# The Red Keep - Evening, 105 AC
The Red Keep seemed darker than usual as twilight settled over King's Landing, though whether that was due to actual diminishment of light or simply the weight of what had occurred in the birthing chamber, none could say with certainty. Prince Rhaenyra sat in the solar that connected to her chambers, holding her newborn brother with the careful awkwardness of someone who had never before held an infant, her violet eyes studying his tiny face with an intensity that suggested she was trying to memorize every detail.
Young Prince Baelon slept peacefully in her arms—oblivious to the circumstances of his birth, the violence that had nearly claimed his mother's life, the terrible choice his father had authorized. To him, the world was simply warmth and safety and the promise of milk and comfort. He knew nothing of succession crises or dynastic necessity or the particular horror of discovering that the father you loved had deemed you worth more than the mother who bore you.
But Rhaenyra knew. Gods help her, she knew exactly what had nearly occurred, and the knowledge had fractured something fundamental in her understanding of her father and the world she inhabited.
Jaehaerys sat nearby, perched on the edge of a cushioned chair with the sort of graceful economy of movement that marked all his positions despite his youth. His green eyes tracked his cousin's face with the focused attention of someone conducting constant assessment of emotional and physical state. The silver light had faded from his form, though traces of its warmth still seemed to linger in the chamber like heat radiating from summer stones.
Laena occupied the chair opposite, her violet eyes holding the sort of focused sympathy that belonged on someone considerably older than thirteen. She had changed into court dress after the tournament was suspended—fine blue silk worked with silver thread that caught the lamplight—and her Valyrian steel bracelet gleamed at her wrist like captured starfire.
Between them sat Laenor, appearing considerably less composed than his sister despite his noble breeding. At thirteen, he had the sort of earnest concern that marked young men who understood more than they were comfortable admitting but lacked the experience to properly process what they understood. His hands clutched the edges of his chair with white-knuckled intensity, and when he spoke, his voice carried the sort of emotional rawness that suggested he was working desperately to maintain composure.
"Your father authorized what?" Laenor asked for perhaps the fifth time since arriving in Rhaenyra's solar, his voice still carrying disbelief that such things could even be contemplated let alone commanded by a king. "He stood there and told the maesters to... to cut your mother open? To murder her for the sake of getting a son?"
"He thought there was no other choice," Rhaenyra replied in a voice that suggested she had repeated these words so many times they had lost all meaning while simultaneously carrying more weight than any words had ever carried before. "Grand Maester Mellos convinced him that both would die without intervention, that the only way to save anything was to... was to..."
She couldn't finish the sentence. Her arms tightened slightly around Baelon, and a shudder ran through her frame that had nothing to do with the evening's chill and everything to do with processing the reality that her father had nearly authorized her mother's execution for the sake of the child she now held.
"But he didn't," Laena said firmly, reaching across the space between them to grip Rhaenyra's knee with reassuring strength. "Your Uncle Daemon intervened, Prince Jaehaerys prevented the procedure, and your mother survived. The worst didn't happen, Rhaenyra. Your mother is alive, your brother is alive, and—"
"And my father would have let them die," Rhaenyra interrupted with the sort of cold certainty that belonged on someone decades older. "Or at least, he would have let Mother die to save my brother. He made that choice consciously, deliberately, accepting that she would almost certainly perish. That's not something that goes away just because it didn't ultimately occur."
She looked down at Baelon's sleeping face with the sort of complicated mixture of love and resentment that suggested she was struggling to reconcile her affection for her baby brother with rage at what his existence had nearly cost. "I love him," she whispered. "I already love this child who I only met hours ago. But I love him as the source of nearly costing me my mother. I love him as the price Father was willing to pay to secure the succession. How do I process that? How do I hold both truths simultaneously?"
"Carefully," Jaehaerys replied with the sort of matter-of-fact honesty that characterized all his most important pronouncements. "With patience, with willingness to feel multiple contradictory emotions at the same time, with understanding that love is more complex than simple binary states of presence or absence."
He shifted position slightly, his expression carrying that peculiar mixture of ancient wisdom and childish vulnerability that marked his most genuine moments. "Your brother didn't authorize his own birth, didn't demand that Father make terrible choices, didn't ask to be born at all. He's innocent of the circumstances surrounding his arrival in the world. But that doesn't excuse your father's willingness to murder your mother to secure that arrival. Both things can be true simultaneously—Baelon is innocent, your father's choice was terrible, your love for your brother is genuine, and your anger at what his birth nearly required are all equally valid."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Rhaenyra asked with bitter laughter that held more pain than humor. "That I can feel multiple contradictory emotions about something that nearly killed the person I love most in the world?"
"No," Jaehaerys replied with devastating honesty. "It's supposed to help you understand that the world is complicated, that people are capable of both love and terrible betrayal simultaneously, and that processing such complications requires more than simple anger or forgiveness. It requires time, support, and willingness to feel things fully rather than attempting to suppress emotions that don't fit neatly into acceptable categories."
Laena leaned forward with gentle insistence that suggested she had been preparing to say something for several moments and had finally gathered sufficient courage to do so. "Rhaenyra, your father made a terrible choice. There's no excuse for authorizing your mother's death, no justification that makes such a decision acceptable. But people who love us are capable of terrible things when afraid and pressured, and—"
"Don't," Rhaenyra interrupted with quiet steel that surprised everyone present with its intensity. "Don't ask me to forgive him, don't suggest that circumstances explain away what he did, don't attempt to make me understand his perspective when understanding would require minimizing the betrayal of someone I love."
She looked directly at Laena with violet eyes that blazed with fury barely held in check. "I thought my father was legendary for his wisdom, his diplomacy, his ability to make difficult decisions with grace and foresight. He is king of the Seven Kingdoms—he has access to the finest minds, the most experienced advisors, decades of practice making impossible choices. And when truly tested, when forced to choose between wife and heir, he chose heir. He chose duty over love, succession over survival, the future over the present."
Her voice cracked slightly on the final words, but she pressed forward with fierce determination. "And I'm supposed to forgive that? To understand it? To accept that in that moment, I mattered less than the child I never met? That my mother's life was negotiable, disposable, worth sacrificing for political convenience?"
"No," Laenor said suddenly, his young voice cutting through the tension with the sort of clarity that sometimes marked those too young to have learned diplomatic evasion. "No, you're not supposed to forgive him. Not yet, maybe not ever. My father would have done the same thing, I think—chosen his heir over his wife when forced to choose. And I hate him for it sometimes, hate that I exist because he was willing to murder for succession. But I also can't quite make myself stop loving him, and that conflicts..." He trailed off, clearly struggling to articulate feelings that went beyond his capacity to fully express in words.
"Welcome to being Targaryen," Jaehaerys observed with dry humor that somehow didn't diminish the weight of what they were discussing. "We're raised by people who love us fiercely but also view us as tools for securing dynasty. We're taught that duty requires terrible choices, that sacrifice is the price of power, that sometimes love means doing things that would horrify anyone outside our family. Then we're expected to process that contradiction with grace and without damaging too many people in the process."
He rose from his chair with fluid grace, moving to stand beside Rhaenyra and look down at Baelon's sleeping face with the sort of protective attention that seemed incongruous coming from someone his age. "Your brother is innocent. Your father is guilty of betrayal. Your mother is alive because family intervened when the king's choice would have killed her. And you, Rhaenyra, are going to have to figure out how to hold all those truths simultaneously and continue existing in a family that contains all three of those facts."
"How?" Rhaenyra asked with the sort of desperate honesty that suggested she was genuinely seeking counsel rather than merely venting rage. "How do I look at Father at the next court function without seeing the moment he chose to let my mother die? How do I hug him, smile for the courtiers, pretend that nothing fundamental has changed when everything has?"
"With practice," Laena replied quietly, her hand still gripping Rhaenyra's knee with reassuring pressure. "With support from people who understand exactly what you're feeling because they've had to navigate similar complications. With time, gradually accepting that people are capable of both love and terrible betrayal simultaneously."
She paused, then added with careful honesty: "And with the understanding that your father will never fully understand the magnitude of what he did. He'll feel guilt, certainly. He'll likely regret the choice, try to make amends through affection and attention. But unless he fundamentally confronts his own assumptions about duty versus love, about succession versus survival, about the acceptable cost of securing heirs... that guilt will likely transform into resentment that you won't immediately forgive him for something he sees as necessary rather than terrible."
"So I'm supposed to accept that my father will never truly understand he nearly murdered my mother," Rhaenyra said with bitter certainty that suggested this particular truth cut deeper than most. "That he'll spend the rest of his life believing he made a difficult but necessary choice, rather than confronting the possibility that he simply valued the wrong things when tested."
"Possibly," Jaehaerys replied with the sort of matter-of-fact honesty that had been making adults uncomfortable since he learned to speak. "Or possibly he'll surprise you. Some people, when confronted with the reality of their choices and the consequences those choices nearly produced, actually do manage significant personal growth and fundamental reorientation of their values. It's not common, but it's possible."
He settled back into his chair, his green eyes moving between all three of them with the sort of focused attention that suggested he was conducting calculations far beyond what any of them could fully comprehend. "What I know with certainty is that this moment—this night when you're holding your brother while processing betrayal from your father, while understanding that the world is considerably darker and more complicated than you previously believed—this is important. This shapes who you become, what you prioritize, how you view the balance between duty and love."
He paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "You have a choice, Rhaenyra. You can harden yourself against the hurt, can wall off your heart against future betrayal by refusing to allow anyone close enough to wound you that deeply. Or you can accept that love requires vulnerability, that family is messy and complicated and often disappointing, and that surviving it means finding people you can trust to stand beside you when everything fractures."
His gaze moved to Laena and Laenor specifically. "Like them. Like me. People who understand exactly what you're feeling because they've had to navigate similar complications in their own families. People who won't try to minimize your pain or convince you to forgive too quickly or suggest that duty justified what your father nearly did. We'll simply be here, processing it alongside you, accepting that sometimes the world is terrible and people we love make choices that betray us, and that surviving that requires more strength than most people should have to develop at nine years old."
Rhaenyra felt something crack inside her chest—not the careful armor she'd been attempting to construct, but rather the isolation that had been building since she learned what her father had authorized. The knowledge that these three people—Jaehaerys with his impossible abilities and ancient wisdom, Laena with her steady strength and genuine compassion, Laenor with his earnest desire to help despite his own emotional confusion—were genuinely willing to stand beside her through the process of understanding betrayal and processing complicated love.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words barely audible over Baelon's soft breathing and the distant sounds of the Red Keep settling around them. "For being here. For understanding without my having to explain. For not asking me to forgive or accept or move past something that's barely happened."
"Always," Laena replied simply, squeezing Rhaenyra's knee with reassuring warmth. "We're going to be married—all three of us, eventually, in arrangements our families have carefully negotiated. But before that, we're simply friends who care about each other and want to see each other survive the complicated reality of being Targaryen children with power and responsibility beyond what most people our age should have to process."
"Speaking of which," Laenor interjected with attempted levity that didn't quite mask his genuine concern, "your mother is going to want to see you eventually. To be assured you're safe, that you're processing this appropriately, that you haven't been traumatized beyond recovery. We should probably consider that as evening turns to night."
"Not yet," Rhaenyra replied with the sort of quiet determination that suggested she had reached the limits of her capacity for adult interaction for the immediate future. "Not until I've figured out how to look at her without feeling the weight of what nearly happened, without seeing the moment my father's choice could have taken her from me forever. I need a little longer with just you three and my brother, processing this away from the pressure of being royal, of being properly composed, of pretending that nothing fundamental has fractured."
"Then we'll stay," Jaehaerys said with simple certainty that brooked no argument. "For as long as you need. Until you're ready to face the world again, until you've processed enough that you can function in front of courtiers and family members without completely breaking down. We'll simply be here, offering presence and understanding and the sort of quiet support that doesn't require words or explanations."
And so they sat together—four children of noble houses, bound by betroths arranged before some of them were even born, now united through shared understanding of betrayal and complicated love. Outside, the Red Keep continued its evening routines. In distant chambers, servants prepared dinner, nobles returned from the tournament, and the realm went about its business with no understanding of what had nearly occurred or what would echo through decades to come.
But here, in Rhaenyra's solar, there was simply presence and understanding and the quiet certainty that sometimes the most important support came not from those with power or position, but from those who genuinely understood exactly what you were feeling and were willing to sit with you in the darkness while you processed truths the daylight preferred to ignore.
---
## The Master of Laws' Chambers - Evening, 105 AC
Lord Corlys Velaryon sat alone in the chambers that had been prepared for him during his stay at the Red Keep, a cup of untouched wine resting before him on the polished table. The afternoon had aged into evening, and through the tall windows he could see the city below beginning to settle into darkness, torchlight replacing sunlight as King's Landing transformed itself into its nighttime incarnation.
But the Sea Snake's attention was not on the view below. Instead, his weathered gaze was fixed on his daughter—or rather, on the implications of his daughter's betrothal to a prince who had just demonstrated capabilities that went far beyond what most people even understood was possible.
Laena had not returned to his chambers after the tournament concluded. Instead, she had gone directly to Princess Rhaenyra's solar, apparently understanding instinctively that her future sister-wife required support and presence more than family obligations required her attention. Corlys had learned this from servants, from carefully worded reports about where members of the nobility had been seen, from the intelligence network that any admiral commanding the realm's naval forces naturally developed and maintained.
What Corlys was still attempting to process was the meaning of what he had witnessed—not directly, for he had remained at the tournament grounds observing the afternoon's competitions. But through reports delivered by those who had witnessed more than he had, through piecing together fragmented accounts from maesters and guards and midwives, he had constructed a reasonably accurate picture of what had occurred in the birthing chamber.
A king's order to commit murder disguised as medical necessity. A woman's near-death prevented only by the intervention of family who understood that some choices went too far. And most significantly—an eight-year-old boy who wielded magic that seemed to operate beyond the constraints of conventional medicine, commanding forces that most people didn't even believe existed outside of legend and religious superstition.
The same eight-year-old boy to whom his daughter Laena was betrothed.
Corlys reached for the wine cup finally, lifting it to his lips but not quite drinking. The motion was automatic rather than conscious—something to do with his hands while his mind continued its endless calculations, its systematic assessment of implications that reached far beyond this particular evening and potentially reshaped the realm's future.
He had spent decades building House Velaryon's power through careful navigation of political currents, through strategic marriages that elevated their position, through military success that earned them respect beyond mere noble breeding. He had negotiated with kings and queens, had maneuvered through succession crises, had positioned his family to survive whatever changes the realm underwent.
And then King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had arranged his daughter's betrothal to a prince who was clearly far more than mere royal blood and traditional inheritance.
The knock at his door came as both interruption and relief—something concrete to respond to, a distraction from calculations that seemed to spiral toward conclusions he wasn't entirely certain how to process.
"Enter," he called, setting down the wine cup carefully as the door opened to admit Princess Rhaenys.
The princess moved through his chamber with the fluid grace that had marked her entire presence during the day's events, though her violet eyes now held the sort of weariness that suggested she had endured considerably more emotional processing than any single day should reasonably require.
"Husband," she said with formal courtesy that somehow managed to be both respectful and intimate—the sort of address between those who had moved beyond mere political alliance toward something approaching genuine mutual respect. "I trust the afternoon's tournament provided adequate entertainment, despite the rather dramatic interruption regarding Her Grace's condition?"
"The tournament provided adequate distraction, certainly," Corlys replied carefully, gesturing toward the chair opposite his own. "Though I confess the interruption and its resolution have raised questions that I suspect only you can properly answer given your presence during the more dramatic aspects of this day's events."
Rhaenys settled into the offered chair with graceful precision, her expression suggesting she understood exactly what questions occupied his mind and had anticipated being asked them. When she spoke, her voice carried the sort of careful honesty that suggested she had decided transparency was more valuable than political evasion.
"I assume you wish to discuss what occurred in the birthing chamber," she said without preamble. "The near-murder of the queen authorized by her husband, prevented only through intervention from family who understood that survival sometimes requires defying authority."
"That," Corlys confirmed carefully, "and the capabilities demonstrated by young Prince Jaehaerys in the process of preventing that particular atrocity."
He rose from his chair and moved toward the windows, his hands clasped behind his back in that characteristic gesture that had accompanied his most significant strategic decisions throughout decades of service to the realm. "I have spent my entire adult life understanding that power derives from three sources: military strength, economic control, and political alliance. I have built House Velaryon's prominence through mastery of all three."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across King's Landing below—the harbor where his ships rode at anchor, the markets where Velaryon merchant ventures conducted business, the political structures that he had navigated so carefully for so long.
"But I'm beginning to understand that there is a fourth source of power that I have not adequately accounted for," he continued quietly. "Magic. Genuine, demonstrable magic wielded by those who understand its application and possess the will to use it. Magic that goes beyond the theoretical framework of maesters or the religious superstition of septons. Magic that reshapes reality itself."
Rhaenys was quiet for several long moments before responding, her violet eyes studying Corlys with the sort of focused attention that suggested she was assessing exactly how to answer with appropriate honesty and strategic advantage simultaneously.
"You're beginning to understand correctly," she said finally. "Young Prince Jaehaerys carries capabilities that go far beyond what most people would believe existed. Magic sufficient to heal wounds that would ordinarily be fatal, to counteract poisons, to stabilize conditions that conventional medicine cannot address. Magic that moves beyond the theoretical and into the realm of immediate, practical application."
She leaned forward slightly, her expression growing more serious. "And you're correct to recognize that this represents a fourth source of power beyond military strength, economic control, and political alliance. In fact, I would argue that in the long term, magic of such magnitude and demonstrated reliability may prove more powerful than all three of the traditional sources combined."
"Which brings me to the betrothal between our daughter and this remarkably gifted prince," Corlys said, turning to face Rhaenys directly. "An arrangement made by King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne themselves, clearly made with full understanding of exactly what capabilities their great-grandson would eventually develop."
His weathered face bore an expression that mixed calculation with something approaching wonder—the sort of look a man wore when he finally understood a strategic position that had been deliberately obscured from his perception for extended periods.
"They positioned our daughter to marry not merely a prince of the blood, but a prince who wielded magic that could reshape kingdoms," Corlys continued with analytical precision. "They ensured that House Velaryon would be bound through marriage to a source of power that went beyond traditional metrics of political or military strength."
"Precisely," Rhaenys confirmed with obvious approval at his rapid comprehension of the fuller implications. "King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne understood what most people did not yet grasp—that their great-grandson would be fundamentally different, would carry capabilities that would eventually force the realm to recalibrate how it understood power and authority."
She rose from her chair, moving to stand beside him at the windows. "They also understood that such capabilities could be dangerous if not properly grounded in people and relationships that would temper their application toward protective rather than destructive purposes. Hence the betrothals to both Princess Rhaenyra and Laena—arranged to ensure that young Jaehaerys would be bound through genuine personal attachment to people he cared for and would refuse to harm regardless of political convenience."
"They shaped his future relationships as insurance against the possibility that he would become a threat to the realm itself," Corlys said with the sort of clear-eyed comprehension that marked those trained to understand political strategy in all its complexity. "They ensured that the boy who would eventually wield magic sufficient to reshape kingdoms would be emotionally invested in preserving specific people and therefore less likely to use his capabilities in ways that would harm the broader structures those people depended on."
"More than that," Rhaenys replied with visible satisfaction at his continued comprehension. "They ensured that those closest to him—his wives, his closest family members—would be people whose welfare and happiness would be sufficient to motivate him toward wisdom rather than mere power accumulation."
She glanced toward him with an expression that suggested she was about to deliver information of considerable significance. "They also ensured that House Velaryon, through Laena's betrothal to Jaehaerys, would be bound to whatever future he helped to create. A future that—given today's events—now includes a direct role in succession disputes that will almost certainly consume the realm in coming years."
"The succession," Corlys repeated, his mind already cycling through implications. "With Prince Baelon now born and the new male heir secured, the succession would seem settled. Rhaenyra's claim becomes secondary to her brother's despite her years of preparation."
"Precisely," Rhaenys confirmed. "And that displacement, that fundamental upending of expectations and arrangements made in good faith... it will generate resentments and complications that young Prince Jaehaerys will inevitably be drawn into. As will our daughter through her betrothal to him."
Corlys turned to face her fully, his weathered features bearing an expression that mixed professional calculation with something approaching genuine respect for the scope of strategic thinking the former queen had attributed to her late husband and predecessor.
"You're saying that King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne foresaw this succession complication," he said slowly, as though testing each word to ensure it matched his understanding. "That they deliberately positioned their grandson's future wife to be the sister of the displaced heir, ensuring that House Velaryon would be invested in both sides of whatever conflict might develop?"
"I'm saying that King Jaehaerys was remarkably prescient regarding the realm's future complications," Rhaenys replied diplomatically. "And that he positioned his family—and through strategic marriage, House Velaryon as well—to have maximum influence over how those complications would eventually be resolved."
She paused, allowing that to sink in before continuing. "Our daughter's betrothal to Jaehaerys is not merely marriage between two noble houses for mutual political benefit. It's positioning House Velaryon as critical ally to whatever future Jaehaerys helps to shape."
"And all of this was planned decades ago," Corlys murmured, his respect for the late king's strategic foresight clearly increasing with each moment of comprehension. "King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne looked forward and saw a realm fractured by disputes, and they positioned their family—and ours through betrothal—to have maximum influence over how those disputes would resolve."
"Not merely influence," Rhaenys corrected gently. "But the sort of influence that comes from genuine personal investment and emotional attachment. Young Jaehaerys will love our daughter—or at least develop the sort of deep affection and respect that comes from years of partnership and shared burden. That love will matter more than political calculation when impossible choices must be made."
She turned back toward Corlys, her violet eyes holding the sort of ancient knowledge that marked those who had spent decades navigating the complexities of rule and power. "Our daughter is betrothed to marry not just a prince with magical capabilities, but a prince whose capabilities are grounded in his affection for the people closest to him. She has the opportunity to shape how those capabilities are used, what purposes they serve, whether they ultimately lead to protection of the realm or its destruction."
"That's an enormous responsibility for a girl just thirteen," Corlys observed carefully, though his expression suggested he understood precisely why Rhaenys was framing things in such terms.
"Yes," Rhaenys confirmed without apology. "But it's also an enormous opportunity for House Velaryon to secure positioning that goes far beyond what mere military or economic power could achieve. Our daughter's marriage to Jaehaerys is arguably the most strategically significant betrothal currently arranged among the realm's nobility."
Corlys moved back to his chair, settling into it with the deliberate movements of someone who had just processed information sufficient to require time organizing his thoughts. When he looked up at Rhaenys, his expression had shifted into something approaching genuine warmth mixed with professional appreciation.
"You came here to ensure that I understood exactly what our daughter's betrothal meant," he said. "To confirm that I grasped not just the immediate implications but the longer-term strategic positioning that the late king so carefully arranged."
"Partially," Rhaenys admitted, moving back toward her own chair. "But also to ensure that you understood what happened today in the birthing chamber, and what it means for our daughter's future. Whatever comes next—whether succession disputes or magical revelations or fundamental shifts in how the realm understands power itself—Laena will be central to those changes because she's betrothed to the one person capable of reshaping all of it."
She settled back into her chair with graceful precision. "Which means that our daughter needs to understand her position, her potential, and her responsibility to think carefully about what futures she wants to help create. King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne arranged these betrothals not as mere political calculation, but because they believed their grandson needed to be bound to people who would counsel him toward wisdom rather than merely toward power accumulation."
"Then we need to ensure that Laena understands the weight of what's being asked of her," Corlys concluded, his voice carrying the sort of quiet resolution that marked those who had finally comprehended a strategic situation fully enough to act on it. "Not to frighten her, not to burden her beyond reason, but to ensure she understands the scope of what her marriage will mean and the influence she'll therefore carry."
"Exactly," Rhaenys said with obvious satisfaction. "She needs to know that she's not merely marrying for alliance between houses. She's marrying into a future that will require her wisdom, her counsel, her ability to love the king while also challenging him when he moves toward decisions that would harm rather than protect."
"The role that Queen Aemma should have played for King Viserys," Corlys said with sudden clarity regarding what today's events had revealed. "A wife who could balance her husband's authority with honest counsel and genuine concern for wellbeing beyond mere duty."
"Precisely," Rhaenys confirmed. "And now we have opportunity to ensure that the next generation understands what that balance truly requires. That love isn't merely affection but partnership, that power is meaningless without wisdom, that protection requires refusing to sacrifice those closest to you for the sake of abstract principles."
The chamber fell quiet except for the distant sounds of the Red Keep settling around them and the muffled noise of King's Landing outside the windows. Corlys remained seated, his hands clasped before him, his expression suggesting he was still processing the enormous weight of strategic positioning that had just been revealed to him.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!