From Flames to Fury (Part 2)

The fog clung to Dragonstone for days, thick and unrelenting, as if the world itself mourned with us. It blanketed the grounds, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead, and its presence felt like a physical manifestation of the grief that hung in the air—oppressive, inescapable. The castle had always been a place of tension, of war preparations and plans for the future, but now it felt more like a tomb, a place where hope had been extinguished.

Rhaenyra had broken the news to the boys the morning after Jacaerys' death. We were still stirring from our shared sleep, tangled in blankets and the fragile peace that lingered from the night before. She didn't cry as she held them, her voice steady but hollow, and that alone felt like a sign. I couldn't tell if she'd run out of tears or had simply gone numb to the pain. There wasn't time to ask. As soon as the devastating words left her lips, she was swept away—pulled into the endless chaos of war, Spicetown's ruin, the shattered Valyrian fleet, and the looming preparations for Jacaerys' funeral. It tugged at her from all sides, leaving me behind with the boys and Freya, trying to soothe their grief while barely keeping hold of my own.

I did what I could, telling them more about Harry Potter to distract their minds, though I wasn't sure how much of it sank in. Lucerys and Joffrey listened, their eyes clouded with sorrow, but I saw the flickers of distraction in their expressions, the brief moments where the story let them escape. I even tried making pizza with them, something so mundane and what was once fun, something to make them smile. But that, too, ended in tears when Joffrey broke down, crying because Jacaerys never got the chance to try it.

It was a mess.

I was barely holding it together, and it felt like I was dangling by a thread, my emotions fraying at the edges. But Rhaenyra... she was far worse. She was like a ghost, wandering the halls of Dragonstone without purpose or direction. The woman who had once commanded rooms with her strength and presence now barely spoke, sitting silently in council meetings, staring into the distance as if the world around her had become meaningless.

When she wasn't in those meetings, she took long, solitary rides on Syrax, sometimes disappearing for hours, missing important discussions entirely. I had never lost a child—I couldn't pretend to understand the depth of her grief or how to help her through it. And we never had a moment alone to even try. The boys were always with one of us, clinging to the few constants they had left.

Aegon, to my surprise, had formed an almost trauma bond with me, shadowing my every step. He never wanted to be out of my sight, and the nights were worse. He woke with night terrors that tore through the castle, his screams cutting through the thick fog and straight into our hearts. I would comfort him, holding him as his small body trembled, but I could see the weight of it all pressing even harder onto Rhaenyra's shoulders. Every scream, every nightmare, added another layer to her burden.

Viserys, in his own way, wasn't any better he was just a baby still. He clung to Rhaenyra with a desperation that was heartbreaking to witness. Whenever she was near, his little fingers would wrap themselves into the fabric of her dress with such ferocity that the servants had to pry each one away, one by one, just so she could attend council meetings. It was as if he feared that if he let go, she would disappear too, leaving him alone in this world that had already taken too much.

And Joffrey... Joffrey was silent. Too silent. His grief had closed him off, manifesting in a stillness that felt unnatural for someone so young. The boy who was once full of laughter, full of life, now sat in quiet retreat, his emotions locked behind a wall I couldn't reach. It was this silence that worried me most of all, more than Aegon's screams or Viserys' desperate hold. Rhaenyra noticed too—how could she not? I saw the sadness in her eyes every time she looked at him, seeing the change in her once vibrant son and knowing there was nothing she could do to bring him back to the way he was.