Twin Flames: Ashes Beneath the Crown
Chapter I – After the Hand Fell
POV: Aenarion
The chamber still smelled of scorched stone.
Otto Hightower had been carried from Dragonstone pale and shaken, Alicent at his side. The echoes of what I had become — what I had nearly done — lingered like a storm that refused to fully disperse.
Only the royal family remained now.
Viserys I Targaryen stood near the Painted Table, trembling not from cold but from realization.
Rhaenyra Targaryen watched me with something between awe and concern.
Daemon Targaryen leaned against the stone, eyes sharp and calculating.
Rhaenys Targaryen remained composed — but even she had felt the weight of that power.
Daenerys' fingers remained intertwined with mine.
Grounding.
Viserys was the first to speak.
"What… are you?" he asked hoarsely.
"Not gods," Daenerys said softly.
"Not kings," I added.
"Then why spare him?" Daemon asked bluntly.
I looked at him evenly.
"Because this house already bleeds enough."
Silence deepened.
Then I said the words that would change the air entirely.
"You should know why Oldtown fears us."
Chapter II – The Rot in Oldtown
POV: Daenerys
Rhaenyra stepped forward. "Oldtown?"
"Yes," I said.
"The Citadel," Daemon muttered.
"And the Faith," Rhaenys added quietly.
I nodded.
"After the Doom," Aenarion continued, voice calm again, "many in Oldtown saw dragons not as miracle — but as threat."
Viserys frowned weakly. "The Faith made peace with Aegon."
"Publicly," I replied.
"But the maesters?" Rhaenyra asked, sharp.
I looked at her carefully.
"They record history," I said. "They also shape it."
Daemon's smile turned thin.
"Say it plainly."
Aenarion did.
"The line of dragonlords has been… managed."
Viserys went still.
"Managed?" he repeated.
I felt his grief rising before the names were even spoken.
Chapter III – The Children Who Did Not Live
POV: Aenarion
"I do not speak of open murder," I said steadily.
"Poison leaves traces. Blades leave scars. But influence… influence is quieter."
I stepped closer to the Painted Table, fingers brushing over carved Westeros.
"Your grandfather, Jaehaerys I Targaryen, had many children."
Viserys' face tightened.
"Yes," he said slowly.
"And how many survived to old age?" I asked gently.
Silence.
Rhaenys' jaw clenched faintly.
Too many funerals.
Too many illnesses.
Too many sudden declines.
"The Faith preached humility for dragonlords," Daenerys continued softly. "The Citadel studied dragons closely. Too closely."
Daemon straightened.
"You're suggesting what? That maesters poison cradles?"
"I am suggesting," I said evenly, "that knowledge can weaken bloodlines without a single blade drawn."
Viserys' voice broke.
"My father lost brothers. Sisters. My mother…"
His breath faltered.
Daenerys stepped forward.
"And your wife," she said quietly.
The chamber stilled completely.
Chapter IV – Aemma
POV: Daenerys
I did not speak her name lightly.
Aemma Arryn.
I had watched from sleep as history moved.
I had felt the tremors in blood.
"The maesters urged difficult births," I said carefully. "Encouraged risks. Pursued heirs relentlessly."
Viserys' hands trembled.
"They tried to save her."
"Yes," I said gently. "But at what cost?"
He closed his eyes.
The memory of blood.
Of choice.
Of a son who did not live.
Aemma's death had weakened him.
Had isolated Rhaenyra.
Had opened the path for Alicent's marriage.
For Otto's proximity.
For influence.
Daemon's voice cut through the silence.
"You're saying Oldtown positions itself beside weakened kings."
"Yes," Aenarion answered.
"And when dragons die?" Rhaenyra asked quietly.
I felt it then — the understanding dawning in her.
"The Citadel studies extinction," I said. "Not preservation."
Rhaenys inhaled sharply.
"You believe they wish the dragons gone."
"Eventually," Aenarion said.
"And without dragons," Daemon murmured, "Targaryens are only silver-haired rulers."
Exactly.
Chapter V – The Edge of Treason
POV: Rhaenyra Targaryen
She felt the world shifting beneath her feet.
"This is accusation bordering on treason," she said carefully.
Aenarion met her gaze without flinching.
"It is observation."
"Do you have proof?" Viserys demanded weakly.
"Not proof that would satisfy a court," Daenerys admitted. "Patterns. Influence. Timing."
Rhaenyra thought of every stillbirth whispered away.
Every maester advising restraint in dragon breeding.
Every sermon about humility before the Seven.
"And Otto?" she asked.
"He is not mastermind," Aenarion said. "He is product."
"Of Oldtown," Rhaenys finished.
Silence stretched.
Viserys looked older than ever.
"You think my house is being slowly strangled," he whispered.
"Yes," Daenerys said softly.
"And you nearly killed my Hand because he sought to separate you," Viserys added.
Aenarion's gaze hardened.
"He sought to weaken what protects you."
Chapter VI – A Choice Before Fire
POV: Aenarion
"I did not awaken to rule," I said.
"I awakened because winter will return."
Daemon scoffed lightly. "You speak of fairy tales."
"I speak of extinction," I replied calmly.
"And if dragons die before that winter?"
No one answered.
Because they all knew.
Without dragons, House Targaryen becomes memory.
Without unity, it becomes prey.
"We will not be separated," Daenerys said firmly.
"Not by marriage. Not by politics."
Rhaenyra studied us.
"You would stand with me," she asked quietly, "if the realm fractures?"
I did not hesitate.
"Yes."
Daemon smiled faintly.
Rhaenys exhaled slowly, tension easing just slightly.
Viserys looked between us all.
Oldtown.
The Faith.
The Citadel.
His dead wife.
His fragile line.
For the first time, doubt about his Hand truly rooted itself.
"I need time," he whispered.
"You may not have it," Daenerys replied gently.
Outside Dragonstone, the sea roared against black cliffs.
The fire had not burned Otto Hightower to ash.
But something else had ignited tonight.
Suspicion.
Awareness.
A crack in Oldtown's quiet influence.
And as the royal family stood in uneasy unity, one truth settled heavily over them all:
The greatest threat to House Targaryen
Might not come from rival claimants.
But from those who whispered humility while counting dragon skulls.