Living the Dance | aegon ii targaryen

Three

Awakened abruptly from my sleep, I was disoriented by the sound of a voice cutting through the silence. "You're coming with me," Criston Cole announced, his tone brooking no argument as he dragged me from the warmth of my bed. "By order of the Hand," he added, his grip on me unyielding.

"Let go of me, crispy chicken" I snapped, managing to wrench my arm free from his grasp. Despite my efforts, I found myself being unceremoniously shoved into the throne room. My disdain for Criston Cole, a sentiment deeply ingrained from my time as a viewer of the show, flared intensely.As attractive as he is I thought, he's also insufferably annoying . I wouldn't bat an eye if he met his end.

In the tense atmosphere of the throne room, Otto Hightower's accusation hit me like a physical blow. "You caused this witch," he spat, coming towards me full of fury. It was ludicrous—blaming me, as if I had any real power in this world of dragons and feuds. Yet, there I was, the focus of their anger, while the maester tended to Aemond's face.

"I tried to warn you," I shot back, my frustration peaking. "But it's not like you were gonna listen. Maybe if I had spilled some truly juicy info, you'd have perked up your ears."

King Viserys, weary and burdened by the weight of his crown, intervened with a tired voice, "Let the girl be, Otto."

I couldn't resist a parting shot as I moved closer to Otto, my voice low but fierce. "Thinking you're in control, but I see you for what you are." I smirked, a mix of defiance and disdain, before turning away from him, leaving a palpable tension in my wake.

Queen Alicent's concern for her son cut through the room's charged atmosphere. "It will heal, will it not, Maester?" she asked, her voice a blend of hope and despair.

Maester Kelvyn's reply was heavy with regret. "The flesh will heal," he sighed, "But the eye is lost, Your Grace."

The room's focus shifted as Alicent stormed over to Aegon, her anger palpable. "Where were you?" she demanded, confronting him with a fury that made the air around them crackle.

"Me?" Aegon's response was laced with confusion and a hint of defiance as his mother got in his face.

The slap that followed echoed through the throne room. "Ow! What was that for?" Aegon exclaimed, more shocked than hurt.

"That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool," Alicent retorted, her words sharp and cutting.

I couldn't hold my tongue. "The only fool is you," I declared, my voice cutting through the tension. Everyone turned to look at me as if I had just declared war against the queen herself. Aegon's eyes met mine, a mix of surprise and something akin to gratitude. No one had ever openly sided with him before.

"If you cared more about him than what Rhaenyra was doing, he wouldn't be drinking his problems away," I said, my words blunt and modern, a stark contrast to the formal tones of Westeros. My intervention was bold, maybe reckless, but in that moment, I couldn't stand the hypocrisy and the misplaced blame.

As the room's attention briefly shifted to Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent, who were engaged in a heated discussion about the children's brawl's aftermath, I found myself inadvertently slipping into a habit from my own world. Standing slightly apart, I began mouthing their words, acting out their argument as I had done countless times in my bedroom, lost in the drama of it all. It was a surreal moment, like being a part of the very show I had obsessed over, yet here, the stakes were real, the anger palpable.

My impromptu performance caught an unexpected audience. Prince Daemon, ever the observer, caught me in the act. His reaction was immediate—a laugh, genuine and unrestrained, that cut through the tension like a knife. It was a sound so out of place in the current atmosphere that it drew the eyes of everyone present, most notably the Lord Hand, Otto Hightower, whose gaze turned icy with disapproval.