A Casa Do | Dragao- 1-9 1-- Temporada - Episodio 9...

For one eternal moment, Rhaenys and Meleys stared down at the usurper and his mother. The dragon’s maw opened, a furnace of orange light building in her throat.

Meanwhile, the search for Aegon descended into farce. The young prince—a drunkard, a lecher, a boy who preferred the fighting pits to the throne—was found hiding in a crawlspace beneath the Dragonpit, reeking of wine and fear.

Alicent Hightower, the Queen Dowager, sat at her father’s side in the small council chamber. Her hands were stained with the king’s blood—she had held him as he whispered his final, fractured confession. “You must unite the realm… Prince Aegon… the Prince that was Promised.” A Casa do Dragao- 1-9 1-- Temporada - Episodio 9...

She dressed him in golden armor and placed the Conqueror’s crown upon his brow. As they processed toward the Dragonpit to present him to the people, the bells of King’s Landing began to toll. Not for joy. For a king dead. And a new king born in shadow. The coronation was a spectacle of green and gold. The crowd, hungry for bread and blood, cheered as Aegon raised the sword Blackfyre . But high above, on the wall of the pit, a figure in black stirred.

Otto did not flinch. He gave a single nod. Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, moved with the speed of a viper. The old lord’s head struck the table. Once. Twice. Blood pooled on the carved dragon map of Westeros. No one else spoke. For one eternal moment, Rhaenys and Meleys stared

With a scream of frustration— hers , not the beast’s—Rhaenys wheeled Meleys around and burst through the great iron doors of the Dragonpit. The chains snapped. The gates shattered. And the Red Queen flew into the open sky, carrying the truth to Dragonstone. That night, as the green flames of celebration danced over the Red Keep, Alicent stood alone in the throne room. She looked up at the Iron Throne—her son’s throne—and saw not power, but a cage of a thousand swords.

Her father, Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, saw only opportunity. “The king is dead,” he announced to the gathered lords. “Long live .” The young prince—a drunkard, a lecher, a boy

Alicent stepped forward, arms spread wide, shielding her son. Not with a sword. Not with a spell. But with her own body.