Chapter One: The Bonds that Break

                                    

                                          
-Rhaenyra's POV-
The council chamber was emptying, the weight of the day's decisions fading as the lords rose from their seats. I remained still, watching them gather their parchments and murmur their parting words. My fingers gripped the table, and the resolve in my chest grew tight, but I couldn't let this moment pass.
"Wait," I said, standing. My voice cut through the low din of voices, and the lords paused, exchanging looks of curiosity. "There is one more matter to discuss."
The eyes of the small council turned toward me, some surprised, others hesitant. Ser Harrold paused by the door, his hand lingering on the handle as if he were weighing whether to proceed or stay. Even my father, seated at the head of the table, lifted his head with mild curiosity, though the weariness in his eyes was unmistakable.
But it was Alicent's gaze I felt the most—the cold, calculating stare that had become so familiar. She already knew what was coming. She had prepared her response long before I could even open my mouth. But I could not let her see my hesitation.
"We are one family," I began, forcing a smile. "We were friends once, long ago. It seems that those bonds have... frayed." I glanced toward my father, drawing strength from his hopeful gaze. "But we are still the royal house. We cannot remain divided."
Alicent's lips pressed into a thin line, her hands folding in front of her in a gesture of politeness masking disdain.
"As a gesture of peace," I continued, "I propose a betrothal—between my son Jacaerys and your daughter, Helaena."
The air in the room stilled. My heart thudded in my chest as I glanced between Alicent and my father. 
When I first considered the betrothal, I had thought of Aelora, the youngest daughter, as well. But I couldn't bring myself to suggest it. She was still so young, her innocence untouched by the burdens of court and power struggles. Aelora deserved the chance to live freely, to have a proper childhood unburdened by the weight of politics. I wanted her to remain untouched by this chaos, at least for a little while longer. So I only suggested Helaena, who was older.
Alicent's expression didn't change, though I saw a flicker of something in her eyes—disbelief, perhaps.
"And," I added, "when Syrax lays her next clutch of eggs, one will be gifted to Aemond."
Viserys straightened, a gleam of approval crossing his face. "This is a wise proposal, Rhaenyra."
Alicent's eyes flicked downward, and I followed her gaze in horror as I realized I was leaking milk through my dress. The flush that spread across my cheeks was immediate. Alicent's lips curled into a cruel smile.
"I will consider it," she said with false sweetness, and with that, she turned and left the room.
—————
Days later, at Driftmark, we gathered to mourn Laena Velaryon. The sea air was cold, biting through my dress as I stood by my father, my sons beside me. The sadness of the day was tangible, but so were the tensions that lingered just beneath the surface. The whispers of court never left, no matter where we traveled. I had even heard news of Alicent betrothing her son Aegon to Helaena, to spite my proposal no doubt.
But the real storm came that night, in the Hall of Nine.
I had barely found rest when the shouting began. I ran, my heart racing, only to find my sons bruised and shaken, and Aemond... his eye, gone. Alicent stood over him, her face twisted with horror and rage. Viserys arrived, and his fury was palpable as he demanded to know what had happened.
Aemond claimed my sons had attacked him, but Jace whispered to me the truth: Aemond had called them bastards.
Fury boiled within me, but I held my composure. "Aemond spoke treason," I said, my voice sharp. "He called my sons bastards, which is a vile accusation and a grave insult to our house."
Alicent was beside herself with anger. "Your sons maimed mine!" she shouted, her eyes wild with grief. "Lucerys brought a knife to kill him!"
I stood firm. "He only acted in defense."
The room devolved into chaos, accusations flying from all corners. My father demanded silence, but even his voice could not quell the storm. When Aemond admitted he had heard the accusation from Aegon, my father turned to his eldest son, who simply shrugged, stating coldly, "We all know it, father. Everyone knows."
The room fell into a terrible silence.
Viserys' voice shook as he implored us to remain united. "We are one family," he said, his desperation clear. "We must stop this."
But Alicent was not to be calmed. "An eye for an eye," she demanded. "Lucerys must pay."
I stood between them, shielding my son as the queen consort's rage boiled over. And then, in an instant, Alicent lost herself. She grabbed Viserys' dagger and lunged at Lucerys.
We grappled, my hands clutching hers as the Valyrian steel pressed dangerously close to my skin. I could hear her shouting, years of resentment pouring out in her words—how I had lived freely, while she had always done what was expected. I had produced three sons of questionable parentage, while she had followed every rule, and yet I still stood poised to inherit the throne. I was the heir, and her sons—her children—would suffer for it.
In the struggle, she slashed my arm, and the blood spilled between us.
The room stilled.
Alicent faltered, the dagger slipping from her hand. Even she seemed shocked at what she had done. The silence stretched, until Aemond, with his bloodied face, stepped forward. His voice was calm, eerily so, as he said, "Do not grieve for me, mother. I lost an eye... but I gained a dragon."
The tension in the room was unbearable, but it was then that my father, struggling for control, stood tall. His voice, though frail, carried a weight that made us all listen.
He turned to Alicent, then to me, his eyes lingering on each of us before they settled on his youngest daughter, Aelora. She stood at the back of the room, her innocent face pale, her eyes wide with fear. Aelora was young—too young for the burdens that were being placed upon her. Her kindness was like a light in our darkened house, and though she had her mother's fire, I saw much of myself in her. A girl caught in a storm not of her own making.
And it was her fate my father now decided.
"Aelora," Viserys said, his voice soft but unyielding. "She will marry Jacaerys."
Aelora's eyes widened, and I felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had been thrust into this, a pawn in the game of power we all played. I watched as her face drained of color, as the realization of what had just been decreed settled over her.
"She will unite our house," my father continued, his voice shaking. "This is how we will heal."
The weight of his words filled the room, and I glanced at Aelora, whose fate had just been sealed. She had no say in this, no control over the path her life would now take. And in that moment, I felt the burden of our bloodline, the curse of being born to the crown.
Aelora's innocence was now tied to a future she never asked for. The girl who reminded me of myself had been handed over, her life decided by the whims of men. As my father's declaration hung heavy in the air, I could only wonder how long it would be before that same innocence was shattered.
 In the silence that followed, a chilling thought crept into my mind: in this game of thrones, innocence is often the first casualty, and the uncertainty of how it would reshape Aelora's character loomed like a dark cloud, threatening to engulf us all.