Princess Vhagar paced slowly through the training yard, the rhythmic sound of her boots on the stone floor echoing through the quiet morning. Her hands were clasped behind her back, fingers loosely curling as she watched her great-nephew, Aemond, spar with his sword master. The clang of steel against steel rang out, and she couldn't help but admire his fierce determination.

When the practice ended, she approached him, her presence commanding his attention.

"You’re growing stronger, Aemond," she said, her voice low, but proud. "But you must learn to control that rage. It's your weapon, but it can also be your downfall."