his bedchamber that Rhaena noticed his bleeding forearm, the sleeve of his nightshirt almost entirely stained crimson. His sister let out a sigh at the ghastly sight, before taking a stray cloth at the foot of his bed and pressing it on his arm, where it bled. Aegon felt shame rising within him.
"The blade," Rhaena beckoned, keeping any judgement out of her voice.
Aegon reached into the pocket of his sodden nightshirt and handed the blood-stained steak knife to her. She examined the edge.
"Keep pressing on this," she told him, placing the blade on the small table nearest to the bed.
"Go to the maester's chambers," she told the knight guarding his door, "Fetch me milk of the poppy, a needle and catgut." The knight gave them a nod and went to follow her orders.
"You cut quite deep this time," his sister said. Those two words stayed with him, this time. He was truly a disgrace to his house. Unshed tears shone in his eyes.
"Have a seat," Rhaena beckoned him, patting a place on the bench by the bed. Aegon did as he was told, and watched as she filled a goblet with the wine that sat on her desk, setting it by the fire.
The sleepy Grand Maester himself brought all that had been asked for.
"Is the king well?" he asked, concern in his voice.
"He is well, thank you," Rhaena answered.
"I think it best if I…"
"Thank you, for bringing these, and you have my apologies for waking you at this late hour. You shall be summoned if we have need of you." The Grand Maester gave him one more look, before taking the dismissal for what it was and leaving his chambers.
The goblet of wine placed in the hearth near the fire was boiling already. Rhaena took it out and placed it on the mantel. Carefully, she removed the cloth placed on his cuts. A generous dose of milk of the poppy was offered to him, and Aegon drank it down greedily. He knew this would hurt. After waiting for the wine to cool, Rhaena poured it on the wounds. Even with the poppy milk, he still winced at the sting.
Deftly, Rhaena threaded the catgut through the needle. His eyes were beginning to feel heavy, and the pain of his wounds being sown shut was dulled, though still present. He was asleep before his sister was done. How had he not noticed that he was so, so tired?
The day had long dawned when the king woke once more. Rhaena's kind lilac eyes were the first thing he saw. She had joined him on the bed, and was already awake, just looking at him.
"I'm sorry if I was a bit callous last night. One of your knights woke me rather rudely."
He should be the one apologising. Rhaena was doing her best to care for him, even sleeping in the same bedchamber as him, cuddling him to sleep, regardless of the scandal she was risking. He had been the one to sneak out of his chambers and climb to the top of the Red Keep when sleep had left him, not caring for the rain that was about to pour.
There was nothing he could say about his disgraceful behaviour, so Aegon did the only thing he thought he could and brought his sister into an embrace, sobbing onto her shoulder.
"All will be well, valonqar," she reassured him, as if he was a child, "all will be well. You are not alone in this, not any more. I am here with you. I'm here."
It took long moments for him to finally calm.
"I have to bathe and dress, and you do too. I will return to break our fast," Rhaena looked like she was going to say more, but did not, instead making her exit, leaving Aegon alone, though only for a moment.
A serving maid entered to draw his bath, and Aegon sat numbly in it, letting himself be scrubbed and prodded until she was satisfied with her work. By the time the bath came to an end, the pain of his stitches began to flare up once more, and Aegon gloried in it, for it kept the darkness at bay for the nonce.
Rhaena returned as she said she would, finding him only dressed in a robe.
"I have agreed with the Grand Maester to forego your lessons for the day, and for your knights to excuse you from training," she explained as she sat down, a meal she had undoubtedly called for arriving shortly after, "You will spend the day with me. You need to get out of this bloody castle."
Their meal was humble. There were stewed pears, spiced lightly with cinnamon, oat pottage that had been sweetened with honey and soft-boiled eggs that came with their shells already undone, to be washed down with watered wine. Like always, her sister had to remind him to eat, after noticing his gaze, pointed at the rising steam of the pottage. It looked like smoke. The same that arose from Mother.
"Do the stitches hurt too badly?" Rhaena asked, "If they do, I can have the Grand Maester review your dose."
He offered a vigorous head shake as a reply. The pain was very much welcome. He ran a delicate finger through the stitching, the agony tantalising.
"Very well," his sister said, taking a bandage and fastening it snug over his injured forearm, "eat then."
When had food stopped appealing to him? Pottage was his favourite, had been his favourite since he'd first tasted it when he was little more than a babe. And he'd loved eggs too. Now they were here, before him, and could be anytime he wished, but no appetite rose within him to wolf them down as he used to before.
For the first few days after the usurper captured him, food was brought to him in the cell he'd been caged in Dragonstone's dungeons. Aegon had not looked at it, starving himself, wishing to join Mother in death. He'd only stared at the rats as they unveiled themselves, without fear, to quaff down his food. At least a fortnight passed before Aegon ate a morsel, surviving only on the scarce water that was brought to his cell. That ended when the usurper himself hobbled to inspect his captives, only to gape at how thin he'd got, satisfaction and shock battling to show on his face. Since then, he had Baela spoon-feed him as if a babe, with him watching, taunting them with tales of how he'd taken Mother's stronghold from right underneath her nose, before feeding her to his dying dragon.
"Do I have to feed you myself, valonqar?" Rhaena's voice brought him out of his ever-dark thoughts.
Rhaena, like Baela, was stubborn as a mule, once she had set her mind to something. Aye, Rhaena might be more tactful in her persuasion than her twin, but that did not mean she was any more tractable, nor any less unyielding. They would be here until his food was done. Aegon had no wish to test her sister's will, his persistence was scant enough anyway.
Therefore, the boy king gave in, and after a while, his food was done. His sister's smile was blinding.
"Well done. Get dressed, I'll be waiting right outside your bedchamber."
"I have a gift for you," Rhaena told her when they reached the stables, coming forward with two horses. One was a lovely chestnut mare, the other a stallion black as midnight. Baela would have loved the stallion.
His sister stood, looking at him, waiting for… something.
"What?"
"Don't you recognise Midnight?"
His gaze followed Rhaena's black to the black horse. Embarrassment was plain on his face at his lack of recognition of his charger. It had been a gift from Father on his eighth name day. On that day, he'd declared him grown enough to ride a man's horse, not a baby's pony.
Aegon had been the one to name him Midnight, for his colouring. At first, he desired to name him Balerion, after the conqueror's dragon. The notion seemed fitting since he shared the same name as the Dragon, but ultimately, he decided against it. Even back then, it seemed, deep down, he was aware of his wretchedness when measured against his house's illustrious scions.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Into the city," she answered when she'd climbed her chestnut mare. Aegon hastened to follow, and it was only then that he noticed about the score of knights surrounding them, all on their own horses.
"What for?"
"For you to see it. And for it to see you," she explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "You are the king over an entire continent, it would be remiss for you to spend most of your reign ensconced in one castle."
Aegon was content to do just that, but he said nothing in response, beckoning Midnight to keep pace with Rhaena's mare as they headed out of the castle gates.
The winter's gloom seemed not to affect the city. It was leaving and breathing, bursting with life as its denizens went about their affairs. Wherever they passed, however, they stopped and stared, while others cheered. Calls of 'long live the princess' overshadowed those of 'long live the king'. A beatific smile was plastered on her sister's face as he returned the city's greetings.
They made a right turn and began the climb up the Hill of Rhaenys, up to the Dragonpit, broken as it was. The immense dome that had crowned it was cracked and broken. Dreamfyre had been the one to destroy it as she looked for an escape from the tens of thousands that had come to slay her.
He'd heard her ear-splitting roars as he urged his brother to stay with them instead of going forth on his hare-brained scheme of trying to mount Mother's dragon. 'It will only be a short flight,' he'd said, 'I'll already be at the Dragonpit by the time Syrax realises it is not Mother on her back. Besides, she would never kill me. I am her rider's son. She laid Tyraxes' egg. She'll understand.'
Believing in Syrax was the last mistake his brother made. The dragon had shaken violently, throwing him from the saddle and onto the rioting city below to be torn limb from limb by the merciless city folk.
Believing in their dragons was a mistake his entire family had died for. They'd believed they would guarantee them victory, that they made them invincible, that they would ensure their safety. All dragons had done for House Targaryen was lead them to their deaths. Without them, his family would have been spared from the carnage that was the Dance. Without them, they would have been content as lords of an isle, not cursed with overweening ambition to rule those who would forever see them as foreign warlords from across the narrow sea.
The colossal bronze-and-iron doors of the pit were open, miraculously undamaged from the onslaught of more than a hundred thousand souls mad with anger and fear. A Dragonkeeper was on hand to greet them, dressed in his customary black armour, its helm crested with a row of dragon scales diminishing as they descended his back.
"Your Grace, Princess," he greeted with a deep bow, full of reverence, after recovering from his surprise at seeing him.
"Ser," Rhaena was the one to answer, "I was told yesterday evening that all rubble had been cleared from the pit."
Aegon remembered hearing about that in one of the small council sessions Rhaena forced him to attend. The remains of the dragons that had died there were being taken to Dragonstone.
"Yes, my princess," he replied.
"Good. In its current state, can the Dragonpit hold any dragons?"
"Aye. Most of the lairs remain intact. Though the dome has been destroyed, thirty of the forty caverns remain in condition good enough to accommodate fully dragons. Do you intend to have Morning roost here?"
"In due time, mayhaps, when she grows large enough to breathe fire."
Oh, right, Rhaena had a dragon. He remembered hearing about that from the usurper's worried lips, in the final days of his short false reign. Aegon had never even seen her. And good riddance to that. He would hack the dragon to pieces if he came across it. Why was he lying to himself? More like he would run, screaming for a mother that had been devoured by another.
"Could the king and I inspect the progress?" she asked as they dismounted their horses.
"Please, follow me," the Dragonkeeper said.
The smell of dragon as they went deeper into the pit assaulted his senses. Fire, ash and burnt leather, mixed with the herbal scent of their droppings. The pit itself was immense. He'd never been inside it before. When his parents had taken the city during the war, Stormcloud was already dead, he'd had no reason to come here.
As the Dragonkeeper had claimed, almost three dozen of the lairs dug deep into the hill remained intact, and could house dragons. It was astounding to think that more than a score of these lairs had never been used in eight decades.
"Is the training of new recruits to your order proceeding well?"
"Yes, princess. By year's end, we will have at least two-score new Dragonkeepers waiting for investment. Most of those we've chosen were already passable in their skill-at-arms, what will take the longest is their learning of dragonlore."
"Good. How many of you remain in the city? Without counting the recruits?"
"Eight. The other twelve are at Dragonstone, seeing to the king's orders there."
Aegon did not recall giving any orders to the Dragonkeepers. What could they be? All the rideable dragons were either dead or lost in the realm.
"When those orders are carried out, have two dozen recruits move to Dragonstone. You and your brothers will take two recruits each under their tutelage. And as always, make sure that none of those novices come from nobility."
The man's only response was a nod. Rhaena dismissed him shortly after, and they made their way out of the pit, back to their waiting horses.
"What do you need so many Dragonkeepers for?" Aegon asked.
"To tend to our dragons and eggs, of course," she told him as they rode out, their shadows riding behind them.
"You need three-score Dragonkeepers to see to Morning, a hatchling?" he queried.
Her sister switched to Valyrian, "Morning is not the only dragon that lives, little brother."
Cannibal still haunted the eastern slopes of Dragonstone, uninvolved and unaffected by the war, he remembered. Sheepstealer had disappeared with Father's paramour somewhere in the realm, or perhaps farther. And Silverwing laird at Red Lake, he recalled, from the usurper's council urging their false king to claim her.
"Baela has not gone on a 'royal progress', has she?" the sudden realisation occurred to Aegon as they descended Rhaenys' Hill
His sister smiled, "What would make you think that?"
There were golden fires blurring his visions. He pulled the Midnight's reigns and screeched, "I want no dragons in my city!"
"You would have me gone from your side then, so soon after we reunited?" she spoke sweetly, her voice was seemingly unaffected by his anguish.
"I want no dragons in my city," Aegon gentled his voice, though the words had no less of a bite.
"Will you leave too?" she was mocking him.
She turned her mare to face Midnight, her voice gaining an edge, "Much as you might refute it, much as you might hate it, we are dragons. You are a dragon. You are the dragon, Your Grace. We cannot change the blood that flows through our veins."
The boy sighed at the sky, willing the tears blurring his vision away, willing his heart to stop its racing. His sisters were more mules than dragons. Rhaena was right, he supposed. No, it did not mean he had to stomach the presence of creatures that had destroyed his whole family, creatures that had made a feast out of his mother. He would make it a royal decree if he had to.
The rest of the ride down the Hill of Rhaenys and up Visenya's Hill was a silent one, their shadows following them dutifully, no sign that they were rattled by an argument between the king and a princess.
"Where are we going now?"
"To see the children."
"The children?"
"Orphans. Those who families were obliterated by the war."
There was innocent bubbling excitement as they descended their horses, upon reaching some manse near the top of Visenya's Hill. Septa Amarys, she who had taught their entire household the ways of the Faith in the decade before the war, was on hand to greet them, a bevy of excited children surrounding her.
"Your Grace," the shock was plain on his face when she saw him, and offered a deep curtsy.
"Septa," Aegon replied with the voice of a king, not one of a curious little boy.
"Princess," she gave a curtsy to her as well, a smile on her face. Rhaena returned the greeting politely.
Aegon watched in awe as Rhaena was assaulted by little ones, all of them with seemingly endless questions, absolute elation on their face at seeing their princess. He had not seen this much joy on his sister's face since before the war. There was as much apprehension towards him as there was joy towards Rhaena. Finally, after long moments, the children were sat on the courtyard of the manse they were housed in, ready to listen to their king.
"Today, I brought you my brother, Aegon Targaryen, the king."
The pregnant silence following Rhaena's introduction to all the children was broken by one brave girl, giving him an incredulous look, "But he is so small."
Rhaena laughed as Septa Amarys chastised the girl.
"My mother was meant to be queen," Aegon explained, "And my brothers were meant to follow her, but they were all killed in the war."
"Like our parents," the girl asked. He nodded. "But you ride dragons. How is it that you could die in war like the rest of us?"
"Our enemies had dragons too."
"Do you have a dragon?" a boy asked.
"No, mine died in the war."
"What was his name? My mother told me that Aegon Targaryen conquered the Seven Kingdoms. He rode Balerion. Do you ride Balerion? Have you conquered anything?" a second boy asked.
"No. Balerion died long before I was born, when my father was not much older than me. My dragon's name was Stormcloud." He refused to answer the third question.
"Who was your Father?" the first girl asked once more.
"Enough with the questions!" Septa Amarys cut in, her tone sharp. Rhaena raised her palm, showing it was no issue.
Rhaena answered for him, "Alys, I just told you that the king is my brother. That means we share the same Father."
"But you're older than him, doesn't that mean that you should be the queen?"
"No. In truth, the king is my half-brother. His mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, was the one meant to be on the throne, not my father. He inherited the crown from her. My mother was Lady Laena Velaryon. She was never queen, but she had a dragon, like me."
The children's expressions were filled with understanding.
Another girl asked, "You said your brothers were all dead. Do you have any other sisters apart from the princess?"
"Yes, I do. Princess Baela, twin to Rhaena here. She's touring the realm, learning its grievances."
"Does she have a dragon?"
"Not yet," Rhaena's reply came faster than his own.
"Will you marry both your sisters? The septa told us that the first Aegon married two queens that were both his sisters. They were named Rhaenys and Visenya. You are called Aegon too, and you have two sisters."
Truly, these little ones were braver than they had any right to be. Rhaena stifled giggles with a hand to her mouth, not even daring to speak up on his behalf this time.
"No. I am betrothed to my cousin, Princess Jaehaera. We will marry soon, and it is she that will be my queen."
Septa Amarys, it seemed, was not indifferent to his visible discomfort, "That's enough children. The king and the princess will answer more of your questions another day."
Aegon observed the children frolicking all over the courtyard in their play. They seemed so happy. How could they be so happy? They were orphans, having lost their parents, brothers and sisters to the usurper's rebellion. Some of them of an age with him, he could tell, and so they could comprehend the true depth of what had happened to them, like he did. Did their hearts not shatter at the loss of those they loved? Did they have no care for those they lost, no anger towards those who promised them they would return?
After long moments, the broken king found his answer. They had nothing to be guilty of. Unlike him, they had not fled as their brother was left to die in the clutches of their enemy. Unlike him, they did not send another brother to their death in battle. Unlike him, they had not been blind to the danger facing their mother, letting her burn in dragonflame as he watched.
Aegon sat in the proffered seat for a long while, watching the children, Rhaena joining them at some point, his eyes misting. He remembered playing with Viserys and Joffrey often, when they were children. Jace and Luke too, though playing with the two of them was rarer, as they were busy learning to be heirs to their parents. A sigh left him.
"Your Grace!" Rhaena called out to him, "Come and play with us. We're playing monsters-and-maidens."
The king cleared his misty eyes and gave a polite refusal. Fool him, he'd forgotten how wilful the twins could be. His sister came to sit beside him, her laps folded courteously over her laps.
"It is not wise to argue with the king," Aegon began.
Rhaena laughed, "Who said I am here to argue?" She went silent for a while, before she spoke once more, "When you look at these children, what do you see?"
"Orphans. Like us."
"Like us," she let out a chuckle, "That could not be farther from the truth. We are Targaryens, royalty, the blood of Old Valyria. Dragonriders. Most of these children would end up in the stews of Flea Bottom, and that would be considered a merciful fate. Others would get their teeth filed and sent to the fighting pits, or sold into slavery in the Free Cities. Our blood and our name give us a safety they will never know."
The king remained silent.
"Aye, they lost their families in the war like us, but unlike us, they were left with nothing. We have our throne, our name, our blood, and our dragons still. If they can find a way to move forward, what makes you think that you can't? What makes us think that we can't?"
She put a hand on his shoulder, "I know this darkness seems insurmountable, but you will find a way through. We will all find a way through. Build something out of the tattered remains of our family."
They embraced for long moments after that, with her comforting his frayed soul. So engrossed in their play were their children that they paid no mind to their troubled king.
Author's Note: Three more chapters of the story and the link to my Discord Server, where you can connect with me and get exclusive updates on all my writing endeavours, can be found by searching up 'neyra29 linktree'.