Dragonstone, Dragonmont Hall.
This ancient dragon fortress was perpetually damp and bone-chillingly cold.
Even after the recent repairs following the siege, a lingering mist and heavy chill pervaded the Great Hall. At this moment, the chill felt even deeper, for the Queen sitting in the high seat wore a face colder than carved stone.
Rhaenyra sat at the painted table, her hands clutching a letter from Tyrosh so tightly her knuckles were stark white.
Daemon stood faithfully beside her, one hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, his expression utterly grim.
Corlys sat to the side, his weathered hands folded, remaining silent and brooding.
In the center of the cavernous hall, Nettles knelt on the hard stone floor, her entire body trembling.
The plain, black-haired girl, the fierce rider of Sheepstealer, shrank into a ball like a frightened rabbit, not daring to lift her gaze.
"Say it again," Queen Rhaenyra's voice hissed through gritted teeth, her towering rage barely suppressed.
"How did you escape?"
Nettles stammered, stumbling over her frantic words.
"T-that day... Hugh launched a coup. He sent men to my quarters to kill me, but I happened to be out with Sheepstealer... When Ulf brought his men to the dragon yard, Sheepstealer drove them back with fire... I... I desperately wanted to go save the Prince, but Hugh had already seized the castle... He... he stood on the high walls and pushed the Prince and the two Princesses to the front parapet... I... I truly had no choice."
"So you ran?" Rhaenyra's voice rose sharply, cracking like a whip.
"You abandoned the ones you were sworn to protect? You ran to save your own miserable life?"
Nettles kowtowed frantically against the stone.
"Mercy, Your Grace! Mercy! I didn't mean to! I... I wanted to save them too, I swear I did... but I truly had no way..."
"No way?" Rhaenyra stood up abruptly, pointed a trembling finger at her, and shouted in absolute fury.
"You have a dragon! You ride Sheepstealer! You had a hundred ways to burn those traitors to ash! And yet you kneel there and tell me you had no way?"
Rhaenyra strode down from the dais to loom over Nettles, her eyes burning with violet fire.
"You bastards are all cut from the same treacherous cloth! Hugh betrayed me, Sara betrayed me, and now you betray me too!"
"I didn't!" Nettles wailed, tears streaming down her face.
"I truly didn't! I swear by the Seven! I... I truly had no other way, Your Grace. I wanted to kill those traitors, but I was terrified Sheepstealer's fire would accidentally harm Prince Lucerys, or Princess Rhaena and Baela!"
"Lies!" Blinded by her maternal rage, Rhaenyra barked.
"You had the power! You should have found a way!"
Mysaria and Daemon exchanged a heavy glance.
Daemon let out a helpless, quiet sigh; he knew perfectly well that Rhaenyra was drowning in panic and needed a target to vent her overwhelming fury upon.
"Oaths?" Rhaenyra sneered bitterly.
"Hugh swore solemn oaths to me. Sara swore oaths to my face. And where are they now?"
Nettles found no words to answer; her forehead pressed hard against the cold floor as she wept openly.
Rhaenyra turned back to the stone table, grabbed a fresh roll of parchment, and violently tore it to shreds.
The pieces fluttered down like snow, littering the dark floor.
"That lowborn whelp dares to threaten me!" she said through clenched teeth.
"A bastard fished directly out of a Tyroshi mud pit dares to hold my son hostage!"
Daemon stepped forward, placing a firm, grounding hand on her shaking shoulder.
"Rhaenyra, you need to be calm."
"Calm?" Rhaenyra violently brushed his hand away.
"My son is in his hands! And your daughters are in his hands! You ask me to be calm? You truly are cold-blooded, Daemon!"
Daemon merely watched his wife in silence.
Hugh's betrayal had initially left him incensed, his blood boiling for vengeance. However, now that he had confirmation that Rhaena and Baela were still alive and unhurt, the seasoned warrior had grown much calmer.
Daemon remained silent for a moment before speaking.
"What good is not being calm? We can do absolutely nothing about it right now."
Rhaenyra stared at him, her eyes turning bloodshot and her lips trembling with unspoken accusations.
She wanted to scream at him, but nothing came out.
Suddenly, she doubled over, clutching her swollen stomach, her expression shifting from rage to sheer agony.
"What is it?" Daemon quickly caught her, supporting her weight.
Rhaenyra gritted her teeth, cold sweat instantly beading on her forehead.
"My stomach... my stomach..."
Daemon's face changed instantly.
He shouted toward the heavy doors, "Maester! Call the Maester! And the midwife! Now!"
A flurry of panicked chaos erupted outside as several attendants sprinted away.
Rhaenyra leaned heavily against Daemon, gasping for air, her face turning ghastly pale as the sweat dripped down her neck.
Her hand gripped Daemon's arm so tightly her nails sank straight into his flesh.
"Lucerys..." she murmured deliriously.
"My children..."
"They will be fine," Daemon whispered fiercely, holding her close.
"I swear it, they will be fine. You must trust me."
Several handmaids rushed in, hurriedly assisting Daemon in carrying Rhaenyra away.
Her pained moans grew distant until they vanished entirely down the corridor.
A heavy silence finally returned to the Great Hall. Daemon stood where he was, looking down at his arm.
There were bloody, crescent-shaped gouges from Rhaenyra's nails, but he didn't seem to feel the pain at all.
"Corlys," he finally spoke.
Corlys raised his head and looked at the Rogue Prince.
"Tell me, what should I do?"
Corlys was silent for a while before answering slowly.
"What do you think of Hugh's actual situation?"
Daemon sneered.
"That bastard... he just wants to be the Lord of Tyrosh. He keeps Lucerys and the girls in his grasp, so we'll be hesitant, so we won't dare bring dragonfire down upon his head."
Corlys nodded in agreement.
"Then what do you plan to do?"
"What to do?" Daemon gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing as he spoke with a terrifying, fierce intensity.
"I'm going to personally rip his beating heart out of his chest."
"And then?" Corlys asked coldly.
"Then what happens to Lucerys and your daughters when his men retaliate?"
Daemon said nothing more, his jaw tight.
Corlys stood up, walked to the narrow stone window, and looked out at the churning sea.
"Daemon, I know you're angry. I am too. But we cannot gamble with their lives."
"So you mean..."
"Acknowledge him," Corlys said bluntly.
"Acknowledge him as the Governor of Tyrosh. Stabilize him. Once we've dealt with the Greens and won this war, then we'll come back and settle accounts in blood."
Daemon's eyes narrowed into slits.
"You want me to bow my head to a traitorous bastard?"
"It's not bowing your head," Corlys said, turning back to face him squarely.
"It's a strategy. Daemon, if you fly to Tyrosh now to kill Hugh, do you think Aemond will let that massive opening pass? What about the lords in the Riverlands who actively support us? What about the Vale? What about the North?"
He walked up to Daemon, staring directly into his dangerous purple eyes.
"If we abandon the war to go after Hugh now, Aemond will strike immediately and dismantle the Riverlands, the Vale, and the North one by one. By the time you kill Hugh and rescue Lucerys, Rhaena, and Baela, what will any of it matter? We will have lost the war, the Crown, and everyone will die."
Daemon was silent for a very long time. Then he laughed, a cold, hollow laugh laced with a trace of absolute madness.
"That bastard certainly picked his timing," he said slowly.
"He knows perfectly well we are trapped between a rock and a hard place."
Corlys nodded. "So, stabilize him first. Let him think he has won. Once we win the real war, we'll have plenty of opportunities to deal with him permanently."
Daemon took a deep, ragged breath and nodded.
"Fine. We'll do exactly as you say."
He walked to the painted table, picked up a quill, and rapidly wrote several lines on a blank piece of parchment.
Finished, he handed the letter to Corlys. "Look at this."
Corlys took the letter, scanned the contents, and nodded.
"This will suffice."
Daemon rolled the parchment tightly, sealed it with black wax bearing the three-headed dragon, and pressed his personal signet into it.
He handed the letter to a trembling attendant at the door.
"Send this to Tyrosh. Deliver it directly to that bastard."
The attendant took the letter and hurried away. Daemon walked to the window, looking out at the eastern sea.
The sunlight catching on the waves was serene and deceptively peaceful.
But deep in Daemon's heart, a monstrous, violent storm was churning.
Hugh.
"The Hammer" Hugh.
Very well...
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