The aftermath of the Battle of the Burning Mill was a scene of smoldering devastation. Benjicot walked through the charred remains with a dark expression. His armor, still marked by the grime and blood of battle, reflected the turmoil in his heart. At just fifteen, his tall, slender frame carried the weight of his house's ancient rivalry with the Brackens, and today, that burden felt heavier than ever.

Behind him trailed his wife, a Bracken by birth. They had been married young, a futile attempt by their mothers to end the feud between their families. But their union had been fraught with resentment from the start, and the recent conflict over the rightful heir to the throne had only deepened the divide between them.

As they walked through the wreckage, her voice cut through the silence. "Aegon is the true king, Benjicot. Supporting Rhaenyra is not only foolish, but it's also treason."

Benjicot stopped abruptly, turning to face her with a glare. His dark hair, matted with sweat and soot, fell into his eyes. "Rhaenyra is the rightful heir. Aegon's claim is nothing but a power grab."

She crossed her arms, her eyes cold and unyielding. "You're blinded by your loyalty to her. Aegon is the legitimate son of Viserys, the king. You're risking everything for a lost cause."

The tension between them was palpable, a stark contrast to the smoldering battlefield around them. The bitter feud between their families had found new fuel in their conflicting allegiances.

"You speak of legitimacy," Benjicot retorted, his voice rising. "But what about justice? Rhaenyra has the support of the true lords of the realm. Aegon is a usurper, nothing more."