99 AC / 54 HA
Viserys
"Kepa."
The word was a wet, clumsy bubble on Rhaenyra's lips, punctuated by a toothless, beaming smile. I chuckled, the sound thick with a bone-deep exhaustion I had carried for weeks. As I sat in the sunlit expanse of my chambers within the Red Keep, the heavy Myrish carpets soft beneath my boots wondering of my father's return. The afternoon air smelled of crushed lavender, sweet milk, and the faint, ever-present salt of the Blackwater Bay drifting through the open balcony doors.
Rhaenyra sat in my lap, her tiny fists gripping the gold chain around my neck with startling strength. Her wispy hair was the colour of spun starlight, a perfect, pristine reflection of Old Valyria.
"Yes, my sweet girl," I murmured, gently prying her fingers from the metal links to press a kiss to her knuckles. "Kepa is here."
For a fleeting moment, the oppressive dread sitting in my chest lifted. Here, surrounded by the warmth of the hearth and the innocent babbling of my daughter, the world felt safe. The brutal reality of Daemon's reckless folly in Essos and the terrifying power of the foreign Imperium faded into the background.
Then, the sky tore open.
It began as a low, physical tremor vibrating through the stone floorboards, rattling the silver goblets resting on the heavy oak table. The tremor violently escalated into a deafening, primordial roar that shattered the quiet of the Red Keep. The sound hit me like a physical blow to the chest.
Rhaenyra flinched, her lower lip trembling before she broke into a startled wail. I pulled her tight against my tunic, my own heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I knew that roar. It was not the high, piercing shriek of Caraxes, nor the rumbling bellow of my grandsire's mount, Vermithor. It was older. Deeper.
I surged from the chair, clutching my daughter securely against the shoulder, and strode out onto the sweeping stone balcony.
The wind whipped across my face, carrying the sharp, metallic tang of ozone and sulfur. A colossal shadow swept rapidly over the city, briefly eclipsing the afternoon sun and plunging the sprawling streets of King's Landing into sudden darkness. My gaze snapped upward.
Vhagar.
The Queen of All Dragons banked sharply over the city. Her scales gleamed like polished armour in the returning light. She was a magnificent but terrifying leviathan of the sky. Her massive, ragged wings snapped with the sound of snapping ship sails caught in a gale, adjusting her descent. I watched the great beast wheel over the Hill of Rhaenys, her trajectory locked on the yawning, cavernous dome of the Dragonpit.
Father had returned.
I swallowed hard, throat dry as dust. As I bounced Rhaenyra absently, purple eyes fixed on the descending behemoth until she vanished behind the high walls of the pit. The city bells began to toll, a frantic, rhythmic ringing announcing the Crown Prince's arrival.
Baelon the Brave had returned from the Imperium. My grip tightened on the stone balustrade, knuckles turning white. I prayed that father had not returned alone.
"Viserys!"
The panicked shout broke my trance. Aemma rushed into the chambers, her silver-gold hair falling loose from its pins. Her lilac eyes were wide with alarm, darting from the open balcony doors to the wailing infant in my arms.
"It is only Vhagar," I assured her, stepping back into the heat of the room.
I handed Rhaenyra over. Aemma took her instantly, pressing the babe to her breast and murmuring soft Valyrian comforts until the crying subsided into jagged hiccups.
"Has he brought him back?" Aemma asked quietly. She did not need to speak his name. Daemon's spectre had haunted our halls since the raven arrived bearing news of his capture.
"I intend to find out." I kissed my wife's forehead, lingering for a second to draw courage from her scent of rosewater. "Keep her inside until I send word."
I did not wait for her nod. I turned on my heel and left the chambers.
Father would arrive at the palace within the hour, so I needed to be in the Throne Hall. If the negotiations in Essos had succeeded, Daemon would likely be with him too.
I left my chambers at a brisk pace, my boots snapping against the dark stone of the Red Keep's corridors. Ser Clement Crabb of the Kingsguard fell into step behind me, the steel of his pale armour clinking rhythmically with every stride. The castle hummed with a tense energy. Servants bowed their heads and scurried out of my path, pressing themselves against the cold brick walls. The scent of woodsmoke and roasting meats drifted from the lower kitchens, mingling with the biting salt wind whipping off Blackwater Bay. I ignored it all, my mind fixed entirely upon the fate of my brother.