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The windswept fiercely over the rocky platform of High Tide, carrying with it the salt of the Narrow Sea and the mournful roars of dragons echoing from the sky above. The sun was setting, turning the sky red and orange. The entire royal family stood gathered on the ancient stone, their faces drawn with sorrow as they prepared to say goodbye to Laenor Velaryon.
Laenor's body lay at the edge of the platform, wrapped in a simple white sheet, his form placed carefully inside a wooden coffin that would soon be given to the sea, and inside was also an urn where some of Seasmoke's ash was kept inside. The tradition of House Velaryon was as old as the tides themselves—death did not mean burial but a return to the depths from which their ancestors once came. His coffin stood poised at the brink, ready to be taken by the waves.
Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, stood at the head of the gathering, his face like stone, though his grief was unmistakable. His eyes were red; his jaw clenched as he stared at the coffin of his only son. Rhaenys Targaryen stood beside him, her hand trembling slightly, though her expression was hard as steel. Her eyes, however, were red like the sky above them. Laena Velaryon, their daughter, was beside her mother, pale and silent, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Vaemond and his sons had gathered as well to say goodbye to Laenor, they stood behind Corlys and Rhaenys.
Besides the Velaryon family stood the royal family—King Viserys Targaryen, dressed in black robes, his face weary and pale; Queen Alicent, her expression a little bored; Princess Rhaenyra, her face was gaunt with sorrow, though her eyes held a quiet strength. And there, further back, was Alysanne Targaryen, standing beside her kin, her gaze distant as she watched the waves.
Daemon Targaryen stood a little further apart from Viserys, with Aenar standing beside them. Their faces were stone, and they showed almost no emotions, but one could see the redness in Aenar's eyes. Daemon could see the grief in his son's eyes, so he put his arm around him, hoping it would make him feel better.
The platform felt cold beneath their feet, the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks below almost drowning out the occasional sob from the gathered household. Dragons circled above, their low, mournful cries filling the sky as if they, too, felt the loss of one of their own. Meleys, Rhaenys's dragon, hovered close to the platform, her great wings beating rhythmically as she let out a deep, sorrowful roar. Vhagar, whom Laena had recently claimed, stayed further away. Even Syrax and Caraxes, Rhaenyra and Daemon's dragons circled the island in grief. Cannibal was the only one not circling the island and not grieving; he was the only dragon who seemed not to be touched by Seasmoke's death.
King Viserys stepped forward, his expression grave as he looked upon Laenor's coffin.
"Laenor Velaryon," he began, "was a son of the sea, a rider of dragons, and a man of great courage. He was born into the proud blood of Valyria, of House Velaryon, and the legacy of Old Valyria flowed strong in his veins. He was a warrior in every sense, both on the sea and in the sky, and his spirit will be remembered as long as the waves crash upon these shores."
Viserys paused, his eyes glistening as he turned to Corlys and Rhaenys. "To you, Corlys, Rhaenys... I am sorry. No father should bury his son. No mother should lose her child. The grief you carry now, I cannot imagine, but know that Laenor will live on in the songs, in the history of our houses, and the legacy of his name."
The king stepped back, his hands trembling slightly as he clasped them behind his back, and Daemon stepped forward next. His face was unreadable, as it often was, but there was a hardness to his eyes as he spoke.
"Laenor was a good man," Daemon said, his voice rougher, more direct. "A warrior, yes, but also a friend. He lived with honor, and though life was not always kind to him, he never faltered. His heart was as strong as his sword, and he loved deeply, even when love was hard to find." Daemon's gaze flicked briefly at Joffrey, who was standing the furthest away from them. "He fought in the Stepstones with valor, and though the gods have taken him from us too soon, his deeds will not be forgotten."
He stepped back, and Rhaenyra moved forward. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed with red, but she stood tall, her grief tightly controlled.
"I met him the first time when I was four," Rhaenyra began softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "He asked if I wanted a peach. I never knew him as well as I should have, and now I will never have the opportunity to talk with him again, but I know he was kind. He was brave. And though our paths took different directions, I know that he loved deeply, and that his heart was full of strength and honor."
Her voice cracked, but she continued, her gaze fixed on the coffin. "He gave so much of himself to his family, to his house, and to this realm. And for that, I will always respect him. I hope that, wherever he is now, he has found the peace that eluded him in life."
Rhaenyra stepped back, her shoulders shaking with the effort of holding herself together, and Laena felt her own tears rise as she watched her mother, Rhaenys, remain stoic through it all.
Finally, Alysanne Targaryen approached the coffin. The wind tugged at her hair, her black cloak billowing. She did not speak immediately, her eyes distant, as though she were searching for the right words.
"Laenor..." she began slowly, her voice quiet but firm. "I did not know you as well as I should have. But I saw you for what you were. A man born with fire in his veins, but bound by duty to the sea. I remember how you laughed, how you loved life even when it was difficult. You rode dragons like the gods of old, and yet you were always searching... searching for something more."
Alysanne's voice wavered, but she steadied herself, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to continue. "But today, Laenor, you return to the sea, as all Velaryons do. And I hope, in those waters, you find the peace that eluded you in life. That the waves carry you to places even dragons cannot reach."
Rhaenys Targaryen walked slowly towards her son's coffin before laying her hand on the surface. The Sea Snake's wife, the Queen Who Never Was, had spent her life defying grief, shouldering disappointment and loss with an iron will; she had been there to watch her father die, and draw his last breath, and she had promised herself that she would never see another loved one die before her, yet, here she was still, and her son was gone.
She could still see Laenor's face in her mind's eye, could still hear his laughter when he was young, full of life, running across the shores of Driftmark. He was just a boy—her boy, her bright, smiling boy who had grown into a man too fast, who had been taken too soon.
She swallowed hard, trying to push the pain down, but it rose in her throat like bile. The tears stung her eyes, and despite her best efforts to hold them back, one slipped down her cheek.
"Laenor..." she whispered her voice barely a breath against the wind. "My son, my pride. You were everything I could have hoped for, and so much more."
Her voice trembled as she spoke, the words catching in her throat. Rhaenys stood on the brink of breaking, and it took all her strength to keep herself together.
"You were born of fire and salt," she continued, her eyes never leaving the water. "Of dragons and the sea. You were a Velaryon, a Targaryen, and you were always my greatest joy. I wanted more for you, Laenor. I wanted you to be happy, to be free." Her voice wavered, her composure slipping. "But the world wasn't kind to you. And I... I couldn't protect you."
Her breath hitched, and she pressed her hand to her chest, as though trying to hold the grief inside. "I should have kept you safe. I should have—" She choked on the words, unable to finish. Her body trembled, the weight of it all crashing down on her, but still, she stood tall, refusing to let herself fall apart. Not here. Not now.
Rhaenys closed her eyes, and she realized the bitter truth. Her son was gone, and nothing—no power, no dragon—could bring him back.
"Goodbye, Laenor," she whispered, her voice breaking on the final words. "My son."
Rhaenys stepped back, her shoulders trembling, but she did not fall. She turned slowly, moving toward Laena, who stood nearby, waiting her turn to say goodbye. Rhaenys's eyes met her daughter's for the briefest of moments. Laena's eyes were filled with pain, her lips pressed into a thin line as she struggled to contain her emotions. Rhaenys nodded to her, a silent permission for Laena to take her place.
Laena Velaryon stepped forward, her hands trembling as she looked out toward the coffin. The wind tugged at her silver hair, and she stood for a moment in silence.
"Laenor..." she began, her voice barely a whisper. She cleared her throat, trying to steady herself, but the pain was too raw, too much. She looked down at her hands, her fingers curling into fists as she tried to find the words.
"We fought so much as children," she said, a small, broken laugh escaping her lips. "Do you remember? You'd steal my toys, and I'd chase you around Driftmark, screaming that I'd tell Mother. We were always at each other's throats." Her voice wavered, and she wiped at her eyes, her chest tightening with the weight of the memories. "But you always looked out for me. You always had my back, even when we were fighting."
The tears were coming faster now, but Laena didn't care. She let them fall, her voice shaking as she continued. "You told me I'd have a dragon one day, that I'd fly just like you. Do you remember when I came crying to you about not having a dragon, and you told me that my dragon would be the largest of them all. I finally have a dragon, Laenor. It's Vhagar... just like you said."
Her voice broke completely as the words left her lips, and she could no longer hold back the sob that rose in her throat. "You should be here to see it," she whispered. "You should be here to see me fly, to fly with me. We were supposed to fly together."
Laena's chest heaved as she fought to keep herself from collapsing. "We were supposed to fight together... you were supposed to be there when I marry, you were supposed to be there when I mount my dragon, you-" Laena felt a loud sob escape her lips. "How could you do this to me?! To Us! I can never Forgive You. Myself. I YELLED AT YOU. I BLAMED YOU. I Can Never-" Rhaenys reached out and pulled Laena into her arms, holding her daughter tightly as the waves crashed below them. Laena buried her face in her mother's shoulder, her sobs wracking her body as she clung to the only thing left in her world that made sense.
I can never apologize to you; the words were never said.
Corlys Velaryon watched his daughter and wife return beside him; his face remained stoic still.
Laenor was gone. His boy, his firstborn, the son who had filled his halls with laughter, was now forever part of the ocean. The sea had given House Velaryon their strength, their ships, their wealth, but now it will take the one thing he cherished most.
Corlys approached the coffin, each step heavy with grief. He knelt beside the coffin, placing a calloused hand on the wood. The salt air stung his eyes, but he refused to let the tears fall, not here. Not in front of everyone. He was the Lord of the Tides, the most feared man Westeros had ever known, but right now, he was simply a father, saying goodbye to his son.
"Laenor," Corlys whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You were my joy, my pride. The heir to Driftmark, to all the seas and skies. From the moment you took your first breath, I knew you were destined for greatness."
The gathered family and lords remained silent, listening as Corlys spoke, his grief as palpable as the sea breeze. His wife, Rhaenys, stood close by, her face impassive, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"You were meant to sail the world, to lead our house to greater heights," Corlys continued, his hand tightening on the coffin. "I taught you everything I knew—how to sail, how to fight, how to be a man of the sea. You were a dragonrider, a warrior. You made me proud every day of your life."
He paused, his jaw clenched. "You should have had more time," he whispered, his voice barely audible, the pain raw in every word. "You should have had a lifetime of victories, of love, of children. You should have lived."
Corlys's voice cracked slightly, but he remained composed. It seemed, for a moment, that his farewell was over. But then, something changed. His shoulders stiffened, and a new fire ignited in his eyes. He rose to his feet slowly, his hand still resting on the coffin, but now, his voice took on a harder, sharper edge.
"And now..." he began, his tone growing louder, more commanding. "Now, my son is gone. Taken from me, not by the sea, not by fate, but by the greed of men. By pirates. By the filth that infests our waters, that dares to strike at Velaryon blood. They think they can steal from us, take what is ours, and there will be no retribution?"
The crowd stirred slightly, sensing the change in Corlys's demeanor. His words were no longer just about grief—they were about vengeance.
"They will pay," Corlys said, his voice rising, cutting through the silence like a blade. "I swear it. Every pirate, every piece of scum that dares to plague the Stepstones, will meet the same end. I will hunt them down, I will burn their ships, I will sink their cities until the waters run red with their blood!"
Viserys shifted uncomfortably beside Alicent, his face paling at Corlys's words. He had hoped this would be a somber, dignified farewell, but this... this was not something any of them needed to hear right now.
Corlys's eyes burned with fury as he turned to face the assembled family, the lords, and the royal court. "But it does not end with the pirates," he continued, his voice booming with rage. "The Dornish, those treacherous snakes, the wildfire was theirs. Their own prince killed my sun. They plot against the crown, against us. And for that, I will not rest until I have burned Dorne to the ground!"
A murmur ran through the crowd, shocked whispers rippling through the gathered nobles. Viserys's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His horror at Corlys's declaration was clear, but for the moment, he remained silent, perhaps hoping to defuse the situation later, in private.
Alicent, standing beside the king, wore a different expression altogether. Her lips curved into a slight, almost imperceptible smirk, a flicker of satisfaction passing over her face. But she remained still, her hands folded before her, offering no comment as Corlys continued his tirade.
"Justice will be done," Corlys vowed, his voice echoing over the sea. "The blood of my son will not be spilled in vain. Every last one of them—pirate or Dornish lord—will pay for what they have done."
Rhaenys, who had stood silent until now, placed a hand on Corlys's arm, trying to calm him. "Corlys," she whispered, her voice gentle, but the look in her eyes was one of shared grief and fury. He turned to her, his chest heaving with emotion, but after a long moment, he nodded, stepping back from the edge of the platform.
Corlys's eyes returned to Laenor's coffin, his expression softening for just a moment. "I swear it, Laenor," he murmured, his voice low but filled with conviction. "I will not rest until those who took you from us are wiped from this earth."
Viserys, his face now pale and drawn, took a deep breath, trying to gather himself. He knew he had to speak to address the fury boiling within Corlys soon; the more he let it to grow, the more people would die needlessly. But here, on this platform, in front of Laenor's body, was not the place for such a confrontation. He glanced at Alicent, who kept her gaze steady on the sea, her expression serene, though the corners of her lips still held that subtle, unsettling smirk.
The air felt heavier than it had moments before, as if the sea itself mourned alongside those gathered. Aenar Targaryen stood at the back, watching as one by one, the family said their goodbyes to Laenor Velaryon. The pain in his chest deepened with every word spoken, and though the sea roared and the dragons cried out in mourning, a part of him felt utterly numb.
He had kept his distance until now, unsure of what to say, unsure if he even had the right to speak. Laenor had been his cousin, but Aenar had never truly known him well enough. Regret gnawed at him as he took a deep breath, forcing himself to move forward. He approached the coffin, his footsteps slow.
"I'm sorry," Aenar began, his voice low and rough. He cleared his throat, looking down at the white-wrapped figure that had once been full of life. "I wish I had known you better, Laenor. I regret not having the chance to understand your heart as others here did."
His gaze flickered briefly toward Corlys and Rhaenys before settling back on the coffin. "But I saw enough to know you were fearless. A true dragonrider. A man who never hesitated to fight for what he believed in."
Aenar swallowed hard, the memory of Laenor's words from their last meeting rising unbidden to his mind. 'This is why I must train like this. This is why I must fight in this war. My father will no longer see me as just the son he ended up having.'
He paused, but before he could say more, a voice broke through the silence.
"What were his last words?"
Aenar blinked, frozen in place. His eyes shifted toward Corlys, who had stepped forward, his face tight with grief and something more, something desperate. The Sea Snake's voice was low but commanding, his eyes locked onto Aenar's with an intensity that made the young prince's blood run cold.
"What?" Aenar managed, his voice barely above a whisper as if he hadn't heard him right.
Corlys didn't hesitate, his tone growing more urgent. "Laenor died in your arms, didn't he?" His voice trembled slightly, but his eyes were unwavering. "Tell me, Aenar. Did my son say anything before he—" Corlys's voice cracked, but he forced the words out. "Before he was gone?"
The question hung in the air like a blade poised to strike.
Aenar felt his heart lurch in his chest, a coldness creeping through him that he couldn't shake. His mouth went dry, his mind racing as he stood there, staring at Corlys, unable to form a response. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't prepared for it.
'...I-I'm...sorry...Sea...smoke,'
Rhaenys turned to him now, her eyes dark with grief but sharp, waiting for his answer. Laena, standing beside her mother, looked at Aenar with wide, searching eyes—eyes that held both love and fear.
"F...Father... I—failed. I'm...sorry... I failed... again..."
"I..." Aenar's voice caught in his throat. He could feel all eyes on him, waiting, expecting. But the words wouldn't come. He could see her again.
Arya
Blood dripped from her mouth. Her eyes were distant, fading. A deep gash cut across her throat. She tried to speak, but all he could hear was the sound of her choking on her own blood.
Rhaenys
"Aenar, please take care of our Aelyssara. Please..." Her voice trailed off as the light faded from her eyes, snuffed out like the flame of a candle. Only darkness remained.
Daenerys
' "Aenar, please... don't leave me," Daenerys whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible through the blood filling her mouth. "I don't want to be alone... I want us to go home, to the House with the Red Door, and—"
Her words faltered, her body wracked with pain as blood splattered from her lips. The ice spear buried deep in her stomach seemed to freeze the world around them. Her trembling hand reached for him, weakly, desperately.
"All of us... We were so happy there... You, me, Rhaenys... and our... children..." Her breath hitched, her eyes filled with pain and longing. A single tear slid down her cheek as she tried to hold on.
Daenerys drew one final, ragged breath—then nothing. Her hand went limp in his.
Aenar knelt there, paralyzed, staring at her as the cold reality set in. His heart broke, shattering into a thousand pieces. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His hands trembled as he cradled her lifeless body, tears falling in torrents, mixing with the blood on her pale skin.
"When will this end," he whispered, choking on his sobs. "When will this END..."
All that remained was the emptiness, the gaping wound where her laughter, her warmth, and her love had once been.
And he was left alone, broken in a world without her.'
Laenor
' "Laenor!" Aenar shouted in relief, rushing to kneel before him. "Keep breathing. The Maester is coming," he pleaded, his voice trembling. But Laenor rattled with each breath, his one eye slowly opening—an abyss of darkness staring back at Aenar, full of pain and defeat.
"Don't speak, save your strength," Aenar urged desperately.
"...I-I'm...sorry...Sea...smoke," Laenor's words came out in a rasp, broken and painful.
"Don't talk, Laenor. Just breathe,"
Laenor drew one long, shuddering breath. His eye found Aenar's once more, the darkness within it now filled with sorrow. "F...Father... I—failed. I'm...sorry... I failed... again..." His words faded as his head slumped forward, lifeless.
At that moment, Aenar saw them all. Daenerys, Rhaenys, Arya, Robb, Tormund, Val, Eddard Stark. Each of them was lost, and now Laenor and Seasmoke are lost, too.'
Corlys took a step closer. "Please," he said, his voice cracking, the desperation clear now. "Did he say anything, Aenar? Anything at all?"
Aenar's breath hitched. He wanted to answer, wanted to give Corlys the closure he so desperately sought. But how could he? How could he say Laenor's last words? It would crush him.
"Laenor..." Aenar whispered, his voice barely audible as he looked down at the coffin. His throat tightened, and his vision blurred with unshed tears.
Laena's hand trembled as she reached out, placing it on Aenar's shoulder. "Please, tell me... Did he find peace?"
Aenar swallowed hard, trying to muster the strength to speak, to give his true love something, anything, that could ease the anguish in her heart. But all he could remember were his last words repeating in his head.
"F...Father... I—failed. I'm...sorry... I failed... again..."
"I..." he stammered again, but the words refused to come. His heart ached with the weight of the truth, a truth he couldn't bear to speak.
"...I...I...I..."
In the end, he could not say those words. They would crush Laena and hurt her even more. Aenar knew he could have lied, but he couldn't—not for this one. He couldn't just lie for Laenor's last words. But at least he didn't have to tell them. He would keep them until the grave. Aenar didn't say anything; instead, he walked back to his father, who looked at him with concern.
Corlys Velaryon walked up to the coffin again, his hand resting on the coffin that held the body of his only son. His fingers tightened around the wood, his knuckles white from the strain, and for a moment, it seemed like he might never let go. His eyes were locked on the horizon, the distant waves crashing against the rocks below.
With a deep, shuddering breath, Corlys pushed the coffin forward, watching as it slid from the platform and tumbled into the sea. The splash was soft, almost imperceptible, but to him, it felt like the end of the world. The coffin bobbed on the surface for just a moment before the waves claimed it, pulling it under and dragging Laenor into the depths.
Corlys stood frozen, his eyes never leaving the spot where his son's coffin had disappeared, even as the others began to leave. Rhaenys walked up to him, placing a gentle hand on her husband's arm, but even her touch couldn't pull him away from his grief. He didn't speak, didn't move. He just stared at the sea, as if willing it to give his son back.
One by one, the others followed. Viserys, nodded to his brother and Aenar before walking back toward the castle. Alicent trailed behind, her face composed but detached. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and the rest of the family slowly dispersed, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the roar of the sea.
But Corlys and Rhaenys remained, his shoulders slumped, and his wife rested her head on his shoulder.
Aenar and Laena
As the sun sank into the horizon, Aenar and Laena sat in a quiet field just outside of High Tide. Vhagar and Cannibal rested nearby.
Laena sat beside Aenar, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress. Her usually bright eyes were dull, her face pale and drawn. She had barely said a word since they left the platform, and Aenar hadn't pushed her to speak. He knew that kind of grief all too well—the kind that leaves you hollow, where words seem meaningless.
Without saying anything, Aenar shifted closer, offering his shoulder. Laena leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder as she let out a shaky breath. He could feel her body tremble slightly, her tears beneath the surface. Aenar didn't speak; he just held her, letting her know he was there, even if there were no words that could make this easier.
The two of them sat like that for a long time, the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, Vhagar's occasional deep, rumbling breath the only other sound. It felt strange to Aenar, sitting there with Laena while everything around them seemed so unchanged, but why would the world change? The world never cared for their losses.
"Aenar," she whispered, her breath catching as she spoke, "does it ever get easier?"
The question pierced Aenar's heart, and for a moment, he felt the weight of every loss he had ever experienced press down on him. His mind flashed back to Rhaenyra asking him the same question when her mother had passed away. He remembered the way her voice had trembled, how lost she had seemed in that moment. And now here he was again, with Laena, faced with the same question, the same pain.
Aenar thought of all the people he had lost—his own mother, Queen Aemma. He thought of Arya, Robb, Daenerys, Rhaenys, Rhaella, Aelyssara, and his little Aemon.
Though years had passed since many of those losses, the grief still lingered, as sharp and raw as the day it had first struck him.
No, he wanted to say. It doesn't get easier. It never gets easier.
But as he looked at Laena, as he saw the way her tears brimmed but didn't fall, the way she held herself so tightly as if trying to hold her world together, he couldn't say those words. He couldn't crush her with that truth, not now. She needed something, anything, to hold on to.
So instead, Aenar reached up and gently brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, his voice soft, measured. "It takes time," he said, though the words felt hollow in his chest. "But we learn to carry it."
Laena nodded, though she didn't look up at him. She remained pressed against his shoulder, silent for a long moment as if absorbing his words. Her tears finally broke free, silent and steady as they traced down her cheeks. Aenar held her closer, his own heart aching as he realized there was little he could do to ease her pain.
"I just..." Laena's voice broke, her tears making it hard for her to speak. "I just wish he could've seen me fly. We were supposed to fly together, you know? We were supposed to fight together. To have so much more time."
Aenar's chest tightened, but he didn't respond. There were no words that could fix this, no promises that could bring her brother back or fill the empty space Laenor had left behind. All he could do was be there, to share in her grief, as she had done for him so many times before.
"I...I...I Can never Apologise...to Him." she sobbed loudly, and Aenar kept her close. He wished he could say something to ease the pain. But there was nothing he could do.
Aenar held Laena close as the last traces of daylight faded into the deep indigo of night. The stars slowly emerged, glittering against the vast sky like scattered diamonds. Aenar kept his arm around Laena, her head resting against his chest, and he could feel the gentle rise and fall of her breath, steady now but still heavy with sorrow.
He didn't know how long they had been sitting there. It could have been minutes, or perhaps hours.
Aenar's gaze drifted upward to the starry night sky. The vastness of it, the endless stretch of stars, made him feel small in a way that was almost comforting. He had always loved the night sky—the way it seemed to go on forever, even when everything on the ground felt too close, too painful. It was one of the few things in the world that hadn't changed, no matter how much else had.
Their silence stretched on, comfortable in a way, until Laena finally broke it, her voice soft and almost hesitant. "Aenar," she whispered, her words barely audible above the breeze. "Will you sing me a song?"
He looked down at her, his heart tightening at the sight of her face, tear-streaked but somehow calmer now, as if she was reaching for something to hold onto—some piece of the past, something that reminded her of when things were different. He could never refuse something from the woman he loved so much.
So Aenar took a breath, steadying himself. He thought for a moment, searching through the songs in his memory, and then quietly, he began to sing.
'I see your face, it's fading from view,
In every shadow, I'm reaching for you.
The words left unspoken, the dreams left behind,
I wish we had more time, I wish we had more time.
Every breath that you took, I didn't know it would end,
Now I'm left here alone, just trying to pretend.
I wish we had more time, just one more day,
To laugh in the sun, to chase the pain away.
I'd hold you close, never let go,
But now it's too late, and I'll never know
What we could've been, how the story would rhyme.
I wish we had more time.
The silence is louder than words ever said,
I keep replaying the things in my head.
I'd give anything for one more moment with you,
To say all the things I never got to.
Now the memories are all that remain,
And the echoes of love that still whisper your name.
I wish we had more time, just one more night,
To dance in the moon's gentle, silver light.
I'd hold you close, never let go,
But now it's too late, and I'll never know
What we could've been, how the story would rhyme.
I wish we had more time.
If I could turn back, I'd make every second count,
But the time keeps moving, and the moment is gone,
Now I'm left here alone, trying to carry on.
I wish we had more time, just one more day,
To laugh in the sun, to chase the pain away.
I'd hold you close, never let go,
But now it's too late, and I'll never know
What we could've been, how the story would rhyme.
I wish we had more time.
I wish we had more time...
I wish we had more time...'
.
.
.
Jon Snow
Aenar opened his eyes to nothing but darkness—an endless void stretching in every direction. There were no stars, no ground beneath his feet, just an overwhelming sense of being utterly alone. He stood slowly, feeling disoriented, as if the world itself had vanished and left him adrift in this empty place.
"Where am I?" Aenar whispered, his voice breaking the stillness.
"Rhaenyra! Laena!"
Only the sound of his own voice echoed back, repeating endlessly until it faded into the void. Aenar's heart raced as he turned in circles, trying to find anything—any sign of life, of light—but there was nothing. Just darkness.
"Father?" His voice cracked as he shouted again, but once more, only his own words came back to him. The echo twisted, growing softer until there was silence again.
Then, out of the silence, a voice cut through—a voice smooth, smug, and dripping with mockery.
"Long time no see."
Aenar's body tensed, and he whirled around. Standing before him was a man he had never seen before. His skin was olive-toned, his hair a brilliant shade of red, like flames that had come to life. He towered over Aenar, easily over two meters tall, and in his right hand, he held a long Fang Tian spear, the tip glinting faintly even in the darkness. But it was the two red snakes coiled around his shoulders that grabbed Aenar's attention.
Aenar remained in place, not showing fear in his eyes, but recognition hit him. The name whispered in his mind, a name he had only heard once from Kinvara.
"You must be Prince Lykard Martell," Aenar said, his voice filled with loathing.
Lykard chuckled, the sound low and cruel, his eyes flashing as he stepped forward, his snakes tightening around his shoulders like they were poised to strike. "So you've heard of me," he said, his voice mocking as he drew closer. "Good. It saves me the trouble of introducing myself."
There was something about Lykard, something more dangerous than the long spear he carried or the serpents that slithered around his shoulders. Aenar felt like he had seen this man before, somehow, but he wasn't sure when.
"And you are...Prince Aenar of House Targaryen." Lykard's tone dripped with sarcasm as he rolled the words off his tongue, his golden eyes gleaming like embers in the dark. "The dragon prince. The beloved son." He laughed as red flames formed on his hand, growing larger, illuminating his entire face. "The Blood Traitor."
"What do you want?" Aenar glared back at him fearlessly.
Lykard's smile widened, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "What do I want?" he repeated, taking another step closer. The snakes on his shoulders hissed, their forked tongues flickering in and out as they glared at Aenar with glowing red eyes. "I want many things. Vengeance. Power. Dominion. But most of all, I want to see the Targaryens burn."
"You think you can destroy House Targaryen?" Aenar scoffed.
"You think I can't?" Lykard said, his voice low and dripping with menace. He took another slow step forward, his imposing figure casting a long, dark shadow over Aenar in the dim, endless void. "Tell me, princeling—how many of your ancestors thought they were invincible before they fell? Before they were turned to ash by their own hubris?"
Lykard's grin widened, his snakes tightening around his shoulders as he began to pace in front of Aenar. "Aegon the Conqueror... oh yes, he took Westeros by fire and blood, but even he wasn't invulnerable. His empire was built on the backs of the broken, forged in blood, and from the moment he died, the cracks began to form."
He sneered, his red eyes gleaming with malice. "Maegor the Cruel—your great ancestor, the scourge of Westeros. So beloved that his own men turned on him. Killed by his own kin. He left behind nothing but a legacy of terror and ashes, and the realm breathed easier without him, but he did burn the Faith of the Seven, so I think we both agree with him. The rats of the Seven all deserve to be impaled on spears, kept alive for the crows to feast on their flesh and eyes, and their bodies left for everyone to see."
Aenar wondered how this man knew of his disdain towards the Faith, but Lykard continued, his voice now a harsh mockery, echoing with a twisted satisfaction. "And what of the great kings who followed? Jaehaerys, the so-called Wise, who lost his heirs to madness and misfortune? A house of dragons, and yet the throne nearly fell into ruin under his reign. He sold all his daughters like cows in the market but sold them to the lowest bidder. And let's not forget his son, Baelon, dead before he could wear the crown."
Lykard stopped in front of Aenar, his gaze piercing as he leaned closer, but Aenar remained in place, he wasn't afraid and Lykard could respect that from the prince. "And then there's Viserys. Your king. Weak, indecisive, letting the realm crumble around him while he clings to the memories of a past that no longer exists. He'll be remembered for nothing, a footnote in the Targaryen history of failure."
Aenar glared at him, but Lykard's grin only widened, his voice turning to a low, mocking whisper. "You think House Targaryen stands tall, but it's been stumbling for generations. Civil war, kinslaying, dragons turning on one another. All it takes is a nudge, a little push, and the mighty Targaryens will fall, just like every other house that thought they were invincible."
"You know nothing of what true power is."
Lykard's grin faltered slightly, though the amusement in his eyes didn't waver.
Despite the words he said, Aenar always kept his composure; he wasn't like his father to lose control.
"You think we are weak? That we are falling? Then let me make this clear to you. You killed Laenor. You killed my cousin—I will bring fire and blood to Dorne that will make your ancestors weep. I will burn every inch of your desert kingdom, from the Red Mountains to Sunspear. Not a single grain of sand will remain unscorched."
Aenar took another step closer, his face inches from Lykard's. "You want to see House Targaryen fall? Then know this, Prince Lykard: I will see your entire house wiped from the face of Westeros. I will watch the Martell name die in the flames."
The serpents on Lykard's shoulders hissed, their red eyes narrowing as if sensing the depth of Aenar's threat. Lykard's expression didn't shift. Instead, he seemed amused by the words he had just heard.
"I will make your sands run red with the blood of your kin. And when your people are nothing but ash, I will remind you that House Targaryen may stumble, but we never fall. I will let you live, and then when you lose everything, you will be surrounded by the corpses of your family, all of them dead because of you, and only then I will burn you with wildfire."
"Ohh, Prince Aenar. You couldn't fathom the amount of dead men behind me." Lykard said with a twisted smile before turning around and walking away.
"See you around...bastard."
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