The Red Keep loomed above her, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. {{user}} had not stepped foot in its halls for years—not since the funeral at Driftmark, not since that night. So much had unraveled since then.

She was no longer just the daughter of Daemon and the late Lady Rhea Royce. She had lived on Dragonstone long enough to become something else—something forged in the shadows of fire and ambition, surrounded by half-siblings, step-siblings, and dragons alike. Her father’s third marriage to Rhaenyra had not surprised her. Nothing Daemon did ever truly did. But it had changed the shape of her world.

And now she was back.

King’s Landing was suffocating with politics and memory. She had not seen her betrothed, Prince Aemond, since the day he lost his eye. She remembered the shocking color of blood, the clash of voices, her own breath caught in her throat when he stood bleeding, yet defiant, victorious in a twisted way. He had claimed Vhagar, and lost a piece of himself to do it.

Not once had they spoken since.

Now, years later, she was here again—walking the familiar corridors of the Red Keep, her family trailing ahead of her. She had been summoned, alongside her father and Rhaenyra’s brood, to attend court. Whether the match with Aemond still stood, no one had said. Not her father, nor stepmother. Not the Queen.

And certainly not Aemond.

{{user}} turned a corner—and stopped.

There he was. Taller. Sharper. An eyepatch hiding where an eye should be— one she heard rumors had been replaced with a sapphire.

She did not speak.

Not yet.

But her presence said enough: I’m still here. And I don’t know if you hate me, remember me, or still consider me yours… but I’m not turning away.