Twin Flames: When Fire Judges the Hand
Chapter I – The Hand's Gambit
POV: Otto Hightower
Power was never taken in a single blow.
It was separated first.
Divided.
Isolated.
Otto stood in the Tower of the Hand overlooking King's Landing, watching dragon smoke curl into the sky. The Twins had grown too embedded in the royal family. Rhaenyra trusted them. Viserys listened to them. Even Alicent's children were comfortable in their presence.
That could not continue.
"They are not claimants," Alicent said quietly from behind him.
"They do not need to be," Otto replied. "Influence outlives crowns."
He had studied the Essosi portraits. The diaries. The vault of Dragonstone. The gratitude of Braavos and Dorne.
The Twins were building myth.
Myth becomes loyalty.
Loyalty becomes armies.
And armies choose kings.
So Otto devised the oldest solution in Westerosi politics.
Marriage.
He proposed privately to Viserys first.
"Aenarion should wed Princess Rhaenyra. It would solidify her claim irrevocably."
Viserys hesitated.
"And Daenerys?" the king asked.
"Perhaps a Velaryon alliance. Or even Dorne. Spread their strength."
Divide the flames.
Bind them elsewhere.
Otto expected resistance.
He did not expect the air to grow warm as Viserys relayed the suggestion to the Twins at Dragonstone.
Aenarion's expression did not change.
Daenerys' eyes did.
The temperature in the chamber rose noticeably.
"You would separate us?" she asked quietly.
"It is a political arrangement," Viserys insisted. "For the stability of the realm."
Aenarion's voice remained calm.
"We have sacrificed more for House Targaryen than you understand."
Otto met his gaze evenly.
"Then sacrifice once more."
That was the moment the air changed.
Chapter II – What Was Given
POV: Daenerys
I have been sold before.
To secure alliances.
To build armies.
To birth heirs.
In another life, I endured it because I was alone.
Now—
I was not.
"You think us pieces on your board," I said, stepping toward Otto in the Painted Table chamber of Dragonstone.
He did not retreat.
"I think of the realm."
"The realm?" I repeated, voice sharpening. "We burned in Valyria so this house could survive."
The room fell silent.
Even Viserys stiffened.
Aenarion did not interrupt me.
He let the memory rise.
"We shielded the ships that became Braavos. We freed slaves so your name would not be remembered only in chains. We slept for generations to rise when your blood thinned."
Flames began to flicker along the stone floor — not wild, but controlled.
"You speak of sacrifice?" I continued softly. "We gave centuries."
Otto's jaw tightened.
"Emotion does not secure dynasties."
Aenarion stepped forward then.
And something in the air shifted.
"Careful," he said quietly.
The word carried weight beyond sound.
Chapter III – The State of Flame
POV: Aenarion
There is anger.
And then there is something older.
Otto Hightower spoke again.
"If you refuse, Your Grace," he addressed Viserys pointedly, "then they choose themselves over the survival of House Targaryen."
That was the fracture.
I felt Daenerys' fury surge through our bond — not wild, but wounded.
Sacrifice.
He dared speak of sacrifice.
Something ancient answered inside me.
Not rage.
Judgment.
The torches in the chamber extinguished simultaneously.
A low vibration filled the stone.
My eyes opened —
And the world slowed.
Flame did not burst outward.
It folded inward.
Then erupted in a column around me.
Not red.
Not gold.
White.
The voice that left my mouth was layered — not louder, but deeper, resonant as if carried by every dragon that had ever lived.
"You speak of sacrifice."
The chamber trembled.
Viserys fell back against the Painted Table.
Daemon reached instinctively for Dark Sister but did not draw it.
"You measure devotion in marriages and wombs," the voice continued — calm, immense. "We measure it in extinction."
Visions flickered in the air — illusions formed of fire:
Valyria splitting.
Dragons screaming.
Twin figures holding back a sea of molten death.
Ships escaping.
Children crying in Braavos.
"We could have ruled the ashes," the voice said. "We chose guardianship."
Otto finally stepped back.
Only one step.
"You would divide what was forged before your line left Oldtown?"
The flames pressed closer without burning him.
"You mistake restraint for weakness."
The pressure in the chamber intensified — gravity itself bending.
Otto dropped to one knee —
Not in reverence.
Because he could not remain standing.
Blood trickled from his nose.
Still, stubborn as stone, he whispered:
"The realm… must come first…"
The flames stilled.
Then surged once more —
And Otto was lifted off the ground.
Not thrown.
Suspended.
Every torch in Dragonstone reignited in blinding brilliance.
Dragons outside roared in unison.
Daenerys stepped forward, eyes blazing to match mine.
"Our bond," she said, voice echoing in harmony with mine, "is not yours to bargain."
The force tightened.
Otto gasped, veins darkening under his skin from pressure.
For one suspended heartbeat —
He hovered at the edge of death.
And he knew it.
Chapter IV – The Mercy of Fire
POV: Alicent Hightower
Alicent had seen dragons burn men alive.
She had never seen power like this.
Otto hung in the air, face reddening, breath failing.
"Stop!" Viserys shouted helplessly.
Rhaenyra stood frozen — awe and terror intertwined.
Daemon watched with something like dark admiration.
"Aenarion," Daenerys whispered gently — not aloud, but through whatever storm raged around him.
The white flames flickered.
The layered voice softened — not weaker, but restrained.
"We do not destroy what we protect," it said.
Otto dropped to the floor.
Hard.
Air rushed back into his lungs violently as he coughed and choked.
The flames receded.
The torches dimmed.
Aenarion stood once more in stillness — eyes normal, breath steady.
But the room would never feel the same again.
He looked down at Otto.
"If House Targaryen survives," he said calmly now, "it will not be because you arranged us like pieces."
He extended a hand — not to help him up.
But to make a point.
"We chose this house."
Daenerys' voice followed, soft but cutting.
"And we can choose otherwise."
Silence filled Dragonstone.
Otto, pale and shaken, did not respond.
For the first time since their arrival, the Hand of the King looked mortal.
Very mortal.
Later, as Alicent helped her father from the chamber, she whispered:
"You nearly died."
Otto's voice trembled faintly despite himself.
"They could have killed me."
"Yes."
He steadied his breathing.
"But they did not."
Across the chamber, the Twins stood together, fingers intertwined — not flaunting, not defiant.
Unbreakable.
Outside, the dragons settled.
But the realm had shifted.
The Hand had tested the First Flame.
And discovered—
Some bonds were not meant to be severed.