Late sunset flamed across Driftmark's ancient stones, gold light bleeding into blue-grey shadow as the mourners drifted from the sea cliffs toward the castle. Cold sea air cut through heavy cloaks as Aegon trailed his family back along the path, the taste of salt sharp at the back of his throat. He barely noticed the chill. His mind, for once, was clear—and it circled one person: Helaena.
She walked ahead of him, almost floating. Her blonde hair glimmered loose beneath her veil, and her delicate hands were folded under her chin, cupping some tiny creature she had found along the shore. The ritual and grief of Laena's burial had weighed on everyone, but Helaena was apart—untouched, innocent in a world that seemed made of thorns. It made Aegon ache in ways he didn't care to name.
Behind, the elders murmured in corridors, voices heavy with politics disguised as condolence. Within the hall, flickering candlelight revealed pale faces, some wet with honest tears, more showing only tight-lipped endurance. Daemon's bitter laughter still echoed from the ceremony—a memory that bit at the edge of every conversation.
Aegon slipped outside as the feast began, the air thick with unspoken rivalries and old grievances. He caught up to Helaena by a low stone wall facing the sea. She was talking softly to a small green beetle clinging to her palm, her voice a dreamy half-whisper.
He watched her a moment before speaking, not wanting to startle her. "You find the strangest things, Helaena," he said, his tone gentle.
She looked up at him, pale eyes shining in the dusk. "They find me first, I think."
Aegon smiled stiffly, the tension coiled in his gut easing slightly at her calm. He wanted to say more, wanted to reach for her hand—just to feel its warmth, to prove to himself that there was something in this brutal world worth gentleness. But the words tangled in his throat, so he only watched as she turned the beetle loose, letting it wander across the stones between them.
Footsteps thudded behind them. Aemond approached with the quick, restless gait that had become his habit. He barely glanced at Helaena—too focused on his own wounded pride, his envy.
"Vhagar still waits by the old pens," Aemond muttered, voice half-bitter, half-awed. "All this family and yet I alone have no dragon."
Aegon glanced at him, once again feeling the pressure of every expectation thrust upon their bloodline. But tonight, his patience was thinner. "There are more important things than dragons, Aemond," he said, eyes flicking back to Helaena for a heartbeat.
Aemond scoffed, missing the glance or simply refusing to care. "Easy for you to say. You got Sunfyre. You're the heir."
Silence stretched. Helaena wandered a few steps away, kneeling beside a pile of sea-glass. Aegon watched her, the curve of her neck, the gentle movements of her hands—so different from the harsh lessons and harsher laughter of the hall. He wanted to offer her comfort, wanted—gods, he wanted to simply be close. The duty to marry her, once a threat, now felt a secret hope, dangerous to voice.
"Aemond," Aegon said quietly, "she's… gentle. Don't ruin things chasing what isn't meant for you yet."
Aemond turned sharply, frowning. "I should take what the gods and my blood owe me. You would, if you weren't always running from it."
Aegon met his brother's stare. For a moment, he considered denying it. But Helaena's quiet presence beside them, her unworldly calm—he couldn't lie, not tonight.
"I run from plenty," he admitted, "but not from her."
The words surprised even himself. Aemond, for once, was struck silent, thrown off-balance by his brother's honesty. Helaena hummed softly, still turned away, but Aegon caught the faintest smile at the edge of her lips.
As the last light faded beyond the sea, the sounds of the other children drifted closer: Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, voices uncertain in the hallways, unsure if tonight would hold peace or some old wound resurfacing. Aegon led Helaena back toward the keep, Aemond stalking after, each lost in their own storm.
They settled in a stone alcove beside the torchlit corridor. Aegon watched as Helaena arranged polished shells in neat spirals, her concentration absolute. He found comfort just watching her work, heart pounding at each brush of her fingers near his.
Suddenly, Jace and Luke appeared, flanked by Baela and Rhaena. Tension lingered—an uneasy truce, all of them wary. Baela glared at her cousin, but at Helaena's gentle, unaffected questions about shells and beetles, some of that hostility faded.
Aegon tried to keep the peace, sensing trouble brewing beneath the surface. When Jace muttered a half-hearted insult about dragons or bastards, Aegon cut him off with a sharp look and deliberately changed the subject, even offering a rare joke about "crabs being the worst monsters on Driftmark." It earned a nervous laugh from Helaena and, for a moment, glanced amusement from Baela too.
But nothing good lasts. He saw the way Aemond's fists curled, the way Luke eyed his brother's nervous energy. Tension bristled, but for now Aegon's presence was enough to hold the group together—words unspoken, violence delayed.
Inside, distant adult arguments spilled faintly down the corridor. Daemon's laughter barked again—dark, sardonic, cutting straight through the solemnity.
"Power does not drown. Power drags the living with it," Daemon's voice called, icy and amused from across the hall.
The children flinched. Even Helaena paused, a flicker of unease across her soft features. Aegon shifted unconsciously closer to her.
He let his hand fall beside hers on the stone, not quite touching, pulse racing nonetheless. "Ignore him," he said softly, more to her than the rest. "Monsters can laugh, but we can choose who we stand beside."
She didn't answer in words, but her hand, palm open, settled over his for a moment—light as a feather but enough to promise that, even here, among death and secrets and ambition, life could still carry kindness.
The children lingered, quiet beneath the shadows, the fragile peace holding a little longer as the night deepened and the old stones listened to the sea.