From Storms to Thrones (Part 1)

Chapter 5: Through the Looking Glass

Rhaenyra's violet eyes narrowed, filled with a mix of skepticism and something more—a flicker of fear, perhaps? Daemon's expression was unreadable, his stare sharp and penetrating, while Rhaenys looked at me with intensity.

"The Targaryen line is all but wiped out," I continued, my voice growing stronger, my eyes going from Rhaenyra, to Dameon, to Rhaenys. "And the dragons, your greatest allies and symbols of power, are nearly extinguished. The battle between the Greens and the Blacks doesn't just claim lives; it destroys everything you've built. Your families, your legacy...all consumed like a plague."

The room fell into a profound and uneasy silence, a stillness so deep it seemed to swallow every sound. My words lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, settling like a weight on the shoulders of everyone present. The silence was thick, almost palpable, and it stretched interminably, allowing the gravity of my statements to sink in.

Just when the tension felt unbearable, Daemon's voice erupted with a sudden, violent force, shattering the silence like a thunderclap. "

"Oh, come on, you can't seriously believe this," he roared, his finger stabbing towards me as though it could impale me with his accusations. "This is a trick, a deception! You were sent by the Greens, weren't you?" he turned to Rhaenyra now point at her. "She means to poison your mind with lies and deceit!"

I flinched not just at his words but at the venomous intensity with which they were delivered, each accusation aimed squarely at me. The sharp edge of his fury cut through the air, and panic clawed at my insides. I turned to Rhaenyra, my heart racing as if it might burst from my chest. I had saved her son. I had warned her about Aemond. Surely, that had to count for something, didn't it?

"This is a ploy!" Daemon's voice was a dangerous growl, filled with barely contained fury. "It reeks of Otto Hightower's scheming! Or his cunt of a daughter." Dameon started walking towards me. "I will see this woman's head on a pike and her remains sent back to the Greens!"

Panic surged through me, my thoughts scrambling for a way out. Desperation drove my actions, and before I could fully consider the consequences, I reached out and gripped the Queen's shoulder with a fierce urgency. She tensed at my touch, but I held on, my fingers clutching the fabric with a white-knuckled grip, before leaning down.

"Your father was right," I whispered in her ear, my voice trembling but low enough for only her to hear. "The song of ice and fire is real. Winter is coming, and only a Targaryen can stop it. I can help you. Let me help you."

Rhaenyra's reaction was immediate. She whipped her head around to face me, and in that instant, our noses almost brushed. Time seemed to freeze, the world narrowing to the space between us. Her violet eyes, so unlike anything I had ever seen, held me captive. They were beautiful, intense, and filled with a mixture of shock and something else—an emotion I couldn't quite place but felt deeply drawn to.

The room around us was silent, every breath held in the wake of my words. The tension was so thick it felt as though the air itself had become solid.

The sound of Daemon's sword being unsheathed shattered the silence, a metallic clang that echoed ominously. I flinched, my heart racing, but my grip on Rhaenyra's shoulder only tightened.

That seemed to startle the Rhaenyra enough, as she was pulled out her inner thoughts and whipped her head towards Dameon.

"No," she commanded, as I felt her hackles raise under my hand. "You will not touch her."

Daemon paused in his pursuit of me, his eyes flashing as his voice rumbled with a menacing edge, this time directed not at me, by the Queen herself.

"And who commands me, my wife or the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?" His words cut through the tense silence, each syllable dripping with contempt and defiance.