(The Hall of Nine, Driftmark, 120 AC)
The Great Hall of High Tide felt less like a castle and more like the inside of a bell that had just been struck. The air vibrated with screams.
"He will lose the eye, Your Grace."
Maester Kelvyn's words were heavy, dropping into the silence like stones. King Viserys slumped in the Driftwood Throne, his face a mask of grey despair. Queen Alicent stood beside him, her hands trembling, her eyes fixed on the weeping Aemond, whose face was a ruin of stitching and blood.
Aeryn Royce-Targaryen stood in the shadows near a heavy pillar. He was still wet from the storm, his clothes clinging to his skin. He was shaking, not from cold, but from a noise that only he could hear. It was a high-pitched ringing, getting louder with every shout from the Queen.
"It was an accident!" Princess Rhaenyra cried, shielding her sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys. "Jace was attacked! Aemond was going to kill him!"
"Accident?" Alicent's voice shattered, shrill and terrifying. She spun around, her eyes wild. " The boy has lost an eye! Is that an accident? Or is it the savagery of a bastard who knows he does not belong?"
"Alicent!" Viserys roared, struggling to stand. "Do not speak that word!"
"He called us bastards!" Jacaerys shouted, his voice small but defiant. "He called us Strongs!"
The room froze. The insult was out. The treason was spoken.
Viserys looked at Aemond. "Did you say this? Who told you this lie?"
Aemond, pale and one-eyed, looked at his mother, then at his father. "It was Aegon," he whispered.
"Me?" Aegon squeaked from the corner, shrinking under the King's glare. "I... I just said that everyone knows. Just look at them!"
"Silence!" Viserys slammed his cane down. "I will hear no more of this. The matter is finished. We are family. We will apologize and we will mend this."
"Mend this?" Alicent laughed, a sound of pure hysteria. She looked at the King with contempt. "You want to mend this with words? My son has been maimed, and you want apologies?"
She turned to Ser Criston Cole. "Ser Criston... bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon."
The hall erupted. Rhaenyra stepped in front of Luke. The Kingsguard hesitated. The Velaryon guards drew their swords.
"Stay your hand, Cole!" Daemon Targaryen's voice cut through the noise. He stepped out of the shadows, Dark Sister resting loosely in his hand. He looked bored, but his eyes were dangerous. "You will not touch the boy."
Cole looked at Daemon. His hand hovered over his hilt. Steel flashed as blades were drawn across the room.
Schwing. Clang. Scream.
The sounds hit Aeryn like physical blows.
The flash of the torchlight on Ser Criston's white armor. The red of Aemond's bandages. The grey of the stone floor.
White. Red. Grey.
Something inside Aeryn's mind, a wall he had built carefully over five years, cracked.
The Hall of Nine vanished.
Suddenly, he wasn't on Driftmark. He was back in the Vale. He was small. He was in the canyon. The sun was blindingly bright on the white rocks.
He heard the horse scream. A sound like a woman crying.
He smelled the crushing scent of crushed bone and ozone.
Aeryn sank to his knees. He pressed his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut, rocking back and forth.
"White..." Aeryn whispered, his voice trembling. "White... Rock... Blood."
The chaos in the room escalated. Alicent grabbed the Valyrian steel dagger from Viserys's belt. She lunged at Rhaenyra.
"If you will not do justice, I will!"
Rhaenyra caught Alicent's wrist. They grappled. The blade sliced Rhaenyra's arm. Blood hit the floor.
Drip. Drip.
Aeryn saw the blood splatter on the grey stone. It triggered the loop.
"White... Rock... Blood," Aeryn repeated, louder now, his breathing hyperventilating. "White... Rock... Blood... Fall."
He remembered the fall. He remembered the horse tumbling. He remembered the woman—Mother—lying in the rocks. And he remembered the shadow that stood over her. A shadow with silver hair. A shadow holding a rock.
"Rock... Fire... Fall."
Daemon Targaryen, having stepped back as Rhaenyra handled the Queen, found himself standing near the pillar where the Royce boy was cowering.
Daemon looked down. He saw his son curled into a ball, shaking uncontrollably, muttering gibberish.
Daemon frowned. He leaned in, his sharp hearing catching the words.
"White... Rock... Blood... Fall..."
Daemon stiffened. His eyes narrowed.
The words were nonsense to anyone else. But to Daemon? Rock. Fall. It was too close. Too close to the truth of what happened in the Vale. The boy hadn't been there... had he? No. He was a baby. He couldn't remember.
But seeing Aeryn there, terrified by a little shouting and a drop of blood, stirred a deep disgust in the Rogue Prince.
Daemon hated weakness. He hated the Vale. And this boy was the living embodiment of both.
"Get up," Daemon hissed, kicking Aeryn's boot lightly.
Aeryn didn't react. He was lost in the loop. "The rock falls... the head breaks... white... blood..."
Daemon let out a short, cruel laugh. It was a sound of disbelief.
"Look at him," Daemon said, loud enough for those nearby to hear, pointing at his own son with Dark Sister. "The 'Scholar'. The 'Sentinel'. He sees a little steel and he curls up like a dying worm."
Aeryn heard the voice. The Shadow's voice.
He opened his eyes. He looked up.
Daemon loomed over him, the torchlight casting long shadows across his face. He looked exactly like the monster in Aeryn's nightmare.
"You are an embarrassment, boy," Daemon sneered, his lip curling in revulsion. "Go hide under the King's skirts. It is the only place a coward like you belongs."
Daemon turned his back on him, walking away toward Rhaenyra, dismissing Aeryn as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture.
The insult acted like a splash of ice water.
Aeryn stopped rocking. The loop in his head stuttered and halted.
He looked at Daemon's back. He saw the arrogance. He saw the dismissal.
He thinks I am weak, Aeryn realized. He thinks I am afraid of the blood.
Aeryn slowly stood up. His legs were shaking, but he forced them to lock. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.
He looked at the room. Alicent was weeping, dropping the dagger. Viserys was broken. Aemond was maimed. Rhaenyra was bleeding.
And Daemon was laughing.
Fire burns, Aeryn thought, the mantra changing in his mind. Fire mocks. Fire destroys.
He looked at his hands. They were still stained with Aemond's blood from the tunnel.
He wasn't a worm. He wasn't a coward. He was the one who had stopped the murder in the tunnel while Daemon stood here doing nothing.
Aeryn touched the ring on his thumb. The panic receded, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. It was the hardness of obsidian.
You laugh at the stone, Father, Aeryn thought, his violet eyes darkening. But stones do not bleed. And stones do not forget.
He turned and walked out of the Hall. He didn't ask for permission. He walked past the guards, past the screaming Queen, and into the dark, stormy night.
He was done with fear. If the dragons wanted to burn the world, he would not be the kindling.
He would be the mountain that broke them.