Dance of The Dragonwolf

Hello, Drinor here. I'm happy to publish a new Chapter of Dance of The Dragonwolf.

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Chapter 41 (Aenar's Answer), Chapter 42 (You Will Doom Us All), Chapter 43 (The First Cry of War), Chapter 44 (Revenge is a dish best served Cold), Chapter 45 (Dragons and Snakes), Chapter 46 ('You are not Loved'), Chapter 47 (Rhaenyra's Rage), Chapter 48 (Spread your Wings), Chapter 49 (A Falling Dragon), Chapter 50 (Even Eyes Can Lie), Chapter 51 (A Crying Dragon), Chapter 52 (Tears of a Dragon), Chapter 53 (I Wish We Had More Time), Chapter 54 (The Bitter Harvest), and Chapter 55 (Red Vipers, White Lies) are already available for Patrons.

As the storm clouds rolled in over King's Landing, the heavens opened up, and a deluge of rain poured down upon the city, drenching everything in its path. The streets quickly turned into small rivers. In a frenzy, the people of King's Landing scurried for shelter, their bodies shivering from the cold rain that soaked through their clothes. And as the thunder boomed and lightning streaked across the sky, some whispered that it was the gods weeping for the loss of their beloved Queen Aemma.

The Bells of Sept were still echoing throughout the entire city. People who had homes ran inside, trying to find any cover from the rain, their clothes soaked from the cold rain. Many ran inside, but not everyone had a place to call home. Those who found nowhere to go were left at the mercy of the rain, cuddled together in dark corners of the city.

The young boy, with his tousled mop of dirty blonde hair, couldn't help but shiver as a gust of frigid wind cut through the air. His hair was in a constant state of disarray, falling over his forehead and partially obscuring his face. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue that seemed like ice. As the chill continued to seep into his bones, his small frame convulsed with violent shudders, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. He could feel the warmth draining from his fingers, leaving them numb and tingling like ice.

He had only a torn blanket to cover himself. His hands held it tightly, and the wet surface felt uncomfortable to touch.

As the rain pounded down on the deserted alley, his back pressed against the cold brick wall of the abandoned house. His legs splayed across the muddy ground. The weight of the rain almost suffocated him, drenching his clothes until they clung to his skin like a second layer. His soaked garments revealed the outline of his ribcage, giving the illusion that his own flesh was a mere facade.

The boy feared looking further back. He knew they were hiding there, looking at him with hunger, many of them. He feared to look; if he did, he would scream. He didn't know how to count, but he knew there were too many.

The boy thought if he closed his eyes, they all would disappear. He could feel their red eyes looking at him, his heart almost bursting from his chest, and the rain; he could hardly see anymore.

As the boy closed his eyes, he thought of the gods. Why was he suffering like this? Did the gods wish for them to suffer? He wished for God to help him or for the Stranger to take him away.

"Why are you here?" A gentle voice spoke through the sound of the heavy rain; this one was almost like an old man. The boy opened his eyes. Strangely, the rain wasn't as heavy anymore. He could see now, and in front of him stood an old man. His eyes were hidden; he couldn't see them, but the boy was sure the man was smiling.

"Don't stay here, come with me, dear child. I will get you warm and fed." The old man offered; the boy blinked, his old hand extended towards him. The boy wondered what the man wanted in return; they always wanted something. No one was ever that generous. But the old man was promising him food and a warm place to rest; the boy knew nothing of such a place. The streets were deserted, and all left were children like him and the red eyes in the shadows approaching with hunger.

"I-I don't have anything to give, but I can dance." the boy offered, the one thing he had and knew how to do. The last men laughed and laughed before giving him a copper and telling him to leave the house.

"My dear child, I don't need anything from you. I only wish to give because there's nothing more precious than helping and a smile that sweetens it." The boy didn't know why, but he felt like he could trust him. If the man was truly offering all he promised for free, then he would follow him. If he stayed here, he would scream. He knew that.

With a bit of strength, he moved his legs, standing up while gripping the side of the wall, but then he remembered the red eyes; he looked the other way, but they all were gone.

"Come with me, dear child." the old man said gently. The kid felt like he had heard that voice before as they walked out of the dark alley and into the street of Silk; he looked around; the rain wasn't as heavy anymore, the lakes weren't running through the mud streets, and the screams of people weren't heard anymore, but he could still hear the bells, something that annoyed the kid who flinched, he hated their sound, it meant someone had died.

"You don't like the bells, dear boy?" the old man asked. Despite the rain, the boy could hear him clearly.

The boy shuddered again. The blanket was wet and cold, like hugging a piece of rain, but that's all he had right now. His shoes were torn, wet, and cold. He could feel something moving inside his shoes as he walked, but he paid it no mind. It wasn't one of those with red eyes. Perhaps it was a little friend. The thought of a friend made the boy's lips twitch up for a moment.

"No, m'Lord."

"I'm no Lord, dear child. The bells are a sign of mourning and grief, a queen died to bring her children into this world, such an act that should fill the world with joy, yet, the boy didn't last long. Not even a day old."

"Gods are cruel," the boy murmured under his breath. He hoped the old man hadn't heard him as they walked upwards towards Rhaenys's Hill. Where the dragons slept, he always wanted to see one.

"You think the gods are cruel." The boy stopped dead in his tracks. Fear gripped him, colder than the rain. He was ready to run when the old man let out a bitter laugh and continued walking forward, walking under a small wooden bridge that connected two small buildings. The boy followed behind, and he could hear the sound of women screaming as they passed; he wondered why they were screaming 'Yes.' Perhaps they were eating food or maybe playing with knight toys.

"Mayhaps, but maybe the same cruel god sent me to you, dear child." The old man said as they turned to the left and walked in between two houses. The boy shuddered, holding the blanket tightly around himself; it was his only shield, and he held no blade with him. If this was a trap, he could naught to protect himself, but the old man, he felt like he could trust him, and as if the old man could read his mind, he turned around, offering him a smile.

"Dear child, I'm not here to harm you. There has been enough death today." The old man said with a weary expression, holding a knife in his hands and offering the handle to him. The boy hesitated before grabbing the wooden handle; his old hand was soft and warm, unlike the boy's hand, which was cold and wet from the rain.

"Here, to protect yourself if you need to, you have my permission to take my life."

"Aren't you afraid?" The boy asked, finding it difficult to talk.

"I have lived long enough, my dear child, many fear death. Think there's a way to run away from it, but when you understand that Death gives Life meaning, then there's nothing to be afraid of, is just how the world works. We live and We die. People get so caught on climbing the ladder. They forgot how to live, their own children become chess pieces on their hands. What kind of Life is that?" The old man said wisely, turning his back to the child before walking forward.

The child followed, and they walked through many houses, through many small doors, until they found a staircase that descended deep into the earth. And at the bottom of the stairs stood a peculiar door, its metallic frame seemingly fused to the ground.

The boy shivered. He looked around, but no one was near them; he could see smoke coming out of several holes in the ground a good distance away. The boy knew he shouldn't follow, but he did; he had the knife, the boy remembered; he held the knife with his shaking fingers, his thumb touching the bottom of the blade; he knew it was sharp.

As the old man slowly turned the rusty key in the lock, the young boy followed closely behind. With a deep breath, they entered the darkened corridor, the musty scent of ancient stone filling their nostrils. The narrow passageway descended sharply, resembling the inverted shape of the letter 'U', seemingly leading them deeper. Illuminated by flickering torchlight, the rough walls were adorned with four sconces on each side, casting eerie shadows that danced and twisted with every step. 

He could hear voices speaking at the end of the tunnel, where another wooden door was on the wall. He couldn't quite make out the words, but he felt a sense of warmth on his body, like a fire burning inside his heart. He no longer felt afraid. As he strode forward, the door opened, and beyond was a large circle room. A crowd was there, and in the middle of all of it was a large bonfire.

The boy smiled; the bonfire was a sight to behold, but then he noticed a woman wearing all red. She was pretty, he thought as he strode further forward.

"The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors."

"The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors." The Crowd followed, and the boy looked around; he recognized Barry 'The Rat,' Ted 'The Giant,' and Dekan 'The Thief.' He recognized a baker, but no one knew his name. Everyone called him 'Clean Hands'; he recognized a blacksmith named Dael and other people from this part of King's Landing. The boy saw small tubes along the walls, collecting the rain, pouring it into several big cauldrons, and smelling food. The boy felt like he had just walked into a bakery; at that moment, the Red Woman seemed to have noticed the new presence; the red ruby on her choker glittered red like a beautiful star.

"We are safe here, the fire will warm and heal us. Embrace the fire, embrace Life."

"Embrace the Fire. Embrace Life." The Crowd followed her once again. The boy didn't know why, but as he looked at the fire, he could feel the heat; his blanket wasn't as soaked anymore, the cold, he didn't feel it anymore, and his legs weren't itching.

"Our God has guided a new member to us., The Red Lady suddenly announced,. Beforelooking at the boy, he felt her red eyes like gems,. TheCrowd around him cleared away. Suddenly, he wanted to hide, but her eyes were warm and inviting. He didn't know why, but he felt safe here.

"Who brought you to us, dear child?" Her voice was motherly—at least the boy thought it was. He couldn't remember his mother's voice, but he knew everyone was watching him.

"The Old Man." He said with a wide, cute grin, turning around and pointing. The old man stood near the door, smiling at him, but he wondered why no one else greeted the old man; as he heard footsteps from behind, he turned around to see the Red Lady who kneeled to his level, a warm smile on her face.

"Would you like to eat something?" She offered, and the boy swallowed hard. He wondered what she would want in return. He remembered that he still had the knife, but his stomach growled; he felt as if a pit had formed there.

"I can dance if you like," the boy offered in a tiny voice. The red Lady looked at him with love, kissing his forehead tenderly. She dug deep into her palm and pulled out a necklace. Before placing it on his little palm, he could feel its warmth. His entire body wasn't cold anymore. He no longer felt afraid.

"You are welcome here, R'hllor, and the Gods of Valyria watch over us. You can dance only if you want to," she promised, and the boy knew he was safe here.

"Share the word. The Seven have abandoned Westeros, but R'hllor and The Gods of Valyria are protecting us, watching over us. Embrace the Holy Flames."

"Embrace the Holy Flames! The Crowd and the boy shouted. A group of woman wearing all Red strode forward, bringing them food. The boy did not remember the last time he had felt his stomach as full as tonight. The boy held the knife close,;he knew he could fight for them if needed.

Aenar

'Where is SHE?' Daenerys cried out as he tried to keep her in bed. He knew she shouldn't move, but all Dany could do was look around in growing panic, trying to see her daughter.

"Dany, please." "WHERE IS OUR DAUGHTER, AENAR. Pleaseee, please tell me." Dany begged, her eyes red with tears flowing through her face. He wanted to cry with her, the tears were in the corner of his eyes, but he refused to let them spill, he needed to be strong for her, as he cupped her face, the same way he had done hundreds of times, she would always smile, but now, all she could do was look up at him with a pleading look, maybe even praying that he wouldn't say what she feared the most.

"She is gone." Three simple words and Dany let out the loudest cry of pain. Drogon let out a roar outside, along with Rhaegal and Drakkar. The Three Dragons cried out. Aenar could do nothing but hold her close as she let out sobs of anguish. Despite everything, Aenar held it together, but as he heard her cry, his mind went back to the people he knew to be responsible for his daughter's death. Oberyn Martell and Arianne Martell, the entire House Martell...'

Not the first time, and he doubted it would be the second. He wondered why things like this happen. Aenar didn't know. He had thought this would get easier; he hadn't cried for his daughter's death, he hadn't cried for his son's death, and he wasn't crying now; he needed to be strong.

After Aemma's death, the next day, they all gathered at Dragonstone to burn the bodies of Aemma and her son, who wasn't even one name day. Aenar had wanted to do it, to be the one to give the order, but Rhaenyra had stepped forward, and Syrax had burned the pires and the bodies.

After returning back, Laena and Aenar stayed with her for hours until she got exhausted from crying; he could still remember her question; it felt as if his heart was being ripped open.

' "Does it get easier, Aenar?" Rhaenyra choked out the words with a weak sob as she looked up at Aenar, her face resting on his lap as he caressed her hair. He knew what she was asking but didn't want to answer. Does it get easier? How can the death of a parent ever get easier? Aenar had lost his mother once again. There wasn't a single day when he didn't think of her, wondering what she would think of him right now. Would she be proud of him?

"No, but you have to learn to move on. The pain will always be there, but as long as you remember the good times, and remember what she would want from you, then she will always smile at you, even if you can't see her. The ones who love us never really leave us." '

After she fell asleep, Laena told him to go back to his chambers. She would stay with him, but he needed to go. The last thing Rhaenyra needed was for a gossip to start.

But Aenar didn't go back to his chambers; instead, he made his way back to the secret chamber. Followed by Ser Criston Cole, who followed him everywhere, the knight seemed to have noticed they weren't heading to the Prince's bedchamber but didn't question it and simply followed behind.

Soon, they stopped in front of the door, and he turned to face him. "Ser Criston, I want you to stay outside. You will turn back anyone who approaches." Aenar ordered him firmly, and he quickly nodded without hesitation.

"Yes, your grace. If you need me, I will be right here," he said as Aenar walked inside.

Veyne Ark, Godsen Hill, Artti Snow, Elric Stark, and Kinvara were present and waiting for him.

Ser Ryam had gone to sleep; Aenar knew he wasn't as young as he used to be, so Aenar allowed him to sleep earlier than he usually did. He was sure the old knight wasn't happy, but he was near his 70th, and the man was still wearing heavy armor every day.

Aenar hated to admit that Ser Ryam didn't have that long left, but he wouldn't remove his white cloak; he knew it would bring him shame, and he knew Ser Ryam would much rather die fighting than for Aenar to remove him from his position, he still remembered the way Ser Barristan had talked of The Lannisters.

"Did you find anything?" Aenar demanded right away, rounding on the three gold cloaks. Artti pulled a scroll from his pouch and handed it to Aenar, who unrolled it and quickly read, but he almost groaned in disappointment.

Not much, just that Queen Aemma is dead, Aenar thought, but instead of burning the letter, he turned to Veyne Ark. If one needed someone to pick a lock and steal, Veyne was the best bet one could find in King's Landing.

"I searched through his stuff, my Prince. I found this," the man said with a Dornish accent. The man's olive skin reminded him of Oberyn, but Veyne was much smaller, with long, slender fingers, and carried small throwing knives on his belts. He had seen him throw his knife through a butterfly from fifty meters away.

Aenar recognised what Veyne had found: a flask with a liquid that almost seemed like water but was a little cloudy. "Sylutegon." Godsen recognised the poison.

"What's it used for?" Elric questioned with an edge on his voice. Looking at the Gold Cloak, who slowly grabbed the flask from Aenar's hands and looked at the poison inside before taking a small sip, Elric gasped, thinking the man had gone mad.

"It's a very slow poison, it has no taste, it's like drinking water. Even if a man took one spoon per day, it would take months until it kills the man." Godsen explained with a look of indifference as he spit out the poison; Elric looked enraged, while Aenar kept a neutral look.

"Anything else? This is still nothing. The Maesters have all kinds of poison on their office." Aenar said firmly, knowing this was still not enough.

"What you hold in your hand is all the Maester has left, my Prince. Why would it be almost empty? This kind of poison should be full. What could the Maester have used it for?" Veyne added. This made Aenar's eyes widen just slightly as he turned to look at Veyne, who seemed proud of what he had found, and that wasn't all.

"I found this letter inside his desk. It had a lock, but the beautiful girl opened the moment I shoved my tool inside the hole." Veyne handed him a letter. The handwriting was of the Maester; only they could write so clearly.

"It's Queen Aemma's rations, my Prince." He explained. Aenar could see that much himself, but this was still not enough. The Maester could easily find reasons to justify why he has her rations; after all, she was pregnant and needed extra caring.

"This is not enough. The Maester could easily lie, and even The King wouldn't be convinced by this." Aenar said with a puff of his chest, knowing going to The Citadel was a good bet, but he would be recognized there.

After Aemma's death, after Rhaenyra fell asleep, Aenar met with his loyal companions and ordered them to find any evidence that the Queen was poisoned. He found it difficult to believe the Queen couldn't give birth to her son, and the thought of the Queen, Aenar had thought of his own mother, he wondered if the Maester had done something. He remembered the way she got sick as months passed by, and eventually, she died during childbirth. He wondered if the Maesters had used this poison on her. However, the one thing that didn't support this theory was Aemma herself; her health was good, and she had no sickness during this pregnancy like Aenar's mother had.

When Aenar had ordered them to check, Veyne had suggested that he could sneak inside the chamber where Queen Aemma's body was being held and check her body to see if there was poison in her blood. But Aenar refused; he didn't want to do that to a dead body, especially to Aemma. She was kind, and Aenar wanted her to rest in piece.

"Old Town then, my Prince. If we can't find what we look for here, then one of us must go to The Citadel, and check every place until we find what we need." Artti suggested, looking at everyone else. Aenar knew that much, and he knew he could believe the people in this chamber except for Kinvara; he didn't fully trust her, but she was a foreigner here, the Faith wanted her head, and the King would never listen to her words, and right now, she was helping him on their common goal. Destroy the Faith of the Seven.

"Veyne, take Godsen to the Citadel with you," Aenar ordered commandingly; Godsen groaned loudly while Veyne smiled wildly as if he had just won a purse of gold.

"You hear that, Godsen. On the road, just you and me, is like the old times, and this time you're old enough to fuck. I'm sure Jeyne will welcome you with open arms, or should I say open legs." Godsen had turned bright red, trying to escape his side hug.

"I'm not listening to you," Godsen was the youngest, his face flustered like a green boy as he tried to escape; Veyne laughed loudly; he was much bigger than Godsen, almost comparing a grown-up to a child.

"Oh, come on, don't be a green boy. I can even give you hints. Did you know that girls go absolutely crazy if you lick their-" "I don't want to listen to you, I don't want to listen to you." Godsen shouted, covering his ears, finally escaping Veyne's grasp, who laughed out loud, but their little fun came to an end when Aenar cleared his throat loudly. He usually enjoyed their antics, but not tonight; both quickly saluted to the Prince as he turned to face Kinvara.

"How is our plan, my lady?" Aenar questioned, and Kinvara stepped forward and started talking about the people following her right now, almost a hundred of them; it wasn't enough yet, but these people would spread the word far and wide. But Aenar knew this wasn't enough yet; he needed to shame the Seven to make the High Septon himself be seen as a fool from the entire Westeros, and he already had an idea of how to make that happen.

"Very well, Lady Kinvara. Artti, I want you to-"

Tomorrow

As Aenar strolled through the corridor, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the stone walls, he couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation creeping over him. The Red Keep's Throne Room loomed ahead. "What is happening?"

"I don't know, but Viserys has called for all of us to be at the Throne Room. He wants to make an announcement," Great-Grandmother Alysanne said with a hushed voice. He could see many other lords from the important houses walking beside them. Ser Criston and Ser Elric followed them behind.

Soon enough, they all arrived at the Throne Room. As the doors opened, he caught sight of his father standing near Rhaenyra. The Velayrons were a little further away, and House Stark and every other Lord Paramount of Westeros were present, too.

Aenar was certain the Starks would leave for Winterfell today. Looking at Aunt Gael, he wondered if the King's announcement delayed their journey home.

But Aenar quickly noticed something else: Lord Hightower and Lady Alicent were present too; he wondered why the girl was there; he understood why the Hand of the King was present, but not why Lady Alicent was as he strode forward, stopping beside his father.

"Father, what is this announcement?" Aenar questioned with a hushed tone.

"I don't know." His father answered, glaring at the Hightowers. As the herald shouted loud enough for everyone to hear, everyone turned to look at the door that led inside.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar. The Lord of Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realms." Everyone fell silent as the King strode forward. Aenar watched him carefully as he looked at Lord Hightower but didn't look at them. He gave Rhaenyra one small glance before walking up the stairs of the Throne and sitting on the seat.

"I'm sure you all wondering why I called you all here. I'm here to make an announcement, an announcement for the Future of House Targaryen." Murmurs spread over the Hall, and Aenar shared a look with his father. He knew right away something had changed.

"I'm changing my Heir," Viserys announced loudly. His voice echoed all the way to the high ceiling, and a round of gasps was heard across the entire Hall. Aenar could tell his father was furious, but he quickly grasped his arm, gave him a look, and reminded him where they were.

"From this day onward, my heir, the heir of House Targaryen, is Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, my daughter, The Realm's Delight." This time, the gasps were much louder. He gripped his father's arm hard as he tried to step forward.

So it is happening again! Aenar thought. He remembered what he had read about Rhaenyra in the books, calling her The Black Queen and other insulting names—even Kinslayer—since she was suspected of throwing Helaena Targaryen from the window after one of her sons was killed by Blood and Cheese. Some called her the Whore Queen, and other names, for starving the people of King's Landing during the War.

Aenar had no way to know how much of it was true the last time. Perhaps Rhaenyra didn't care enough for her people. He didn't know, but the Rhaenyra he knew right now, he was sure she would make a good Queen, but the same couldn't be said for everyone else in the Hall.

Lord Stark was fuming; he looked like he wanted to shout with anger; even Aunt Gael looked furious, while his great-grandmother looked as if she wanted to kill Viserys, but it was Laena the one he was paying attention to; she was glaring at Rhaenyra, looking at her with betrayal, while Rhaenyra seemed as if she wanted to say that she has no idea what is happening, and that she hadn't done anything.

As the murmurs grew louder, Viserys cleared his throat, and silence fell over the entire Hall. Aenar was sure he was done, but he was proven wrong.

"I'm announcing a betrothal-" Nothing could be heard in the entire Hall as everyone held their breaths. "-for my nephew, Prince Aenar of House Targaryen-" Aenar and Laena shared a look of anxiety. He looked at Rhaenyra, but she seemed just as lost as him.

"To Lady Alicent of House Hightower."

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