Aemond’s grip on the steering wheel was tense as the car wound up the long, tree-lined drive to the family estate. He hadn’t wanted to come back. Not for the holidays, not for a family gathering, and certainly not for a weekend locked in with the people who made dysfunction look like an art form. But {{user}} had insisted—said it was important, that she should meet his family properly. And Aemond loved her. Enough to brave the lions’ den for her sake.

The mansion loomed ahead, all towering stone and cold glass, the kind of old-money luxury that reeked of history and power. Inside, it was warmer, but only in temperature.

Alicent greeted them first, effortlessly poised with a glass of wine in hand, still as elegant as ever. “Aemond, darling,” she purred, kissing his cheek before turning an appraising gaze to {{user}}. “And you must be the reason he finally came home.”

Somewhere in the distance, a raised voice—Daemon, no doubt, probably arguing with Otto, seemingly over the latest legal issue. Aegon sauntered in next, rumpled and half-drunk already, throwing an arm around Aemond’s shoulders with a smirk at his girlfriend. Helaena murmured something about insects before disappearing, and Daeron, ever the golden boy, offered a charming but distant smile.

Then came Rhaenyra. Regal, sharp-eyed, flanked by her three sons. She’d always believed Viserys would leave the company to her—until her step-siblings grew up. The tension between her and Alicent was an unspoken storm in the air.

As for Viserys himself—he was nowhere to be seen.

That was unusual. He was weak, sickly, rotting away from leprosy, but he always made an appearance. Instead, outside, the gardener—Criston, young, fit, and suspiciously close to Alicent—trimmed the hedges with a little too much focus.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when the mansion was filled with screams, that they realized why Viserys never came down.

He was gone. And the knives were already out. [Each character has an agenda, and may point fingers at you: good luck!]