Dragon's flame

Year 114 AC

Aelyx POV

Father's health continues to decline. Alicent is pregnant with Daeron, and yet Rhaenyra remains childless... but more troubling are the emotions she has begun to show for Harwin. Daemon, ever the rebel, has married Laena and taken her to Pentos. Father is furious with him—banished once more for his insolence at the wedding.

Yet, despite Daemon's departure, the blood of the dragon grows. From year 114 AC onward, new bearers of this bloodline will begin to emerge into the world, and with them, a new set of challenges.

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[The Training Grounds]

I can feel Aegon swinging his sword in an almost haphazard manner. The boy just turned seven name days—too young to wield such a weapon with any true understanding.

There's another development: Ser Cristin Cole has been appointed as the sworn shield of Alicent. And he seems to harbor some misplaced hostility toward me and Danny.

I approach the training grounds, determined to put some sense into Aegon's reckless swinging.

"Put some force into the swing!" I command him.

"What do you know, blind sucker?" Aegon scoffs, his words laced with arrogance.

Laughter erupts from the onlookers.

I take a step forward, my voice steady but laced with challenge. "Land a hit on me."

Aegon hesitates for a moment, and then lunges, sword raised high. I sense his movement before it fully materializes, reading the angle of his strike. With a swift shift of my weight, I turn my body just enough to evade the blow, feeling the air whoosh past me.

"Can't even land a hit on a 'blind' person? PATHETIC," I taunt, my voice carrying across the silent training yard.

Aegon's anger surges. He starts swinging wildly, attacking in erratic arcs, each strike more desperate than the last. They're all easily dodged. I sidestep, moving like a shadow, and with a quick motion, I kick him square in the stomach. The force sends him crashing to the ground, his breath knocked out of him. He groans in pain.

The crowd falls silent. Not a single soul dares to speak.

"Stop whining," I snap. "Get up. You're a Targaryen, don't act like a wimp."

"That's enough, Your Grace!" Cristin Cole shouts, his voice filled with authority.

I turn my head toward him, my eyes narrowing. "By what authority are you raising your voice at me?"

Cristin falters, clearly thrown off by my words. It is no longer a secret that I walk and act as though my sight were never taken from me. I pinpoint his exact position with ease, and the tension between us thickens.

"I am the sworn protector of the Queen and Prince Aegon's mentor," Cristin declares, his tone dripping with righteousness.

"You are just a sworn protector of a queen. That is all," I respond, my eyes locking onto his. My voice is calm, but the underlying challenge is unmistakable.

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Cristin Cole POV

I hear the uproar from the training grounds long before I arrive. When I step onto the field, I find Aegon sprawled on the ground, his face contorted in pain. And there, standing over him, is Aelyx, the blind prince. The anger that rises in me is sharp, a bitter reminder that Aelyx is the full brother of Rhaenyra.

I can feel my temper flaring. The prince's eyes, void and unsettling, meet mine, and the chill of his gaze sinks deep into my bones. There's no mistaking it—this boy is far more than he appears.

"Let's see how good your mentor truly is," Aelyx says coldly, and a cruel smile creeps onto his lips. "Let's have a duel."

A thrill of excitement rises in my chest. I know Aelyx is special—he may be blind, but his movements, his decisions, betray no weakness. His actions are too deliberate, too precise, for one who cannot see.

I grab a wooden sword and take my stance. Aelyx mirrors me, and we both settle into position. There is a moment of silence, the tension thick in the air as everyone watches.

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[POV END]

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The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows over the training field. Aelyx and I stand facing one another, our wooden swords raised in preparation. The tension between us is palpable. This is more than a sparring match—it's a test.

I make the first move, swinging my sword in a heavy arc aimed at Aelyx's shoulder. The strike comes down fast and with power, but Aelyx moves with a fluid grace, stepping back just enough to block the blow. The impact rattles through my arm, but he doesn't falter.

Aelyx's face is calm, his movements calculated. Maegor's training has made him patient, sharp, and precise. He waits for the perfect moment, his body flowing with a practiced ease.

In a swift, almost effortless motion, Aelyx twists his sword and thrusts it forward, aiming for my side. I sidestep, knowing the strike is coming. With a flick of my wrist, I knock his sword aside, pushing him back. But I don't relent. Without missing a beat, I press forward with another attack, my blade slashing toward his chest.

Aelyx raises his sword in time to block, but the force of the strike pushes him back. His feet skid in the dirt, but his balance never falters. His breath comes in quick bursts, but his mind remains focused, always calculating the next move.

I press harder, sensing his moment of weakness. I spin, bringing my sword down in a devastating arc aimed at his exposed shoulder. Aelyx, however, is too fast. He ducks low, avoiding the blow by mere inches, and pivots to the side. His movements flow like water, graceful and precise.

With a roar, Aelyx counters, swinging his sword upward in an uppercut aimed at my side. His strike is quick, but I'm quicker. I bring my blade down, crashing it into his wooden sword with all my strength. There's a sickening crack, and the sound of splintering wood fills the air.

Aelyx stands, breathing heavily, as the two halves of his weapon fall to the ground. He looks at the broken pieces for a moment before meeting my gaze. He does not speak, but his eyes burn with the same fire that fills my own.

The onlookers, stunned into silence, slowly begin to clap. The sound grows louder, and within moments, Aelyx has earned their respect. The tension lifts from the field, replaced by admiration for the young prince.

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Viserys POV

Watching Aelyx fight, my heart swells with pride. At only nine name days, he moved with the grace of a warrior twice his age. His skill is undeniable, and yet, it fills me with anger. If only he were not blind... He could have been my perfect heir.

Rhaenyra is strong, but she is not the heir I envisioned. House Mooton, House Staunton... they will burn for their betrayal.

"Lyonel, prepare letters for Daemon, Driftmark, the Westerlands, the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale. It's time for war. We will deal with these traitors."

Lyonel bows his head. "Your Grace, I suggest we send an army led by Prince Daemon to burn House Mooton and Staunton, aided by House Rosby and Burne, while Princess Rhaenys and Princess Laena hold off the Dornish from intervening."

"Excellent suggestion, Lyonel. I'll discuss it further when the war council is assembled."

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