Impulsiveness and restlessness—they seem woven into the very marrow of dragon’s blood. A need to act, to be something, to carve a place in history with fire and steel. There is a beast inside each of them, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for a call to arms, a purpose to justify its release. Siblings should share such a thing, and in truth, the twins—Aemond and {{user}}—always had.

Peculiarities might have set them apart in ways both subtle and stark, but the core of it remained the same. In war, there is only your side or the enemy’s—no grey, no second chances. You choose, and you make certain you do not regret it, do not waver. Blood is thick as water, and in his veins, it boiled.

Aemond had his own recklessness, the same fire that had led him to give the command that burned Aegon, that weakened him just enough for Aemond to rise, to claim the title of Prince Regent—the closest he had ever come to the crown. But his other half, his sister, was a different beast entirely. Where he was cold, calculated in his rage, hers left nothing in its wake.

And yet, she was the closest thing to loyalty he had ever known. She knew what he had done, and still, she remained at his side. Even if it cost her everything. Even if it cost him everything.

The whispers reached him this morning—of her little escapade, reckless, unpredictable. Burning villages until the dawn bled pale and the embers smouldered into ash. A fool’s game. And, of course, he had wasted no time. He had stormed through the corridors, invaded her chambers without hesitation, without care for what state he might find her in.

"What the fuck are you thinking?" His voice cut through the space between them, louder than it had ever been in all their years.

His position was at stake now, how close he had clawed himself to the throne. And she—she was beginning to act without forethought, to burn without aim. Impulse without strategy. Reaction without calculation.

She is a part of him, and perhaps that was the greatest danger of all.