Twin Flames: Echoes Across the Narrow Sea
Chapter I – Sails on the Horizon
POV: Viserys I Targaryen
King's Landing had expected minor lords and opportunists.
It did not expect embassies.
Three ships arrived within a fortnight — one bearing the Titan of Braavos upon its sails, another sleek and purple from the Free Cities, and the last sun-splashed and defiant from Dorne.
Messengers requested audience not merely with the Crown—
But with the Twins.
Viserys' fingers tightened on the arm of the Iron Throne.
"This grows troublesome," murmured Otto Hightower beside him.
Below the throne, Aenarion and Daenerys stood in composed silence.
They did not look surprised.
That unsettled the king most of all.
The first envoy stepped forward — robed in sea-green silk.
"From Braavos," he declared, "we bring remembrance."
Servants carried forward a long, wrapped canvas.
When unveiled, the hall fell into stunned quiet.
The portrait was unmistakable.
Two silver-haired figures wreathed in painted flame, standing before fleeing ships beneath a burning sky — the Doom consuming Valyria behind them.
At the bottom, in Braavosi script:
To the Fire that Freed Us.
Whispers rippled like wind through dry grass.
Chapter II – The Titan's Testimony
POV: Aenarion
The Braavosi Sealord's envoy did not kneel.
He bowed — deeply, respectfully.
"Our founders told of two dragonlords who shielded their fleet as they fled the Doom," he said. "Without them, Braavos would not stand."
He gestured, and a small chest was brought forth.
Inside lay an ancient medallion of Valyrian steel etched with twin flames intertwining.
Daenerys' breath caught — just slightly.
I remember this, she murmured in our shared mind.
You gave it to the girl who captained the third ship, I recalled.
The envoy continued, "The Sealord sends this token in gratitude — and acknowledgment."
Otto's eyes darkened.
Acknowledgment implied legitimacy.
Legitimacy implied influence.
And influence was currency more dangerous than dragons.
Chapter III – The Princess of the Rhoynar's Words
POV: Rhaenys Targaryen
The Dornish envoy arrived last.
Sun-burnished, composed, and carrying something far older than gold.
A diary.
Bound in cracked leather, preserved through centuries.
The envoy bowed lightly. "From Sunspear. A record kept by Nymeria herself."
A murmur swept the hall.
Rhaenys leaned forward as passages were read aloud.
Two children of flame stood upon the smoking shore.
They did not bear the cruelty of Valyria in their eyes.
They guided our remaining ships through fire and falling ash.
If dragons must rule, let them rule as these two did — not as masters, but as guardians.
The hall fell into silence deeper than any before.
Guardians.
Not conquerors.
Rhaenys' gaze drifted toward Daenerys, who stood very still.
The implications were staggering.
Dorne remembered.
Braavos remembered.
Even Essosi merchants stepped forward bearing smaller portraits, trinkets, songs transcribed onto parchment.
The Twins were not myth in those lands.
They were saviors.
Chapter IV – The Queen in Green Reacts
POV: Alicent Hightower
Alicent listened as the final envoy — from Lys — described stories of slaves freed during the chaos of the Doom.
Each testimony painted the same image.
Not tyrants.
Not indifferent dragonlords.
But two figures who chose mercy when fire reigned.
She watched Daenerys carefully.
There was no pride in her expression.
Only quiet remembrance.
Otto leaned closer to Alicent and whispered, "Reputation built across continents is a throne without iron."
Alicent understood.
If the smallfolk heard these tales, devotion would follow.
If lords believed foreign powers revered them, alliances might shift.
And if Rhaenyra stood beside them—
The balance of succession could tilt irrevocably.
Across the hall, Rhaenyra looked at the Twins not with ambition.
But with admiration.
That frightened Alicent more than anything.
Chapter V – Fire Remembered
POV: Daenerys
When the hall emptied, the gifts remained.
Portraits leaned against marble pillars.
Medallions glinted beneath torchlight.
Fragments of history long buried had resurfaced all at once.
"They remember us better than Westeros does," I said softly.
Aenarion nodded. "Westeros remembers conquest. Essos remembers survival."
I traced the edge of Nymeria's diary.
Her ink had not faded.
Her gratitude had endured centuries.
Footsteps approached.
Viserys.
His face was pale, conflicted.
"You were never meant to be part of my reign," he said quietly. "And yet… here you stand. Honored beyond my own house."
"We do not seek your throne," Aenarion replied calmly.
"But the realm may seek you," Viserys said.
Outside, the bells of King's Landing rang the evening hour.
Three foreign powers had arrived not with threats—
But with gratitude.
The court could no longer dismiss the Twins as Dragonstone curiosities.
They were part of history.
Recognized.
Revered.
And perhaps—
Needed.
As night settled over the Red Keep, the painted flames in the portraits seemed almost alive in the torchlight.
And for the first time since their awakening,
The realm understood something unsettling:
The Twins had not merely survived the Doom.
They had shaped what came after it.