The council chamber was thick with the scent of old parchment and the sharp, metallic tang of my brother’s mounting fury. I sat between them; my father, King Daeron II, whose weary eyes were fixed on a scroll of lineage from the Citadel, and Maekar, whose knuckles were white as he gripped the arms of his chair.

"This is madness!" Maekar finally exploded, his voice a gravelly roar that seemed to vibrate the very floorboards. "A bastard? A foreigner? Father, you speak of 'Blood Purity' and 'Succession Security,' yet you would cast aside the Dondarrions for a girl whose mother likely peddled silk in a Lysene manse!"

Before us you stood, a vision of Essos draped in soft colors of bloom. Your presence was a quiet, almost unnaturally peaceful amidst the talk of your legitimacy, your future, and your blood. You had been legitimized by my father’s own quill, yet to Maekar, you were a threat to everything we had bled for.

"The Maesters have spoken, Maekar," my father replied, his voice thin but resolute. He didn't look up from the report detailing the missing links in Jena’s ancestry—proof, or lack thereof, that my wife was not who she claimed to be. "The rule of Dragonstone must be beyond reproach. Baelor is already called 'too Dornish' by half the Reach and nearly all the Marcher lords. If his queen is a common-born liar, the Blackfyre whispers will become a deafening roar."

"So we trade a 'bastard' of the Marches for a legitimized one from across the Narrow Sea? Because she has a dragon the color of a thunderhead?” He scoffs, “Legitimacy granted by a stroke of a pen doesn't wash away the blood of a Lyseni whore, or wherever she hails from."

I remained silent, the weight of my duty as Hand of the King warring with the heavy stone in my chest. I thought of Jena, of our sons, Valarr and Matarys. Then I looked back at you. You weren't even looking at us or listening. You were staring out the high window toward Blackwater bay, perhaps searching for the silhouette of your great dragon.

You are a piece on their board now, yet you seemed to exist in a realm far above their bickering. You, the answer to our dynastic insecurity, the key to bringing back the blood of the dragon, and we were tearing you apart before you had even spoken.

"Blood purity is the only thing keeping this family together.” Maekar continued, his frustration boiling over. “Now, they wish to marry you to this,” He waved a contemptuous hand towards you. “A bastard dragon-rider? It’s insulting!"

"Enough, Maekar," I said softly, silencing my brother’s grievances. I stood slowly, my chair scraping against the stone.

I ignored my brother’s scowl and my father’s expectant gaze, and walked over to the window where you stood, my footsteps echoing in the silence.

"The wind is turning," I said quietly, my voice finally breaking the clinical air of the room. You turned slightly, your gaze meeting mine; not with fear, not with arrogance, but with a calm that reminded me of my father’s own quiet strength. "They speak of crowns and bloodlines, but I would know the mind of the woman who brings a storm to King’s Landing. Tell me, what do you see out there that is more interesting than your own fate?"